Not Polite To Stare

glare

“Nice robes, hot stuff,” Kaliandra Mal’ashan commented with a grin. “Planning on seducing yourself some Scarlet boys?”

Cocking her jaw to one side, Taetra Sorrowstar levelled an icy glare on her best friend.

“Shut your mouth,” she snarled.

“Just walked in and picked the bustiest thing you could find, did you?”

They were standing at the entrance of the expansive library wing of the Scarlet Monastery, and with a group of the zealous humans standing only a few feet away, Taetra was in no mood to draw early attention to themselves, especially with her much more experienced sister still outside.

“They’re cute,” Kaliandra murmured, still going on about the new robe Taetra had picked up. It certainly wasn’t the rampant tomboy’s style, but as an aspiring Warlock she had to take any help she could get, and while the apperance offended her, she couldn’t argue with the magickal properties imbued into the smooth fabric. “Even you could find a man in these.”

“Get off it,” Taetra muttered, slapping her friend’s hand away.

“A woman, then?” Kaliandra suggested, and burst into laughter at the shocked, speechless expression that crossed Taetra’s face. Behind them, Saelym finally slipped through the door, her owl Baptyst at her side, and glanced sidelong at the girls.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing!” Taetra yelped before Kaliandra could open her mouth.

“Sure, sure,” Saelym replied, unconvinced. She edged to the corner of the short hall and pressed her hand to the stone, using her second-sight to locate the humans around the corner. “Ah, there they are,” she murmured, and when she glanced over her shoulder at the two girls, raised an eyebrow slightly. “Are those new robes?”

Whisper Quiet

whisper quiet

It was a quiet night in Shattrath, the cool hours after the taverns closed and even the beggars and refugees turned in for their night’s rest. The warm air was alive with the murmur-buzz of crickets and the distant sounds of the arakkoa cackling back and forth, and to the trained ear, the even further sounds of the wailing souls that wandered outside the shattered dome of Auchindoun.

They were sitting near the battlemasters, idly shining their weapons and unwinding after a long day in the Alterac Mountains. After checking the tautness of her bowstring for the tenth time, and finally satisfied that it was, in fact, to her standards, Saelym laid the weapon beside her and looked up at her companion.

“Ready to call it a night?” she asked, fully expecting Fallapart to be eager to return to the Aldor Rise for a meal and some sleep. The young Undead, however, seemed lost in thought, her eyes distant, staring up the passageway to the upper portion of the city into the cloudy night sky.

Just A Suggestion…

partners

The air in the void was cold, below-freezing – their breath puffed out in white clouds and their skin chafed against cold armor and cloth. Still, the adventurers of Nox Natus Iterim were not deterred. They’d come for the head of Malygos, and the head of Malygos they would secure.

Having never visited the dragon lord’s lair, Saelym was uncomfortable, and it showed – normally talkative with her fellow guildmates, she sat alone near the outer ring of the prepatory platform, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the others prepare for battle.

“Mmm, Northrend’s truly frozen over the day you stop babbling,” Eternalash commented idly as he dropped to the stone floor beside her, chewing away on some conjured food. He offered her the half-eaten goods and she shook her head, not meeting his somewhat amused gaze. “Going to lose your head over a silly dragon?”

“No,” she muttered.

“You’d be as bad as Vash.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mmm.” He gazed up to Malygos’ swooping form, watching the dragon weave slowly over the small group of raiders, and his bony features widened into a grin. “I could probably grip him from here, you know.”

“Eternal…”

“Would be fun.”

“No. No, it would not.”

Catch Your Breath

pausing

Moraena was one of the Blood Elves that reminded you why they were such a proud, strong race, and why they’d been able to overcome hardships to rebuild their culture despite their crippling magickal addiction. Strong-willed and sharp-tongued, the young Priest-in-training had razor wit and a cold stare that shook me to my roots whenever she levelled it on me.

Thankfully, more often than not it was directed at her companion, Saelym, who was giving her young friend a tour of Zul’Farrak, the two of them culling the resident Troll population (from what I gathered, in my many conversations with Saelym, it was one of her favorite hobbies). I encountered the two while doing some stealth photography in the sandy city, and we chatted for some time before they moved on, leaving arrow-ridden and shadow-blasted bodies in their wake.

Kavin

resting

A Blood Elf House on the outskirts of Eversong requested a collection of landscape shots, to be used as references for some artwork. I wasn’t too keen on spending so much time in such an overpopulated area, and certainly not happy about giving up creative license without even near-adequate payment, but as always, some gold is better than none and my need to eat won out over my pride.

It was in Eversong, near the fringes of the Ghostlands, that I met Kavin. I’ve seen few Trolls on my journeys, and fewer still in the colorful fall splendor of the Blood Elf homeland, but there he was, plain as day (and sticking out like a sore thumb).

He didn’t have much to say to me, though when he spoke it was in the lilting tongue of the Sindorei. And despite the fact he seemed annoyed with me following him, he did allow one shot as he rested, before he stalked off again in the direction of Silvermoon.

The Stormspire

stormspire

While working in Outland, the freelance field-office of sorts where I stayed was located inside Shattrath, which made sense as it was such a central hub of activity. However, it meant that I rarely got a chance to travel to the far reaches of Outland’s decimated landscapes – either I was holed up in the city, snapping portraits of adventurers at the Dark Portal, or doing local tours of problem spots like Auchindoun with mercenaries for hire looking for action shots for their portfolio.

Netherstorm, in all its beauty, is a place I got so few shots of. Most of my collection was gathered in a small amount of time, and usually through a quick fly-by.

