World of Warcraft®

The following two pages of the onyx journal hold no words, but two drawings of two different people.

The first one, clear to most, is the mage Tislina Dawnrunner as Kreindis' had remembered her image. Her blonde hair falls down the side of her face to lightly touch her shoulders. Her green eyes appear happy, and her smile adds to the suggestion she is. She wears a long red robe with trims of black and purple, with a small bit of what looks like metal for protection. Finally, her ears are tall and slim, with a small bit of jewelry on one.

The second drawing is of the artist himself. His black hood is drawn over his head, just barely allowing his glowing frosty blue eyes to be seen. His black hair is visible on both sides of chest, where on each side theres one thin streak of it. Most of his face is shadowed from his hood.

As he finished, he felt that they were perfect for his first drawings. He liked the one of Tislina particularly, as it had more happyness and light about it.

The man's skull collapsed with a sickening crack as Alenthis brought his axe down on the mans helmet. Alen flung himself over the mans collapsing body and grabbed his axes hilt with both hands. He began to spin, causing absolute chaos in the alluance ranks. The beach outside of Lion's landing was an absolute blood bath.

Kurdrus Blunthammer kneeled behind cover in the upper ramparts of the western tower of Lion 's Landing. "Out of ammo!" The dwarf next to him tossed him a pouch of rounds. Kurdrus spilled the bullets out on the floor and stuffed one into the end of his blunderbuss. He flicked the primer back and aimed through the iron sight. He scanned the sea of orcs and trolls searching for a trouble maker. His sights came to rest on a Death Knight. Blood Elf by the looks of it. "Distance."

"Two-hundred and sixty meters, sir."

"Wind."

"Sixteen miles an hour, southwest."

The dwarf pushed his eye all the way onto the sight . He chose the impact point: upper chest. He accounted for windspeed and distance and took a deep breath. His finger pulled back on the trigger. The clockwork mechanism activated, sending the primer forward to spam into the gunpowder store. A small blast of fire escaped the chamber as pressure shot the bullet forward. As the iron ball left the barrel it accelerated. It reached its top speed exactly two seconds before impact.

Alenthis swung his axe horizontally, decapitating a human across from him. He chose his next target. A night elf, swinging his warglaive like a musical instrument. Alen turned and pushed off with his right foot. The crack of a gunshot sounded as Alenthis took a step forward. The iron ball tore into his shoulder, striking bone, and shattered. Alenthis was blown off his feet and backwards into the horde ranks. The way cleared and an orc medic grabbed him and pulled him back towards the camp.

The death knight stepped forward right as Kurdrus pulled the trigger. The death knights shoulder exploded in a fountain of gore. "Blast!" He glanced at his sighter. "Kill denied. Cripple confirmed." The dwarf nodded and scribbled a mark on his notepad.

"Reloading."

Alenthis Bloodreaver lay on the cot in the forward base camp. He dared not look to his left. His head was planted firmly to the right. His left arm. Was gone. He sighed slightly. Luckily, he was already dead. And bloodloss wasn't an option. He would have to wait for the nearest of Sylvanas' apothecaries to arrive and fix it.

From the pages of my journal:

The night seems so long, until I start thinking, and then it moves along too quickly. Time never moves the way you want it to, it moves at its own pace...tick, tock, tick, tock.

In hindsight, I wonder if I could have handled the situation better. Infinitely better than what actually transpired; but tell me, does it really matter? I mean, what has happened has happened, and you cannot change it. Sounds like a copout to me.

It is...I know my Kel enough that I should have been able to convince her to walk away from that ledge. To make her change her mind, to make her think about what she was contemplating, and maybe helping her. That's what I should have done, thinking about it. But in the heat of the moment,, I came up short. Terribly short.

I look at her, so bruised and broken, and my heart breaks. I love her so much, and I failed her. I see her moan in her sleep as she tries to get comfortable, and I reach out to take her hand, and hold it gently in my own. And I feel so helpless to aid her. So useless.

