Author Up Challenge – Day 12

Saurok Fight, from the War Chief's Command Board

Saurok Fight, from the War Chief’s Command Board

Welcome to Day 12!

First let me note that the image above was basically the only good saurok fan art I could find, and happens to be from one of the few WoW blogs I still read–The Warchief’s Command Board. So I am happy to give Garrosh his due credit here. 🙂

Today’s prompt was:

Day 12: Write a Romance.

Simple enough and one of the genres I enjoy dabbling in. These days my writing isn’t completely suffused with romance, but it’s still pretty common. The prompt expanded to mention using body language and facial expressions to convey the feelings going on. So I made that a goal with this piece.

When I started thinking about the prompt, my mind immediately went to a piece I started a while back but never finished or posted. So now seems as good a time as any! So fittingly, I have WoW fan art in the form of a comic above, and WoW fan fiction below. This is a follow-up piece to Broken (if you need a quick catch-up), and features my Monk, Ireenia. She is a young orphaned blue dragon whom my main, Effraeti, saved as an egg and raised. So Ireenia’s preferred humanoid form is a Draenei.

~ Effy


WoW Draenei Monk

And sorry, you get an old model Ireenia, because my account isn’t active.


What started as an altercation between Ireenia and two saurok had blossomed to a dozen.

There had been no reason for Iree to be here other than her own need for an outlet to her anger. The saurok seemed a good target, being the unnatural and invasive creatures they were. Perhaps the Mantid would reward her for their hides later. However, the woman began to question the intelligence of her decision as another Saurok heard the commotion and hurried to join in.

Iree punched one in the throat as it lunged toward her from the right. Another’s face met her hoof as it tried to take advantage of the other Saurok’s attack. But their target was a Monk, and she did not get distracted. She did not lose focus.

Eventually, though, she would tire.

Despite the handful of creatures already on the ground or attempting to slither away from her, the mob continued to grow.

There were now twelve against her one.

No, make that thirteen. No, back to twelve.

They seemed to replenish their numbers–and grow even–for every one she defeated. Iree realized she had underestimated the size of this Saurok camp.

She also realized they were pushing her slowly towards the base of the great wall dividing the Dread Wastes from the rest of Pandaria.

A saurok felt her fist meet with the side of its skull as it clumsily pitched forward. She kicked the air from the lungs of another. One caught her leg with its sharp talons and she cried out and quickly spun the opposite way, driving an elbow down into its neck. As it hit the ground, Iree twisted without putting her weight on the injured leg and kicked another Saurok in the face.

Red blood ran down the blue skin of her calf, but there was no time to bandage it or speak the words of a healing spell.

Blood and teeth sprayed, and Iree kept kicking, kept punching, kept spinning out of reach.

But their numbers continued to grow. Iree began to tire, her leg throbbing in the spot the Saurok had grabbed her, and she realized the wall loomed even closer than before.

A saurok snapped a mouthful of sharp teeth very close to her face and Iree punched it away. She had let it get closer than any of the others so far. She could not let that happen again.

Iree spun, her injured leg sweeping through the mass of lizardmen bodies. Several were knocked away, but several more avoided the kick and leapt in at her from behind it. A great press of scaly bodies came in on her, a wall of hot, rank breath and sharp talons. Ireenia punched out at one Saurok, but another grabbed her arm. A third dug its nails into her opposite shoulder.

With a pained shout, Ireenia swung backwards and caught the third Saurok in the chin with her elbow, causing a crunching noise and violently snapping the creature’s head back. But another lizardman greedily grabbed her arm just as it came free of the other’s face.

Ireenia knew there was no breaking out now, but she swore she would go down swinging. Somehow, it was refreshing to think it would end this way–that she would die fighting, instead of old and alone.

As she had the thought, the shriek of a bird of prey pierced the air. The giant raptor’s claws dug into Iree’s shoulders and she screamed an epithet as the storm crow lifted her into the air among the flutter of blue-feathered wings.

The saurok cursed and clawed at her, tearing up her legs as she rose.

Ireenia rose as brilliant points of light descended into the dense clump of lizardmen. She watched as those falling stars were met by the screams of a dozen or more of the lizardmen.

The saurok finally scattered.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Ireenia said, not sure if she meant it as grateful or sarcastic.

“I do enjoy making an entrance,” Skeiron replied. Were a beak capable, Iree knew there would have been a wide smile there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Once both were back on the ground, an uncomfortable silence settled between them.

Skeiron spoke first. “Getting yourself into trouble again I see.”

Ireenia did not know how to respond to that. They were not the words she had expected to hear. Though, truth be told, she had not expected his appearance or his words at all. “We do what we’re good at, right?” She swallowed and paused. “Well… I didn’t figure on having to explain myself.” She crossed her arms before her, scowling.

“So you went into that fight not planning to walk away from it?”

“Perhaps.” Iree shifted uncomfortably from one hoof to the other, and not entirely because she hurt all over, though her clawed and bleeding legs throbbed. Not only did she not want to explain herself, she did not know–or want to know–where this conversation was going.

Nowhere good, certainly. Probably to an I told you so and a quick goodbye.

She glanced around for an easy escape, but Skeiron had chosen his landing well–the top of the Pandaren wall, between the Dread Wastes and the Valley of the Four Winds. She considered diving off, but doubted the speed with which she could transform into her dragon-self.

She did not look him in the face, especially with him back in his true form as a Night Elf. Despite her gaze being on the bricks below her hooves, Iree felt his eyes upon her.

“That would have been quite a shame,” Skeiron said softly.

“Hmm,” Iree responded. “Then, I guess it is good you came by when you did.”

“Well, that was no accident,” he admitted. “I was looking for you.”

Iree tensed, unsure how to reply. “I still had some tricks left…” she sputtered uncertainly.

She felt him come closer, but still could not look up. Then, he was standing in front of her. Before she could think of how to respond, Skeiron set his hands on her shoulders.

She flinched at his touch, but at the same time savored it.

“You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, you know,” he chided, his voice a soft whisper. He touched her cheek lightly with his fingers.

Iree’s eyes flickered to the violet skin as it brushed against hers.

“I’m not so strong,” Iree admitted. “I’m just good at hiding the hurt. Stubbornness–that’s what I’m told I’m best at.” As she spoke, moisture began to form in her eyes. It made her angry and she made a face, blinking and wishing them away.

“I know, I just needed you to finally admit it.” The elf pulled her towards him, and wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders.

She could not hold back the wave of emotion that hit her. A sob wrenched her throat.

“Don’t cry, dragon,” Skeiron whispered as he held Ireenia tighter. As happy as she was at that moment, the comment made her cry harder. His fingers stroked her hair and both stood silent for several moments, only the sound of her sobs causing any noise between them.

Finally Ireenia pulled back slightly, so she could look into Skeiron’s eyes. “I was afraid…” she began, the rest caught in her throat. The Night Elf studied her, seemingly for the first time so intent was his gaze, as she collected herself. It intimidated her, those luminescent eyes that seemed to see inside of her, but they were gentle and reassuring. He touched her face, and with a deep breath and the presence of his fingers, Ireenia made herself continue. “I was afraid I would never be here again.”

“I was afraid you did not want to be,” Skeiron whispered.

A breeze ruffled the feathers of his headdress and cloak, and it reminded Ireenia of flying with him. She pictured him once more as the blue-feathered storm crow, wings spread and gliding along beside her in her dragon-form.

“When I heard the roar that shook the Vale, I knew it was you and I knew I had to find you,” he continued. “There was no mistaking the source of that.”

Ireenia nuzzled her face into his neck, content to be touching him, and not wanting to let go. She did not interrupt as he continued.

“Because that roar echoed the ache of my own heart.”

That tore another sob from her. “I’m so sorry,” Iree said, her voice tremulous. “I don’t know if I can ever make it right again, but I want to try.”

Skeiron hugged her tighter and nodded into her hair. “So do I.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
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Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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The Fall of Shattrath

Shattrath, City of Light

Shattrath, City of Light

This is a short piece that I started working on quite some time ago, but it finally felt appropriate to touch it up and post it in response to another of Nethaera’s writing prompts (this time about focusing on dialogue), since this piece is more of a dialogue interaction between Effy and Laz.  It also seems appropriate considering the upcoming expansion.

The Fall of Shattrath

“No!  Unthinkable!  How could Velen even think this course of action acceptable!?” Lazheward hollered.  He cringed at venting his frustrations so loudly to Effraeti, but the weight the idea put in his stomach proved too much.  It made him sick to his heart.  As a Paladin and defender of the Light, it grated against every fabric of his being.

Her steady hand lightly touching his arm caused him to finally meet her gaze, albeit reluctantly.  Effy nodded, understanding as well as caution present in her luminescent eyes as she responded in a soft but firm voice, “Velen does what he feels he must for our survival, love.  As he always has.  Sometimes, those decisions are difficult, and I know he lives with the consequences of those decisions everyday.”

Lazheward sighed heavily.  “I know you are right, but there has to be another way…”  His voice trailed off as tried to think of one.  “Especially… the children…”  The thought made him grit his teeth.  “No!  I will stay myself!”  His voice nearly broke forming the words.

