melmory

[melmory]

My first unit called these birdcages. The tall cages that can fit a person. It’s hard to not have dreams about these on occasion, especially after you have heard a person scream from inside.

That’s a sorry way to die, like a trapped bird. I saw one of these hung from a chain on my school’s awning.

[melmory]

My old school. It was hard to feel normal after losing my parents. A little part of me is glad that it was all ruined. The other part of me wonders whose bones are whose. I regret being just a victim. I regret not finding out just who let this happen. This picture makes me so angry.

[melmory]

Someone once told me about “soul searching”; you look at something, anything, and ask how it makes you feel. I’ve only ever seen these flowers here. It’s easy to say that they make me feel happy - so long as they’re well and blooming.

Conversely, when I see them deliberately withered, I feel so much anger.

[melmory]

Every time that I leave there’s always something that pushes me back. I told myself that I was done with this place. I thought I found something tangible; but here I am, again.

At what point is it too late to start over?

[melmory]

I've always been cursed. Everyone that is near to me I lose them.

I feared the day that she would be next. I was blind to reality by that fear, and now I’ve lost her anyway.

Where do I even belong?

[melmory]

[melmory]

[melmory]

When everything has gone to cock.

A pencil sketch of madness in Stormwind’s Cathedral district, that of a large man swinging a sword at a wooden dummy, with a knight on the other side assisting in the grand effort with a warhammer. Atop the steps lie massive mounts with soldiers onlooking the carnage of the scenes, with civilians running amock. There’s also a dwarven guardsman riding atop an armored gryphon (it’s hard to tell what it is), swooping in and swinging at the wooden dummy too... yelling “for Jhaaaaz’modaaan!”

[melmory]

Where does Melanie buy her cigarettes from? Is there a specific brand and does she enjoy talking to any familiar clerks when she obtains them?

Melanie partakes only in the finest Camelot cigarettes. Her usual vendor is only a few blocks away from her home and workplace, a small corner store, the Mccarthy Market, only one of its kind, that sells everyday needs such as different newspapers and magazines, medicines, soaps, liquors, snacks, and more. The owner and clerk is Lance Mccarthy, an elderly man, probably in his late fifties. He keeps an upbeat demeanor, happy with his little store, and each customer that chooses his store as their supplier puts a smile on his face.

In some recent months, Lance and Melanie have grown a little bit closer. She’s walked in there with a less than vibrant demeanor more than once, and he’s got two well-seasoned ears that can listen.

[melmory]

How does Melanie view herself in relation to the kingdoms of Gilneas, Lordaeron, and Stormwind?

Gilneas: Despite having Gilnean parents, Melanie feels fairly excluded from that kingdom, especially since she was on the opposite side of the wall when everything went to shit.

Lordaeron: Melanie’s home. For most of her life, ever since the massive events, one of her goals has always been to get her home back, whatever the cost. There was one hiccup, and then another more recently, so now she has a bit of internal conflict to struggle with before she figures out where she’s headed next.

Stormwind: This kingdom has ended up with a very diverse population, so she doesn’t feel quite like a foreigner. It’s not her true home, but it’s easy to consider it a comfortable home away from home.

[melmory]

Describe a day in the life of Phoebe, Melanie's cat.

Hi. I’m Phoebe. Let me show you around my incredible life. I’m an old cat, like five...maybe six. I don’t know, but I wake up in the morning at like four or five... then I realize that nothing’s going on so I just lie there for a few more hours until Melanie gets up. As soon as I see my dearest owner stir I jump up on the bed, maybe sit on her face if I’m in the mood, and soon she gives me the scritches. Under the belly is just the best. I can’t do it myself because my arms and paws don’t really bend that way, so it’s like a blessing from the goddess. That’s right - she’s my Elune.

Soon enough she abandons me and shuts the door, locking me in the bedroom, but that’s okay. It’s fun enough in here, with my toys and stuff. I’ve got this ball of string. And this synthetic mouse. It almost feels like the real thing. Not. Up this ladder is the loft but honestly that is really high, and I’m not a good climber anymore.