I lay here, and watch her. I can see the rising morning light beginning to flow in through the doorway, and I realize a night has passed. And I find I can barely hold my own eyes ope...
(The quill trails off, falling off the page, leaving an ink stain.)

Kreindis lays quietly asleep on a bed in Orgrimmar, and his journal lays under him, with a freshly written on oage drying. There is a small drawing on the bottom half that shows a heavily armored orc wielding a two-handed axe. Black, spiky hair runs from the bottom of the helmet.

I have taken to drawing things in my journal now... myself, Tislina, and an Orc guard I frequently see in Orgrimmar. Speaking of her... my search continues. I haven't seen her, or found anyone who can help me to.

I hope this is not a lost cause, and she is dead or... gone somewhere off of Azeroth...

From the pages of my journal:

She awoke, and asked for water, and I had it for her. She wanted to sit up, and against my better judgment, I helped her. We talked a little, and I like to think we settled a few things too.

She grew weary, and leaned against me, and fell asleep. And I sat holding her close to me, while she slept. I did nothing but sat there, relaxing in that moment of just holding her. I hummed a tune I overheard once, and kissed the top of her head lightly.

She now knows how I feel about her, and I found she knows me much better than I do myself. And I find comfort in knowing that. And I now know how she feels about me.

I find that some do not approve of our relationship, and some do. A part of me doesn't give a poop what anyone thinks of Kel and I, but a large part of me cares, because she cares, and it eats and tears at her. It's just how she is built, and she takes so many things like this personally. Me? I internalize it, and go fishing. It's just the way I'm built, I guess.

I laid down, and she lay with her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat, and my breathing, for she slept through the night without incident. And I slept with my arm around her, and whispered to Kel how much I care for her, and how much I love her. Somehow I just cannot seem to tell her enough how much she means to me.

Kreindis stood on the front of the warship, "Dragon's Wing". The ship was a dark red color, it had three large masts with the Horde insignia placed over a black background. The masthead was an intricately carved dragon head. There was five cannons on the broadside and five on the starboard. There was two other smaller ships beside the Dragon Wing.

The one on the left was named, "Wolves Tooth". It had two masts that were black with no Horde insignia. It had three cannons on each side. The other ship was identical, but its name was "Raptors Fang". The Dragon Wing was commandeered by a Blood Elf, the Wolves Tooth by an Orc, and the Raptor Fang by a Troll.

The trio of warships were heading across the ocean from Kalimdor to an island with an Alliance fortress on it. Kreindis had been pulled into it by passing soldiers. He had to delay his search for his lover-in-life Tislina Dawnrunner. "I could use some combat anyways," he thought, "I havnt seen any since being raised, really..."

The sniper scope fell over the Death Knight. "Target still. Clear ta' fire." The finger pulled the trigger, and the shell flew through the air at the Dragon Wing.

[ 1/4 ]

From the pages of my journal:

She sleeps, awakes, and I give her water, and some food, then she sleeps some more. I stay beside her, and watch over her. She does not seem feverish, nor have I noticed her being haunted by the nightmares. I give her a pain remedy once a day, it seems to work, as she sleeps much more comfortably.

I lay beside her, and she cuddles close to me. I will warm her, protect her, and watch over her. I do it for love. And I would do it for as long as was necessary, for in the caring for her, my love grows stronger for her.

The bruises were deep, and are only now beginning to lighten. The ribs are knitting well, but the darkness of the bruise scares me. She is slowly growing stronger, and sits up for a few moments a day. We talk, and we grow closer in the mean time. I find chatting with her easy, we have a mutual trust that helps us be honest with one another. I enjoy the intimacy of our talks.

The depths of her mind swallow her, trapped in her thoughts by the binding fabrics and splints, the drugs that dull her nightmares and pains keeping her in the drug-induced haze.

She hated it.

She struggled, deep in her head, for a minute, with her name, and then it all came crashing back to her in her daze. But she couldn't wake up.