Effy fiercely embraced him.  “We would both stand in their places, and we would fight to our last breath – side by side.”  She paused.  “But that is not what has been asked of us.  We must help lead our people forward, and live to fight another day.  The others… they stay behind to guarantee our escape and to feed the hope that the orcs will think they have destroyed us completely.”

Snarling through his teeth before he could stop himself, Laz lightly extricated himself from Effy and stomped out of the room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons LicenseAwaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

The Huntress

A Night Elf Druid

I finally noticed on Twitter that Nethaera has been posting in the WoW forums looking for stories of different types.  This week, she is looking for Druid stories!  So I felt this to be a good opportunity to flex my writing muscles some (don’t want them to atrophy).

I don’t believe my Druid, Solaes, ever gets any story love, so here she is.  Enjoy!

~ Effy

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Through huntress eyes, she spotted her prey.  It did not even try and hide.  Instead it flaunted itself as if it had nothing to fear in the dark forest.

Her prey was wrong.

The huntress pounced, her strong rear legs launching her quickly to her prey.  Claws shredded silky fabric of magenta and violet and met with the soft skin beneath.  Blood darkened the garments as they snapped wildly while the two forms fell through the air.  Her prey’s body hit the ground with a muffled thump in the soft undergrowth.

Her prey could not even cry out, the air blasted from its lungs.  It laying heaving for breath as the huntress growled deep within her throat.  She tore her prey’s throat out before it could muster a scream.

Her taste for blood sated, the huntress dropped heavily to her rear haunches and looked upon the dead human in front of her.  She absently licked the blood from her lips as her thoughts slowly became more clear, less animalistic.

Solaes shifted back to her Night Elf form.  She continued to sit and stare blankly at the lifeless form of the Twilight Cultist.  She wrapped her arms around her legs and squeezed them to her chest, still staring over the tops of her knees at the cooling corpse.

No longer did killing the heretics fill her with accomplishment.  Now, it only added to the emptiness that consumed her.

The Twilight Cult had awakened Deathwing, and the Destroyer had caused the Cataclysm.  When the world shattered, so had Solaes’ whole life.  The destruction of Darkshore and Auberdine had taken her love and her child.

Solaes dropped her head into her hands.  A tear squeezed past the lashes of one eye and fell down the curve of her cheek.

She had vowed to return it upon the Twilight Cult one hundred fold.

But no longer did even her need for vengeance fill the void in her soul.  Instead, here she sat, more empty, more alone.

Only while lost in the bloodlust of the huntress did Solaes feel free of her pain.  Afterward, she was left once more with the hole where her heart had once been.

Perhaps therein lay the answer.

Solaes ran her fingers absently through her silvery hair as she thought.  She had heard stories of druids who lost themselves in the animals they took the forms of – most notoriously, the Druids of the Scythe.

It was a tempting thought.

But the panther had always been her prefered form – sleek, stealthy, deadly.

Solaes made a noise akin to a purr.  She let herself slip back into the skin of the huntress – her teeth elongated, her hands and feet became large soft paws, fur covered her body, and a long tail began to twitch back and forth anxiously.

Her only focus became the smells traveling on the wind and the sounds echoing in her ears.  And like a shadow at dusk, she melted away into the trees and fully gave herself to the instincts of the huntress.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at


I apologize in advance for the gravity of this piece.  Usually I am not this melancholy, especially on my blog, but it was necessary for me to get some of these thoughts and feelings out of my head.  To do so through the eyes of Ireenia just seemed appropriate.  I suppose it is both a confession and a projection, to share such personal thoughts through the fictional eyes of a dragon.

This is in no way a justification, merely an explanation – to myself and to the one I hurt so.

The song here is one that reminded me of him before, and has become a sort-of daily penance since.

~ Effy



The young blue dragon’s agonized bellow pierced the air and echoed off the surrounding mountaintops as her wings shredded the nearby clouds. With a wide swipe of each claw, she slashed their wispy remnants from the sky for good measure.  Growling and continuing to hover high above the scarred Vale of Eternal Blossoms, a fitting reflection of her inner turmoil, she briefly wondered what the people below might be thinking about her outburst.

Ireenia felt confident no one would guess that a dragon could be heartbroken.

What do dragons know of love, anyway? she mused silently.  Apparently, not much.  But the heaviness in her chest argued otherwise.

A year ago, when she was still a whelpling, Ireenia had known almost nothing of love, except that between parent and child – of that she witnessed much.  Of romantic love, she knew it only from watching her adoptive parents, and how easily they fit together.  They made it look so wonderful and so effortless.  The obstacles they overcame were many, and each hardship served to further strengthen the bond between them.

Then one day, Ireenia met a man, and it was not long before she learned what it felt like to be in love.

She remembered what it felt like to kiss him, the touch of their lips meeting, tongues caressing.  She remembered the warmth that started at her cheeks and spread throughout her at the press of his body, the electricity that accompanied his hands sliding along the small of her back.  She remembered how it felt when he would brush his hand along her cheek and through her hair, the swelling of her heart that she learned to crave more than anything.

A single tear escaped from Ireenia’s eye.  It broke her from the melancholic memories for a moment as she pondered the fact that she could cry in dragon form.  She had only ever cried when appearing as a Draenei.

The first time was the day he left.

Ireenia had not let him see those tears.  Instead, she wore a stoic face throughout it all.  She thought she was doing the best thing.  She thought if it was over, then what she needed was to preserve herself and shelter herself from further pain.

Then, when he walked out, she crumbled, she fell apart, she felt the pieces of her heart shatter into tiny pieces like a broken vase laying on the floor with no hope of ever getting all the pieces correctly assembled again.

Honestly, she thought it impossible to ever feel that kind of pain.  No broken bone or sword’s cut or magic’s burn could compare.  It was a pain no healing magic could soothe.  She felt it was the worst pain she could ever feel.

Again, she was wrong.

Ireenia tried to reconcile, to talk to him.  Through tears she could no longer hide, she explained the hurt, the emptiness.  “I miss you,” she said.  “I love you.”

He did not reply as she expected.

He explained how her coldness had driven the wedge; she had pushed him away.  He told her how that lack of emotion had made him feel alone in a time when he most needed her.  The pain was clear on his face; the agony was evident in the quaver of his voice.  Then, he admitted how that loneliness, that loss, that heartbreak, had cauterized his feelings for her.

He said many things that broke her heart all over again.

Ireenia did not know how to reply.  It changed her entire view of their parting, gave her a perspective that had never occurred to her.

“I did not know,” she remembered saying to him.

“It is too late,” she recalled him replying.

His final words echoed in her mind, over and over.  Ireenia had returned to her Draenei form, and the tears flowed freely now.  She knelt on the sharp stones of a mountain peak, face in her hands, and she did not try to stop those tears.  It was appropriate for her bleeding heart to be bared.

She deserved to serve this penance.

She knew it was her fault, all of this.

Too late.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

Warlords of Draenor Teaser

WoD Teaser StoryOne of the first things that came to my mind upon hearing the announcement of the new Warlords of Draenor expansion was the idea of my Monk, Ireenia, going to Draenor and running into a younger version of her “parents” Laz and Effy.

I figured it was only fitting to end the weekend on that very note.  I realize it is a little early to make such assumptions on the course of things, but I just could not help myself.  There was no way this story was leaving my head until it was on paper/screen.

~ Effy

Azure Gloaming

WoD Teaser Story 2

It was a confusing time.  Everything had happened so fast.  One moment, Garrosh Hellscream was on trial for crimes against all of Azeroth.  The next, he was fleeing into an alternate past with the intentions of finding and leading the “true” Horde.

Now, the members of Undying Resolution were also on the other side of the Dark Portal.  Here they sat, looking upon a world that was but was not the Outlands they had previously known and honestly expecting they would never be able to return home.  Following Garrosh had gotten them here, but it would not get them back.

The Temple of Karabor, known better to those from Azeroth as the Black Temple in another time and place, glittered like gemstones in the eternal moonlight of the Shadowmoon Valley.  It was a marvel of Draenei architecture, a small piece of their home on Argus, and it had become their home and their connection to the people of this world.

These Draenei.

Ireenia had hardly found the time to stop and step back and take it all in, and she suddenly realized she was awed by all of it.

As a young blue dragon, she had been born on and had only ever seen Azeroth.  Draenor was completely alien – the creatures, the landscape, and especially the sky.  The sky, especially this nighttime sky that formed a canopy over her head standing outside of Karabor, was breathtaking.  It made the entire cosmos appear as if it were barely out of her reach, inches from her fingertips.  Space and eternity so close yet so far.

Were she really a Draenei, and not just wearing the appearance of one, this strange planet would have once been her home.  It was the place where the Burning Legion had caught up to the outcasts of the Eredar race, those who had denied Sargeras’.  It was where the demons had corrupted and manipulated the Orcs into thinking the Draenei their enemy.

The Orcs who had nearly exterminated the Draenei.

Ireenia flinched as she thought of such things.  How easily those killed by the Orcs could have included her own adoptive parents – Lazheward and Effraeti.  Instead, they been part of the remaining Draenei to flee Draenor, crash landing on Azeroth in the sabotaged Exodar.

Then, eventually they went on to save her as an egg, and raised her as their own daughter.