Whenever I’m hungry I wander to my food cup, and eat. And there’s water too that I can lick up. That usually makes me a bit tired, so I just lie around and get fat. Sometimes a cockroach slips inside when Melanie leaves the window open - there’s a small hole in the screen that lets large bugs. That’s a fun surprise anyway, and I get to chase it around the room before destroying it. I figure that’s enough of a workout for a month.

Oh, would you look at the time. It’s so late and Melanie isn’t home yet? Oh... I think I hear her now. In an emergency I can claw at the door to get her to come inside and pet me. I gently scratch the door and make noises. It opens, and I see Melanie. And someone else...? Oh... What are they doing over this late? Melanie? Hey, Melanie? Who... who is that? Melanie? Pet me? Melanie... oh no. MELANIE. STOP. PLEASE. Melanie makes a lot of noise with people on the bed sometimes and sears my eyes and ears, pretending like I don’t exist. I’M RIGHT HERE, MELANIE. I CAN LITERALLY SEE YOU. I’M WATCHING, MELANIE.

[melmory]

What was Melanie's first time meeting her employer like, from his point of view?

There isn't much to say. Cordell is a bit in his olderyears, but that's nothing that might discourage him from appreciating some youngblood in his establishment, aside from the natural apprehension that comes withthat; you know how young people can be.

A lot of initial concern was alleviated when he first talkedto her. Melanie is quite respectful and polite when the time calls for it, atrait developed over a number of experiences, be it militaristic discipline orjust plain humility in the hands of the cruel world. With that? He feltdisarmed; he wanted to hire her, and help her. And noting that she lived rightnearby? With a knack for some basic magic? Doing one of the easier jobs thathis shop offered? It was an easy decision. Hopefully he's right.

[melmory]

Melanie's iconic look involves a deep red lipstick and dark eyeliners. Why is she so fond of this style and when did she start using it?

While Melaniedoes have her spurts of more-social nature, she's still a fairly timid entity alot of other times. The thing is, is that while she might be busy reading abook or drawing a picture, she doesn't really prefer keeping to herself likethe normal introvert would. It's as simple as that. She figures that if she haslips that are red with eyes that stand out, she'll get more attention. It's notso much of a conscious decision as it is what feels like a natural compellingto her.

[melmory]

What was Melanie’s first experience with death? How old was she and how did she handle it? Does it reflect in how she handles death today?

Most peopleassume that Melanie lost everyone when the scourge took Andorhal, but it was afew years prior that she lost both of her parents.

As news of thewars spread throughout the kingdom, Earl's business suffered. Gilneas was knownfor a certain xenophobia, and the wars further crippled his efforts. He soonleft as the Second War neared its end, to return to Andorhal with his wife, andthere they started a family. First child was their son, Robert, and then notlong after came the middle child, Melanie; and finally, a little later down theroad, Jennifer, the youngest.

Life wasn't easyfor these three, as their parents' flaws became more expressed as the yearswent on. Aside from tend to the normal family chores, Lorene would do littlemore than live, spending her days frivolously and often going out. Earl'sbusiness went moderately well, but he also heightened his indulgences—one mightsuppose he wasn't very happy, or felt emptiness—often coming home intoxicated. Hewas known to have a short temper, and it was all exacerbated when under theinfluence—the noise behind closed doors was often frightening.

Lorene wasn'tthe perfect wife, nor the perfect mother. The kids often suspected somethingquestionable about her, but while they gossiped amongst each other, they werefortunately too young to comprehend the mature details of adulthood, treating theirmother as some sort of odd yet favorite jewel. It wasn't forever before Earlreturned home from a trip unscheduled, that he would discover for himself whatwas—in his very same bed, too.

He wasintoxicated, and behind the slammed door the noise was worse, far worse, withsounds of breaking windows, furniture tossing, and screaming, leaving thechildren frozen in dread. They called for their dad, and mom, but the noisedidn't stop, not until after what felt like hours.

They didn't dareopen the door at first, but then there was Melanie, curious, the brave one toturn the knob and peek inside, drawing a slit of imagery on her face. It was dark,with Earl sitting and looking mad and confused, and then Lorene lying on thefloor without a sound. Melanie's eyes went wider in contemplation and fear, andthere soon came the soft, sad whisper which nobody could hear.

