Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Steven NollesMale/Netherlands Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
Needs Premium Membership
Statistics 98 Deviations 104 Comments 2,936 Pageviews

Newest Deviations




:iconmendreyn: :iconworldspinning: :iconaurae-inferna: :iconkvdolan: :iconshaykamui: :iconsayoruu: :iconcynicalbutter: :iconremwaa:



It has been years since the Horde and Alliance drove Cho'gall out of his little fortress in the sky, his 'Bastion of Twilight'. Cho'gall had been a fool if he thought he could hold out long enough. His foes were heroes, the people who brought down C'thun in Silithus; defeated Illidan in his own home, the Black Temple; sent Kil'jaeden back to the Twisting Nether, or so it is believed; defeated the Lich Kel'thuzad once and for all; braved Ulduar and defeated an Old God and its corrupted wardens; and released the world from the Lich King's grasp.
This did not mean, however, that Emizuna would have the peace she needed to continue her research. All around her the remnants of the Twilight's Hammer, and the combined forces of the Horde and Alliance clashed. She had to relocate her lab several times, ultimately holing up in a small crag in the Elementium Depths. She hid this place expertly utilizing her Shadow Magic, something that earned her exile from the Draenei.
The Draenei, or Exiled Ones. She laughed. “An exile amongst exiles. How times have changed, Emi.” rumbling all around her notified that the fighting had shifted to the Depths. “Nothing lasts forever, it would seem. You have to admit that the Twilight's Hammer has been quite a handful for the soldiers of the Horde and Alliance. Oh well, might as well start packing.”
At that point she felt a sensation, something that prickled her senses attuned to Shadow Magic. It came from the north, and was very powerful. “That was interesting, and new.” she said as she turned north, “But also ominous at the same time. It might be worth investigating.”
A large tremor knocked her off her hooves, she hit the ground hard, spraining her left ankle. “Curse these fools!” She summoned a Shadowfiend, “Gather my belongings, hurry! I must get out of here before the Alliance and Horde trap, or otherwise bury, me here.” The Shadowfiend scurried off and collected whatever was left of Emizuna'z vials, her books, notes and other belongings. Emizuna herself crawled to her staff, leaning against a stalagmite, got up, and limped to her table just as she Shadowfiend vanished.
She grabbed her bag and started moving towards her hidden entrance when a Twilight Hammer Cultist stumbled inside, looking aghast. Emizuna grunted, “Oh great! More delays. Out of my way, she-Orc.” and she whacked the Cultist in the head, leaving her to fall unconsciously to the floor. “Cultists are apparently useless. Makes one wonder why they even exist.” As she exited her cove, she could see boedies littered everywhere, from each faction there was an abundance. This might just be the Twilight Hammer's last stand. The Depths are a dead-end. She chuckled, Pun not intended.
The moment Emizuna stepped outside she was greeted by sunlight, not so strong as to blind someone when coming from complete darkness, but light enough to blur vision for a short while. The highlands did not get their name for nothing, and judging from the shadows it was noon.
“Get back, ya bugger!” Emizuna heard a Dwarf shout.
“No, you get back!” an Orc shouted back.
“All ye dirty Horde mongrels want is war! Don't think we've forgiven ya fer Southshore!”
Southshore? Emizuna thought, Has that quaint little village at last fallen to the Horde? A shame. I quite liked it there.
“That was not our doing. Blame rattlebone and his kin here.” Emizuna saw clear enough that a hapless Forsaken soldier was pushed forward.
“You filthy Greenskin! When Lady Sylv-” the Forsaken was abruptly shot.
“Damn rotters, they should never have come back!” the Orc spat on the Forsaken's corpse.
“Gulfer, I truly do not believe that was wise. If Garrosh hears of this, he'll-” a Tauren spoke, clearly the voice of reason within the group, before being cut off by Gulfer.
“Shut up, steak! Garrosh is the Warchief now, and he ordered this. This Forsaken, Ulfern, used the Plague on these cultists. Not that they didn't deserve it, but it is forbidden by our Warchief's law.”
“How are you so sure he-”
“I was at the Wrathgate. I saw what happens to the living when they get into contact with it. My brother and sister died there.”
“I am sorry, captain. Still, I do believe Ulfern deserved fair trial. He could still be used for the good of the Horde.”
Gulfer laughed heartily, “I am the good of the Horde! Look at our enemies, how they stand frozen.” He pointed at the Alliance, “They fear u-”
Gulfer twitched as Emizuna made a crude gesture, as if gripping his throat. She turned her hand counter clockwise in a slow fashion, seeing the Orc drop to his nees, gasping for air and his face in pain. Silly, silly Orc. She thought, Remorselessnes deserves a remorseless reply.
The Horde forces stepped back in awe as they saw their captain twitch and turn, his face twisting from anger, to agony, to pain, to fear, untill it finally rested in that state. The Horde forces surrendered and dropped their weapons, some running off into the hills.
The Alliance cheered, “Victoreh, boys!” the Dwarven captain shouted, “But.. who did that?” Emizuna was in no way prepared to make a show of herself, so she tried to slip through the shadows.
“O'er there, sir!” a soldier yelled, “There's som'one in the shadows!”
Emizune swiftly turned, all eyes fixed on her. She could feel their gazes burning into her, their judging looks.
“Ya ain't a Cultist, lass. What be ye?” the captain asked.
“I'm no foe, that's for sure. Yet an ally I am not either. I am on my own, and your fighting has driven me from many of my homes. And now you have driven me from the highlands all-together.” They did not need to know she was leaving for different reasons, but Emizuna liked rubbing such guilt into the faces of unwilling victims. “So, if you'll excuse me, I must go. I have granted you a victory over the Horde, haven't I?” the captain was speechless, she could see it.
She waved and walked, only to stumble and curse under her breath. “Yer hurt? How'd tha' happen?” the Dwarf asked. Emizuna cussed again, And now he's gone all soft on you. How delightfull. “Come wit´ us. We´ll patch ye up at Highbank. We've excelent medics!” She could profit from it. These soldiers, equiped as they are, would only take half a day's march towards their fort. She nodded. “Great! Do ye have a name, miss?”
“Emi”, she told the captain, and they were off.
Anima - Emizuna (Ch.3)
A new day, a new chapter!
Here we have Emizuna, an Exile amongst Exiles, so to speak. Want to know why, and what she's up to? Read, and enjoy!


