Tezzy's blog

Tezzy slowly slipped away out of more and more lives.

Playing at civility, keeping house, it itched on her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak, inappropriate for the season. She wondered about people, those deep in unfriendly territory, and those closer to home, but kept her nose out - feeling too much like a spectre, hovering around the lives of the living.

The rumor's going around that the Lich King is dead. 

The Lich King Is Dead. I still don't believe it.

Of course that rumor goes around once a month, but it's going around different this time.

 The flowers faded quickly in the desert air.

Tezzy's time passed continuously; broken by visit, conversation, whim, trips to the city square, but not by the sun or the moons, or the necessity of meals, or tiredness. The rat minded itself. The cat demanded its care with a moaning yowl. The flowers sat and asked for nothing, and suffered a little in neglect. 

(( Thadric asked Tezzy what she looked like living, so she had to call up a memory where she looked in a mirror, for him to mind read. Here's the memory! It's her birthday but I haven't decided exactly which one. April 23, and she's in her early 20s.)) 

It wasn't vanity.

 I like it here.
I like the company.
I like not needing to go around in armor and weapons to feel safe.
I like having a proper address.

I spent the first whole day in Ratchet. I thought I'd be sitting alone like a toad on a log but I found Tisho in the city, first, and we talked and I invited him over and 

 Can't stop thinking about Merosiel.

Have had a lot of business to do, haven't been writing. Will regret that later. Maybe.

Gottleib missed his own sermon, which was strange, didn't seem like a prank when he invited me. Send him a letter.

I didn't even mention the thing to Thadric, not after his father, maybe it's for the best.

I wonder where mine died. Father, mother.

A dead body was always startlingly still.

A dead body meant keep moving, it's dangerous - moving made you different than a dead body. It honored them, it had to - she never honored them in any other way. A dead body was someone else's strange grief, and you waited for their improvised rituals and you kept them safe, and you moved on.

(( It's been nice outside so I'm not TOO apologetic for leaving these go for a while. Did I miss answering a letter from anyone?))

[This letter's postmark is at least a week old, blame a goblin.]

SO I've been playing Tezzy / playing on Wyrmrest Accord for a whole year now, which for me, is kind of a holy shit thing to think about.

Eldre'thalas. The ogres called it the Dire Maul, and since that was easier to say, so did most everyone else.

Tezzy crouched in a dim corner of its ancient corridors, waiting for a half-dozen demons to pass by.

I am an idiot. I don't talk to myself. Not more than normal people do. But when you're thinking something you hear it in your head. Thoughts like I am an idiot. And You only brought this upon yourself you know. And I HOPE YOU ARE NOT READING, THADRIC.

Addressed to Knight Tisho, c/o the Ebon Blade.

My dear Merosiel,
I always mean to write in a journal for the sake of one day when I don't remember, but to write, the last few days, seems like an exhausting task. I have to start at the beginning for this to make any sense at all, and I am tired of telling only half the story -

we laid Miles' brother, older brother, to his final rest some days ago.

A clip of TOTAL SADS from RP - Mornherald's anxious about dying when he gets his severed head re-affixed.
My song-lyrics-for-title sense said Joshua fit the battle of Jerico an the walls came tumblin' down, but that's not very respectful is it... :P

~~~~~~~

"Benny, I'm so sorry,-" Tezzy says, sinking to the ground again as Mornherald's death gate fades. The little boy skeleton is unresponsive. "I'm sorry you had to see that." She's never had trouble talking to things that talk back, so she goes on anyway. "I'm sure your father loved you very much but it wasn't right of him to- to- ...wake you up like he did." She wants a sign of acceptance, but she'll get none. She tries to collect the thoughts crowding her brain.

Tatiana woke up, at a sound from her window.

She turned her head in time to see a sparrow fly away, and regretted opening her eyes at all, immediately. The sun had been up for at least an hour, by the color of the light. Her red bird was gone, to Lordaeron, following dreams that had nothing to do with her, and she'd face this new miserable day in a line of miserable days alone. 

This room is much too small.

What kind of a fool sleeps naked anyway, a body could freeze to death like that.

Light, those scars.

This is stupid.

~~~

[This list, written in her best Academy composition handwriting, will be found neatly-folded in Campion's (also neatly-folded) pantspocket. Red, of course, signifies Orcish letters. The cross outs are not particularly strong.]

Spent the day in Dalaran to clear my head of the idiocy that is Silvermoon politics. I can write a respectable contract when the goblin across the table from me's straight honest about trying to cheat but this? All silent threats and so far under the table everyone denies there's a table at all, and measuring-up like sharks and lying through your teeth? It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and look like Miss Nightfall's lieutenant.

Addressed to Miles Campion, Booty Bay

[by the handwriting, the letter appears to be written over the course of days]

Dear Miles,

I saw a Death K a deadder I know learn a fact from before the Scourge Third War when he didn't know anything before. Another one said they were soldiers together and hugged him. That stuff doesn't happen around here often. I guess I don't know how bad it would be not to have memories of you everyone in Brill.

(( Roy concurred with my music choice - feel free to enjoy the music video portion of this chatlog to Muse - Soldier's Poem. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMYAATQDOEQ <3 ))