As she thought of such things, and realized how homesick she was, Ireenia heard a pair of voices.  With pain tightening her chest, the woman thought them to be Laz and Effy.  With a grimace, she tried to dismiss the thought as a trick of her memories, but the voices rose again, and Ireenia still could have sworn they were the very voices she had grown so accustomed to from her earliest memories outside of the egg.

With a peek from the corner of her eye, Ireenia tried to catch a glimpse without being conspicuous.

Her eyes widening, the woman spun on her hooves, and took in the sight of her parents.  Both stood there, talking amongst themselves, very real and very much the two people she loved more than any others.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

Alt Appreciation #MonkWeek

Chen Stormstout

Chen Stormstout

Laeleiweyn of World of Lae has challenged bloggers with 11 weeks of Alt Appreciation!  I happen to be a huge altaholic, because I love leveling, love learning new classes/specs, and I most of all love writing stories for my many characters!  So I definitely felt this was a challenge I had to take on.

Here is my post for Week 5.


I had to do something a little more spectacular for MonkWeek, seeing as it is my main raiding class now.  So I decided on a short piece with Ireenia.  It is partially inspired by a bit from Parting the Mists:

She certainly did not want Mum to find out she was studying with the monks.

Mum worked too hard to keep Ireenia shielded from danger. The more Effraeti protected her, the more Ireenia questioned what she was missing. She understood it was motherly instinct, she read Mum’s concern clearly often enough, but Ireenia was a dragon! What had she to fear from orcs and trolls and even Forsaken? Even these mogu were no challenge for her as a dragon.

With a snicker, Ireenia caught herself – as a dragon – and that was why she learned from the monks at the Peak of Serenity. She had to learn to protect herself just as well as a Draenei as she could as a dragon.

It had been difficult as first to control herself enough. It was frustrating to fail in this frailer form, and often brought her close to exposing her true self in a fit of rage. But along with the ways of protection and attack, the monks also taught her restraint. She learned to center herself, and to use her emotions without letting them use her.

She learned quickly and soon excelled past their expectations.

Though much of her monk training was how to attack and defend herself, Ireenia grew more interested in the art of channeling the healing powers of the wise serpent, Yu’lon. To power herself with a dragon struck her as ironic, and perhaps that was part of the source of her connection. Deep down, though, Ireenia knew that healing was ingrained into her by Mum. Their connection and Mum’s nurturing made Ireenia want to do the good things she did.

Seeking Serenity

MonkWeek - Seeking Serenity

Ireenia scowled as her bottom painfully hit the stone ground.  The impacted jarred her teeth in her head.

Master Cheng’s patient smile never wavered.  The hollow staff continued to spin in the pandaren’s steady hands, its movements slow and deliberate.  His gaze remained friendly but steady, his small black eyes flashing.

“Get up, young one,” Master Cheng insisted, his voice soft.  “We are not done yet.”  To punctuate his words, he cracked the end of the staff onto the floor, halting its movement abruptly.  At the same time, the smile faded and his face became more serious.  “You still have much to learn.”

Exhaling sharply, Ireenia scrambled up.  Once her hooves were beneath her, she brushed the dirt from her pants and swept the tails of her azure hair back behind her shoulders.  The draenei woman met Master Cheng’s eyes.  Her own luminescent silver orbs narrowed stubbornly.

Zhunbei!” Master Cheng shouted, the command to prepare herself.  He swung the staff around above his head and behind him.  Its trailing end came to rest with a soft whump against his shoulder as he crouched down into a defensive stance, his left arm out to the side for balance.

Ireenia snapped her hands out before her.  She bore no other weapons.

Wei ziji bianhu!” the pandaren roared, swinging his staff forward.  Defend yourself!

Ireenia dropped back a step and swept her right leg around before her in a great arc, knocking Master Cheng’s blow aside.  The pandaren immediately reversed and swung the staff back across, catching the woman in the calf.

Crying out in pain, Ireenia spun away.  Favoring her injured leg, she hopped back without taking her eyes from Master Cheng, avoiding a few more swings of the pandaren’s weapon and batting aside others with her hands.

She made a quick upward gesture and let out a relieved sigh as light green mist settled around her and the essence of the Jade Serpent revitalized her.

Master Cheng’s staff was coming at her again, and Ireenia slapped it aside with her bare right hand.  As she pulled back to a readied position, she shot her left hand out, quickly followed by the first.  As her right hand came forward again, a glowing white wave of force pushed ahead of it and struck Master Cheng hard enough to knock him back and interrupt the steady flow of his attacks.

Ireenia did not pause to allow him a chance to recover.  She came forward steadily, fists and hooves striking again and again.  Each hit drove Master Cheng back a step.  They were nearly to the edge of the sparring area.

He was beaten.  Ireenia came on more forcefully.

Then, Master Cheng surprised Ireenia and unexpectedly dropped low beneath one of her kicks.  He spun and and swept a leg outward.  It caught the draenei woman unprepared and took her other leg out from under her.

Ireenia cried out as her legs crumpled and she dropped to the ground, hard.

In less time than it took to blink, Master Cheng’s staff was biting into her chest.  He made a tut tut noise as his smile returned.  “You overextended yourself, left yourself open,” the pandaren monk explained.  “When will you learn patience and restraint, young one?”

Ireenia’s eyes narrowed.  It took all of her willpower to resist changing then and there, and showing him the futility of his tiny threats.  She imagined the look on his face seeing her in all of her draconic glory.

But that is not my purpose here, she reminded herself.  I must learn to master this draenei form, and myself.

Master Cheng helped Ireenia to her feet.  “I think that is enough training for today.  Tend to your scrapes and bruises, and remember that everyone of them is an important lesson.”  At that, the pandaren bowed to her and walked away, leaving Ireenia to her thoughts.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

My Monks

I have actually become quite taken with the awesomeness of the Monk class.  So my Monk army is growing.

MonkWeek - IreeniaIreenia is my main, over my lovely Shaman, Effraeti, these days.  She has a few stories under her belt so far – beginning life as my favorite vanity pet, Xarzith, and expanding from there.  I have always been fascinated by the idea of dragons walking amongst us, and though it “breaks” all conventional RP rules, I do not care.  Both Ireenia and my Mage, Kiirae, have their secret identities, and this amuses me.  It was one way for me to combat the misgivings of changing my main, to give Ireenia a good story, and tie her to Effy.  I am coming to enjoy raiding on my Mistweaver Monk, and among this I have discovered her to be quite capable as an off-DPS and solo.  I enjoy fistweaving in dungeons and scenarios, and she conquers old content as easily as my DK ever did (and her gear is far better, so that helps too).  I think Ireenia and I will be together for quite some time, though, I dearly miss my Shaman.

MonkWeek - ChiyuChíyu was my original Monk.  When I came back to WoW for MoP last October (damn, has it really been almost a year??), I wanted a Monk and I wanted to see the Pandaren starting area.  So even before Effy was 90, Chiyu was created.  I quickly discovered I liked the very different feel of the Mistweaver, and Chiyu reached 85 fairly quickly.  For some reason, I am just not fond of Pandaren :/ and realized what I really wanted was a Draenei Monk!  I mean, finally, a Draenei class that could wear leather!  All of my mogging-senses told me this had to be, especially being that Draenei are my favorite race.  I quickly pushed aside the idea of race changing Chiyu, as she already had a place in my stories, and I could not disrupt that!  So for now, Chiyu wanders Stormwind, waiting for another story.

MonkWeek - CaeriseCaerise is my Horde Monk, both because a Horde Monk makes sense to me, and because I wanted to have a toon in my friend Martiean’s guild!  She was created shortly before I started school, and so she has been very slow to receive proper attention.  But eventually, it is my goal for her to see Level 90.  And someday, maybe she will have a story, as well.

Keep an eye out next week, for my Alt Appreciation #PaladinWeek post!

~ Effy

Afterglow – Part 3 (MATURE)

Part 1

Part 2

And now, for the conclusion of Afterglow.  I hope you enjoy it.  🙂

I wanted to use more pics, but WMV was being uncooperative


Afterglow - Forsaken Warlock

Though her basic survival instinct screamed against it, demanded she fight to regain her breath, Effraeti dropped her hands to her sides – feigning defeat.  She mentally struggled against the lack of air, already her vision clouded with sparks of bright colors, and willed one hand to her totem pouch.

The warlock seemed intent upon watching the spark of life leave her eyes.

But Effy was determined today would not be the day she met her makers.

The totem more tumbled from her hand than was thrown, her grip weak from lack of oxygen.  It thumped to the ground, and despite her slipping consciousness, the spirit of fire heard her silent plea and summoned forth an elemental of flame.

The Forsaken made a surprised sound and then shrieked as the fiery being before him grabbed him by the arm.

Effy crumpled to the ground, the warlock’s concentration broken, and gasped for air that burned her lungs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lycaohn’s tooth-filled muzzle snapped at the demon again, a spray of saliva reaching what the worgen’s fangs did not and wetting his enemy’s face.  Then, he wrenched powerfully at the axe-handle, spinning them both around, as the demon fought to keep its balance and not lurch forward and into the range of those sharp, jagged teeth.

Upon facing the other direction, nearby movement caught the worgen’s eye.

