Priestess Gelana Lightvine of Shan'dorei

(Decided to do a background story for the Priestess, however Celaraa has no history either so I am breaking my own rule and using two of my chars to bring the story into life. I will expand on this storyline with Gelana as I get into more RP on the realm.)

Her pale hands seem to glow against the darkness of the earth beneath them as she kneels without movement, her body gilded in the moonlight. Around her the silence is complete, nothing is alive here, not now. Her fingers dig deep into the earth as a single tear falls from her to splash into darkness between her knees. The scent of blood taints the air, a lingering witness to the passing of warriors and fools alike. She tilts her head back until the moonlight kisses her cheek and reveals the intricate marking on her face. Her voice is soft and gentle, the melody of her people lilting in each note as she whispers to the night sky.

“Gather those of righteous heart Mother Moon, that they may take their place with the fallen above us.”

She wakes with her heart thudding, around her the night is faded by the light of civilisation and she recognises her room in Dolanaar. She must have moved in her sleep, her cover has slipped from her and now forms a crumpled heap on the wooden floor beside the bed. A dark shape moves on the other side of the room, gliding from the depths of a corner towards the Kaldorei with the glowing white hair.

“Priestess Lightvine.”

Gelana jumps at the sudden sound, her hands quickly going to cover her bare skin as the dark haired assassin reveals herself.

“Shadow...”

Without comment the woman picks up the cover from the floor and drops it on the bed beside the Priestess. Quickly pulling the cover around her body she cant hide a nervous shiver as the assassin stands watching her without shame. Shadow's strange behaviour is unnerving and again Gelana wishes she had never helped the rude woman. If she had not taken the shortcut home that day, if she had only walked away when she saw the blades, so many if’s and not one of them with an answer.

“You dream of Elune Priestess.”

The Priestess leaves her bed and walks to the window with the corner of her cover trailing along the wooden floor at her heels. Outside the night sounds are fading as dawn spreads her long fingers over the sky, guiding in the new day. The dream has plagued her for a long time, her personal ghost always on hand to remind her of the consequences of failure. A tear gathers and tickles its way down her cheek until it catches at the corner of her mouth, for a brief moment she can taste the salt on her tongue.

Behind her the assassin steps back into the shadows, leaving the silent Priestess to her sorrow.

Gels

The assassin yawns and stretches the sleep from her body. Moving into the shadows she carefully drops from the branch where she has spent the daylight hours in rest. A quick check of the area reveals no obvious danger and Celaraa ghosts down the road leading towards Darnassus. Keeping to the shadows she passes the guards and is soon at the dock waiting for a ship, by midnight she has made landfall in Stormwind. Her first stop is her bank vault where she deposits everything linking her to Shan’dorei, by the break of dawn she is well on her way to the vale.

The Iron Eagle protests with strain as it moves into position over the water, ahead of it the Stranglethorn docking tower appears from the haze. With a painful grating sound the wooden side scrapes the landing platform and its three passengers hit the decking with a solid thump, well apart from the tauren who lands last and finds it a soft landing as a result. Silence descends over the camp and suddenly the guards start to reappear from various hiding places, they carefully avoid each other's eyes as they take up their posts once more. The three nervous passengers erupt from the ship and rush down the stairs with their luggage in hand while unseen by all a shadowy figure swiftly climbs the rope ladder to the top of the airship.

The Durotar sun blazes down on an unusual sight as the horde zeppelin slowly glides into view with a half naked Night Elf sprawled in the sun on top of the balloon, soon they will be in the main City. Reluctantly Celaraa shrugs into her leathers and slips back into the shadows to stand poised and ready, as they pass over the hill barrier she drops off the free ride. The landing is rough and she takes the shock with her thighs then allows her body to rebound into a controlled roll in an attempt to lessen the impact.

Overhead three windriders glide in formation as the guards watch the City from above, with a shout the second wing alerts his companions to something on the North West overlook. Celaraa has slipped between the hills that barrier this side of Orgrimmar and is crouching in a natural circle of stone when she sees them regroup and come spiraling down towards her. Muttering an oath she falls back and tries to make herself as small as possible to avoid an unpleasant encounter with them.