“Are you reading again?” Selyria asked. “Is it that book about the Red Dragon Flight again?”
Lynn shook her head and laughed. “No, it is not. It's a book about Druidism; yes, I read those too.” She closed her book and stood up with a grace only Elves could accomplish. “Is there anything I could do for you, ma'am?”
Selyria shook her head. “No. I was merely curious as to what you were up to. Many of your fellow Druids here fear.. you still long for adventure, like you used to. And don't call me ma'am, it makes me feel old.”
“Are you referring to when I traveled through broken Outlands, and the frigid wastes of Northrend?” Lynn shrugged. “I'm not even sure myself. After witnessing what Fel Magic has led to; the continued deterioration of Outlands, the rise of the Undead, I don't know if I'm up for that anymore. Right now we have our hands full with Deathwing wreaking havoc all over Azeroth, and everyone's helping in their own way. Like us: Restoring the Plaguelands to their former glory back when it was all Lordaeron.” Lynn sighed, looking up into the sky, viewing corrupted birds. “And yet, we can not do anything for the wildlife, can we?”
Selyria placed a hand on Lynn's shoulder. “Whatever we do impacts the world around us. Right now it may all look bleak, unsavable, but in time all can be saved. Eons ago, Druids only knew how to bend roots and make flowers bloom faster, and look at what we can do now! That research you're doing, it's setting steps into motion that could help us learn new things, learn of new ways for us to help.”
Lynn looked at the Worgen with a questioning look on her face. “What do you mean?”
“Every Druid has theories, “ Selyria said, “And these Druids write them down. When said druids convey their ideas to one-another, these theories can develop or diminish. And thus we learn. Have you come up with any theories of late?”
Lynn shook her head. Nothing had to come to her, as of late. She knew what she wanted, and that was to cure the wildlife, but not how to cure it.
“No matter, “ Selyria said, ”Theories take time to develop. Come, we head east, to the Thondroril River. The woods there are still corrupt.”
“Let me just gather my things, and I'll see you there. Alright?”
“Alright. Don't take too long.” And Selyria was off.
It left Lynn to think while backing her belongings. It was almost half-a-day away from the Menders Stead to Thondroril, so she sadly did not have the luxury of taking it slow. While packing her bags, she found a book from back in the days when she was still an apprentice Druid under Danandran, a Druid of the Fang. How he scoffed and lecturer her about such books. “Dragons, demons and other such nonsense will not be abided under my supervision, young lady!” he always said. “You are a Druid, a mender, a shapeshifter, one with nature, not an empty-minded adventurer.”
Lynn chuckled. She could still feel the thump of Danandran's cane hitting her on the back of the head when she tried to sneak in some 'unabided' reading, during his lessons. He wanted to train her for Northrend, to aid the Cenarion Circle's expedition there; Prefferably to research Sholazar Basin's oddities and mystique flora and fauna.
He never managed to prepare her, as he had to leave early, which was mostly her fault, she thought. “If only I had been a better student.” she muttered under her breath, tears welling up in her eyes. “Then you might still be here. I still haven't mastered my Feral form, like you wanted me to. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.” She wiped away her tears. She didn't want people to see her like this; she was stronger than this. I survived Azeroth, Outlands and Northrend. I am strong. She thought.
“Are ya leavin', Lynn?” Zen'kiki asked as he approached her, waving his long, slim arms as he walked. “I wish I could go wit ya! But I don' even 'ave propa aimin'. Adrine be wantin' me ta practice on da infected wildlife, but I don't want ta hurt dem.”
“I understand, Zen'kiki. You're good of heart, and don't you change.”
Zen'kiki saluted. “Ya got it, mon! I practice on spiders and Undead instead. Ah, da Scourge, I be meanin'!” Zen'kiki gave an awkward glance towards Damian Steel, the Undead Death Knight, at the Stead under orders of Koltira Deathweaver, to recruit any Horde forced for the battle of Andorhal. The Death Knight simply glared, and looked away.
“I know many Undead have trouble showing emotions, besides hate, anger and scorn, but this guy freaked me out the day he got here.” Lynn whispered to Zen'kiki, who only nodded in approval, afraid he might anger the Death Knight. “Ah, but I digress. I still have things to pack; who knows what sort of interestingly new flora I come across this region now that it's restored?”
“Ya always had a knack for makin' potions. Delicious and good for ya health, too!”
Lynn laughed. The Troll had become a great friend during her time here. He was a clutz at times, but a goodhearted and honest one, at that.
“Stay safe, and practice well, Zen'kiki. You'll do great!” And with that, Lynn was off. It was already starting to dusk by that time, and she paced, hoping to win a few hours of time. The eastern part of what was still called the Western Plaguelands was no pleasant place in the dark. Why there was no morning-expedition, she did not know. All around her the songs of evening-birds began to emerge, and the soft ticking of spider-legs hitting hard dirt. “Spiders are the worst.” she said to herself. “Creepy crawlies!” She jumped when an owl flew low, right in ront of her, releasing a small yelp. She hoped she did not attract any attention to herself.
Several hours later, when the sun was barely over the distant mountains of the Tirisfal Glades, she reached Gahrron's Withering. She knew she was close, but not in the clear yet. This was one of the few places still being haunted by the Scourge and their masters directly from Scholomance. So long as she did not yet make out Thondroril Bridge, she had to hurry.
She heard twigs snapping to her right. She froze, looked, and saw shadowy figures moving between the trees. One of them looked at her with red, glowing eyes; its twisted posture twitching uncontrollably, when it suddenly started moving towards her. Lynn grabbed for her staff. No! Where is it? She thought as she looked around, only to see it was out of her reach with the rest of her belongings. I've never fought without it. What am I to do?
Lynn looked around frantically; the only spells she knew were benevolent, and the harmfull spells she did know would be useless without that staff. Master, help me! The creature jumped out from the shadows, a Ghoul whom's face was split in the middle, the right side hanging loosely from small pieces of sinew, bones sticking out of places, and a frightening guttural roar was all Lynn could hear and see. The Ghoul leaped, Lynn braced herself, and then nothing happened.
“Lynn!” the voice was faded, but somehow familiar. She looked around, the world blurred, heart racing. “Lynn!” The voice called again. To her right she saw some four-legged creature with a mohawk, growling heavily, beating up the Ghoul that assaulted her before. She then felt a hand touching her shoulder. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she snapped.
“Don't you dare touch me!” She screamed as she jumped to her feet and felt a transformation. Her hands and feet transformed into claws, her skin grew soft patches of fur until it covered her entire body, and her long, pointy ears became smaller, but kept the pointyness. Her mouth twisted, protruded, and became a maw full of long, sharp teeth. She roared and pounced, pinning Selyria to the ground.
“Whoa, girl! Relax, now.” Selyria said, astonishment in her eyes. “Looks like you finally managed to get the hang of your Feral form, eh?”
Lynn looked at her paws. She growled. I can't speak in this form?
“You look shocked. Listen, I headed back towards the Menders stead because we need assistance. A large force of Scourge has been sighted in the distance by our arial scout, and it is heading this way. We have to hold the bridge, but we're not with enough people. You head there and I will take Terijaki, that Troll Druid who's maiming the Ghoul over there, to gather reïnforcements. With any luck, we should make it in time.”
Lynn transformed back into her Night Elven form. “But- what- how?” She asked startled. “A large force of Scourge? Is this a new plague?”
Selyria shook her head as she stood up, brushing off the dust from her breaches. “We don't know. Whatever it is, or can possibly be, it's bad. Go, Terijaki and I will be fine. You're a mender, a manipulator of nature. They need you to help bolster defences and heal the injured if need be. You can buy time, should we not make it in time. Now go!”
Lynn could do nothing other than nod, pick up her belongings, and run as swift as she could. She thought back on events of Northrend. The Wrath Gate primarily. “No. Not again! No more death, no more suffering!” She yelled as she ran. It did not take her very long to reach Thondroril, but as she did, she could see them.
The Scourge was near, just barely on the horizon. Serylia would not make it back in time.
Anima - Lynn (Ch.2)
The story continues, introducing a new character: Lynn. Get familiar with her in this chapter.