Effy! the reasoning part of his mind screamed.  The feral worgen growled in response, both at the intrusion and at the sight of the draenei woman dangling from the warlock’s evil spell.

It elicited more than a growl, it sparked a deeper anger within him.  It renewed his rage and gave him strength, and the worgen jerked the axe from the demon’s grasp.

Roaring, Lycaohn heaved the weapon into the far off darkness, and sprang upon the unbalanced demon.  No thought followed, only feral instinct, and the sudden frenzy of claws and fangs hopelessly overpowered the weaponless creature before him.  Lycaohn pinned the demon, tearing and slashing, and tore out its throat with his teeth.

Then, with a deep-throated, menacing growl ushering forth, the worgen turned back toward the warlock.  Effy was gasping upon the ground, and the sight of her pained the man deeply buried within him, but the beast was all rage and fury.

Ignoring the fiery presence assaulting the warlock, Lycaohn made several strides on his powerful legs to close the distance.  He hoisted the Forsaken from his feet and in the same motion tossed the warlock through the air to collide with the unyielding trunk of a mature tree many yards away.

Dropping to all fours, Lycaohn sprinted to the intruder and was upon him with another flurry of claws and fangs.  All his rage, both feral and that brooding beneath the surface of the mourning man, played out on the creature that had released the beast Lycaohn had tried so desperately to bury.

Lycaohn felt Effy’s judging eyes upon him, but the worgen was beyond caring.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Effy watched in fascinated horror as the beastly creature she knew to be Lycaohn shredded the Forsaken beyond recognition of anything that had once been humanoid.  Clothing, limbs, face – nothing was left unravaged even after Effy knew there was no conceivable way the warlock still clung to life.

It was several more minutes before the frenzy ended.

His rage played out, the worgen fell to it haunches and made no further movement.

“Lycaohn?” Effy dared to ask into the agonizing silence that had suddenly fallen upon the world.

The beast turned, and she was uncertain whether it was from recognition or merely the sound.  He let out a breathy snort, and it took Effy a moment to understand it for what it was – a profound sigh.  But he made no other movement, no other sound, just sat there, watching her.  His eyes were a fierce orange, glowing in the dim moonlight, but there seemed to be no anger left in them, only a somber resolve.  It was a strange juxtaposition to the blood and gore staining the light grey fur of his face, a stark reminder of the gruesome acts mere moments before.

Putting her hooves beneath her and standing, Effy watched the worgen as she took a few slow steps in his direction.  She stopped, still several feet from him, gauging his response.

A pitiful canine whimper escaped him, and his long, tufted ears flattened back against his skull.

Mustering more courage than it took to face the warlock, that at least aided by the adrenaline of the moment, Effy closed the remaining distance between them.

Even seated, the worgen still came almost to her chest in height, adding to its menacing presence.  The sheer size of him set her to trembling, uncertain of the logic of her proximity.

But it was Lycaohn.

She glanced at the torn remnants of the warlock and its doomguard minion at that thought, and shuddered unconsciously.  Lycaohn whimpered again.

Her eyes met his.  His eyes, usually so dark and warm and inviting, glowed a fiery orange at her, though they narrowed beneath the heavy and furred brows that furrowed under her scrutiny.  There was none of the previous rage there, and they were filled with a deep sorrow.

She reminded herself again that within that beast was Lycaohn.

Kneeling beside him, Effy touched his arm, most cautiously.  A growl assured forth from the worgen, but she saw in his face it was more a sound of uncertainty and frustration.

“I’m so… very sorry,” Lycaohn said finally, his voice more gravelly and broken than usual.  He lowered his gaze, and would not look at her.

“I wish you had told me,” Effy admitted.  “But you have no reason to apologize for who you are.”

“I am not this beast!” the worgen snarled, causing Effy to pull back.

He snapped his teeth together and exhaled sharply.  “I’m sorry.  It is so hard to… control my emotions… when in this bestial form,” Lycaohn growled, forcing the words out, and they seemed to come awkwardly to the usually articulate man.

He took her tiny, fragile-looking hand in both his clawed ones.  His touch was light and cautious.  “I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he said, his rough voice desperate.  “I am afraid of this… creature I am.”

Effy’s forehead creased in sympathy.  She was unsure how to reply.

“I am afraid of what I might do,” Lycaohn continued, and he glanced at the shredded warlock.  “Most of all, I am worried what I might do to you.”  He winced at his own words, and the piteous look on her face.  His speech became less halting the longer he continued, more steady, but still in that deep, grating voice.

“I imagine the control has to be learned,” Effy finally replied.  “But you cannot hide from it forever.”  She squeezed his hands reassuringly.

Lycaohn nodded, his gaze still lowered.  He studied their hands on Effy’s lap.

“Would that I could just bury the beast and not have to confront such things,” the worgen who was her lover lamented.

Effy steeled her nerves and wrapped Lycaohn in her arms.  “Pity is not becoming of you,” she whispered into his furry neck.

He hugged her back, tentatively at first.  Her nearness calmed him and his breathing slowed.  Then, Effy felt Lycaohn inhale sharply and his muscles begin to twitch.  He clung to her tighter as if fearing he might fall away as he began to change.  She squeezed back, tightening the embrace as his form shrunk and he returned to his human self.

“I thought for certain I would lose you if you found out,” Lycaohn whispered into her hair.  His voice and his body were back to those she found so comforting and safe.

“I am still right here,” Effy said, but she realized she knew not what that meant.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Upon returning to Stormwind, life went back to normal, though Effy was still unsure what normal even meant.  Was their life of cooking and working and lovemaking normal?  Or was it her life with Undying Resolution that fit that description?  Or was it something else entirely?

She did not seem to know anymore.

Her daily routine with Lycaohn became monotonous, and Effraeti found herself eager to be called away for guild business – as infrequent as that was.  She wished for some great evil, and chided herself for such foolish, selfish thoughts.

But real life had become too real.

Lycaohn seemed to notice the shift in her mood, but did not say anything.

As they went about their daily activities, Effy could not look at him without seeing the unbound fury with which he had torn apart the warlock and its minion – all teeth and claws and rage.  She knew that creature was brooding just beneath the surface of the man mending fences and thatching roofs.

This man she shared a bed with.

Such thoughts did not keep her body from reacting to the close proximity of him, though.  She realized this yet again late one evening when he came up behind her in the kitchen and enveloped her in his strong arms.  The press of his body was irresistible.  She both scolded herself for the weakness of her flesh and conceded to how much she missed his embrace in its absence.

Fingers gently swept her hair from her neck, and lips brushed against the sensitive skin there.  Any remaining resistance crumbled when he began to bite softly at her earlobe, his hot breath tickling her there and making her moan and her heart flutter.

His lips wandered forward and he turned her to face him.  As they kissed, he pressed himself tighter against her.  Clothes fell away with barely a thought and Lycaohn lifted one of Effy’s legs and held it high against his hip.  They both gasped and clutched more desperately to one another as he slid inside her.

As Effy’s body fell into a rhythm with Lycaohn’s, she lost herself in the moment.  Her eyes closed and her focus narrowed to the two of them, and their movement.  The world fell away.  All that remained was breathing and the warmth all through her and…


The mental picture set her whole body rigid, an almost perceptible pain washing over her, and Effy gripped the shoulders in front of her in panic.  The word – Lazheward – almost tumbled from her quivering lips, but she bit it back

”Are you alright?” a voice whispered into her ear, and it took Effy a moment to realize it was Lycaohn’s voice.  It was Lycaohn’s shoulders beneath her clenched fingers.  It was Lycaohn’s arms tightening around her, protectively.  It was Lycaohn’s eyes, watching her’s opened, dark and full of concern.  It was Lycaohn who was inside of her.

She nodded numbly, not trusting her voice.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked her, confusion lining his features.

Effy shook her head, and kissed Lycaohn deeply, needfully.  He returned it with no less passion.  He lifted her and put her other leg around him, carrying her to the bed as they continued to kiss.  He laid her down, never once breaking their intimate contact.

As she cried out and Lycaohn’s voice matched her’s, Effy had to swallow down the other man’s name.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Perhaps Laz had left with no intentions of coming back.  Or perhaps he was dead, for the world was a wide and dangerous place.  Either way, Effy realized with more certainty than ever he was the only man she truly loved and her affair with Lycaohn was just that.  It was an affair and a lie – mostly to herself – both selfish and deceitful.

She thought these things as she looked upon the sleeping man’s face, the sun breaking a small, determined beam through the drawn curtains to alight on his handsome and peaceful features.  It lit his eyelashes and shown in the coarse but well-trimmed grey and black goatee framing his dreamy smile.

Looking upon him nearly crumbled her resolve and coaxed her back to the bed they had shared so many nights of late.

It broke her heart to think of hurting him, this man who had so opened himself to her, but she knew the pain would be worse were she to stay.  Because eventually the lie would stand illuminated before them both, so like that rogue beam of sun lighting his sleeping face.

So it was with that thought Effraeti gained the strength to gather her belongings, of which many had accumulated in Lycaohn’s home over the months.  She went about her sad but necessary work with all the silence she could manage.  Dressed and standing beside the bed several moments later, a bundle folded in her arms before her, Effy said her silent goodbye.