"Mum...?"

[melmory]

Who were Melanie’s parents? What were their lives like before settling down? Did they have fulfilling lives?

Earl and Loreneweren't the best match, but as they say, life finds a way. He was the nononsense business type, with his younger years involving plenty of lucrativetravel, trading and profiting. She could be described in a few phrases: a"dodgy Gilnean", a dreamer, a poet, and a rascal. She was a teacherat a local school, but wasn't so interested in making a lot of coin.

Earl met hislove in Gilneas City, being a Lordaeronian himself, and remained with her therein Gilneas for a number of years, living a rather energetic lifestyle, bothfinding themselves out often, and returning home just in the evenings. It was ahealthy and fun relationship, these two, but eventually the betterness of itall waned.

[melmory]

Take Me Far Away From Here

The capital city was bleeding, not from the blood of the slain, but poison. It spilled from every facet, breached the walls, flooded the outer fields for as far as you could see. It became a new hell, and the distant camps could only hear what was a cacophony of dying cries from the deadly green haze. Any caught within wouldn’t survive.

At the edge of this field of death, that spilled from the stricken walls of the city as if from the maw of some beast’s stony corpse, sat Melwyn Duskstorm. She was almost invisible upon the blighted landscape, the greys and browns of her long-suffering and battered leather armor blending in rather well as she reclined upon a stone tossed from a siege machine just hours before. Stained with the blood of multiple Horde races, the kaldorei sat as if she owned the place, an argent stare of tempered and oft-denied ferocity peering at the former capital of the Forsaken.

There wasn’t much else that she could do, none could be salvaged from the drenched city. The war was over, and the fallen lay still with their grim fates. The haze made it difficult to comprehend anything. Within were ominous shifting shadows – surely wretched creatures that thrived among the plague. One sight was curious though, a dim moving light. It came from a breach in the wall, and it was fading, and soon stopped moving.

That light caught Melwyn’s eye immediately, and like a hawk upon a mouse all of her focus fixed upon it as it moved, as she became so still as to be almost invisible but for the baleful glow of her stare. But as it stopped near the fringes, the Priestess seemed to ponder, wrestling with a decision therein. Moving to the very edge of the Blight, she bowed her head, and began to pray. Words with a song-like beauty spilled from her lips in artful Darnassian, a hymn to her Goddess that seemed to be one of fierce entreaty. And, as she spoke, moonlight streamed meagerly from the clouded sky, the silver tresses of Elune falling in a path between Melwyn and that odd light. In that moonlight, the Blight faded slowly, providing a small path and clearing the immediate area around that light. At which point the kaldorei darted forward.

As she grew closer, the curiosity would be sated. Not a foe, but a friend. There lay without any spirit left a young woman in leather armor. Dead? Likely. Deathly pale, at least, and her chin was stained with blood, that which was also smeared across the front of her chest, arms, and legs. Melanie Spears – it seems that she had been caught in the plague, but she was wrapped in some sort of miraculous protection. The light clung to her like a dying mother, and it wouldn’t be long before this hell would take her.

There was no hesitation, no hint of fear in Melwyn’s actions even as the Blight threatened to overwhelm the grace of Elune that the battle priestess had called down. Grabbing the redhead, Duskstorm picked her up like a feather and sprinted back for the edge of the ghastly fog. Her prayer had only bought her scant moments, but it was enough to rush clear, whereupon she laid her human friend upon the ground. She took off the silver crescent moon pendant, and pressed it to Melanie’s chest, before baring her fangs in denial at Death itself. A prayer spilled from her lips, but unlike the last time, this one had true power behind it, a near zealous faith bringing to bear all the healing from her Goddess that Melwyn’s mortal form could withstand. The ghostly silver light of the moon ignited upon that pendant, bathing Spears in the heavenly glow, meshing with the golden one of the Light as Melwyn spoke what seemed less a prayer, and more an imposing battle hymn that was somehow perfectly suited for the soft birdsong of her voice.

