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I become Renais

So, Eleane and Trell and Jandercia, I could use your guys' advice on this.

So I'm dating a very nice girl named Kelsey, right? But I liked her best friend way before I started dating her. Elle s'appelle Dana. Anyway, Dana and I were hanging out a few days ago, and it started out fun but ended HORRIBLY ROMANTIC. We were cuddling and hugging and nuzzling noses and then we kissed... so, in affect, I am cheating on Kelsey with her best friend, Dana, and I was only ever settling for Kelsey in the first place, but Kelsey is a really nice girl and I want her to be my friend.

So here is the dilemma, do I break up with Kelsey and date Dana or do I stay with Kelsey?

By the way this is the simplistic version. It gets 200000000 times more ape-crazy.

But yeah. I feel like I am Renais. He used to be a womanizer. Now I'm one, too! 

Because what does it matter?

Renais leaned heavily against the railing, his thin body, compounded by malnourishment. His hair, long and bleached a pale blonde by relentless sun and his own feckless exposure to the reconstructed Sunwell, tossed about by occasional gusts of wind that both chilled and warmed him. He liked the cold. It was fitting.

He ran a bare hand across the cold, golden metal railing which he leaned upon. Down below, in the plumbing depths of Dalaran city, revelers and drunkards alike danced gaily and ignorantly, crude mockeries of Death's cruel face taped upon their faces. They begged for candy, like wretched souls, greedy and selfish. They cared nothing for others. 

His blood red robes, which he had adapted again upon receding from the affairs of the Argent and the Horde, swirled lightly around his legs and forearms as another gust kicked up. Grimacing greatly, he shook his head and cracked his knuckles unpleasantly - they popped and snapped like the shattering of bones. His eyes, once diminished by sorrow, were filled with a avid - but sickly - cyan color, the result of his diminished use of fel magic and an increased reliance on the Sunwell. However, he could not be mistaken for anything but a blood elf still - his eyes still contained a trace of fel magic, and his robes were dotted with flaring emeralds and bombastic and lilting gold trim. Still, he wore his regalia light - the only evidence of his former offices were lines of age and stress upon his brow, which gave him an intense and withering look.

Yes, it was Hallows Eve. What did it matter to him? There was no reason for him to visit any of the unmarked graves scattered across Azeroth, let alone Northrend. There were too many to see. Though he had made a point of going to Tempest Keep and paying his respects to the fallen Sun King. Though, he thought to himself, there was one other who deserved his attention.

"Why do I not go?" he muttered to himself. He had not seen Eleanea's grave properly at all, and now would be the perfect time to do it. ...But what did it matter? "Why should I go?" A bitter part in him spoke up. He would most certainly meet up with Trell, whom he had no stomach for, no matter how he might have attempted to reconcile with her. Reconcile, pah! He nearly chuckled at that. Trell had no more forgiveness and empathy in her heart than a wild animal. 

Did he really care about Eleanea enough? Had he not flitted between women as if they were young hens; numerous, belligerent, and dense? Had he felt nothing? Had he cared at all? 

From above, from the many circling wyrms and wyverns and griffons that flew about the great flying city, a shower of roses and petals came loose from the bouquet of a rider. Renais looked up when the flowers landed at his feet, and a shower of crimson petals came upon him. He plucked one from the air with lithe, bony fingers, both spindly and strong. He opened his palm and stared forlornly at the oily thing in his hand, rubbing it delicately with his thumb. Cocking his head to the side, curiously, he shook his head and swiftly crushed the petal in his fist. He threw the petal over the side of the balcony, letting it flit hundreds of yards down to the street below. He turned on his heel and went back inside, cursing the cold, his robes swirling about him.

"Yes, after all, what does it matter?" he said to himself. "...if one were to come back, I would have wanted Scen, anyway."


RP can go suck my dick. Sentinels RP is just about the worst I've ever encountered, and the groups of RPers are so fucking turtled out of their skulls I don't even think that a nail could penetrate the shell!

I'm retiring Renais. Nobody will even read this, except MAYBE Trell. And if you read this Ele, you know how to contact me. Not like you've been doing a whole fucking lot of that lately, either.

