Posts Tagged 'Varendil'

Week One

Welll I’m one week into my thing and I’ve already failed.

Perhaps I should explain.

I just finished up an entire short story that when converted to courier new is exactly six pages. It’s entitled The Argent’s Finest and can be found here for now. I’m gonna add a real page for it tomorrow, methinks, but the fact is that Scribd’s features make it much easier to upload things. I don’t know if it’s more annoying to read something in narrow-Wordpress-vision here or Flash (soon to be HTML5) embedded-o-vision of a PDF over there. My general lasiness has me very tempted to stop posting things here and just divert everyone that way. I’ll have to see if signup is required for comments and things like that.

For now, enjoy the story. I’ll do the rest of the work tomorrow when it’s not so freaking hot.


About Time

After putting it off for far, far, far too long, I’ve finally finished Unbroken, the second half of the story of Lanuria’s scar. The first half, Broken, can be found here. My conclusion can be found here.

That’s all at the moment. Lan, never let me put something off that long again.

A Sense of Completion

I think I’m going to put writing for Varendil on hiatus.

It’s not that I don’t like it, or that I plan on not playing and roleplaying the character. I think it’s simply that his ‘story,’ as it were, has been told. His character and personality have been established, the loose ends of his wife, daughter, and new wife dealt with, and even the feud with his cousin mostly ended. Varendil’s simply reached that point where he becomes the support character; I’m very okay with that.

I have ideas for him, stories dealing with him and Malfeasor, the lich I conjured to be his rival of sorts, but they wouldn’t bring anything new to the table. It’d just be Varen being awesome and silly, Lan being awesome and romantic, et cetera. I’d rather save the time and energy for stories other than simple character illustration. That’s what site writes are for, IMO.

In the meantime, I think there might be a Saelar story in the works. I don’t know precisely what it’d be about yet, but the idea of something called The Other Dawnblade about the Blood Knight in his cousin’s shadow might be interesting. However, my primary focus is on Wilson at the moment. I feel like that’s the most ‘grown-up’ writing I do and I’m very interested in doing more of it. Makes me feel like a real writer.

So if you miss the commentary on World of Warcraft that came with my Varendil stories, just wander on over to my other blog. There’s always a link to it on the right side of the page.

Site Write: Varendil’s Day Off

I like site writes. I used to think they were a bad idea, writing without any sort of attempt to insert meaning, but now I like the idea of it. Oftentimes it’s not until you RP with someone that your character takes shape, and writing, like roleplay, can help illuminate a character. Of course, the one I cranked out today feels more like an illustration of something we knew than an illumination, but that’s still okay.

Presenting, from the Moon Guard forums, Varendil’s Day Off.

Lanuria was lounging on a bed, munching on an apple and reading her typical romantic fare when the door to the apartment swung open and Varendil entered, dropping one backpack off at the door and hauling the other over to the bed they shared. From the second bag he pulled a cupcake, presenting it to his wife with a bit of flourish. “Apples are gross,” he said.

Her eyes lit up at the sugary treat and she pounced on it, leaving the fruit behind and happily gnawing at the confection. “Fankth, honey,” she said as she chewed.

The husband set the other sack down, pulling a few vegetables free and arranging them in their small, makeshift pantry. From the bottom of the bag he pulled his own treat, a small jar of pickled cucumbers. While his wife was distracted, he quickly popped the lid and–

The lid didn’t move. He grabbed it and twisted again. Nothing. Grumbling, he pulled a glove off and gripped the metal lid. He wrapped his arm around the base of the jar and began wrenching at it. He tugged and tugged, but no response.

He pulled a hand towel from the cabinet, setting it on the countertop and setting the jar atop it, making sure the towel gripped the jar properly. He then tightly gripped the lid and twisted hard with a “Hnnng!”

Something touched Varendil’s waist and he yelped, tossing the jar into the air, where a hand darted over his shoulder to grab it. He turned around to see Lanuria, who’d finished her cupcake and come to investigate. She smirked at her husband’s shock, then looked down at the jar, popping the lid open to look inside. “What are these?”

He stared for a moment, slumping so hard it made his neck sore. “But… I… and then you…”

She looked up at him. “You couldn’t get this open? My husband couldn’t open a pickle jar?!”

He snatched the cucumbers from her. “The thing is, the reason I couldn’t is because ashnk nakth munf shk mirky.”

He took one of the cucumbers, chomping down on the end and pushing it into his munching teeth with one finger as he spoke.

Lanuria slumped and stared at him coolly.