Then, resisting the urge to kiss him once more or even to leave a letter, she stole from the room and from Lycaohn.  Walking out took all her strength, and none was left to face him.  Any further delay would have shattered her fragile resolve with her many doubts.

The irony of the striking parallels of Laz’s own abrupt departure were not lost on her.

THE END – for now

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Doggie Style" - for Amo, he knows why ;)

“Doggie Style” – for Amo, he knows why 😉

The decided upon “theme song” for this story is Amo-tested and Amo-approved.  🙂

Heart – All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Note: Both this afterword and the last scene were written before I even finished Part 1 (like I have said before, I rarely write in order!), but I could not publish it until the story was complete.  🙂


Apparently my romantic mood is quite melancholy of late.  All my current “love” stories are nowhere near completion or taking vicious turns into the jaded, breakup ending.  Though, I knew that would eventually be the end of this story when the thought first came to me while writing “First Sight” – it is the only logical ending, given the remainder of Effy’s story.

I guess it took my mood now to finally write it.

The biggest stumbling block for this piece was how detailed and explicit to be with the relationship between Effy and Lycaohn.  I was not sure whether to keep it short and sweet, a brief fling, or to go into detail of them being together for an extended amount of time.  On top of that, I was not sure whether to keep Effy in the chaste representation that I have always portrayed in her relationship with Laz, or whether to branch out and show a contrasting relationship and representation here.

Honestly, I am not sure why I have always been so chaste with Laz and Effy.  I guess it just seems like their love is deep and committed, but their personal life is still something they keep personal, not to intrude upon their saving of the world or their interactions with others.  They have no need to flaunt it like newlyweds, considering Laz and Effy have been together for some inexact hundreds of years.  It is about comfort and companionship and trust.  I guess I have just never thought about Laz and Effy in terms of physical.

Not to mention, keeping it chaste, as opposed to this piece, makes it easier to post and not fret about whether I am offending or ostracizing my readers.

In the end, like with all of my Effy-stories, this one seemed to take on a life of its own and try and write itself.  I think Effy’s character growth in this story was in part inspired by a comment from Amowrath.  He mentioned that an Effy-fling could lead to some personal growth.  As it turned out, she discovered some things about herself she did not know, and would later steer the course of her life.

The original title for this piece was “Girls’ Night Out,” but as it grew beyond the one scene that fit the title, I had to find something more all-encompassing.  My only guide was to try to stay in the format I have been using for the majority of my Effy stories, which is twilight/sunlight references, and it was a bit of a hefty task to come up with another.

I finally decided upon “Afterglow” because of the wonderful double entendre:

Afterglow (noun)

  1. Light or radiance remaining in the sky after the sun has set.

  2. Good feelings remaining after a pleasurable or successful experience.

I am also proud to say I have once more attempted to slaughter the Russian language with a curse Effy proclaims during their fight with the warlock.  “Proklyatiye fad-volshebnik” is probably a horrible, awful translation of “damn fel-wizard (warlock)”:

  • Proklyatiye meaning “damn”

  • fad meaning “fel” (I took ad which is “hell” and added an “f”)

  • and volshebnik meaning “wizard”

But I thought myself quite clever at once more using some Russian words (badly) to try and mimic what the draenei language might be like.  Hey, it’s no worse than “moj solnysko” right?

BTW, my apologies to all my warlock friends.  In game, I love warlocks and fel puppies, but c’mon, guys, you are like the epitome of evil.  So a Forsaken warlock was a given!  I was also tickled when “not-dog” sprang from Lycaohn, who has no idea what a fel puppy is – he’s a farmer after all! – and I had to use that as much as possible in a short span of time.

In closing, for those curious and who may not have read all my short stories or may not remember them all (heck, I often have to reread them when writing!), below I am including the very brief excerpt from “First Sight” that touches on Ly’s memories of his relationship with Effy and sparked the original idea for this story.

Hehe, Azeroth is a huge and tiny place, and I try and to ensure a tight-knit baseline for my stories and my characters by shrinking the Six Degrees of Separation as much as possible.

~ Effy

Excerpt from “First Sight”:

Lycaohn passed Mishka for what seemed the sixth time, the Draenei woman still assisting the wounded from both the Alliance and the village after the Sha attack.  Her thick accent as she soothed those in pain brought back memories of another.  Lycaohn flinched involuntarily and attempted to rebury the thoughts – memories that should not sting, but did.

You knew getting involved with her was trouble before things ever began, he reminded himself.

A snarl that instead turned into a sigh escaped him as his thoughts drifted.

The affair had been intense and brief, like a flashfire.  Lycaohn snorted an abrupt laugh at that comparison.  Playing with fire gets you burned, he mused bitterly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

Alt Appreciation #DruidWeek

DruidWeek - Malfurion

Malfurion Stormrage

Laeleiweyn of World of Lae has challenged bloggers with 11 weeks of Alt Appreciation!  I happen to be a huge altaholic, because I love leveling, love learning new classes/specs, and I most of all love writing stories for my many characters!  So I definitely felt this was a challenge I had to take on.

Here is my post for Week 2.


I think the comic for #DeathKnightWeek was a special, once in a great while thing.  It was more an exercise in becoming more comfortable with WoW Model Viewer than something that might become a regular habit for me.  But who knows?  For now, I am switching back to short stories.  🙂

For #DruidWeek, I found myself interested in further exploring the Harvest Witch – Druids from GIlneas who were more plant-whisperers and medicine-women until they met the Night Elves.  I touched on Lady Gaeladrial Wolfsbane as a Harvest Witch in my stories with DK-Effy and the Children of Greymane, most specifically The Secret of the Scythe (which will one day have a Part 2).  I thought a story further back – before the Greymane Wall, before the Scourge, before the Worgen, before the Forsaken, before Eduard and Gaeladrial – would be the perfect time period to illustrate this.

Enjoy.  🙂

The Harvest Witch

Gaeladrial knelt, her eyes closed, in the tilled, fertile dirt of her father’s southernmost field.  Her unbound copper hair fluttered in the soft breeze, brushing about her slender shoulders as she held silent communion with the earth and all the living things within it.  This was when she most felt alive, with the ebb and flow of life and death all around her, it speaking to her in ways other than with words.

She held her place for many long minutes, coaxing the living things beneath her into growth.

Then, a voice interrupted her reverie.

“Sister, our father has requested your presence for talks of trade with Lord Eduard of Duskhaven,” her youngest brother, Vaughn, said quietly as his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

Gael raised her head, opening her crystal blue eyes, and though she did not yet turn to face the boy of merely twelve, she placed her hand softly upon his.  She held the both of them in a moment of silence as she took in the changed scene around her.  The entire patch of field was now speckled with green sprouts of corn, coming eagerly to her call, and now reaching with budding leaves for the sun above and spreading their small roots through the moist soil below.

Frowning with the realization of what his words meant, Gael sighed.  “Just what my day was lacking, petty conversation with some pompous royal,” she breathed with a smirk to match her sarcastic words.

“Err, sister,” Vaughn began.

“Not to worry, dear brother,” Gael continued.  “I will do this duty for our father.  I know well how beneficial a trade agreement with Duskhaven would be for him.”

Vaughn shifted and pulled his hand away.  Gael heard him take a step back, and was about the question the boy actions.

Instead, the woman spun her head around at the unfamiliar voice that addressed her next.  “Forgive this ‘pompous royal’ for the intrusion, but I thought it best to see for myself the magic – literally, it would seem – that makes Niall Coghlan such a successor landowner.”

Gael brought forth her most convincing smile, and hoped her face did not betray her embarrassment.  “Lord Eduard, I presume?”  As she spoke, she got to her feet and brushed the dirt from the knees of her long skirt.

She took measure of the man, well-groomed and well-dressed.  He wore a dressrobe of dark cloth, stitched and trimmed in the manner only the royals of Gilneas proper wore.  The dark cloth complemented his dark features, glittering dark eyes and hair black as a raven and cut neatly to just above his straight shoulders.

“I am,” the man replied and gave her a courteous bow.  “And you must be Gaeladrial.  Niall spoke highly of your talents, but mentioned nothing of your beauty.”

At that, Gael did blush, but she quickly recollected herself and resumed her serious visage.  She reminded herself of the worn and tattered robe she had worn to come out to the field, as well as the wind-blown mess her red hair surely was, and wondered if he mocked her.  Before she could stop herself, she responded, coldly, “I thought you here to speak business, Lord Eduard.  Or are we to trade only compliments?”

Eduard chuckled.  “Trading compliments would imply they are going in both directions, Miss Gaeladrial.  If I recall, you think me pompous.”  At that, he smiled disarmingly.  His grin stretched the edges of his neatly trimmed goatee in a most flattering manner.  Lord Eduard was quite handsome, and even witty, and Gael decided that made her dislike him even more.  She had no use for pampered, prancing royals.

“You wish to barter for the rich goods grown here at Farm Coghlan?” Gael continued, trying without luck to keep the annoyance from her tone.

“Indeed, milady,” Eduard replied with a respectful nod.  “Duskhaven is home to many of the finest blacksmiths in all of Gilneas.  It would seem beneficial to all to come to an agreement of trade – our implements for your produce.”