Happy reading!


“Eat, my pets. You must grow strong!” Vysto said to his hounds, throwing fresh limbs into their cages. The hounds ravaged their dinner with wild abandon, as if they hadn't eaten in days. It was something Vysto loved to watch on slow, dull days. “If it wasn't for you, my sweets, I would probably convert back to the Light.” Vysto laughed heartily at that remark. “Oh! I kill myself, sometimes.”
“Massster..” a voice from the shadows spoke. “I have returned with newsss..”
“Speak then, Klax. Endulge me.” Vysto replied calmly.
“The tunnel hasss been breached.”
“Again?!” Vysto erupted into such anger, that his hounds stopped eating and retreated into the corners furthest away from their master. “How hard can it be for you Nerubians, master tunnel-diggers, to hold a small, narrow pass through the western cliffs?”
“My apologiesss massster.. The Argent Dawn and adventurersss are no easssy.. foesss..”
Vysto shrugged. “Whatever am I to do with you, Klax? The Lich King, the Nether hold his.. well, he had no soul, did he? In any case, the Lich King put you under my command to aid me into holding the Plaguewood. That was years ago, and each year you fail me at least once a week. Be glad I am a patient man, Klax, otherwise you would have been replaced a multitude of times.”
“Patient hardly dessscribesss your.. persssonality, massster.” Klax humbly said, taking a bow in the process.
“Don't think that such compliments humble me, creature. Be off, and do a better job this time. For all I care you collapse the entirety of the tunnel.”
“But, massster.. The essscape route?”
Vysto shrugged. “We still have the path through the southern mountains, if anything happens. Besides, it'd be a tactical flaw and victory. The Argents are no longer able to get reinforcements through that tunnel, allowing us te re-capture Terrordale and the Plaguewood Tower. Yes, I rather like that idea. Go forth and make it happen.” Klax bowed and left, leaving Vysto to continue the feeding of his hounds. “You'll do a much better job than that silly spider, won't you?” The hounds barked, the sound they made guttural and very far from an actual bark, capturing Vysto in a trance, beholding his beauties.
The rattle of bones snapped Vysto back to Azeroth. “Who goes there?”
A strange, half-warped, chilling and emotionless voice answered in the accent of a Troll. “I be Zab'in Frostclaw. One o' da few Death Knight loyal to da true scourge, and not de usurpa' on da trone.”
“A Death Knight, you say? Interesting. Take off your helmet so that I may judge you.” Vysto replied, his curiosity taking the best of him. But the Death Knight would not comply. “Ser Death Knight, I asked you to take off your helm. You are in the presence of the Lord of the Plaguewoods, Vysto Oakbeard.”
The Death Knight chuckled, or whatever dark-form of laughter it was. “'Oakbeard'? Dat be no Human name, mon! Ya be askin' me ta show ma true face, an' here ya be, hidin' yer own.”
“I have nothing to hide.” Vysto said in a calm manner, stepping closer to Zab'in. “I was found by Dwarves when I was an infant. They raised me, adopted me, and gave me quite  a pleasant life.” Vysto sighed. Somewhere he missed his parents; but those were feelings for weak mortals. Something he was no longer. “I left for an adventure when I was eighteen cycles old, happening upon the Argent Dawn and joining their Priesthood.”  Vysto started pacing the chamber, Zab'in's eyes fixed on him. “And then the Lich King's armies invaded. You know, the 'Knights of the Ebon Hold' and their forces.”
Zab'in scoffed. “Dey be traitors! Dey 'elped in da demise of our King!”
“So they did. I was nearly killed in that fight, you know. Were you there? Quite a frightening experience to behold. Undead looming over you, ready to take your life, your soul.” Vysto raised his hands in the air, mimicing a prayer. “And then came mighty, holy, and strong Tirion to save the day! And my life with it.” Vysto's hands came down slowly, and he clenched them into fists, his fingernails digging into his flesh, small droplets of blood falling to the floor. His tone turned to that of rage, his face clearly showing anger and resentment. “And that is when I lost all hope in the Light.” Vysto then looked up, smiled broadly and turned to the Death Knight. “And now I'm here! Ruling over this magical forest, awaiting the return of the True Scourge. And what's your story?”
“I be sent 'ere by Baroness Mepfiste, ta take over ya place. She 'as won fair fights against da strongest remainin' leaders of da True Scourge and taken command afta' many months of bein' a leaderless faction.”
Vysto's face flushed. “T-take over?! Preposterous! And 'strongest amongst..'? Rediculous! If that were true, I'd be there! The Lich King himself made me ruler of these lands!”
Zab'in drew his sword. “Da lady also be wantin a pure Scourge. No livin', only Undead!” He lunged towards Vysto, whom only barely managed to sidestep the slash of the Death Knight's weapon. “Ya can not escape me, mon!”
“Oh, you just watch!” Vysto exclaimed, taking on a serious posture. He made a complicated hand gesture, and became a shade. “You see, when I abandoned the Light I embraced the Shadow. But not the kind the Forsaken Shadow Priests maintain. No, I maintain a higher form of this power!” Vysto shot a volley of Shadow Bolts at Zab'in, simply by flicking his fingers. The Troll received the full brunt, not even getting enough time to cast Magic Barrier.
“You be a wicked person, mon! But ya still only human!” Zab'in lunged once more, but this time slashed in a wide arc, rather than an overhead one, slashing Vysto's left arm, leaving a deep wound.
“That hurt, you know! But no matter, 't is but a scratch! All I have to do is-” a sudden surge of pain shot through Vysto's arm. Looking at it, the wound was festering, infecting. “No.” Vysto said, fear visible in his expression. “A new plague?”
Zab'in laughed. “An' ya be infected! Ya will cease ta exist! No undeath for ya!”
“Think again.” Vysto said as he prepared a spell and quickly cast it just above the infected part of his arm, severing it, the cut-off piece still being infected further as it fell onto the ground with a thump. “I.. I am not just.. any sort of.. Shadow Priest..” he said with a rasping voice, biting back the pain. “I am half-undead, half-mortal.. I still have a soul, though weakened, but I can also tap.. into the powers of the Undead!” Vysto drew a magic-circle in the sky, and applied it to his arm.