It would, she decided, take time for the drugs to wear off, and she found herself strangely at peace, content to wait for the effects of the painkillers to wear off and allow her to wake. She knew, in some way, that someone important would be there when she woke, they had been the past few times she had awoken.

That was, she found, enough comfort for the time being. She then turned her attention inwards, briefly considering her motives and, upon finding those too dark for the moment, looked further inwards, her mental focus falling on that center of her physical manifestation of her faith.

Shame on her, she confessed, that she had allowed her faith to fall into such disrepair. It would occupy her time well enough to reorganize the place. And she had an idea to act on.

The bullet of the sniper traveled so quickly that when Kreindis heard the bang, it was too late. The shell tore through his shoulder, shattering his shoulderplate. "Damnit!" cried Kreindis as he dove for cover from further shots. He covered the inch hole with a plated hand to hold the blood. He looked over to see an Orc shot in the forehead as he cried, "Alliance warsh--". The commander of the Dragon Wing yelled, "Aim cannons at that warship!" The commanders of the Wolves Tooth and Raptors Fang did the same.

Turns out, the Alliance warship had the same idea. Five flaming cannonballs flew towards the Dragon Wing, exploding the hull and catching it on fire. The commander yelled, "Put that fire out, and fire the cannons!" Meanwhile, Kreindis was bandaging his torn shoulder. It wouldn't have been too bad, had the bullet not hit his stronger arm that he used more. His left would have to do, since his right was now disabled.

"Captain! The cannonballs destroyed the hull too much! We cant stay afloat much longer!" cried a cannoneer to the captain who yelled back, "We need to dock at the island and fight on solid ground!" As he said that, the ship turned to the long wooden dock of the island.

"We're not going to make it!"

[ 2/4]

From the pages of my journal:

I am at a loss.

And I am in shock.

And I know that it has affected Kel'tira even moreso.

I want to help her, and keep her intact, light help me in this, I pray.

The sun rose with golden light, and the young Sin'dorei awoke and revelled in its light and warmth. He rolled over in the big bed, and instinctively reached over to the other side to touch the woman he loved. And found nothing.

He then remembered that she had gotten a call and had to leave. The memory did not remove the ache in his heart, or disappointment of the empty pillow, but he understood it. He understood it all, and his love and faith in her was still as strong as ever. The tall rogue stretched out and reached into the special pouch he kept the trinket in, and held it in his hand for a moment.

As he activated it, he smiled and remembered, and would never forget what he felt, and the rush of feelings he knew were to be found here. The tears were those of joy and remembering, and as he put the small statuette away, the smile on his face was warm and loving. Yes, he missed her terribly, and he cared about her a great deal, but he was grateful for the gift and her love.

He rolled back into the bed, wrapped himself back up in the blankets, and went back to sleep. His thoughts were of her, and everything she was, and the great love they shared. He slept with a smile on his lips.

The evening was approaching, and the sky was painted in various shades of red and gold, and Azmos watched with a detached appreciation of day's end. He sat outside the Honeydew Village Inn, a cup of roasted barley tea in his hand, enjoying the light breeze in the air as it moved his long white locks about his shoulders. The priest reached into the large shoulder pouch he wore, and pulled out an old journal, and an ink pot with a quill. He closed his eyes a moment, sighed, and set quill to paper...

Why do I bother sometimes? I try to let it go, I even let Brewmistress Kiki rub and massage my shoulders the other night, she tried telling me that my muscles were tight, and I was tense. Silly woman, of course I was tense after that brief encounter with the Guild leader, Kel'tira Sunblaze, and those other two. Does she not know I have certificates indicating I know the Sin'dorei physical properties and all the rest of that drivel? I can practically perform surgery with my eyes closed, and yet she questions me on what I did to that young woman who crashed.