Unable to see them she keeps her back to the wind smoothed stone and breaths slowly, she hears a windrider’s wings flap as it lands on the hard earth just out of her view. The rider dismounts and walks closer and she holds her breath, her blades are half drawn and she relaxes into a calm place, ready to begin the death dance. The strained silence is broken by a loud bang and she jumps as they start to laugh loudly, the one nearest her walks back to his beast and all three take to the air once more leaving her sweating beneath her armour.

Celaraa waits a little longer to make sure they have left the area before she moves from cover, she ghosts past a torn horde balloon tangled in a small bush and crouches at the edge of the overlook, a few minutes later the Matron walks out of the orphanage. Above her the assassin lands lightly on a wooden pole, she quickly runs over the treated hide stretched between the wooden beams and swings herself onto the rooftop below. Here she will wait and watch until she finds the target she has been given, pity the Draenei was so specific about no harm befalling the young Orc, it would be fun to spill a little Horde blood in their own city.

Back in Dolanaar the Priestess returns exhausted to her room at the Inn, she has red under her nails and her robe is stiff with dried blood. She strips off and cleans herself before soaking the robe in cold water and salt to remove the stains, then she crawls into bed too tired to eat. She wakes before dawn to find the room still empty, there is no sign of Shadow and the bed beside her own has not been touched. With a sigh Gelana turns over and looks at the wall, she has a lot to do with the rising of the sun, she tries to make a list but his face holds her attention and she wonders when she will see him again.

Gels

(( I hope I'm not the only one getting intrigued by this story? And the mental pictures of night elves sun bathing on zeplins. Always fun finding out how chacters you've played with got how they are. Keep up the good writting Gels! ))

((Naughty Night Elf, so much evilz! Besides, its fun to use Horde transport since very few of them ever bother with the balloon, its my main transport as I know horde shipping routes better than ally ones lol! Yes working on another chapter, will post it up soon Linn )

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Celaraa had waited days for a sign of the target, when he appeared he had a sack full of fresh meat for the Orphanage, he stayed until evening, sitting talking quietly with the Matron. When he left the City she followed him with absolute confidence, there was no mistaking him for anyone but the one she had been sent to find.

The night grows old around a flickering pool of light in the Barrens, time passes on its inevitable journey, yet the Orc sitting by his campfire pays it no heed. Hidden not far from him is the assassin, with so few shadows to use on the open plains she has had no choice but to allow her body to lose substance in the way of her people. Overhead the moon wanders her familiar path, chasing the sun in their ageless dance.

“Throm-Ka Matron.”

The guard had found a baby in the dust by the front gate of Orgrimmar, when she held out the bundle it squirmed a little giving off an air of fresh dung. With the guard gone Matron had unpacked her newest arrival, for a moment she sat in stunned silence, then with a heavy heart she had set about cleaning him up. She watches over him as he grows into a boy and she shares his pain as the other children tease him for being different, slowly she sees him withdraw until he is a loner, more at home with himself than his half siblings.

Close to the campfire in the Barrens Rusk grunts himself awake, with a wheeze and a scrabble the little boar gets to his feet and glares around with obvious ill temper, his master gives him no attention so he comes over and wiggles his way between the Orc’s arm and ribs, soon the little pig dozes off close to the only thing he will willingly give his life to protect.

The Matron watches as her children play, their excited laughter will forever echo from wall to wall along the drag, but one child remains with her constantly. He hides himself behind her while he watches his family playing, in one grubby hand he holds his only possession, a roughly made wooden toy.

In the Barrens Celaraa has now entered a state of suspended animation, her body takes sleep in this state while her mind slows, she sways gently to an ancient heartbeat as the shadowmeld engulfs her. Over at the campfire the Orc is still silent, lost in contemplation of the Frostwolf Clan, a night breeze brings the coals into a ruby glow before his unseeing eyes. The events that unfolded a month ago trouble him deeply and once more his knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists.

The child grows into a powerful young man, and still he spends his time alone, shunning the hand of any who wish to draw close to him. The day dawns when Matron finds the badly written letter on her sleeping pallet, beside it is his only true possession and she cries in her heart knowing he has done what all young men must do. She hopes he will make the right choices, she hopes he will bring honour to the Horde, yet she knows with a Mother's wisdom that he is too different and life will not be kind to him.

A soft wind ripples the grass along the massive plains of the Barrens where animals live and die according to the law of nature, this is the land as he finds it and he stands ready to be tested, this young Orc with the strange yellow hue to his skin, this Thurgoll of Orgrimmar.

Gels