Gaeladrial was about to reply when a cry reached her ears from far off, to the northeast.  Vaughn was next to her and then gone, no doubt curious about the commotion.  He was already too far and getting farther by the time she thought to scold him with caution.

“Excuse me, milord,” Gael said to Eduard distractedly.  “I know not what caused that shout, but I should at least ensure it poses no danger, especially to my young and impetuous brother.”  She did not even wait for a reply before sprinting away, as another frightened shout came from the same direction.

Several fields away from where Vaughn and Eduard had found her, Gael came upon a chaotic scene.  Farmhands with shovels and other tilling implements – interrupted from preparing the next field to be planted – swung wildly at a snarling pack of dire wolves.

Less than a dozen or so farmhands held off twice their number of the giant-sized, feral canines.  One of each side of the conflict were already down on the ground.  Many of those still standing bore bloody wounds.

What the woman found strange was the activity of the beasts during the day.  Usually wolves, even their larger dire cousins, were nocturnal creatures.  Why would they come in such large numbers, and against an alert human settlement?

Gael let out an unrestrained curse as she saw Vaughn standing amongst the defenders, wielding a pitchfork longer than he was tall.

She began to to reach out mentally to the life forces dormant within the ground around the defenders.  In the midst of her call, she felt a presence run up beside her, but she continued to focus, though she grimaced at the thought it was likely Lord Eduard.  Just what I need, a royal to protect too! she thought with a sigh.

Raising her hands, Gael brought forth the life forces she had been calling to.  A great jumble of vines and leafy shoots climbed into the air, forming a green wall before the defenders just in the front of the man laying on the ground.  In addition, one of those vines broke away from the others and lifted Vaughn from the ground.  The vine wound around his midsection as the boy flailed and complained, and it deposited him before his very grim looking older sister.

“Uh, I just wanted to help,” the boy said sheepishly, looking down at his feet.

“This is a very serious matter, Vaughn.  You could have gotten hurt,” Gaeladrial scolded.

Before she could say more, the woman caught Lord Eduard moving in the corner of her eye.  He was whispering something and moving his hands.  She glanced more fully in his direction and her eyes widened in the realization he was casting a spell.

She flinched backwards as a ball of fire flew from his hands, growing in size and intensity as it travelled.  Gael’s eyes followed the ball and she stumbled backwards as it exploded amongst the dire wolves.  Several of the snarling beasts fell to the devastating blast, and many more caught fire.

Then, the woman cried out as the living wall between the dire wolves and the farmhands caught fire as well.  She felt as the greenery felt – burning pain.  The vine wall began to retract at her command, even though Gaeladrial feared putting the farmhands back into danger.

Vaughn caught her left hand as she swooned, and someone was on her right – Lord Eduard.  He steadied her as the pain receded.

As she regained her senses, Gael realized there was hardly credence to her worries for the farmhands.  The dire wolves had taken notice of the three to the south – the source of the burning fire that still clung to the pelts of many of them.  More than half the remaining pack charged.

Eduard sent forward a spray of frost before Gael could fully recover herself, freezing three of the dire wolves in place, the rest loping by without a backward glance.

Gaeladrial straightened herself and reached deep into the living earth once more.  Thorny vines and stringy shoots, smaller and more numerous than those that had erected the protective wall, sprung from the ground.  They wound around the legs of the charging dire wolves, tripping them, then holding them painfully in place as the thorns constricted.

But one of the beasts got through, its full attention on the woman still distracted by her call to nature.

Her eyes flying wide, Gael quickly summoned protection for herself.  Within seconds, her skin turned into thick bark.  It absorbed a good deal of the impact a moment later as the gigantic dire wolf collided with her chest and snapped and clawed viciously.  It might as well have been biting the trunk of a tree for all the damage it did, and Gael let out a ragged sigh of relief.

But her protection would not hold.

The beast on top of her bit and raked her with increasing ferocity.  It seemed to enrage at the ineffectiveness of its attacks, and came on her with a frenzy of teeth and nails.  Gael feared the moment her protective spell gave way, both because of those teeth and the sheer weight of the beast.  Fully on her chest, she felt it would certainly crush her.

Then, it yipped and spun upon her chest with a feral growl.  Gael could just barely see the tines of a pitchfork, stained red at their tips with the dire wolf’s blood, and the boy holding the tool as a weapon.

“Vaughn, no!” Gael cried.

Lord Eduard stepped in front of the boy as the dire wolf quickly closed the gap to the two, snarling and salivating.  His face was a grave mask.  As she watched, the man protected himself and her brother with a shimmering purple aura.

The dire wolf sprang and collided with Eduard’s magical wall.  It snapped it jaws and tore its claws across the surface of the shield, far from surrender but far from getting through.

Gael took the reprieve to skitter backwards on her hands and bottom far enough to clamber back to her feet.  As she did, the bark coating her skin began to flake away to the ground, and she brushed the excess away distractedly, trying to think what else she could do.  All of her communing with nature had left her drained, and the battle was still far from over yet.

Then, Eduard lifted his hand and shouted one word of command.  Purple missiles of energy shot from his hands, each slamming into the face of the dire wolf, and each ripping a painful whimper from the creature.

It shook the attack off, dazed but not beaten, and went at the shield again.  The dire wolf tore at it with abandon, each attack against the beast only seeming to further enrage it.

Pulling a handful of tiny seeds from the pouch on her belt, Gaeladrial spoke over them, causing the pile in her palm to glow.  She gestured at the dire wolf and summoned tiny multi-colored flames around the creature, causing it to flail and roll on the ground.  Before it could realize the flames were not burning it, Gael flung the handful of seeds at the dire wolf.  Each seed exploded in a brilliant spark of light and set the beast to yiping pitifully again.

The distraction was more than enough time for Lord Eduard to finish his spell, and a great ball of crackling energy pushed forward at his will, moving slowly through the air.  It collided with the dire wolf with a deafening boom, drowning out any death wail the creature might have uttered.

Gael accepted the congratulatory nod from the man, and returned it but briefly, asking him, “Can you summon another of your fireballs?”  He nodded.  “Good I have an idea.”  Then, she sprinted half the distance between them and the trapped remainder of the dire wolf pack.  Her thorns and vines held tight for the moment, but she knew not how much longer, and the icy tombs encasing the other three were being to melt in the warm spring sun.

Closing her eyes and steeling her small bit of remaining strength, Gael called to the life forces within the soil of the freshly tilled plot beneath them.  Tiny at first, but enlarging quickly at her pleas, mushrooms of various shapes and colors sprouted all around the struggling dire wolves.

When the fungi were nearly even with the shoulders of the giant wolves, Gael gasped and fell to her knees, all her remaining energy spent.

“The mushrooms…” she panted from the ground.  “The wolves…  Fire there…”

Eduard was already casting before she finished.

The fireball exploded, and the dire wolves shrieked in pain.  But the fiery explosion also set off a chain reaction of detonating fungi.  The mushrooms and some of the spores released incinerated immediately – Gael flinched at the agony of the life forces she had sacrificed – but many of the spores formed thick clouds around the howling beasts trapped within.

The poisonous spores proved more deadly than the fire, as they clung to fur and skin and were inhaled by the panicked creatures.  Sores formed and entire patches of fur sloughed away, while inside the spores ripped apart the lungs of the dire wolves like tiny shards of glass.

It was a gruesome sight, and Gael had to turn away as the beasts flailed and died miserably.

Lord Eduard stepped up to her side, his mouth agape.  Then, he seemed to recall himself, and reached a hand toward Gaeladrial.  “Milady, remind me never to cross your path,” he said in all seriousness.

“The farmhands… are they…?” the woman asked once she was on her feet, a wave of dizziness washing through her.

“They appear to be handling the one remaining dire wolf,” he replied.

“Vaughn…!” Gael cried suddenly.

“Right here, sister,” the boy replied.  Her weariness forgotten, she glanced him over and ensured he was unharmed.  “I’m fine,” he said, fidgeting beneath her scrutiny.

Gaeladrial turned to Lord Eduard, seeing him as more than merely a pompous royal now.  He had certainly proven otherwise.  “Thank you,” she said with sincerity.  “Both for your help and for protecting Vaughn.  Our mother would roll over in her grave if I let anything happen to him.”  She shot the boy a withering glance at that.

“It was no more than I would have done had my own town been under similar attack,” Lord Eduard replied, his previous arrogant facade replaced with a more humble demeanor.  Gael thought the latter more fitting to the man, and she wondered if she had been unfair in her initial judgement.

“Perhaps we should talk more of a partnership,” Gaeladrial said.

“I believe I see a lasting and beneficial relationship between Duskhaven and Pyrewood before us, Miss Gaeladrial,” Lord Eduard responded with a deep bow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

My Druids

I have two accounts, and therefore two main Druids – three if you count the multiple incarnations of my Worgen Druid.

DruidWeek - SolaesSolaes is actually my original, first-ever WoW character, who was once Rosaelyn, the Night Elf Druid.  She has gone back and forth between being a Night Elf and a Worgen and at some point got renamed – when she became a Worgen, I think.  In Wrath, I tried to heal and tank with her.  In Cata, I tried to heal and boomkin with her.  In MoP, I tried to make her a feral cat, then switched to healing, then finally finished leveling her to 90 as a boomkin.