I might go transfer to another server soon. There's no reason to stay here.

I'm also leaving LiveJournal, because without RP there is no need for LJ either.

So I'll see you around. ...or not. Whatever. 

A Bold Move

Nestled amongst the tall and airy spires of Dalaran, Renais felt reminded of his days working for the Sin'dorei at Silvermoon City. He had spent countless hours buried within the pages of ancient history and texts, desperately seeking a way to end the addiction that had driven his prince insane.

Had times changed?

He had purchased, this time, a piece of property high above the Violet Citadel. It had a balcony that overlooked the entire city, and it was a rather small apartment that would only manage to fit one or two people at best. It was perfect - not to mention already messy. The balcony, which was easily over 100 yards above the ground, overlooked not only the city of Dalaran but also the rest of the world beyond. From it, one could see the Storm Peaks and the ever-glowing black walls of Icecrown.

He sat quietly in the only room, at a desk, where stacks of books, parchments, scrolls and papers lay. The room itself was floating with baubles and other arcane fetters that teased his daughter. Grasping a quill, he bent over a particular scrap of parchment that read 'Lease.' He signed on a blank line with the bold signature 'Lord John Kael Iceblood.'

He had assumed his father's old name. His father, the human of the family. Or at least, half human, which made Renais very distantly related to the creatures. Far enough that he bore no resemble and shared none of their traits for short, uninteresting lives. Still, the name had carried on, and he had always hated it. But this was a new start - maybe he would forge a new legacy with it?

Anoralei seemed content enough. She spent her days attending lectures by the Kirin Tor, and nights outside on the balcony, gazing with wonderment at all around her. She was a curious child, and Dalaran let her imagination run wild.

It was a good choice. She was happy, and safe.

John looked back down at his paper. He would never expect to be called by any other name than Renais...but this was a new line of business. A new life. He would not allow any tarnish of his past self taint him or his daughter's future.

He folded up the parchment and set it aside, and then, standing up, he took one bold step into a bright future.


The persistent, hungering cold had left Renais' fingers and toes cramped and burning with pain.

He had spent many days in the Horde's service, in Winterspring, dismantling Alliance siege engines. When Thrall had issued a call to the frozen barren Wastelands, Renais had had no choice but to answer. What other options were there? If he could stop one Scourge, than he had done enough to protect Anoralei. He spent the days fighting against the Alliance as they vied for control of the sparse resources of Northrend; either that or he fought the undead legions of the Lich King.

Today was the fifth day that he had been unable to leave due to pressing assaults by the humans. He sat in the middle of the courtyard, upon the stone floor, eating cold soup with a party of other soldiers. They were kind soldiers - men of his unit. Two orcs, Gruml and Jekkar, were brothers fighting together. They had the massive muscular hulks that orcs were known for, but very well trimmed and kept black hair, which did not suit their scarred and bruteish faces. A taunka there was also; a secluded one by the name of Wintersnort. Then there were three trolls, two brothers and a sister, Jum'bya, Dai'sho, and Kijja, all of which were shamans employed for fast attacks against the enemy. While the grunts were lost in their own conversation, Renais had decided to meander back to the Southeast tower of the keep and stare at the battlefield until the next unwavering onslaught of Alliance came.

Breathing on his fingers, he rubbed them together to get warm.

"Trell," he grumbled simply, his brow furrowed. "She is ignorant. Ignorant and cold." 

Renais returns

Grinding a bit of dirt in between his fingers, Renais crouched outside a familiar looking house in the quiet serenity of Eversong Woods. He was a changed man - his face, which used to be smooth and full, was now gaunt and worn. His eyes, once bright and flowing with magic, had practically abandoned the verdant glow in favor of a dim, sickly ichorous flickering that was more white than green. He was, for all intents and purposes, a sick man. However, behind the dim glow of his eyes burned a heated passion and life, that betrayed his incredible will and mental strength over his frail flesh. They glowed over a dark black mask that he had adopted, should something go wrong.

A solitary light in the structure served to cast a flickering glow onto the leaves of a nearby copse of trees, and was the only source of light in the otherwise twilit world. Rising to his feet, Renais took a few lithe steps forward, stepping out from behind the cover of the grass and foliage and into the yard of the house. 