I know full well the ways of the light, and how it can be used to heal, whether in combat or otherwise. Yet, she felt it necessary to add her two cents. Who removed the piece of schrapnel in that girl's leg, the one that had cut arteries, and muscle tissues, that I healed and cared for? She could have lost that leg. Who cast spell after spell to reduce the swellings to her face, and other parts of her arms and legs? So she could see out her eyes, and move her arms and legs. Who relieved the pressure of those near cracked ribs in her chest, and even reduced the bruising and pain she would no doubt have later? But still she second guessed me, and felt it necessary to cast her own healing spells!

And this on top of her looking so ashen and pale that I wondered if she would be able to stand or walk afterwards. I cast a fortification spell on them all, and several others, not for the girl or the warrior, but for Kel'tira. Not that she noticed or such. She giggles and says it tickles. FEL! I left in a huff, and surprised Kiki in her own inn.

Again I ask, why do I bother?

The warrior pulled herself up off the cold stone floor, and back onto the bed, rubbing a sore spot on her knee where it had collided with the floor. Small, faint bruises dotted her face, arms and legs from the numerous times she had collided with the same stone floor over the past few days.

“Damned potions…”

The room was in disarray, the papers from her desk littered the room, the pillows from the furniture scattered across the floor. She had torn it up in search of her journal, only to find it not there.

So a scruffy pile of loose parchment, the pages tattered, worn, and tied together with a bit of string, had become her journal. Sliding off the bed once more, she pulled her quill out from where it had slid under the bed, her guildstone soon following. Propping herself up against the wall, she pulled the pile of parchment into her lap.

My journal is missing again, and this time, I may not be getting it back. This time, I –know- where it is I have left it….

My journal, left unlocked for all I know, for all to read, is lying under a clump of trees in the damned Jade Forest. And being red, it would be hard to miss in all that green. Especially since it’s lying not too far from where a battle took place, lying a few feet from a dead alliance scout.

If anyone misses it, they must be either blind, or incredibly stupid. Or maybe they just don’t care about a bloodied red journal, but then they still will have noticed it. Perhaps I could have gone and retrieved it if it weren’t for my damned brother and his wife. And my cousin of course.

The stupidly large amount of healers they called on to ensure my swift recovery, and the insane amount of potions they forced me to take, stopped coming a few days ago, but they insist I don’t go farther than Silvermoon and that I continue taking a certain potion my cousin prescribed herself. And after finding out about my little trip to go save someone, the amount of potion I took tonight was all of a sudden larger than usual.

The Nightmares tonight were worse as well. They were vivid, bright, more lifelike…and the damned potion locked me in my sleep longer than last night. I suppose they’ve figured out I’ve been preparing to leave, and wish to tire me enough so I can’t. I know they hear me when I call out in my sleep, wrapped up in the nightmares that are never exactly the same each night, but always seem to end the same. And I always wake up the same way; on the cold stone of my floor at some odd hour of the night with a new bruise to add to my collection. I don’t remember much of my nightmares, the ending the only thing that remains vivid in my mind, but I know I call out for someone in my sleep. And I know who it is just from the looks on my families face when I catch them talking about it.

I won’t take the potion tonight, and I’m leaving whether my family and Kel’tira like it or not.

I refuse to let them help me, they don’t understand what I’m doing or why I am doing it, but then again I’m not too sure of that myself. I don’t care whether Azurick comes or not. But he better come, especially after Winterspring. I expect him to come.

I’ll write him a letter just before I leave, and before I go looking for Alen, I have a journal to find.

Which will most likely take a lot longer to find then I think it will…

Lyrilia straightened the pile of papers on her lap, blowing the ink dry and retying the string around the bundle. Setting it carefully on her bedside table, her guildstone and quill resting on top of it, she pulled the half-empty potion from the space next to it. Emptying the potion in a plant, she set it back down, settling back into bed to get what little sleep she could.

The dark form moved from within the shadows of the little cottage in Gilneas, to insure a proper shot at the sleeping Sin'dorei wrapped in the blankets on the bed. It brought forth the small bronze tubing, and inserted the small dart. A quick puff of air, and the projectile found its mark.

The young rogue never had a chance as the quick acting poison spread through his system, and he never awoke. An enigmatic smile still frozen on his lips.