“And what good be dat doin'? Ya cut off ya own arm!” Zab'in said with smugness.
“Oh.. but that is where you, my friend.. are wrong. Just wait.. and watch..” No sooner had Vysto said those words when he collapsed on his knees, a terrible pain coursing through his body. From his wound, where once his arm was, his flesh was bubbling, protruding and growing.
“What manner of powa' be dis?!” Zab'in exclaimed in wonder.
But Vysto was unable to answer, the pain being too much. New bone formed, and around it muscle and flesh, until he once more had a full arm and a functioning hand.
“And that.. my dear Knight.. is the extent of my power. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a property to defend.” Vysto turned his back on Zab'in and walked towards the exit of the Slaughterhouse when a Ghoul appeared in the opening. And another, until a large group barged Vysto's way, who in turn let out a chuckle. “My dear Knight, have you not learned anything?” he made a 'tsk' sound, “And these regalia? Why do you think I don this hood, fanged-skull mask, and ice-blue with black robe? Surely that should give away I am no simple cultist. But as you wish. Watch as your precious Ghouls </i>evaporate</i>!” Vysto flung his restored arm into the air, made a few gestures, and pointed at one of the Ghouls, marking his target. This Ghoul started writhing in pain, screaming and dropping to the floor, evaporating into a dark-purple mist slowly and painfully, infecting the Ghouls around it. In mere seconds the halls of the Slaughterhouse were filled with the screams of pained Ghouls, waiting to be evaporated, and all Zab'in could do was watch in anger.
“Ya be makin' a great prize for da Baroness! Face me, mon!” Zab'in shouted as he took an offensive stance.
“Oh fine. You want to play? Come play.” A battle erupted. Sword clashed against shadowy-barrier and shadow-spells agains magic-barriers. The two were evenly matched; Releasing a volley of Shadow Bolts, Vysto quickly turned to Shadow Words for his offence, and while Zab'in shrugged off the Bolts with his Barrier, the Shadow Words clung to him, sickening and damaging him.
Zab'in in turn threw Frost spells, Blood Spells and quick lunges of the blade, freezing Vysto's right hand, making his head pound and near-unable to dodge blows. Vysto quickly unfroze his arm by holding it close to a torch, and went back into the offensive.
“Enough playing!” Vysto suddenly erupted with energy, staggering Zab'in. “You are a worthy adversary. If not for your weakness.”
“Weakness?” Zab'in asked, wondering what Vysto meant. “Wat weakness?”
Vysto let out a chuckle. “This.” And he cast Shackle Undead, trapping Zab'in in place. “To think that some of these Light spells would come in handy. I think I have a few more.” Vysto cast the few Light spells he still knew, and severly hurt Zab'in, taking complete pleasure in the Trolls obvious pain, until Zab'in was close to death. “There, that should do it.” And Vysto released Zab'in, walked towards the Troll and groped him by the seams of his cloak. “I leave you alive.. for as much as can be said about you, so you can be an example, and a warning, to your 'Baroness'. Tell her she can have the Plaguewoods, and those god-forsaken Argent Dawn fools, but never let her forget that I will come for her, slowly take whatever life she has, in the most painful of ways, and take her place. Let her wallow in this 'victory', but let her know the war only just started.”
Zab'in groaned as Vysto dropped him to the floor, and let out a chuckle. “Ya be more foolish dan I thought, mon. She will skin you alive, raise you from the dead, and do it all over again! She show no mercy, like she will show me no mercy.”
Vysto shrugged and ignored what Zab'in said to him, and proceeded to go outside. It was no better here. His units were battling those of Zab'in, with some unfortunate Argent Dawn scouts caught in the middle. He saw Klax fighting off a small unit of Ghouls by himself, and walked towards him. “Klax, gather some of your men and meet me at the Southern-Pass. We're getting out of here. I'll find Ser Mercy, however unfitting his name for a walking corpse, and we'll meet you there.”
“M-my lord..? Do we not ssstay and fight..?” Klax asked astounded as he punctured the skull of a charging Ghoul.
“Oh, no! It has been made clear that this enemy is far too strong, and too numerous for us to overcome in these small numbers. Now get to it! Stay safe.” Vysto was about to walk away, when he turned around and asked, “Klax? How did these foes get in the woods?”
“Through.. through the tunnel, massster..”
“Marvelous. I should have ordered you to seal the tunnel earlyer. Oh well, nothing we can do about it now!” And with those words Vysto ran off, in search of Ser Mercy. He proved hard to find in the conflict, and all the skeletons nearly looked alike. “I should have given him proper leader-regalia, or anything to set him apart from his men.”
“MasterVysto,whatbringsyouhere?” a hasty, clacking voice asked.
“Ah, Ser Mercy. I forgot you have never heard of spacing between words.” Vysto said in a snarky way, turning towards his lieutenant.
“No matter, Ser. Gather your men and meet me at the Southern Pass. I will explain everything there. Klax is already on the move.”
“Asyouwish,myliege!”, Ser Mercy saluted and scurried off.
“Skeletons. Very loyal, but when it comes to comprehensiveness, they're almost as thick as their own skull. Now to head for the pass” On his way to the Southern Pass, Vysto flung spells back and forth, aiding his units,which joined him, and to make his trip to the Southern Pass easyer.
“Massster! You made it!” Klax said excited.
“Would you expect otherwise?” Vysto said with a light chuckle. “Now, look back one more time, everyone. It will not be the last time you see the Woods, for we will return. Stronger, more numerous, and most of all overwhelming!”
Anima - Vysto (Ch.1)
A new series, specially for DA, starring people from my Warcraft Guild, Anima, on Aerie-Peak EU. This first chapter stars our Guild Leader Vysto, and observes his powers, and delves a bit in how he got them.
The series will be written GoT style: Each character gets a full chapter, and the chapters will eventually flow into eachother.