“Besides,” he said after swallowing the first pickle and pulling a second from the jar, “I wakng thr brunk rathw pkak.”

The Tragedy at the Shadow Vault

The troll woke, vision slowly focusing on the face of an orcish death knight that peered down at him. He moved to sit up, but a muscular gray-green arm pushed him back down. “Don’t try to sit up. You’ve been badly hurt. There’s a priest from the Crusade on his way,” the death knight said.

The troll laid his head back down. Looking to his left, he saw another Crusade soldier, wounded as well, but sitting up and drinking something steaming from a mug. Looking to his right, he saw the entrance to the Shadow Vault itself, a few Knights of the Ebon Blade going about their business, only a sideways glance of mild curiosity at the two wounded fighters. One, another Darkspear, walked up beside the troll, peering down at his abdomen. He shook his head slightly, clucking, and then went on his way, carefully avoiding eye contact.

At this, the troll swallowed hard. His throat felt dry and raw.

The orc leaning over him stood up. A shadow flew over the troll and he looked up to see a drake silhouetted against the evening sky. The beast swiftly descended, the blue-clad elf upon his back leaping off before the drake could land and running over to the troll. He looked down into the troll’s eyes for a moment, then down at his stomach. His hands clapped together.

The troll again tried to sit up, but this time the elf pushed him down. The healer’s hands went to the troll’s stomach, and straining his eyes downward as far as he could, the troll saw a flash of light. Then another. A warm, liquidy sensation began to flood through his body, and he hoped it wasn’t blood.

The troll laid back and closed his eyes. This was… odd. He felt his insides shifting, moving. He felt things growing – growing back, perhaps, from where they’d been severed? – but it didn’t hurt. It just felt… odd. However, after a moment the feeling vanished, replaced with the tingling of new and improving blood flow. The troll opened his eyes, looked up at the priest.

A look of terror was on the elf’s face.

He simply stared down at the troll’s abdomen. He reached out to touch something, then stopped. “I… always… this…” he started to say. The troll started to squirm, but the orcish death knight reappeared to hold him down.

“Do you know what–” the elf started again, then sighed. He stood up, pacing around, starting to mutter in Thalassian. The troll blinked, now breathing heavily, feeling his blood pump faster. His stomach felt warm, almost hot, and he didn’t know what it meant.

After a few moments the elf stopped pacing. He stared down at the troll’s stomach once more with a shaky sigh. Slowly, silently, he leaned down, pulling up a handful of bloody frostweave. And another. And another.

“Such… such a waste,” the priest said. “This.. this could have been a lovely dress. Or some armor. A resilient, padded mantle protecting some healer or mage from the grabbing hands of some ghoul.”

He grabbed another ribbon of blood-stained cloth. “And this. This would be a flying carpet that some Kirin Tor pulled out when he wanted to get lucky.”

The elf stood up. “All gone. All ephemera. Such a waste…” He mumbled a few more words, but the troll couldn’t make them out. The orc holding the patient down relaxed his grip as he stared at the priest.

The red drake swooped down, landing and letting the elf climb aboard. The healer surveyed the area once, then lowered his gaze to make eye contact with the troll.

“You better make this worth it,” he said coldly, then patting the drake on the back. The beast launched itself into the air and flew away to the east.

The orc let go of the troll, who quickly sat up and clawed away at the remaining cloth wrapped around his abdomen. Beneath the blood and tatters was simply smooth, unblemished skin. Relieved, the troll stood. “What was dat? Was ‘e serious?” he finally said to the orc.

“I don’t even know,” the death knight replied, bewildered, staring at the sky as the drake became a speck in the distance.


So I haven’t been doing much writing. I’ve had other priorities of late. Some public, some private.

Point is, I apologize for that. However, there was a site write, which I think is a writing exercise of some kind, on my realm forums today. Since I was bored and the short length of these exercises fits my attention span perfectly, I cranked one out. The theme is Stay Down, which has at least two possible meanings. After realizing that Varendil’s bloody overconfident with his awesome bubbles, I knew he wouldn’t order someone to stay down in a combat situation. Therefore, I went with the other meaning, thought of a funny sight – Varen getting gnawed on by an only-mostly-dead Scourge, and the rest literally wrote itself.

The following’s ripped from the thread on the forums. Do click the more link and read on.

Continue reading ‘Teaser’

Man, I Look Good

Varendil New RP Gear

Look out, Icecrown. Argent Champion Varendil Dawnblade’s about to heal your face off.

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