The form moved closer to the bed, removed the small needle-like projectile, and unwrapped the body from the blankets. An appreciative whistle came from the dark personage as it bent over the body of Cyaer Sunblaze. A gloved hand slowly moved across his muscular chest, and a light feminine chuckle came from the dark cowl, and it nodded.

Perhaps delivery could wait a little bit. A wee bit of alone time with the rogue could prove to be...fun.

The drugged blood elf, slowly opened his eyes, and just as quickly closed them. The pounding in his head was enormous, and having any light in opening his eyes only compounded the ache and the pounding. 'I don't think I've ever had a hangover this bad,' he thought, and even thinking hurt.

But as he awoke, he knew he wasn't in Gilneas any more. He took a deep breath, and under the dankness and molding smell of his immediate surroundings, he could smell the ocean. Not that it helped him much, but it was something.

He was laying down on a cold rough wooden table, not of stone, and his hands were tied with new rope. He knew the difference, and that made untieing them more difficult. And the rope was tight around his ankles and wrists, not loose at all. He tried to strain against them, and after the spell of nausea left him, he decided to wait until his head cleared.

One other thing, he was still in his sleepwear, and only in his sleepwear. That restricted his abilities a great deal in getting out of this, and he sighed heavily. And as he did he heard movement to his right.

His eyes snapped opened and as his head began to swim and he felt the darkness closing over him, he saw someone, a woman, smiling as she came towards him.

"Hi, handsome, you up for some fun?", she purred. And he lost consciousness.

She pouted as he lay there unconscious, her hands roaming over his bronzed chest, and arms. "Cyaer, Cyaer, Cyaer," she whispered as her finger moved across his lips, and she bent over him to kiss him softly. "Whatever am I going to do with you...or more like, what am I going to do to you, hmm?" She smiled wickedly, and gently slapped his cheek, as she turned towards the table that held a few of the other rogue's personal items.

She had seen these guildstones before, but the wrist one was new to her. She wondered if she would be able to sell it, perhaps the goblin in Booty Bay would be interested in it. She had seen the small dragon statuette before, her previous master had one. But his "felt" different to her. And she had seen Cyaer use it before she took him. Perhaps she could cajole him for some information on its properties.

She hefted the money pouch he had been carrying. And she smiled after she had counted it earlier. What person in their right mind kept that kind of gold on them? A fool, or...someone confident in keeping it. She turned towards the unconscious form on the table. He certainly looked capable of protecting himself, she had been lucky to getting the drop on him in his sleep.

She had only heard of his killing Korakk, Shizzatt, and over sixteen other brothers of the guild in one night in a fit of rage. Word was that Korakk had a history with Cyaer, and Cyaer had left because of Korakk's rather ruthless and unsavory ways of doing things. Korakk had made the mistake to threaten someone he loved to get him to aid him in one of his schemes. An honest thief? Who was this man who lay on this table?

She had been watching and stalking him for over a month, and he wasn't anything like what she had heard. He was farming and fishing most days, and most nights he was with that paladin friend of his. She had seen and overheard enough to realize that he was going to be difficult to get alone. But she had seen them come to Gilneas, and she had been fortunate enough to locate him just after the paladin had left. He had stayed and cleaned up their meal, and decided to spend the night there. She smiled, and thought how he was now mine.

She had heard there was a bounty for him intact from a warlock that hated the guild he was in, the rising something or other. And the warlock was willing to pay very well for him. The female rogue had hoped to make a name for herself, and in walked Cyaer Sunblaze. Yes, she would make enough gold to set herself up for a long time, gain a reputation, and have a bit of fun for herself to boot.

She stood beside his quiet form, her hand moving through his hair, and caressing his cheek. She smiled, and thought about what a good time she was going to have, then laughed lightly.

The water drifted under the bridge, unhurried in its path, burbling and bubbling with small eddies. There was music in that sound. The wind rustled in the trees, softly caressing the leaves which shuddered under its touch.