Happy reading!
Mesoodide by Zubaja
A planet in the outer reaches of the galaxy, Mesoodide is quite unique, as many outer-reach planets are either barren, desert-like or covered in a thick layer of ice.
It has no great mountain-ranges, lush forests or grand deserts -it has a medium-sized one. No, its main eye-catcher are the roiling planes that cover over 80% of its lands, which is a lot. There are only two small islands; all other lands are connected with maybe some grand river breaking them.
As of last month, an expedition has been planned to find out more about the indigenous life-forms, be them flora or fauna, and catalogue them, and even see if the planet is safe for Humans to live on. Desorelia is proving to be too perilous, unless we are willing to live underground, or in close orbit.
It was a dark and dreary morning. Dark clouds covered the sky, and thunder could be heard in the distance. Outside, everyone was preparing for the coming storm, seeking shelter and bringing cattle into barns; barring doors and windows shut and hiding inside. Storms were the worst.
"Thom, go help your father, please.",
"Yes mother.",
"Don't forget your cap and goggles, in case it begins to rain before you're done."
Thom simply nodded to his mother as she handed him his gear. When the rain fell, the Dimble Forest would spread spores that could turn any living thing insane. He wonder what the forest'd looked like before the Undead Purge ran amock, long before he was born.
Thom got a kiss on his cheeck from his mother, turning him red as a beet. He quickly scurried outside to help his father, who was struggling to get their mule inside the barn. Thom found it funny how the saying 'As stubborn as a mule' was so fit for the situation.
"Let me help you, Da.", Thom happily said as he walked towards his father.
"Thanks, Sprout.", his father said as he ruffled his son's hair, "This 'ere beasty's quite the fighter. She don't want to go back into the barn.",
"I noticed, Pa. You just have to scratch her behind the ear, like so."
Thom scratched the mule behind her ear, and received a lick as a form of affection. Thom laughed and helped his father get her into the barn. When they closed the windows and door of the barn, rain began to slowly fall.
"We'd best hurry, Sprout. Soon it'll be worse."
Thom nodded, and they both ran back home where a warm cup of tea was waiting for them. Taking off their coats and accesories and taking their seats, they waited for the storm to worsen. Outside, the footsteps of Defenders patrolling the town could be heard.
"I don't envy them.", Pa said with a sullen look on his face, "Storms like this is when I fear for them the most. If their gear has only the smallest of defect." Pa cut off, his voice hanging and tears welling up in his eyes. His wife gave him a hug.
"We know, hun. Your brother was a great man, and his death unfortunate."
Thom could not bear to see his father like this, and decided to go to his room to get his mind off his uncle's death. He was four years old, but it's almost as if it was yesterday.
"Thirteen years ago, uncle. The day before my fifth.. It's not fair.". He could not fight back the tears, and broke down on his bed.