Without waiting, without hesitation, he took a hard step forward and, muttering a spell, bent the atoms about him to reflect the photons hitting his clothes and skin from the moon, effectively turning him invisible. It was an arduous spell, and he knew he couldn't maintain it forever. Dashing to the house quickly, he unlocked the front door with ease and slipped inside. 

Inside the Dawnsky residence, he wasted no time in dashing upstairs, past the rooms where elves slept with hard dreams. One of the rooms was occupied by a waking elf, however; light flickered from beneath the door and the sound of pacing echoed from behind the walls. Ignoring it, he slipped to the end of the hall without a sound, his silk boots like wings carrying him across the floor. Opening the wood door, he slipped inside like a graceful cat before quietly closing the door behind him.

Inside was the broken remnants of Eleanea's shattered life. Allowing the spell to fade, he sagged from the sudden weakness that struck his limbs, but he ignored it. Scattered bits of parchment, inkwells, quills, and books lay haphazardly across the floor. A piano was in the corner, and the single window in the room was shut tight. It was dark, and he didn't dare light a candle, so the only light came from the bright moon overhead, which cast eerie, skittering shadows across the room.

Taking slow, deliberate steps, Renais walked over to the piano and sat down at it, staring numbly at the keys. It wasn't a sense of sadness or depression that gripped him, merely a sense of emptiness. A void where there should have been something, there was nothing. He brought his fingers, still garbed in fine silks, to the keys, and he struck one note. One, final note, morose and somber. 

As he stood up, he looked at how worn the keys were. Some of them had lost their ivory shine and had been grayed with use and fray by skittering fingers that had played on them for countless hours. Some of the keys were much more worn than others, though, indicating that a single song had been played hundreds of times over and over on this specific piano. Renais sat back down to examine them closer.

Placing his fingers back onto the keys, he traced them slowly, working out which were tapped in which succession, using intuition and musical sense just as much as magic to find the order in which the series of notes had to be pressed. After at least an hour of quiet laboring over the piano, he had finally discerned the order, and written it down on one of the ragged scraps of parchment.

And then he played it.

Renais was no more than a novice pianist, having hardly ever sat down at one of the instruments before, and as such the melody was halting and choppy, but he could not have mistaken it's sound for any other song in the world.

It was the lullaby Eleanea had written for him.

For a moment, as the last crescendo of the song fell, Renais choked in his throat and felt the strong urge to cry. Clenching his fist, he ignored and mastered the impulse, and he straightened his back and stood up, taking the parchment with the music on it with him. Finally, he walked over to the window and opened it up, which took some work since it had been sealed so efficiently. 

Peering out over the edge, he could barely see the bottom through the darkness that hugged the little house. He squinted, staring hard at the ground until his vision focused and he saw the cobblestones below. It wasn't too far of a fall - one easily mitigated by a flick of his own wrist, if he so desired - but deadly if taken without any restraints.

Sighing, he cradled his eyes in his fingers before turning about, closing the window behind him, and leaving Eleanea Dawnsky's room for the first and last time.

Creeping down the hallway, he noticed that now two lights were on, and that the hushed whisperings of two different people could not be heard through the doors. Grumbling to himself, Renais slunked down to the one room that was still dark. When he tried to open it, he found it locked, and a pang of guilt and sorrow crossed his heart right before he grasped the handle firmly and melted the cast-iron apart. 

Slowly opening the door to avoid it creaking, he slipped inside and shut it behind him. He exhaled once it had finally closed - he had been holding his breath without his knowledge.

A small, lone figure knelt on top of a bed with the covers drawn tightly around it. Two pointed elf-ears were silhouetted against the window behind the figure, and it's face was pointed downwards to something it was holding in it's hands.

Inaudible sneaking up behind the child, Renais held his breath and peered over the shoulder of the girl with great effort. Clutched in her tiny little hands was a bright orange feather, which glowed from the inside like the dying embers of a fire. She stared at it with such intensity and passion, he half expected it to burst into flames.

Suddenly, the child slumped sideways and sighed, and the faint green glow that had been emenating from her eyes stopped as she closed them, entering a deep slumber.

Still holding his breath, Renais took a few steps back and waited patiently, unmoving, for his daughter to go to sleep. After almost an hour of waiting like a rigid piece of wood, he finally plucked the courage to scoop up the girl in his arms. She had fallen asleep a while ago, and in her fist she held the phoenix feather that Scen had first given Renais so long ago.

Walking from the room, Renais murmured the same light-bending spell that lent him and Anoralei invisibility. He walked heavily downstairs, slipping out the main door, and out back into the vast woods of Eversong. As he walked with Anoralei curled up in his arms, Renais spotted a single tombstone, erect, and lonely, just inside the boundaries of the property. He didn't spare it any more attention; there was nothing that anybody could have put onto the face of it that could have moved his heart or changed anything about the situation.

Renais Iceblood and Anoralei Naizhr were going home.

22nd Jul, 2009

Tout le monde est une drôle de personne,
Et tout le monde a l’âme emmêlée,
Tout le monde a de l’enfance qui ronronne,
Au fond d’une poche oubliée,
Tout le monde a des restes de rêves,
Et des coins de vie dévastés,
Tout le monde a cherché quelque chose un jour,
Mais tout le monde ne l’a pas trouvé,
Mais tout le monde ne l’a pas trouvé.

Il faudrait que tout l’monde réclame auprès des autorités,
Une loi contre toute notre solitude,
Que personne ne soit oublié,
Et que personne ne soit oublié

Tout le monde a une sale vie qui passe,
Mais tout le monde ne s’en souvient pas,
J’en vois qui la plient et même qui la cassent,
Et j’en vois qui ne la voient même pas,
Et j’en vois qui ne la voient même pas.

Il faudrait que tout l’monde réclame auprès des autorités,
Une loi contre toute notre indifférence,
Que personne ne soit oublié,
Et que personne ne soit oublié.

Tout le monde est une drôle de personne,
Et tout le monde a une âme emmêlée,
Tout le monde a de l’enfance qui résonne,
Au fond d’une heure oubliée,
Au fond d’une heure oubliée


I wanted to be more adult about it, but your way is just as well.

Many things

First off, let me begin with a few points of clarification.

I spent half the summer with my uncle before I had to come home for Michael Jackson's funeral, coupled with the fact that my brother was leaving for college again soon and I wanted to spend time with him. Plus, Sarah was getting relatively...annoyed with my prolonged absence. And staying in an internet-less home in New Zealand can surely get boring.

I got back to Colorado on the 3rd of July, and immediately I got whisked away to the mountains to watch fireworks with my dearest and her family. We've become a much more casual couple than we were when we first got together, but it's been good for both of us.

I secured officership relatively quickly within my clan after meeting up with the mates in Pennsylvania, so I no longer require such stringent policies that regular members must adhere to.

My rig -still- isn't working, despite my brother's oaths that it would be working within weeks of my leave. Yet, 150 dollars, a new Tower, PSU, video card, and motherboard later, it's still in the (hopefully) final stages of reparation. Maybe a week more.

This is obviously quite belated, but I plan on returning to WoW. I spoke with the Dean of Admission in Sydney personally, and made my intentions to wait a year after my graduating year before coming to college. Sarah is looking into in-state colleges nearby to where I live, so I fully intend to spend my year off (which my parents have approved of) with her in the day.

It seems I'm 10 or 11 days late, but ... yeah. I'll throw some RP stuff out there since that seems important in light of recent events.


Volund Stronghammer hit the cold, wet grass hard. His thick leathery boots which wrapped about his robust feet thudded as they absorbed the jarring impact. His chimaera, Frostwing, dived from the ledge some ten feet above and snapped his thin, membrane-webbed wings open.

The stout dwarf from Ironforge was on a reconnaissance mission for a small human vessel with a military charter. It had made berth upon the Golden Strand and Volund was to forge inland to assess if the treacherous Sin'dorei would offer any resistance to their hopefully unnoticed passage north to the Isle of Quel'danas.