A blood elf sat crossed legged by the bank, barefoot, relaxed and ignoring the carefully manicured grounds around him. His hands rested lightly on his knees—a monk’s pose—his arms were bare and covered in arcane tattoos—a leftover from his previous life. The wind tugged at the long strands of honey colored hair that hung like a curtain down his back. His eyes were open; the green gaze on the water but his mind was fixed on a red haired woman who had fallen into a deep pit of emotional turmoil.

She was tall—although not as tall as he—but her slumped shoulders and demeanor made her appear much, much smaller. He remembered his first impression of her: defeated. But that was not what frightened him the most. Her voice, strangely distant and hollow when she spoke of herself, had been the most worrisome.

What had defeated her—aside from her own self-doubts—would be uncovered later. Now he just needed to establish a rapport. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and hoped that she was so far down that path of doubt and depreciation that she would not be able to find her way out.

‘Give them a hand up, but they have to learn climb out on their own so should they fall again, they know the path out.’

Wise words that he first heard spoken by a draenei paladin in Shattrath City. They were spoken about another blood elf paladin, one who had fallen much, much farther, stressed to a breaking point. But she had recovered. Raw strength and determination saw her through that. Her words about the matter were what had made him start to rethink his life:

‘Staring into the abyss until it stares back at you is nothing. When you open your arms and greet it like an old friend coming to dinner, come see me… then we will have something to talk about.’

He tapped one finger on his knee and hoped that Kel’Tira was not on a first name basis with the black chasm pooling under her feet.

(New entry in a light green leather journal etched with a tree)

While I am fairly certain that I had friends before my ‘accident’ – although none of them came looking for me – I certainly didn’t have any friends when I woke up. While my first friends were orcs, closely followed by a troll, I still did not have friends who were blood elves—until Kel’Tira and I met by chance in Silvermoon and were treated to some experimental cooking by a travelling chef.

She and I seemed to hit it off. Soon, tea and scones for breakfast became a normal occurrence for us. I was one of the shoulders she cried on when Nic went missing, a voice of reason to allay her fears, and someone she could vent to without fear of judgment.

Now, she is at a crux in her life where she is trying to pull the pieces together and my husband seems intent upon tearing it down piece by piece. I know he thinks of her as being disloyal to Nic, but he has been gone without word for over three months and now finally pronounced dead by the Horde. While I understand that Sol is very sensitive about infidelity—his first wife was certainly less than faithful—he needs to understand that Kel’s situation is much different.

I arranged for a monk to speak with her and she is willing to see him. I can only hope that he can get through to her.

Tonight was nothing short of miserable as Kel told me that Sol confronted her once again—calling her many unpleasant and degrading names and telling her that he was happy that Nic was dead and she ought to be, too. Cy sat next to her like a stone statue while she spoke the words like she was reading a technical book and I could not look him in the eye.

My husband was wrong, I told them so. Then I had to go someplace to calm down, get a grip on my emotions and think the problem through.

When I finally found Sol, he knew that he had overstepped his bounds. I told him that he needed to leave Kel alone—whether he thought she was right or wrong, his opinion needed to be kept to himself and if he could not manage to speak a civil word, he just needed to ignore her and Cy when he saw them.

I doubt that things will be able to go back to where they once were. My husband crossed a strict line that night and there is no return from the hateful things he said. No apology could ever right the terrible things that came out of his mouth.

And now, I am caught in the middle between my best friend and my husband. Light, I have no idea where to go from here.

Cyaer awoke to stiff sore muscles, and a nagging headache. When he reached up to rub his eyes, and was restricted by the ropes on his wrists, he suddenly remembered he wasn't where he thought he was. He opened his eyes and looked up at a stone ceiling where cobwebs hung on the wooden beams in clusters. He turned his head to see what he could see to his left, and could vaguely make out a doorway, and a torch hanging on the wall.