I am a horrible Druid, as any spec.  It is the one class I am absolutely horrible at healing with.

Solaes is my occasional attempt at trying to right that, so far with no luck.

DruidWeek - Gaeladrial-WRA

DruidWeek - Gaeladrial

Gaeladrial is a character that was created when I started playing on Wyrmrest Accord.  She now also has an incarnation on Elune with my other toons.  So far, she is just a banktoon, though, and GM of Children of Greymane, my bank guild.  Someday, I might try again at playing a Druid, and that would be Gael.

Keep an eye out next week, for my Alt Appreciation #HunterWeek post!

~ Effy

Afterglow – Part 2 (MATURE)

Afterglow - The Gilded Rose

Part 1 – Be sure to check out the updated version!  I added a few pics and a song.

The man watched her slow breathing as it raised and lowered her pale, blue-skinned chest, covered by nothing more than the thin sheet of the bed.  Her hair was a messy tumble of brown locks around her head, and as a stray bit tumbled forward and tickled her nose, making her eyes crinkle, Lycaohn lightly brushed it back behind her ear.  His hand lingered on the soft skin of her cheek, and a smile flitted across her lips.

Lycaohn pulled his hand back close to his head, onto the pillow, and took all of her in as his eyes grew heavy.

Thinking back to his approach of her the night before, the man smiled.  It had seemed quite absurd at the time, and out of character for him.  Now, here he was, looking upon her, the memories of their lovemaking fresh in his mind, and it was as if it was the only sane answer in an insane world.

His last conscious thought before sleep overtook him was, You have to tell her the truth.  He could not argue himself that point, because there might come a time when he could not hold the beast at bay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Afterglow - Stormwind

All of their nights together from that first one forward were spent at the small house granted to Lycaohn by King Varian in a community recently built for some of the displaced Gilneans.  It was on the northern side of Stormwind near some farms skirting the city’s edge.

There were days, and even some nights, where Effy was called away for some guild business or another – a cluster of encroaching ogres here or a rampaging Horde troop there – but for the most part, life on Azeroth was relatively quiet.  Lycaohn was doing odd jobs around the Gilnean community of Stormwind, as well as on the numerous farms dotting the region.

For the most part, it left the two lovers much time together.

Effraeti came to discover that Lycaohn was quite the cook, in contrast to her meager skill in that area, aside from what cooking she had learned to do over a campfire.  She was an enthusiastic student, though, and many nights they stayed in to craft meals both standard and exotic.

It was closest Effy could recall to leading what might be considered a normal life.  It was the kind of life most people lived, people who were not fighting for the survival of the very planet they lived upon or fleeing through the depths of space from the inevitable extinction that nipped at their heels.

And Effy found herself to be happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sun was barely brightening the top edges of the mountains to Stormwind’s east when Effraeti found herself awake.  She tried to close her eyes again, not wanting to get up.  The skin of Lycaohn’s chest and stomach were warm against her back, his arm draped loosely over her front, and she had no desire to disturb either of them from the embrace.  But it was not long before the partially shaded window and the silence could no longer hold her interest.

The press of his body was too inviting.

With as little disruption as possible, Effy rolled her body under Lycaohn’s arm.  Facing him, she slowly slid her arms up his back, grabbing the tops of his shoulder blades and pressing against him, kissing him, first lightly but with increasing urgency as his eyes fluttered.

Before they were even fully open, he was inside of her.

Lycaohn pulled her on top of him and grabbed ahold of her hips as he thrust upwards.  Effy moaned as her whole body tensed in reply.  Sitting upright, she moved in rhythm with him, her knees tight against his sides.  The world beyond the two of them fell away, and Effy focused only on him, the feeling, the two dark eyes locked on her own when they were not tracing the lines of her body.

Effy cried out in ecstasy.  Lycaohn moaned as she tightened around him, and he pulled her in closer.  He cradled her head as he rolled her onto her back and thrust harder, in and out, until he too released all the energy building within him.

Afterwards, the man raised himself up on his arms, looking down at her still shaking form, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light over the wide smile crossing his face.  “Tell me you have no guild business today, as I have no tasks so pressing they cannot wait until tomorrow, or the next day.” Lycaohn implored, brushing his hand lightly over her cheek.

Effy regarded him curiously.  “We should probably get out of bed at some point,” she responded and smirked at him.

The man let out a chuckle at the effect of his cryptic statement.  “I want to get away, just for a day or two.  We can picnic and sleep under the stars.  Though, not too much sleeping, I hope.”  With that last comment he leaned forward and nibbled her neck playfully.  “I would much prefer to enjoy you than sleep,” he breathed into her ear, inciting a soft moan that only served to drive him on again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Afterglow - Campfire

The world was still and quiet around them, except for the echoey chorus of a thousand crickets.

The remains of their light meal beside them, near the warm light of the flickering fire, Lycaohn took in the soft azure features of the woman and knew he was at peace.  Effy’s luminescent eyes similarly followed the lines of his face, but always those eyes came back to his.  She traced a similar path with her delicate fingers, running along his cheek, stroking the bottom edge of his ear, twirling loosely through his dark hair, brushing along the trimmed whiskers of his goatee, tickling his lower lip.  He lightly kissed the tips of those fingers, and Effraeti leaned in and met his lips with her own.  His arms tightened around her in response.

A noise that was certainly no cricket, the snap of a twig it seemed, caused Effy to pull away.  She appeared to hold her breath, focusing less with her eyes and more with her ears.  Her hands were tense on his forearms, her face a grimace as if smelling something offensive.

It was impossible for him to see anything in the blackness beyond the edge of the fire’s light.

With a movement almost too subtle for him to catch, Effy’s hand went to her belt and the small pouch that hung there.  A fluid motion of that hand brought forth and dropped one of the small totems she kept there.

The faintest whisper of words, too low for Lycaohn to decipher, drifted towards them.

Effy pulled at his arms, and they both tumbled ungraciously to the right.

A second later, a bolt of roiling green flame flashed into existence and struck where they had been sitting a moment before.  It flared and hissed.  Lycaohn’s head snapped in that direction, and it all happened so fast he was only just in time to see the bolt fizzle and be consumed by Effy’s totem.

The woman stood, and snapped her hand forward again.  This time, as her next totem hit the ground, a great being appearing as a violent vortex of wind sprang forth, and the energy crackling around the elemental made all the man’s hair stand on end.

As the air elemental gestured forward, a lightning bolt crackled forth.

A surprised cry ushered from the brush.

Lycaohn grabbed for the one weapon available to him, an old hunting knife they had used while preparing dinner, and he held it before him as he clambered to his feet.  He willed himself calm, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Effy was still murmuring spells to his left, summoning a watery-looking shield upon herself and in the same breath shooting a small spark of fire in the direction of their enemy’s cry.

Proklyatiye fad-volshebnik,” the shaman hissed as a strange four-legged creature bigger than any dog Lycaohn had ever seen bound out of the darkness.  It’s face was merely a wide toothy mouth that encompassed a quarter of its body, and it was covered more with spines of varying size than fur.  The not-dog whipped a pair of tentacles sprouting from its back at the air elemental as it loped by, causing Effy’s creature to screech in pain and seeming to stun it.

Another spark of flame came from Effy’s hand as she backed away from the approaching not-dog.  It let a high-pitched yip as it’s egg-shaped body sizzled with the fire that engulfed it.  Then, murmuring more syllables, the woman shot her hand forward again, this time propelling a ball of magma that warmed Lycaohn’s face more than the nearby fire.

The disembodied voice beyond the firelight cried in unison with its pet as the not-dog tumbled away through the edge of the campfire, knocking glowing embers across the ground.  The not-dog slid to a stop and became very still.

Effy dismissed her distressed air elemental, and strode forward toward their invisible attacker.

Lycaohn cursed as he looked on, feeling helpless with naught but a worn knife.  He gripped the handle until his knuckles turned white and willed himself calm as he sidestepped around the far side of the low-burning campfire.

Another fire-spark shot from Effy’s hand as she approached the darkness, then another.  She seemed to be lighting her way as much as trying to sting the cowardly intruder.  A shield of water flickered around her, accompanied by a rippling shield the dark green of late summer grass.  As she neared the edge of the campfire’s light, she gestured toward the ground and the very rock beneath them lurched and rumbled.  And still she shot tiny sparks of fiery light into the darkness, her face a resolute mask.

She was all at once beautiful and terrifying.

Even as he watched, ready to shout to her if their attacker tried to assail her, Lycaohn continued to creep around the fire.  Once at the dark edge of the trees, he found he was at first nearly blind in the blackness beyond the fire’s glow, but his eyes adjusted quickly.  The bright moons above, with their accompanying stars, lit his way forward well enough.

Some strange, unknown sense drove Lycaohn in a direction he knew to be the right one.  He followed that sense and took a path he thought to be an intercepting one.

Then, he was face to face with the intruder.  Trying to keep ahead of Effy’s fire and the heaving, rumbling ground, perhaps even fleeing entirely, the emaciated figure stumbled right into Lycaohn’s path.  The moonlight was enough to illuminate the pallid creature for what it was – a Forsaken!

Its cold, depthless eyes lifted in momentary surprise.

