Atalanta: A Rambling

Very few know me for the young lad I was once. My mother used to boast about how I could have any lady in the kingdom - even though there was only one woman I deftly pursued. But now all they see is the bitter, cold recluse who wanders from the tannery to the local shops once a week - a man left with nothing but memories, whose family and loved ones have vanished by means of the Curse. Once, there was an eligible bachelor who wanted nothing more than to manage his own business and raise a family of his very own. He is no longer there. The opportunity to obtain these two simple aspects of life, I fear, has long since passed; and, it flew with the simple flick of her hand.

A refusal.

A rejection.

Atalanta.

Ridiculously stubborn, ever-challenging since we were introduced as childhood playmates, unbelievably finicky, albeit genuinely charming.

Everything she was, she was opposite me. Whereas I was all for traditions, she'd rejuvenate old ways into something fresh; and, where I was proper and rule-abiding, she tested the boundaries [and, vice versa, mind you].

If only I had initially kept the promise to keep the Lyall Tannery in business.
If only I weren't so hellbent, and she weren't so persnickety.
If only this Curse hadn't changed me, changed us.

What a pair of Lyall's we could have been.

Could have been.

Adding Character: Wardrobe

My [or, rather, Conri's!] Gilneas Boys [L-R]: Twins Faolan & Farran and Greyer Lyall
One thing I love about Warcraft characters is their clothing. Mages and Priests wear robes, flowy garments as Warriors and Paladins wear plate armor; a low-level character might have been recruited into the Horde or Alliance with just the clothes on their back; Rogues wear leather, and perhaps only carry what they can to eliminate anything snagging onto them as they sneak around... An auctioneer might not wear "battle gear" and instead wear something flashy as they go about their business to and from the auction house.

With the introduction of the Worgen, I had a thought:

What does a Gilnean wear?

According to WoWWiki:
Gilneans, the inhabitants of Gilneas, are burly, and their costumes, weapons, architecture and accents have great Victorian connotations. With the environment, echoing 19th century London, gear might be fitted to withstand heavy rain and wind. (source)

Thus, I came up with this little list (and it has helped me a whole lot with acquainting myself with Greyer, my soon-to-be Worgen rogue):

• Gentleman's Emporium
  
• Ladie's Emporium
  
• Steampunk Emporium (perfect for LWers & engineers)
  
• Victoriana
  
• Camillus-Fly's DeviantArt Gallery (excellent source of vintage photos)
  
• Quaddles' DeviantArt Gallery (Victorian Men, Women, Groups & Children photos!)
  
• Outland Armour (custom Fantasy/Steampunk Costumes)
  
• Victorian Men (Unknown magazine photoshoot)
  
• Might add more if I find 'em...

Together Again [excerpt]

Her almond-shaped eyes peered up at him as a smile curved her full, pale purple lips. Lunarius kissed the crown of her head, bringing his hands to her face to brush a strand of snow white hair from her eyes. His thumbs smoothed over the familiar dark facial markings on her cheeks before intertwining with the two large looped braids at the base of her neck. She raised a hand to his jaw, expressing her fascination with the broad patch of white hair that ran across her husband’s chin and face. “Is the beard a bit much?” he questioned, his deep voice soft and mellow. Lunette bit her lip to hold back a girlish giggle and shook her head. She brought her other hand up to his face to trail her fingertips up either side of his jaw line in adoration, causing him to slowly close his eyes. When he opened them again, she rested her hands on his shoulder pads and buried her face into his chest, “I’ve missed you...”

we are all unlikely heroes

Taceo: The ever-strong and determined. A chip on rests on both shoulders. She has never known loss or hopelessness. She is capable of getting anything she could ever want. Nothing can stop her once she has focused on something. She is independently stable by all means: her parents are still living, she knows where the gold is and how much she needs to get her through each day, she is sure of her purpose as a Horde/Silvermoon soldier.

Reser: The 'lesser Taceo.' While she is independent and sure of what she wants, her road to that state of mind was rough; abandonment, a father-like Mage trainer, and years of soul-searching guided her when she had no one to answer her cries for help. She has no recollection of her parents or her friends, leaving her unsure of nearly everything except for the duties of a true Mage.