Thom woke up to a lot of ruckus outside; shouting, screaming and yelling echoed through the streets. His father came storming through the door, clothed in his Defender attire.
"The Undead, Sprout! They've come! Get dressed, quickly! I'll get a bag for your belongings."
Thom shook his head in confusion. The Undead are here?, he thought as he processed what his father said to him. His mother came into the room next, pale as the moon, her eyes struck with fear, hands shaking. She walked towards Thom, but collapsed halfway, her body twitching uncontrollably and then suddenly stopping.
"Mom..?", Thom said as he slowly and carefully walked towards his mother's still body. He bent down on one knee, softly touching his mother's shoulder, but there was no reaction. He next went for the neck, trying to feel if there was a pulse, but there was none.
Out of nowhere, a rasp for breath escaped from her body. Thom jumped back and grabbed the candle-stand from the small table next to his bed. Slowly, his mother's body started rising.
"No. Mother, NO!", Thom screamed and begged as he looked into the eyes of what was once his mother. Empty, white husks where there were once beautiful sky-blue eyes. She looked at him, no emotion, only small grunts and rasps, as if she tried to breathe.
She lunged, Thom screamed and jumped to the side, his now Undead mother crashing into the wall, bones audibly breaking from the impact. Thom's father came storming into the room, an empty bag in his one hand, a small dirk in the other.
"What's going on?!" he asked as he looked around the room franticaly. His eyes first fell upon his son, who was shaking, fear in his eyes and wielding the candle-stand. His eyes fell upon his wife. His facial expression changed into one of fear, then sadness, and then anger.
He sheathed his dirk, dropped the bag, and unsheathed his sword and pulled a shield from his back.
"I'm sorry, Eleanor, my love. I'm sorry this happened to you, but I will set you free!"
He charged, and so did his wife. Undead clashed against shield, sword cut air; a deadly dance had begun. Thom sneaked towards to doorway of his room to escape the fight but was brought down by his mother landing on top of him. He lay with his back on the floor, staring directly at his mother's face. She screamed, and briefly had a look of pain upon her face, but instead of focussing on the sword that was thrust through her abdomen, she was still fixated on her son.
Another thrust, and another scream followed. "Get off of him!", Thom's father shouted. But his mother did not budge. Instead, she raised her hand, now more like a claw, and lashed out. Thom's father quickly pulled her away, but too late. She left scratches on Thom's face, three narrow ones across his right eye.
Thom screamed out of pain, jolting upright, covering the wound with his hands. He briefly looked at the struggle before him: His mother was thrown on the ground, her feet swept from under her by a swift movement from his father. Then came the sword, plunging through his mother's face, finished with an upward cut through the skull. The body twitched for a second, and then stilled. Thom's father had won, but at a price.
Where there was once chainmail, was now a bitemark. Thom's father looked at it and chuckled. "So, this is how it ends?"
Thom quickly rushed to his father's aid, only to be stopped by the gesture of a held up hand. "It's alright, my boy. The wound is not fatal. Not immediately, at least. If the old stories are true, I will turn into one of them. I won't let that happen, of course.", Thom's father sighed. "Sprout, you must be brave. You must escape the woods. I have prepared some things for you. They are on the living-room table. A map of the local area, a book containing the medicinal secrets of this village. You know them, right? How we extract material from the Undead to create the most potent medicine the world has ever seen?"
Thom nodded, still in disbelief of what had just happened. He glanced at his mother's still and mutilated corpse, tears welling up in his eyes. Thom's father walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother had a weak heart, Sprout. She probably died of a heart-failure."
Thom hugged his father, no longer able to fight back the tears and sadness. "I don't want you to go too, Da! I can't lose you both! I don't want to lose you both!"
"Thomas Daem Denter, my boy, my pride, my Sprout." His father said with a pained rasp and a soft crackle in his voice, "You must live. Others have gathered at the west-gate, it is still safe there. Gather your belongings, and the items on the living-room table, and take these." His father held out his sword and shield. "These are for you, to keep you extra safe. I know I have not trained you in their use, and I regret that now, but I know you've been practicing with sticks for some time now. Watch, decide, swing. Now go, before it's too late."
Thom took the sword and shield, equiped them properly and quickly gathered his belongings from the room. Before leaving, he glanced at his father, who gave him one last smile before pulling his dirk. "I love you, my boy.", he said before embedding the dirk in his skull.