This is perhaps my favorite shot of the energy-rich territory. The Stormspire, home to the jewel-hungry Consortium cartel, felt instantly like a home away from home, but my stay there was so quick I can barely recall it.

The Warbringer

warbringer

The air dry and heavy with electricity that made the fine hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Ripples of energy twisted and turned in the air, creating great ribbons of light that played tricks on the eye and distracted the senses.

She stood alone at the entrance of the Blood Elf tower, the battlefield stretched out before her, the ground littered with skeletons, weapons, and the burnt discharge of magick. Distantly, the sounds of warfare echoed back to her, the clash of blades and armor as the Alliance and Horde faced off for control of the area. For the time being, she was ignored, but with every minute that passed she became more consciously aware of just how vulnerable she was. With a quick glance in either direction, she twisted bands of magick in her palms and threw down a flare, the area around her feet instantly glowing with flickering orange light.

“Scared?” asked the voice of her hidden companion.

“Cautious.”

“You reek of fear.”

“It’ll wash off.” She felt the air twist around her, Fallapart’s form illuminated briefly by the flare’s light before it sputtered and died. Frowning, Saelym twisted another into existence and tossed it to her feet. “Any sign of them?”

“Three coming from the road.” Fallapart’s voice moved away as she scouted the perimeter. “Hunter. Shaman. And a Warrior, I think.” The Rogue chuckled. “I like Shamans.”

Reaching to her back, Saelym pulled free her crossbow and held it ready at her hip, her fingers tracing the smooth shaft of the bolt already locked in place.

“Two on three,” she murmured, and a coy grin touched her pale features. “Good odds.”

Spotlight

spotlight

“Back in this forsaken place,” Saelym muttered as she slumped to the ground, her back against the cold stone wall, jerking open the flap on her backpack. “Second time this week, can’t people get the -”

“Complaining again?” said a voice from in front of her. Saelym raised her eyes and for a moment, caught a glimpse of a face in the shadows before it vanished again. She huffed, blowing her bangs from her face.

“Stop skulking around,” she told the Rogue. A raspy laugh answered her.

“S’what I do best,” Fallapart replied, and brushed so closely by Saelym’s arm that she could feel the air ripple, yet still could not see her. “What’s the matter, scared of dragons?”

“No, that’s Vash’s deal,” Saelym replied, pointing to the quivering mass of Druid that huddled behind one of the dusty bookcases, as if the wood would protect him from the ghost-like, shimmering beast they called Netherspite that patrolled the outer edge of the room. “I’m just tired and frustrated.”

“Silly warm bloods,” Fallapart mused.

“Brave girl, to say that when I can’t see you,” Saelym muttered, and as she rummaged in her bag she felt her hand touched a warm orb. Curious, she cleared the clutter away until she could see it clearly, and while it took her a moment she eventually recognized it – she’d been given the orb by one of the elders she’d visited during the holiday. A cunning smile crept across her face as she looked around for the ripple of air that betrayed the Rogue’s movement. With a flick of her wrist, the glass orb sailed through the air and shattered on the floor, instantly bathing Fallapart in a beam of pure moonlight.

“Oh hey, look, Fall’s here!” Vashfontane yelled, drawing the attention of the other raiders, all of which voiced their own surprise that the Rogue was among their ranks. Fallapart, startled by the sudden attention, turned a glowing-eyed glare on Saelym, who was too busy quickly stuffing her Super Snapper back into her pack.

Ice Cold

ice cold

A raid leader by the name of Blades recruited me to do some photoshoots inside Naxxramas with him not long after I’d returned to Dalaran to begin working on my memoir. I hadn’t much intention to go back into the field after the years I’d spent out, but since Dragonblight wasn’t far away and I was once again in need of money, I ventured along.

Rather than a guild of seasoned raiders, they were a ragtag group of misfits, a collection of guildmates and unguided adventurers that had braved Naxxramas together. One of them, a quiet Hunter by the name of Saelym Sorrowstar, seemed rather irritated to be on the opposite end of the snapper and went out of her way to avoid me. I only managed one shot of her, a quick capture in Sapphiron’s Lair, standing at ready for the call of her raid leader.

Mountains High

mountains high

“Oh sweet, look at the sky up here!” Industrial exclaimed, pushing his agitated and exhausted zhevra to the edge of the cliff that overlooked all of Howling Fjord. “We’re hundreds of miles up, you know!”

“Hundreds, I’m sure,” Saelym said with a sigh, inspecting the tips of the arrows that Industrial had knocked loose from her quiver. “Are you ready to go?”

“Take my picture!”

“Take your… Indi, I’ve taken probably ten of you already.”

“But my zhevra looks -”

“If you brag about that damn horse one more time I will -”

“It’s a ZHEVRA!” Industrial bellowed, his deep Tauren voice echoing like thunder. He clapped his dark-furred hands. “Take my picture!”

Sighing, Saelym raised the Super Snapper to eye level, backing up until she could fit the looming Tauren and his mount into the screen.

“Alright,” she said, listening to the components hum inside the dented box. “That’s the last one, you’re costing me a fortune in parchment for this -”

“OH WOW!” Industrial cheered. “This rock is even higher!” He jostled the zhevra onto a higher rocky hill, the animal’s thin legs struggling to maintain footing under his weight. “This is a better one, take my picture here Sae!”

With the sigh of a martyr, Saelym glanced over her shoulder at her massive albino drake that crouched about twenty feet away, casually grinding its claws against the rocks.

“You can eat him, you know,” she told the beast, that tilted its head to the side to regard her with an expression strangely like a grin. “I won’t tell.”