It was the dead of night, and he had yet to see the high-eared bright-eyes of the blood elves. Creeping through the verdant tall grass of Eversong, the coal-black-bearded dwarf with olive eyes tried to make as little noise as possible. His gun, a heavy, eight-shot Wolfslayer with a bayonet, clinked curiously upon his dark green cloak. Suddenly, out of the darkness there came a sudden light as would be cast from a dim candle through a thick window.  Volund placed a hand on his trusty blade and beckoned for his chimaera to stay hidden and stay silent. Frostwing begrudgingly obeyed, roosting high in a orange-leafed tree and snapping one heads' jaws at the others.

Volund had, quite by accident, snuck up on a quiet, silent and dark Sin'dorei dwelling. It was to his left, which was the eye that Volund had poor eyesight in. Cursing himself for not being careful, he backed away slowly and back into the grass. He had gone naught more than a few dozen yards, though, before his otherwise expert feet tripped him up upon a mound of freshly turned earth. Running into the ground with a raucous clanking of metal.

Bringing himself to his feet, he wiped off his thick hands and was about to break into a run before he noticed that he had just stumbled upon a fresh grave.

Bestriding the soil, he examined the tombstone, which was nearly as large and as tall as his diminutive form. He spoke little Thalassian, and he struggled to make out the words in the dark, but after a while he deciphered what it said.

'She died for love,
She died for need,
She died for him,
She died for nothing.

She flew through the air like a dove
Just as she always wanted
She found no peace in the world of earthly things
She found no joy in material possessions
She no longer found happiness among her friends
So she found the one solution that was best

Eleanea Dawnsky, rest in peace
Angel in white
Eleanea Dawnsky, it was before your time

But no more dreams of darkness will enter your mind
So sleep softly, sweet Eleanea,
And join your darling man.'

Crossing his corded and sinewy arms, Volund stroked his beard thoughtfully. A lone tear formed in the crinkled corner of the veteren's eye, but it disappeared within a blink of an eye. Frostwing flew to his side with a look of contemplatitive sadness upon one head and a look of impatience on the other. Stroking the chimaera, Volund looked back at the house.

The silhouette of a small elf child, illuminated by a small candle settled upon a surface behind her. She was slumped over and defeated, her head down and her chin upon her crossed forearms. She tentatively opened the window and stared out, her face slowly swivelling directly towards the grave.

And on top of Volund.

Frostwing snorted impatiently (with both heads) and took off, leaving the stunned dwarf standing silently under the little elven girl's gaze. His legs felt as if rooted in place and he suddenly found himself paralyzed, as if encased in stone.

She stared solemnly for a heartbeat more before turning away and closing the window. The light was extinguished a minute later.

The lock on Volund's limbs was lifted and he jerked backwards, falling on his back in the tall grass. Scrambling to his feet, he set off at a breakneck pace back towards the human's ship, his heart beating wildly and his tanned brow matted with sweat, even though he had just started running.

And something else came with him too, though he couldn't explain it. A tremendous sense of sadness and lament had dawned in his heart, for the woman they called Eleanea Dawnsky.


Zalathar clicked his bony fingers on his piano - the same one he sat down to every night after chaotic fight after fight in the Howling Fjord. A rolled, decayed piece of parchment, weathered by the harsh sea winds filled with salt, was strapped tightly to his side.

This has been long enough. From his time in the void coupled with how long he had been imprisoned, Renais Iceblood had been away from home for seven months.

Zalathar had had the mages' body treated with embalming fluid and his wounds treated with magic - his body was in literal cryostasis.

Standing from his piano stool, which creaked in unison with his decrepit knees, the Death Knight tucked his helm into the crook of his arm and exited his personal chamber. Bursting out into the bright sunlight, Zalathar hissed with displeasure and slipped the helm over. The darkness it granted was refreshing.

Heading to the morgue upon the back of a restless skeletal steed, the undead fingered the tips of the scroll restlessly before shifting in his saddle.

Was it really time? He had only been dead for two months. The dank void was a different experience than that of the cold prison cell.

"No, no. He'll come back. I cannot waste any more time with the body, anyway. Soon it will rot away, and be beyond all hope. He will thank us, at least, for giving the breath of life back into his body so soon."