Thom ran, crying; crawling through the streets, avoiding conflict wherever he could. When the west gate was in sight, he picked up speed. Guards quickly opened their makeshift barricade to let him in. Once inside, he reported to the guard-commander present.
"Thomas! It's good to see you alive. But, where are your parents?", Tears still fresh in his eyes made it clear to the guard-commander. "I see. I'm sorry, boy."
Thom shook his head. "It's not your fault, Ser. My mother died from a heart-failure, and rose back. Father was just in time to save me, but.. he got bit."
"He will forever be remembered. Your father is -was, a great man, like his brother before him."
Thom nodded, and a small smile creeped up on his face. "Is there somewhere I can rest, Ser? I'm very tired."
The guard-commander nodded. "I can guess that. There, in the stables, is where other survivors are holed up. You can go and join them. There's water and bread, so get your strength back"
No sooner had the guard-commander spoken those words when one of the Defenders came flying over them. Both the guard-commander and Thom looked in awe as the screaming man came to a halt, and an end, crashing into the city-wall. His body landing with a loud thump, grossly twisted and broken. A rumbling sound in the distance became present.
"We've got a Horde incoming! Evacuate, NOW!", the guard-commander bellowed the command and joined his men at the barricades. "Jonner, Esther, Marck and Tonn, get the civilians out of here, get them to the outpost! As long as they haven't fired a flare, it's safer there than here. Go, quickly!"
Horses were readied, villagers were led in a neat line with the four appointed guards keeping them in check; almost like driving cattle. The gates opened and everyone moved. Once outside, a headcount was done.
"How many we got, Marck?",
"Twenty-seven, including babes and excluding us, Jonner",
"Good. Get them neatly in line and join me on the front. Esther, Tonn, I want you in the back. Shout out if any of the Undead come sneaking up on us."
Jonner rode to the front of the group, everyone eyed him nervously. "Those of you who know how to fight, be it stabbing things with a pitchfork, grab a weapon for your own safety. But never forget we are a group. We are the remainder of Rottet, probably both the bravest and stupidest village in the Kingdom of Saluta.
"We have all been through much, but the end is not yet in sight. Stick together, watch out for eachother, and most important of all: Don't die. We march!"
The march was a long one. The path winding through humongous mushrooms, once trees; Things that looked like sea-anemones, once bushes. Other things were unrecognisable, like some of the mutated wildlife. You couldn't tell what used to be a deer, a bear or a rabbit. There were disgusting, half-rotten, six-legged creatures with the face of an eagle but the ears of a fox, that fed off the 'bushes'. Other creaturs were large, near two meters tall. Even the insects seemed to have mutated. They all had one thing in common: They were docile creatures, fearing the group more than the group did them, as if their animal-instincts had never left them.
Suddenly the group halted, eyes raised towards the sky. "I could sweat I saw something of a flare.", Esther said, doubt in her voice. "Should we march on, or would you have one of us scout ahead, Jonner?"
Jonner crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, thinking. "Marck, ride ahead. We will march on, but carefully." Marck rode off and the group continued on.

What seemed like hours had passed. Marck still had not returned, and the other Defenders had not expected him to come back so soon at all. The group became weary, but was not granted a moment of rest. Some undead were encountered, but dispatched with ease, without casualties.
"Mama!", the shout came from the centre of the group and a crowd gather quickly, dissipating almost as fast. There, where the crowd had gathered lay a woman, a gaze Thom knew too good. She was dead, and turning.
Without hesitation, Thom walked towards the woman and unsheathed his sword. He knew what must be done, but was stopped in his tracks by Esther.
"Don't, boy. This is not for you to do." Thom stared at her, looked at the woman, dead on the ground, then at the small girl, crying and shouting for her mother to come back. The girl was being held by a man, fear and sadness in his eyes, while trying to soothe at the same time.
Jorren stepped off his horse and walked towards the man. "Turn her away. She will not want to see this.", he then brandished his sword and walked towards the woman, who was now slowly stirring, in the process of being turned into an Undead.
"I'm sorry.", Jorren said. "I hope you find peace, wherever the souls of the dead may go."
One swift strike was all it took. The head went rolling down the shallow hill as Jorren picked up the corpse, placing it behind a 'tree', so the little girl could not see it. He said a small prayer and re-aligned some small stones in a circular pattern before heading back to the group.
"We must press on.", he exclaimed. "We are as safe here as anywhere else in this damnable forest. Once we reach the outpost we'll be safe."
Thom could swear he saw Jorren mutter, I hope, under his breath, but he was not sure. Nonetheless they moved on, and he got back in line.
It wasn't long before Marck returned, his face stern and serious. "Jorren! The outpost is safe, though barely. Undead nearly overtook it, hence the flare."
"What made them win?", Jorren asked with a look of wonder on his face. Marck shrugged. "I don't know. I came back here as quickly as I could that it was safe."
"Then we press on, it is close now."
It was close indeed, hardly a kilometer away, but the group took ages. More people were lost, dying from exhaustion, left by the road because they could no longer move or by abandoning everything and taking fate into their own hands. They were with only sixteen now when they arrived at the outpost. The captain present greeted them all with warmth and offered them food and drink and beds to sleep in.
Many immediately went to eat in the cantina-building, others sought out a bed and took a nap in the barracks. Thom was neither hungry nor tired, the thought of his parents on his mind, keeping him restless. He instead sat in a corner, reading the book his father gave him, flipping through the pages to learn anything valuable.
Vextongue Potion, it said on the first page after the contents, A poison classified as a potion. It can turn a living creature mute, but makes the Undead scream even louder. Adminstering the potion is tricky, but achievable with the right determination and strategy.
Duration: two hours

"Interesting", Thom muttered as he continued reading.
Ingredients: Rotgrass, 1 Decaybloom, Ounce of Chalk, 250ml of water
Preparation: Pour the water into a container, such as a vial, and add the Decaybloom. Let the water take up the flower, giving it an orange colour. Add the chalk and some Rotgrass. The more Rotgrass, the more potent the potion. Be aware though: An overdose can kill the living, and mutate the Undead.