It was when he turned his head to the right that he got a real start, a raven-haired blood elf female stood silently smiling down at him. Her voice was honey sweet, as she purred, "Well, well, well, the handsome rogue finally awakens, does he?" She placed a hand on his chest and moved it across his pecs, to finally stop just over his heart.

"Who are you?" were the first angry words that Cyaer spoke, and they would have been more impressive if he could have yelled them, than merely croak them out, his throat dry and parched.

"Who? Little old me?" she purred. She smiled and brought her hand from his chest to touch his cheek. He glared at her, as her soft hand touched his cheek, and slid over to gently caress his ear. He jerked his head to try to prevent her from touching him.

She smiled, then lightly giggled at his anger and frustration. "Oh, Cyaer, relax, and enjoy the moment. Would you like something to drink? The poison has a tendancy to dehydrate, and leave you with one hell of a headache, doesn't it? I have some cool water here, if you want it." Again she smiled and held up a heavy mug.

He closed his eyes, and turned his head away from her. "What do you want of me?" he croaked again.

She laughed lightly, "Want? Of you? Why a good time, what else?" Her hand reached out to touch his taunt stomach muscles, and move up to his chest again. "Yes," she purred, "A good time."

He turned his head, and opened his emerald green eyes to stare at her with confusion, "You mean to tell me you kidnapped me so you can have your way with me? Are you freaking kidding me?"

"Yes, and no." she whispered, as her hand slid along his firm ribcage, and lightly caressed his broad chest. "Not at first, but when I saw you nearly naked on that bed in Gilneas, I thought you might be a nice little bit of fun until I turned you over to that warlock friend of yours." She bent over him, and kissed his chest, her hair falling forward to brush against his skin.

His body tensed, and he struggled in the ropes that bound him. She pulled back to watch him, amused at his sudden panic. He pulled at the restraints, and kicked to find some kind of release for the bonds. And finally he lay on the wooden table, tired, and spent.

"Viragona...you work for her?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, is that her name? I only know you are worth a great deal to her, and I could use a long vacation." she said softly. She moved from the side of the table to the foot of the table, where his legs were spread by the ropes. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the loincloth around his waist.

"But enough talk, let's have a little fun, shall we?" she purred.

He lay on the table, his body spent from the assault of his kidnapper. He had never felt quite the way he did at this moment and he tried to wash away the memory with the thoughts of the woman that truly held his heart.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the new Kel'tira he had experienced in Gilneas, the smile, the change in her demeanor, it was a welcome change. Not that he ever wanted to change her, for it was the last thing in his mind. He enjoyed her for who she was, and that was more than enough for him.

Her smile and the roast chicken had been so satisfying, come to think of it, the dessert of her sweet lips had been the true treat of the evening. He had even had the glorious opportunity of holding her close in his arms. Wasn't too complicated, really, just spending some quality time with Kel, and that was okay by him.

Then the call had come, and sent her away. It saddened his heart a little, but then holding onto her, and stifling the beauty that was Kel'tira would be a crime. He couldn't smother her like that, so he let her free, to return to him when she desired.

He had stayed to clean up the food, the wine, and straighten up the place. Okay, he finished the wine, there wasn't that much left in the bottle, really, not much. He stripped off his armor and put on his fishing outfit. And crawled under the blankets.

And now he was being prepared for Viragona, delivery was imminent, and he would probably never see Kel again...

And he regretted that he hadn't been more careful, more watchful - Vira was still out there, and hunting for us, members of the Fellowship.

He regretted that he hadn't told Kel how much he loved her, and now he may never...wrong thinking, Cy...keep thinking, and be prepared to escape at a moment's notice. Be ready...

He regretted never spending more time with Sol and Auxi. He had found the dinner with the two of them a grand time, and he liked Auxi. Another regret in never finding the time in his "busy" schedule to speak with her...

Regrets, yeah he had a few. And he promised himself that if he got out of this, he would rectify those regrets. If...

His thoughts were interrupted by movement near his feet, and he felt her hands upon him again. "Hey, lover," she purred, "let's have a another go at it, shall we?"

And Cyaer's soul wept.