The lingering golden light had faded then, and Elune’s beckoned mercy was like a salve for the fallen soldier. Color began to return to her face, and blistered, blighted skin began to heal. There was a moment of suspense, as her body didn’t shift and didn’t breathe, but soon her eyes opened. She hacked, and up came blood, spilling on her chin and neck, too weak to do anything but stare with trauma drowning the depth of her eyes. In that blur, she could note Melwyn, and spoke faintly, “Are you all right?”

Melwyn was not alright, the sheer strain of calling on so much of Elune’s grace, just to keep her friend from dying, having taken a toll. Her skin was pale, exhaustion heavy upon her. But nevertheless, when Melanie spoke, the kaldorei let out a breathless, near manic laugh of relief and pressed a kiss to the human’s forehead. “I am fine, and so are you, by the will of the Goddess.” A far cry from the fierce battle hymn of earlier, her voice was back to the gentle dulcet of the most supreme of bedside manners. Wasting little time, Duskstorm gently lifted Melanie up slightly, to hang her pendant around the woman’s neck. “Wear this for a while, you are far from well but it will help for a time. It is a miracle you even lived to make it this far.”

A miracle? thought Melanie, as her gaze grew dimmer in pain. More like a curse. She moved slowly in Melwyn’s grasp and accepted any sort of aid like a helpless child, her demeanor showing something that could only be wrought by true horror – it was broken. Her stare pierced through whatever it touched, and her mind was in a blur. She could only think the worst. “The others?”

In answer, Melwyn tapped the pendant that now rested upon Melanie’s chest. “I have been in contact with them, and my own order. They are fine, none were taken by the Blight, or even as close to being killed by it as you were. I volunteered to stay for a time, as they fell back to Northgarde… but I expected to be hunting Horde stragglers, not helping a friend who managed to survive as you did. I assumed I would see you back at the League’s base, but it is a stroke of luck I decided to stay behind.” Even as she spoke, she gently fussed over her smaller friend, pulling out some herbs of an odd blue-green to push into Melanie’s bloodied lips. “Eat these, they will help with toxins, and give you some energy.”

The news of her comrades surviving was something that drove some relief, and Melanie nibbled on the plants, with no energy to even lift her head. The only fragments of life left were spent staying awake and speaking in her pained whispers. Her gaze drifted over the fields, to the capital city, and the thick poison that now gripped it. Still there were fainter cries that echoed from the walls. “I should be dead,” she murmured, her demeanor blank and pensive, “It killed all of them.”

“None of that now,” Melwyn gently rebutted, brushing red hair from the woman’s face. “In my experience, coincidence is the rarest thing in all of creation, and miracles are rarely by chance. There is no ‘should’ when it comes to death… there is alive, or dead. And you are alive, by the grace of two powers and our two stubborn wills.” Her words were an odd contrast to the blood that stained her, some of it from Melanie herself now. Even her gentle ministrations were belied by the claws revealed from her scorched off gloves, bloodied as well.

Melanie’s eyes swelled with sorrow as she listened, drawing in a wretchedly asthmatic breath. “It wasn’t a coincidence...” she rasped, and there was a pause while her face curled with painful regret, a faint trembling throughout her countenance, her gaze turning to her friend. “Melwyn, can you do a favor for me?”

The kaldorei nodded, having done all she could in terms of medical care, now contenting herself with simply stroking the stricken woman’s hair, an idle preening gesture born of affection and a desire to comfort her obviously traumatized friend. “Of course… though that does depend on the favor. Just ask, and I will do so.” There was nothing other than trust in her voice, and even as she spoke, she started to glance around, as if hearing things with her twitching ears that Melanie could not.

While her body was mended, her mind was bloody. She stared up, and her lips trembled. The events seemed to all at once choke her, tears falling from her eyes, and she started to break apart and snivel quietly. Through that grief, she begged, “Can you take me far away from here?”

And at that, Melwyn leaned down, and scooped up the human, cradling her with only some effort. The kaldorei pressed her forehead to Melanie’s, then kissed said forehead again. “Of course, my friend. There is little else for to do here anyway, and you are more important than any hunting I might be able to do.” And then they were off, long strides carrying Melanie Spears and Melwyn Duskstorm both, step by step, through the shattered remnants of a land long dead, upon a path of moonlight, the fallen city at their backs.