"But how do I know if it's an overdose or not?", Thom cussed under his breath.
Someone sat besides him. It was Esther. "Nice looking book you got there. What's it about?"
Thom doubted if it was wise to tell Esther what the book was about. He had no idea who did know of the medicinal secrets and who didn't. Smiling, he said. "Oh, nothing important. Just research from my father."
"What's the research about?", Esther asked while bending over to look into the book.
Thom quickly closed the book and put it back in his bag. Esther scowled at him with a look that said You're hidding something. She stood up and walked off.
"You know, ", she suddenly said. "If you're trying to hide the Medi Formu, or as we Defenders call it, The Medicinal Handbook for Dummies, be my guest. Everyone of age knows what it is."
"I'm sorry." Thom said, rising to his feet. "I had no idea you knew what the book was. I was just being cautios."
"Oh, I know, boy. Just let me tell you this: Hide that book really good. If it falls into the wrong hands, bad things can happen." And she walked away, into the cantina-building. Thom sat down again, grabbed the book and resumed his reading.
Tales of Mayesta, Chapter 1
To any of the groups this piece has been posted to: I am not a native English speaker, nor did I get great grades when it came to grammar. I view myself more as a hobbyist when it comes to writing, for now. I do wish to improve my writing/grammar skills as I am working on a novel.
Any critique is welcome. Be it for my writing-style, grammar inconsistensies, or even story inconsistensies.

Read the (short) prologue here: Tales of Mayesta: Prologue 

Piece of critique I gave:…
I know it's been a while since last I've posted something (more than a month), but I'm still around; just very pre-occupied.
-The progress on the Android game I'm developing is going smoothly. It's mainly tweaking, updating and refurbishing that needs going on.
-Writing fanfiction is still a thing: You'll find a small excerpt from a new piece I'm writing below this post.
-My kids are a year old now (since yesterday, the 13th of January)
-I have a wedding in four months (mahgawd!)
-I'm still writing my novel
-Youtube is taking up time
-Spending more and more time with the family.

And that's just the short version, as I'm too lazy to go into any details.

Don't worry, I'll soon have something new to post!

"Indonai was indecisive as to what role she would fill as an Adventurer of the Alliance. A healing role was what she wanted; to aid the injured and defenceless. The light did not call to her, nor did nature speak to her, so Priest and Druid were out of order. Her sisters were more fortunate in that regard: Liliyanam her younger sister, showed Druidical prowess from an early age; and Dorinae, her older sister, was already part of the Sisters of Elune for quite some time.Liliyana was not yet of age to train, so she practiced on her own on a daily basis, whereas Dorinae was at a stagnant stage of her Priesthood; stuck in Darnassus, unable to enter the field and grow further. In some regard Indonai was quite happy not having the Light call to her. Just as she was about to give up, the Pandaren joined the Alliance, showing off their skills as Monks. Indonai made up her mind then and went into apprenticehood under Laoxi, a brawly Pandaren with a heart of gold."
  • Mood: Cheerful
  • Listening to: Spotify
  • Reading: Game of Thrones , Book 2
  • Watching: Too much at once @_@
  • Playing: Golden Sun, Metro 2033, AC1, WoW, SWTOR
  • Drinking: Orange soda


Zubaja's Profile Picture
Steven Nolles
'Twas the year 1990, on the 22nd day of November, when a wee lad was born. That wee lad, 'twas I.
"Lo and behold!" Many a person would exclaim, for 'twas a sight to behold. A silent baby, narry a peep, but alive and well, for my stink made my parents weep.
Youth be a cruel mistress as she tortured me on every step, I was autistic I was, narry a friend I made 'cause of it up until highschool, for then I got to go into IT.
Highschool was great and a soothing experience, for I could be myself and lose myself in the fantasies that roamed my great mind. I would program day and night, practise my skill for a complete mastery, when a woman came into my life, beautiful and a sight to behold.
Then came college, a worthy experience, which I narry failed with the chance of succes as thick as a newborn-baby's hair. The latter, speaking of, became my present. Two wee sucklings, a boy and a lass, now bring joy to my life as did my girlfriend's now enlarged.. buttocks.

Work became a reality and I was dragged into the standard drag of the working man; A 9 to 5 job is now my fate, as I silently sit here and wait.
The wee ones grow and become strong, as dad works hard to ensure a great future as was his own.

Sacrifice; You don't give something up, you merely add an obligation because you chose to. And narry does a man choose to sacrifice something if it's all for naught.

AdCast - Ads from the Community


:iconmendreyn: :iconshaykamui: :iconremwaa:


Add a Comment:
VFreie Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2015
Hi, and welcome to :iconthewrittenrevolution: theWrittenRevolution!
There are lots of things you can get involved in:

Bullet; Red we post monthly writing prompts (that include prizes, and a chat event during the month to help people with their pieces),

Bullet; Black publishing opportunities from other sites (whenever we come across one!),

Bullet; White we have a monthly feature that includes a deserving member, two of the best critiques we've seen during the month, and two helpful writing resources,

Bullet; Red a monthly affiliates feature of two Literature groups,

Bullet; Black and a biweekly-ish article in which one of our admins gives an in-depth critique to one of our members' work that hasn't received much feedback.

We'll soon be reviving our chatroom with weekly activities, so stay tuned for that too. :D (Big Grin)

We also have Facebook and Twitter accounts. On our profile page you will find links to the latest of all the activities I listed up here and to our social networks that will help you keep updated, so feel free to look around and ask if you have any questions, we're here to help!

Welcome to the revolution. I salute you!
kvdolan Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday!! Party Have your cake and eat it too
Zubaja Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2014
Thank you!
UriahGallery Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2014  Professional Photographer
Thank you for the :llama:!

-Jonathan Uriah Denney
Nature and Wildlife Photographer
Website  - Facebook 
Hidden by Owner
Hidden by Commenter
Hidden by Owner
Hidden by Commenter
(1 Reply)
Add a Comment: