Post by Mistryss on Feb 28, 2006 18:58:51 GMT -5
I am unsure whether this is the appropriate place to share this, so feel free to move it accordingly.
This tale begins on a nondescript farm nestled between the hills in Southern Westfall, and the cliffs overlooking the vast seas. To say how long ago, would give away my age, and that is simply beyond my womanly pride and vanity. I will sate your curiosity only by saying it was before Stormwind was destroyed, and rebuilt. Most of us native to Elwynn and the surrounding areas recall the rebuilding of Stormwind. I recall the smoke of it’s destruction, and the panic that set our family to such a secluded place, for fear or Orcs returning with their maddened rages to slay us one and all.
My father worked hard to raise pigs and sheep, farmed corn in the summers, and pumpkin in the autumn. My Mother was home infrequently, leaving my sister and I to fend for ourselves. It has long, long, been a tradition in our family, that the women become Priestesses when they are of age, and serve selflessly for the Light or a chosen deity until they marry, and then bear children until a girl is brought into the world.
I am three years Ynahla’s elder. For three years I suffered through a pitiful service to the Cathedral. Then, the fateful day came that Mystral, our mother, came home to see her youngest daughter begin her training. Ynahla showed natural talent. I…was a bumbling idiot in the Priestly ways. Our mother decided, “If you want something done well, best to do it yourself.”
For the next two years I traveled with her. Unlike most women of our long legacy, she did not hold to the belief that a wife and mother stays at home. In truth, our father was… It is ill luck to speak poorly of the dead. I will simply say, had I the comprehension then of adult interaction that I do now, I would have been a thousand times less eager to stay and sheer sheep, and cut up our fattest pigs just to survive that winter, and afford clothes that fit, instead of hoping with blind faith my slight frame might grow into other young women’s castoffs, from neighboring farms.
Ynahla was in-love with a neighboring farm boy, so much like our mother, and content to keep her service to the Cathedral, and never far from her beau. I fell in-love with the world, and every new sight and wonder it had to offer. I will never again think of any one place as my home, so much as every place that touches my heart into speeding and steals my breath, as so many on Azeroth have.
Within the first year, we sailed across the ocean—my mother and I—to a completely different continent, into Elven lands. Like Rogues sneaking into a fortress, we left the main ship before land was sighted, and sailed on a much smaller, sleeker ship, with a small party of tall, long-eared, and dye stained folk. Through an enchanting wood, from a dream, we stole as if it were the dark of a new moon’s night, but in the highest arc of the sun over these foreign skies.
We came upon a small band of covered wagons filled with supplies and carriages, pulled by horses, and giant panthers and lizard-looking gigantic reptiles, and surrounded by people of such strange features and statures, my ignorant mind could not comprehend. There were males and females, some dressed lavishly, some in plainclothes, some armored to the teeth, of the Human, Gnome, Dwarven, Elven and even Troll and Tauren nations.
They became my family, and all embraced me with warm and open arms, as the daughter and apprentice to the Priestess, or Shaman, that cared for their band of Mercenaries, Outcasts, Harlots, Courtesans. This was my awakening to the world, and to womanhood—unprejudiced, except toward Orcs, who at the time, ravished our world, under a bloodlust not originating from their own kind, but from the same insidious foes that threatened the rest of our world.
For a number of months, Mystral and I traveled with them, sending letters to and from my sister, always letting her know with our signatures, where our next letters might be sent for us to fetch. Our mixed caravan traveled most of the known world, every place that was hospitable to humanoid form, and a few that were not. Always, we broke camp a day’s travel outside of any settlement or city. Those of our band welcomed in that place left our camps, and went to find work, and supplies for the next league of our journey. Those of us not safe to be within sight of a place, kept the fires stoked, and looked forward to new goodies, fresh fruits, clothing, weapons, armor, etcetera that we would not have acquired from settlements more hospitable to our own races.
It was after the first year when the cloth of holiness was ripped over my head and stomped into the dirt a half dozen times…and a few angered swats with a mace added for good measure. I’d suffered through my mother’s tutoring, barely able to manage more than simple bandages for healing, and a pitiful sight with spells and incantations begging power from the Light, and the Elven Goddess, Elune, that my mother had come to call her own, alike.
Irony of ironies, it was the two, lovely, graceful, and demure Night Elven Courtesans who stepped forward to accept responsibility for me. Surprisingly enough, my mother seemed well-pleased. You may believe me or not, that is your choice…I am well aware that the Night Elves, unlike their Cousins, the High Elves, chose to seclude themselves from most of the world, and, as of now, have only interacted with humans and the rest of the “lesser” races for the past half a decade or so. However, anyone holding fiercely to the ignorant belief that no Night Elves ever left their sacred lands and explored the world in all our history, since when the Burning Legion first stole upon our world, well…I do not wish to insult the intelligence of my fellows. Things that are…simply ARE, whether one is ignorant of it by circumstance, or chooses to ignore it. Moving along…
The rest of that second year was spent being taught a myriad things, some of which were how to draw up patterns for clothing, so that the fabric might lay against my body in the most appealing manners only, for my unique figure. As womanhood truly blossomed, Ashaklaih, and Ellouree, my new teachers, praised the blessing of abundance that I was gifted with. I was taught to sing, and to dance, hundreds of songs, and a hundred dances, with ribbons, fans, and so on. I began to learn languages, and despite my earnest desire to pick up Darnassian, it was a soft of unspoken taboo that the Courtesans were not willing to teach me. Perhaps the greatest of all things that I was taught, was how to properly use daggers for defense and deflection and the true dance it was, and when Mystral and my Ladies were away from the camp, a warrior Merc play-fought with me, sword and shield.
At the end of that second year, my mother, my Ladies, and myself broke off from the camp with a small, heavily armored escort. Along the way, all three of them scrambled to don robes and adornments of such lavish quality I could have trapped a swarm of bees in my open mouth. I still remember what it was to don those pristine white robes, with a lilac trimming, and embroidery so intricate that the fabric seemed stiff, despite how silky smooth it had felt against my skin. I was given a hairpiece with a crescent moon, like a muted likeness of the Courtesans’ headpieces, not the simple cloth band that covered Mystral’s forehead. It was, perhaps my first true realization that the path I had chosen to take would not be like any in our illustrious, and humble family’s history had known.
We came to a large structure, not far from where Silverwing Refuge sits today in Ashenvale, and were greeted by a small party of servant-types, a meal, lounging chairs, and the prompt promise of hand-drawn baths. After hunger and thirst had been satisfied, and we were all bathed—us four in baths alongside one another only partitioned by folding screens—and clothed once more in our fantastic garb, we were finally greeted by the host of the…not-so-humble abode.
It was the first time I had ever seen a male Night Elf. The women are of much slighter frame, wispy, put next to a male. My first thought was that the only person I’d ever seen taller had been the Tauren warrior who trained me in swordplay. In their beautiful native tongue, my Ladies and he exchanged words, that sounded to my foreign ears like poetry, or song. Meanwhile I minded my open mouth and tried not to ogle overmuch, at green hair longer than my own had ever been, and much less unruly, ageless features, but most importantly, the golden orbs that would examine my face and form from time to time in the conversation. His expression never wavered, not even as his words took on a tone of finality.
I felt so nervous…it is the only time in my life, those next two weeks, that I remember ever feeling thus. During the day, everyone in the manor slept. During the night, they lived as I’d known daily life under the sun. Each night, I was ushered to wherever one or both of my Ladies was, and he was there. They spoke over me in their eloquent language, one or both of the Courtesans pausing to smile brightly with reassurance toward me. It was very confusing not knowing what was going on. And worse, after the second week, I was alone. Mystral returned to her patients and charges left behind.
The night of Mystral’s departure, while I bathed, our host, and the Lord of the manor stepped beyond the screen, invading my privacy. I was shocked to open-mouthed silence, but quickly it was dwarfed by the rage of being so rudely walked in on. I leaped of my backside and snatched up my dagger and clutched it tight, holding it close to my body in prepared battle stance that came ever so much more naturally to me than three years of Priestly spells.
His yellow eyes cast light on his face, and little more, even as they narrowed and took in my unclothed state. “You are a guest in my home, M’lady, and I have no reason to harm you. Be at peace.” The moment the velvety smooth common washed over me, I sunk back down into my bath, shocked once more. He smirked, then stared me down until I felt naked, but from within. “You were never meant to be a holy type, child. The remnants of your previous cycle of existence on this world cling too strongly to you.” He rose his hand toward my face, two fingers spread pointing to each of my eyes. “Your soul is Jade Fire. Fire feeds, consumes, with a fury and a passion that will suit you well if you wish to continue on the path chosen for this cycle. You wish to be a Courtesan? I will teach you all I know, but in your heart you are a warrior, and fleshly passions and endless suitors will sate your flesh, but the fires of your soul will not find sustenance.”
And with those fateful words, began my true training.
I am tired, now, and the past clouds the present. When my soul’s lusts are fed, and my thinking faculties clear once more, I will continue my tale.
((Edit!: Post OOC comments in these, so I know what's from you, and what's from your characters and can reply accordingly! Thanks! ~Angel
Windfoot's IC response is in these b/c I was dumb and wrote the wrong thing...durn backwards day I had that day...))
This tale begins on a nondescript farm nestled between the hills in Southern Westfall, and the cliffs overlooking the vast seas. To say how long ago, would give away my age, and that is simply beyond my womanly pride and vanity. I will sate your curiosity only by saying it was before Stormwind was destroyed, and rebuilt. Most of us native to Elwynn and the surrounding areas recall the rebuilding of Stormwind. I recall the smoke of it’s destruction, and the panic that set our family to such a secluded place, for fear or Orcs returning with their maddened rages to slay us one and all.
My father worked hard to raise pigs and sheep, farmed corn in the summers, and pumpkin in the autumn. My Mother was home infrequently, leaving my sister and I to fend for ourselves. It has long, long, been a tradition in our family, that the women become Priestesses when they are of age, and serve selflessly for the Light or a chosen deity until they marry, and then bear children until a girl is brought into the world.
I am three years Ynahla’s elder. For three years I suffered through a pitiful service to the Cathedral. Then, the fateful day came that Mystral, our mother, came home to see her youngest daughter begin her training. Ynahla showed natural talent. I…was a bumbling idiot in the Priestly ways. Our mother decided, “If you want something done well, best to do it yourself.”
For the next two years I traveled with her. Unlike most women of our long legacy, she did not hold to the belief that a wife and mother stays at home. In truth, our father was… It is ill luck to speak poorly of the dead. I will simply say, had I the comprehension then of adult interaction that I do now, I would have been a thousand times less eager to stay and sheer sheep, and cut up our fattest pigs just to survive that winter, and afford clothes that fit, instead of hoping with blind faith my slight frame might grow into other young women’s castoffs, from neighboring farms.
Ynahla was in-love with a neighboring farm boy, so much like our mother, and content to keep her service to the Cathedral, and never far from her beau. I fell in-love with the world, and every new sight and wonder it had to offer. I will never again think of any one place as my home, so much as every place that touches my heart into speeding and steals my breath, as so many on Azeroth have.
Within the first year, we sailed across the ocean—my mother and I—to a completely different continent, into Elven lands. Like Rogues sneaking into a fortress, we left the main ship before land was sighted, and sailed on a much smaller, sleeker ship, with a small party of tall, long-eared, and dye stained folk. Through an enchanting wood, from a dream, we stole as if it were the dark of a new moon’s night, but in the highest arc of the sun over these foreign skies.
We came upon a small band of covered wagons filled with supplies and carriages, pulled by horses, and giant panthers and lizard-looking gigantic reptiles, and surrounded by people of such strange features and statures, my ignorant mind could not comprehend. There were males and females, some dressed lavishly, some in plainclothes, some armored to the teeth, of the Human, Gnome, Dwarven, Elven and even Troll and Tauren nations.
They became my family, and all embraced me with warm and open arms, as the daughter and apprentice to the Priestess, or Shaman, that cared for their band of Mercenaries, Outcasts, Harlots, Courtesans. This was my awakening to the world, and to womanhood—unprejudiced, except toward Orcs, who at the time, ravished our world, under a bloodlust not originating from their own kind, but from the same insidious foes that threatened the rest of our world.
For a number of months, Mystral and I traveled with them, sending letters to and from my sister, always letting her know with our signatures, where our next letters might be sent for us to fetch. Our mixed caravan traveled most of the known world, every place that was hospitable to humanoid form, and a few that were not. Always, we broke camp a day’s travel outside of any settlement or city. Those of our band welcomed in that place left our camps, and went to find work, and supplies for the next league of our journey. Those of us not safe to be within sight of a place, kept the fires stoked, and looked forward to new goodies, fresh fruits, clothing, weapons, armor, etcetera that we would not have acquired from settlements more hospitable to our own races.
It was after the first year when the cloth of holiness was ripped over my head and stomped into the dirt a half dozen times…and a few angered swats with a mace added for good measure. I’d suffered through my mother’s tutoring, barely able to manage more than simple bandages for healing, and a pitiful sight with spells and incantations begging power from the Light, and the Elven Goddess, Elune, that my mother had come to call her own, alike.
Irony of ironies, it was the two, lovely, graceful, and demure Night Elven Courtesans who stepped forward to accept responsibility for me. Surprisingly enough, my mother seemed well-pleased. You may believe me or not, that is your choice…I am well aware that the Night Elves, unlike their Cousins, the High Elves, chose to seclude themselves from most of the world, and, as of now, have only interacted with humans and the rest of the “lesser” races for the past half a decade or so. However, anyone holding fiercely to the ignorant belief that no Night Elves ever left their sacred lands and explored the world in all our history, since when the Burning Legion first stole upon our world, well…I do not wish to insult the intelligence of my fellows. Things that are…simply ARE, whether one is ignorant of it by circumstance, or chooses to ignore it. Moving along…
The rest of that second year was spent being taught a myriad things, some of which were how to draw up patterns for clothing, so that the fabric might lay against my body in the most appealing manners only, for my unique figure. As womanhood truly blossomed, Ashaklaih, and Ellouree, my new teachers, praised the blessing of abundance that I was gifted with. I was taught to sing, and to dance, hundreds of songs, and a hundred dances, with ribbons, fans, and so on. I began to learn languages, and despite my earnest desire to pick up Darnassian, it was a soft of unspoken taboo that the Courtesans were not willing to teach me. Perhaps the greatest of all things that I was taught, was how to properly use daggers for defense and deflection and the true dance it was, and when Mystral and my Ladies were away from the camp, a warrior Merc play-fought with me, sword and shield.
At the end of that second year, my mother, my Ladies, and myself broke off from the camp with a small, heavily armored escort. Along the way, all three of them scrambled to don robes and adornments of such lavish quality I could have trapped a swarm of bees in my open mouth. I still remember what it was to don those pristine white robes, with a lilac trimming, and embroidery so intricate that the fabric seemed stiff, despite how silky smooth it had felt against my skin. I was given a hairpiece with a crescent moon, like a muted likeness of the Courtesans’ headpieces, not the simple cloth band that covered Mystral’s forehead. It was, perhaps my first true realization that the path I had chosen to take would not be like any in our illustrious, and humble family’s history had known.
We came to a large structure, not far from where Silverwing Refuge sits today in Ashenvale, and were greeted by a small party of servant-types, a meal, lounging chairs, and the prompt promise of hand-drawn baths. After hunger and thirst had been satisfied, and we were all bathed—us four in baths alongside one another only partitioned by folding screens—and clothed once more in our fantastic garb, we were finally greeted by the host of the…not-so-humble abode.
It was the first time I had ever seen a male Night Elf. The women are of much slighter frame, wispy, put next to a male. My first thought was that the only person I’d ever seen taller had been the Tauren warrior who trained me in swordplay. In their beautiful native tongue, my Ladies and he exchanged words, that sounded to my foreign ears like poetry, or song. Meanwhile I minded my open mouth and tried not to ogle overmuch, at green hair longer than my own had ever been, and much less unruly, ageless features, but most importantly, the golden orbs that would examine my face and form from time to time in the conversation. His expression never wavered, not even as his words took on a tone of finality.
I felt so nervous…it is the only time in my life, those next two weeks, that I remember ever feeling thus. During the day, everyone in the manor slept. During the night, they lived as I’d known daily life under the sun. Each night, I was ushered to wherever one or both of my Ladies was, and he was there. They spoke over me in their eloquent language, one or both of the Courtesans pausing to smile brightly with reassurance toward me. It was very confusing not knowing what was going on. And worse, after the second week, I was alone. Mystral returned to her patients and charges left behind.
The night of Mystral’s departure, while I bathed, our host, and the Lord of the manor stepped beyond the screen, invading my privacy. I was shocked to open-mouthed silence, but quickly it was dwarfed by the rage of being so rudely walked in on. I leaped of my backside and snatched up my dagger and clutched it tight, holding it close to my body in prepared battle stance that came ever so much more naturally to me than three years of Priestly spells.
His yellow eyes cast light on his face, and little more, even as they narrowed and took in my unclothed state. “You are a guest in my home, M’lady, and I have no reason to harm you. Be at peace.” The moment the velvety smooth common washed over me, I sunk back down into my bath, shocked once more. He smirked, then stared me down until I felt naked, but from within. “You were never meant to be a holy type, child. The remnants of your previous cycle of existence on this world cling too strongly to you.” He rose his hand toward my face, two fingers spread pointing to each of my eyes. “Your soul is Jade Fire. Fire feeds, consumes, with a fury and a passion that will suit you well if you wish to continue on the path chosen for this cycle. You wish to be a Courtesan? I will teach you all I know, but in your heart you are a warrior, and fleshly passions and endless suitors will sate your flesh, but the fires of your soul will not find sustenance.”
And with those fateful words, began my true training.
I am tired, now, and the past clouds the present. When my soul’s lusts are fed, and my thinking faculties clear once more, I will continue my tale.
((Edit!: Post OOC comments in these, so I know what's from you, and what's from your characters and can reply accordingly! Thanks! ~Angel
Windfoot's IC response is in these b/c I was dumb and wrote the wrong thing...durn backwards day I had that day...))