Lunette: The war-torn veteran... She had everything to begin with: a proper upbringing, a calling for her during the war, the confidence in her teachings as a druid, a companion for life (whom she married and had two children with). Depression broke her a thousand times over, testing her, but she would rise again, renewed after every bout. However, Northrend beckoned, and when the war continued to rage, it tore her from those she held dear, shattering her once again.

Whimsi: The undying optimist without a specific purpose. When something goes wrong, her focus shifts to the next event or thing that could succeed without a second thought about why that something failed. You could give her a small candle and tell her to explore a seemingly endless cave and she'd do it; even if her candle were to be blown out, she'd relight it by any means and continue until she'd memorize every nook and cranny. She does not remember most things, but the things she can recall are only moments of happiness or uplifting insight.

Tabijin: The fallen, crumbling patriarch. He has loved and lost... not just his family, but everything. From riches to rags. He is forced to continue life rebuilding, but whatever he has rebuilt can never replace or fill in the gaps that has formed within him. He clings desperately to the past, not knowing that things will never be the same.

Greyer: The cynical, misunderstood outcast. His isolation and seclusion were all of his own doing - his beliefs and outlook - and he has thoroughly accepted that along with his current condition of being cursed as a monstrous being. His older twin brothers overshadowed him constantly during his childhood and, on several occasions, he has gone out of his way to avoid them and their parents, determined to find something more to define him as 'different.' When his family fell under the effects of the Worgen curse, he watched as his family was torn apart and driven away; first his twin brothers were captured by authorities, then his father, and when he, himself, became afflicted, he watched as his mother fled in fear and mourned as he witnessed her lifeless body being towed to shore. He resorted to living away from society, only returning to his family's leatherworking shoppe for months at a time to temporarily ease his pain of missing them, observing as friends and town acquaintances became monsters themselves. His basic means of surviving are simple; as long as there is a way to continue living with how he is, life can go on.





I don't know why, but,
I wish I had Greyer or Whimsi;
perhaps they'd understand.

The Engineer

     Taceo slowly made her way through Dalaran, admiring the little shoppes as she often did. The various bottles of alchemist supplies, floating inscription books, the smell of tanned leather, the clanking of blacksmith hammers against forged metal, the scent and rustle of freshly penned designs being handed out for a handful of gold coins... all the sights of the profession apprentices and masters at work never failed to make her smile when she made her way to visit her Jewelcrafter trainer. When the sound of ticking stopped her in her tracks, she idly looked over her shoulder. The sights of curios and the busy engineers they belonged to rarely caught her interest, but something was rather strange and amusing about the glow coming from inside that building tonight. She adjusted her worn messenger bag, balancing its weight on her shoulder, and stepped over the threshold.
     The toe of her plate boots gently pushed a large wrench across the tile floor, nearly causing her to trip. Upon bending down to pick up the rusted tool, she met the gaze of a young, blue-skinned troll. The youth looked up at her from his place on the floor, sliding his goggles up onto his forehead once she had fully stood up. She concluded by the small size of his tusks and his vibrant green hair that he couldn't be older than 18 mortal years. The gloves he wore and the tool belt strapped about his waist, she observed, were much too large for him; and, several grease-covered instruments, peculiar cogs and discs, a battered box of miscellaneous metal findings, and small cans of oil were strewn carelessly around him.
     The Blood Elf Paladin raised a brow as she stepped closer and silently pointed to the small robot-like mechanism he had been busy refurbishing before her approach. He redirected his gaze to the the bronze and copper creation and quietly returned his attention to the dark liquid that seeped from its chest cavity. After a few moments, she watched as he pulled a stopwatch from his neglected toolbox and delicately installed it with some spare wire and set of pliers. Before she could even ask, Taceo watched and listened as he wound the dial of the timepiece, allowing the soft, muffled sound of ticking to interrupt his voice every other word, "Ya probableh wouldn't fulleh undastand, bein' a blood elf an' all wit' all yer long, gen'rous years... But time fer all o' us runs out eventually."

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