Co-written by @a-nebulose

[melmory]

A Mother’s Embrace

… It feels like all my life I spent waiting for this moment. Waiting, but not expecting. I thought it might never come. After fifteen years, time might start to rewind to what it was once before …

Ashen mist rose on the horizon about Tirisfal; silence was scarce, and soldiers gathered for a climactic event, lion banners held high, cheeks smeared with dirt, debris, remnants of war, determined to exact justice.

“Are you ready?” said a motivated woman. The walls of Lordaeron would soon be broken, and taken. Teldrassil’s fate was unfortunate, but the fire was carried to this battlefield. Melanie shared the flame, seeking to reclaim what was once hers, her home.

Clack! Two wooden blades struck, swung, and spun, guided expertly by her and a veteran. “Ever ready” was like a proverb to Roland Campbell, a paladin knight. “You’ve gotten better – a lot better,” said he, proud of what became of her. This was the knight that pulled her from the ruined Andorhal when she was only ten.

“Aye! What did you expect?!” words spouted back with expert attempts to cut the poor, old knight down, though his combat prowess was nothing to take lightly. Swords weren’t ever her passion, and his defense wrought some frustration on her countenance. “I’ve kept very busy!”

Roland’s smirk grew into a more devilish grin while combating the relentless attempts. “Could use a little work still!” came a teasing remark, and then after a strong parry went a deadly riposte; the stub of his weapon met her belly, an impaling blow if it wasn’t blunt.

“Ow!” she muttered with mock indignancy, covering her wound. It made her pensive awhile – death isn’t a joke, but his laughter soon ruined that moment, made her pout, eyes betraying with a glint of fondness. “One of these days…” she warned him.

“I look forward to it!” said he, and this camaraderie permeated good spirit throughout the camp. The soldiers were anxious, waiting for the call of war, but they weren’t afraid. They weren’t just fighting for their king. Many of them had a shared vision. Patriots. Many of them wanted revenge. This Alliance had strength in unity.

… What had happened to the elves is regretful, but I can’t help but feel eager. The Forsaken will be driven out. I don’t know what I will do after. Our home will finally be ours. It’s been so long. We will take Lordaeron, and we will pay death to those who have ruined it …

Massive platoons gathered at the gates of the city, and there was an eerie silence that preceded what was tantamount to thunder and storm.

“For the Alliance! For Lordaeron!”

Her warcry was drowned in a cacophony of horses and men trampling the old soil, and there was a great battle.

… It wasn’t easy. Despite the Horde’s numbers suffering, they were led by a witch who gave no second thought to any treacherous advantage, like the blight. I saw some soldiers cry as they burned in it. That wouldn’t not stop us this time though. The warmage Jaina carved a path for us with magic, and we did break that wall …

At the front, her sword didn’t discriminate. Any of the Horde, be it a Tauren, an Orc, a Troll, or animated bones, none were spared, and blood ran thick down her steel. Empowered. Fearless. It wasn’t a fearless from bravery, for that would be something too righteous. It was from lust. Bloodlust. This was reckoning for the patriots. The battle drove her wild. So satisfying. Her shouts taunted relentlessly and good fortune allowed her talent to go unchecked. Fire magic came with her lethality, and what her sword didn’t cut, flames burned. She radiated morale into her comrades in war: “This is ours!”

Roland heard the shout and flashed a wolfish grin. “For Lordaeron! For the Alliance!” his warcry ushered further roars across the rampant strife, and they all fought with twiced vigor. No mercy was paid to the Horde, even those trapped in this predicament unwilling. All were killed.

… We did it – we took the city. Without this bastion, the Forsaken will have no place to run nor hide. They will be hunted to the very last. The north will again be ours. I felt a peace within me as the battle was nearing its end. This was the first step to a new beginning …

The Horde became fewer and fewer, and the Alliance champions sought to put an end to their queen. What was her strategy? To incite this war only to be crushed? The more intelligent felt a hint of something more. Apprehension.