Sighing, he shifted in the saddle again. "Maybe..." he mumbled, "maybe it's his time to go home. Seven months away from home, and to resurrect him now to take away from him his hope and his life?" Zalathar swept off his helmet again; a habit of his. "Nor can I just let him sit and rot forever until he mind is gone - he would be worse than useless to me, then...then that is it. I must bring him back now before more damage is done, and hope and impress him into helping me...after he returns home. Yes, after."

Dismounting the disgruntled horse, Zalathar entered a high-swept building with a skull hanging from the crossbeams of the entrance. The dark, bleak stone was as inviting as anything else in Northrend.

Immediately he was bathed in a foul concoction of odors and terrible smells of gases and rotting corpses. Subduing his disgust, he found the mortician, the practiced necromancer, an undead with a look of extreme malice about him.

"Unit 341 is ready," Zalathar said, handing the scroll to the mortician. Giving a wicked smile in return, the gaunt undead bowed and muttered, "I will tend to it immediately, commander."

"Good," Zalathar replied as he put his helmet back upon his skull. "The time for this one is perfect."

The commander departed, leaving the mortician alone. True to his word, the gaunt undead man swept a lantern from a pole and opened a trapdoor upon the floor. Descending down the ladder with creaking bones, the mortician descended into the catacombs. It was pitch black, and the lantern, though bright, did little to extinguish the darkness.

Looking at the withered parchment the whole time, the mortician worked his way past rows of tight coffins. The stench of rot and pungent embalming fluids that smelled of fermaldehyde and bleach rose even to his deadened nostrils.

Arriving at 341, a metal coffin identical to all others in the cold catacombs, the mortician carefully pulled the top off with ease that betrayed his strength, despite his frailty.

A screaming smell rose from the open coffin, but the mortician waved it aside. Inside, the coffin was filled with a sickly blue-green fluid that was as still as death. Below the glass-like surface of the preservatives was the face of an elf, scarred by handsome. Long, clean black hair writhed about his head in the liquid, like snakes, and his flesh was as pale as the accursed snow that the undead had to tend to in the fjord. He was naked, with his hands over his loins, and his face set in peaceful repose.

"Wakey, wakey, Mister Iceblood," the necromancer cackled. "Your time to rise...has come."


I apologize posthumously for the length, but this is important, I feel. If this helps anyone make any decisions, I hope to see at least Jandercia on WoW again soon, and would love to see Eleanea, but I know that you've canceled your account. And uh...you're dead. If not, I feel like I have plenty to do in Wrath soon anyway.

And Trell, I know that this may be displeasing to you, but we don't have to interact anymore if that is as your will.

Point of no return

I don't think I'm coming back.

I just received a letter from the Dean of Admission of the University of Sydney, Australia, expressing an interest of giving me a year and a half of scholarship, beginning Sophomore year.

I am in a very cozy relationship with my girlfriend, Sarah.

I no longer have a computer. My video card is shot, and while it's being replaced and the rig will be running in two and a half weeks again, Sarah wants to spend time with me and the rest of my team will be devoted to playing with my clan, Lotus, on Team Fortress 2 and Left 4 Dead.

I plan on spending this summer in New Zealand working with my uncle, who's a cancer scientist in the rural northern part of the island.

I don't know if I'll be able to really ... come back, ever again. I outgrew laughing at putting spittle into somebody else's bag when I was in the 6th grade...and, I mean, I actually want to build real relationships with people who don't act as if they'd rather not have me around.

I'm sorry, my friends, but I think that this chapter in my life has drawn to a close. The only way to bring our friendship back to life is if I went back and devoted my time to Warcraft...I can't do that. I just can't. Virtual relationships take much more attention to build and maintain, and I can't afford to pay that attention to you all anymore. I need to devote my time to my girlfriend, and to my clan, whom I am going paintballing with, before I leave for New Zealand, in Pennsylvania. Real people are more important than people who hide behind a virtual mask and flinch away at the slighest touch...

I might hop onto LiveJournal from time to time, but it's finals week where I am. I'll be embroiled with my studies, with my computer, and with my love for Sarah, and then I'll be off to New Zealand.

I'll miss you all. I really will.

Richard William Lorçan Ua Tuàthail
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