Lycaohn’s face twisted into a snarl.  “Soulless abomination!” he growled.  The man’s vision sparked with red and went hazy as his muscles twitched involuntarily.  He fought to control his anger, the knife’s handle spinning restlessly in his right hand, his left clenching and unclenching.

“Let me introduce you to true agony, fool,” the Forsaken hissed, recollecting itself and reaching forward.  Its claw-like, skeletal hand thumped against Lycaohn’s chest.

A howl escaped the man, a howl first coming from that place of pain instilled by the undead’s spell, then twisting into something more feral.

As the howl changed, so did the man.

The pain of the spell dulled against the wrenching, breaking anguish coming from deep within Lycaohn as he began to feel as if he were tearing from the inside out.  Bones popped and clothing tore as he grew in height and mass, his shoulders broadening and his face elongating into a lupine muzzle.  Fur sprouted all over his face and body, and when his pained eyes opened, they shone with a fierce orange glow.

Afterglow - 1Afterglow - 2Afterglow - 3Afterglow - 4Afterglow - 5

The howl turned into a roar.

Lycaohn saw the Forsaken had taken several steps back, but that did not calm his rage.  This creature, this abomination, had attacked them, planned to kill them.  Not like Maeranda! his head screamed, the small part that still thought in more than terms of blood and dismembering.  For in that moment, Lycaohn was fully at the mercy of the feral worgen curse that infected his blood and was forever nipping at the edges of his anger, fear, and lust, waiting for a moment he was not fully in control – as now, frightened for Effy and himself both.

Powerful legs propelled Lycaohn forward and clawed hands at the end of long, muscular arms grabbed the Forsaken warlock around the throat.  The decaying wretch made a desperate shout and flail of his hands as it alternately clawed at the worgen’s strong grip.  Lycaohn spun and tossed the warlock all in one movement as he turned to face the creature the warlock had summoned at his back.

He was just in time to catch the giant axe swinging for his head.  He snarled at the demon and wrestled for the weapon, snapping his jagged fangs in the summoned creature’s face.  It leaned back, but did not release the axe, and the two paced a circle as they grappled.

Solely in the moment, his feral thoughts on naught but shredding the demon before him, Lycaohn was oblivious to the motions and murmurings of the unfettered warlock behind him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Effraeti made quick progress through the dark woods, lighting her way with with the sparks of fire regularly pulsing forward from her hand.  She quieted the earthquake with a dismissive gesture, realizing the warlock was on the run, but that hardly concerned her.  She could smell the evil creature’s presence – the offensive stench of fel magic, which had for so many centuries personified the fear that had drove her outcast race through the stars.

No more would she run.

It was Lycaohn’s howl of pain that caused her to stumble with uncertainty.  He was somewhere before her, in the direction of the warlock, though she had thought him behind her in their camp.

Fear gripped her and drove her forward with more haste.

It was confusion a moment later which almost caused her to falter again.  A different howl pierced the night, this howl certainly the sound of no man.  Effraeti briefly thought of some demonic creature the warlock might summon, but she knew before the thought finished such was not the case.  It was not a separate sound, but a transformed one – transformed from the desperate howl of Lycaohn.

She sped on, sensing she closed on the warlock, but not fast enough.  Certainly not fast enough.

A distant roar assaulted her, closer now, and Effy hurried on.

A flicker of movement ahead told Effy she was getting close.  She caught sight of the gaudy purple and green robe of the warlock, and… something else.  Lycaohn, it had to be Lycaohn.

Making out just enough to realize the warlock was casting, Effy pressed herself on.  As soon as she was within range, she gestured at the ground.  Once again, the stones heaved and grated against one another, buckling the ground and spilling the warlock ungraciously onto its backside.

Finally, Effy stepped around the trees and into the small area where the warlock scrambled to get back to his feet only to tumble over again.  Impervious to the violence affecting the ground around her, the shaman approached and realized the creature was a Forsaken.  Her face crinkled in disgust.

“I do not like warlocks,” Effy stated simply.

She raised her hand threateningly, ready to cast oblivion into the creature’s face, but she felt her gaze drawn to the scuffle behind her.  The combatants were almost upon her, and she had to suddenly sidestep to avoid them as they lurched past.

The warlock had summoned a doomguard, which locked in a fierce struggle with…

“Lycaohn?” Effy asked, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

It was a worgen, yet wearing the tattered remains of her lover’s clothes.  She stood, momentarily transfixed, as the feral creature growled and snapped at the face of the doomguard, both combatants wrestling over the great axe of the demon.  They seemed at an impasse – the demonic strength of the doomguard matching the rage and ferocity of the grey and white furred worgen.

Effraeti realized the fur reminded her of the salt and pepper of Lycaohn’s goatee.

The shaman did not realize the quiet that had befallen the ground beneath her until a cold, shadowy hand grabbed her throat.  Too late, she realized she had become too distract ed, to her detriment, as the warlock had gotten to its feet to take her previous advantage.

The demonic claw lifted her effortlessly from the ground and tightened.

Clawing with her fingers at the shadowy tendril holding her aloft, Effy realized she may as well have been scratching at iron bars.  The grip seemed made of wispy fel energy, but was real enough against her throat.  She fought to draw breath, and the malefic grasp tightened.

“Silly shaman,” the warlock spat.  “I will choke the life from you, watching you die slowly.  Then, I will be sure to grant your mongrel friend no quicker an end.”

She met the sneering gaze of the Forsaken and gritted her teeth in defiance, unable to draw the breath to retort.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, yes.  I know.  I am sorry to say that this story has totally gotten away from me and become longer than intended.  So expect to see Part 3 soon!  In the meantime, here is another great song that I think fits the mood of the story.  Ironically, it is not where I came up with the title.  In fact, I forgot about the similarly-named song until it came on Pandora yesterday!  I mean, how perfect are these lyrics for a Shaman?  🙂

Expect a proper afterward when this story is concluded in the next part.

~ Effy

Phaelah – Afterglow

Taking control of the elements, Making them mine, making them mine.
Touching up all of the elements, Takin’ my time, takin’ my time.
Takin’ a hole of the present day, Pushin’ it all, pushin’ it all, pushing it.
Takin’ control of my destiny, Makin’ it fine, makin’ it fine, makin’ it

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

Alt Appreciation #DeathKnightWeek

DeathKnightWeek - Arthas

Laeleiweyn of World of Lae has challenged bloggers with 11 weeks of Alt Appreciation!  I happen to be a huge altaholic, because I love leveling, love learning new classes/specs, and I most of all love writing stories for my many characters!  So I definitely felt this was a challenge I had to take on.

Here is my post for Week 1.


I feel the best way for me to show my love to the classes, is in story form…

DeathKnightWeek - Panel 1DeathKnightWeek - Panel 2DeathKnightWeek - Panel 3DeathKnightWeek - Panel 4DeathKnightWeek - Panel 5DeathKnightWeek - Panel 6DeathKnightWeek - Panel 7DeathKnightWeek - Panel 8DeathKnightWeek - Panel 9DeathKnightWeek - Panel 10

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story is based on worlds and characters in World of Warcraft.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Jamie Roman AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at

My Death Knights

I have three Death Knights of note.  This is possibly to be expanded on at some point, since the limit of one Death Knight per realm has been lifted.

DeathKnightWeek - Caeridwen

Caeridwen was my first Death Knight.  She was also my second max level character, after my Shaman back in Wrath.  She began “life” as a Draenei, and has since become a Night Elf and a minor story character of mine.  Honestly, she is only a Night Elf so I could give her pink hair…  Now, she is second to DK-Effy, and exists mostly as my miner and jewelcrafter.

DeathKnightWeek - DK-Effy

Effræti is my Shaman’s other half, literally.  She has been in several of my stories, and is in fact the reason I started blogging.  When I quit raiding for a while in Cata (basically, most of Firelands), I moved to an RP server – Wyrmrest Accord.  I was kind of soured to both raiding with and even playing on my Shaman at the time, and so I recreated Effy as a Death Knight.  It was my second favorite class, and seemed the obvious choice for starting from scratch on a new server.  Little did I know how much creating backgrounds for my characters on an RP server would inspire me!  It started with writing on piece about DK-Effy that came to me late one night and would not leave me to rest until it was out on paper.  That short piece was “Regrets” and became my first blog post back on my original blog, Effraeti’s RP.  Like with all of my Effy pieces, DK-Effy’s story took on a life of its own – from her joining up with Worgen to rid Duskwood of their feral brethren, to her winding up in the “real world” in a piece written for a Blog Azeroth Shared Topic, to her coming face-to-face with herself!

DK-Effy does not get as much play as she should, mostly because I am terrified of tanking in LFR.

DeathKnightWeek - Fehnrir

Fehnrir is a Worgen Death Knight, simply because when I was on the RP server, I was somewhat obsessed (and still am) with the tortured nature of Worgen and Death Knights so much so that mixing the two seemed a great idea.  I still think it is, but poor Fehnrir has seen little love, and still sits in his DK start zone gear at Level 59.  And now, he has been immortalized as a troll.  Oh, the indignity.  lol

Join me and all the other bloggers participating in Lae’s Alt Appreciation next week for #DruidWeek!

~ Effy