Standing over a slain Tauren, Melanie drew her sword from his heart and breathed. Warm blood dripped from the tip of her steel as she reveled in victory, though it was tainted by hatred. Roland was different – diligent to morality. He couldn’t exact the same pleasure that a younger he might, but the sight of his fierce stepdaughter managed to draw out a more impish smile, breaking his character. He shouted a jeering remark at her, “Don’t get carried away, child!”

The jovial remark made her turn and forget about the war, and grin and shout, “Don’t patronize me!” Despite the heavy weight of war, she felt euphoria. The battle was nearly over. They won. Adrenaline made any of her wounds numb, and she bathed in this feeling of glory.

It was only a moment though.

There was a thunderous crack, and the city shook. “What’s that?!” she muttered and looked up. The noise muted the field as each soldier guessed, but it was soon revealed: this wasn’t a victory.

It was a trap.

Dread, as blight flooded out from every pore in the city. They would all be killed in minutes.

Roland looked onward with his pose still solemn. “We’ve let hatred and lust blind us. We’ve been made the fool. —Everyone go! NOW!” His bellowing cry threw the armies of both factions into a frenzy for escape, but so many were caught, poisoned, and killed.

She wasn’t any exception either, and choked and gasped and hacked, blood sputtering from her lips and spilling on her armor. Only seconds was she able to deliriously wander before falling.

… It felt like I was burning, inside and out when it touched me. I had accepted my end. What could I do? There was no escape. My fate was to be a statistic in a tragic horror. Southshore, Gilneas, Teldrassil, and now this. If there was a sliver of hope for peace before, there isn’t now …

It wasn’t her end, though, for soon she felt a warmth. While she choked, she could still manage, barely, to get up. Everywhere was a haze of poison, the ground littered with corpses, but she was alive somehow. Around her glowed an aura, a protective light which wrought gratefulness, and hope – at first – but that waned quickly in favor of a worry.

“No…” she rasped and hobbled in disbelief, and the light kept its embrace like a mother. Her eyes opened as she saw the source nearby. “No…” whispered another regret.

“Don’t...do this for me!”

She pleaded, finding great difficulty in speaking as the lingering plague strangled her.

“Please, don’t do this for me…!”

He was there, fading and dying, but he wasn’t afraid – showing a solemn look, resolute. His words were weak but inspirational, but they were his last. “I’ve done my part,” he said, using his waning strength to grip her arm, “Now you do yours. —Hurry, please.” With that, his eyes shut, his grip slackened, and his story ended.

It stirred Melanie into a bawl, on her hands and knees with eyes aghast. “Campbell!” her throat strained, and she shook him. “Campbell! Stop it! Don’t do this for me! Please!” Talking to the dead, begging for mercy, she refused to accept, trying to drag the armored corpse out of the city with her. “Don’t die!” She clenched teeth, tears staining her face, and with her sapped strength she could only draw inches across the mud with the heavy weight before stumbling and falling. At the peak of her despair she looked upward in a shaky pause, trembling, contemplating a means to curse at her fate, and screamed.

The intensity nearly made her faint, senses dimmed – could hardly see or hear, like drowning. While the barrier slowly faded, it was tempting to stay right there, to end the struggle and misery, but ignoring Roland’s wish would prove worse than death. At that moment she found a glimpse of determination – through hatred.

… They’ll pay for this …

She began to claw, and crawl; teary, burning eyes bearing great difficulty to see through the haze of horror. Her fingers met not only dirt and blood, but people; her brothers and sisters strewn about, most of them dead, but some still writhing, some clutching her limbs weakly like zombies as she crawled over, begging in hoarse voices, “Help me…? help me…?” but she couldn’t. It was a dreadful orchestra of hopeless, agonistic cries of the slaughtered mass.

Her protection wouldn’t last long enough at that pace, so she pushed herself harder – rose to her feet, fought the crippling pain. As she did, she hacked up more blood. The plague was killing her, but she couldn’t stop. The last fragments of her energy spurred on a delirious, staggering walk, and her only concern became living.

… I will not die like this …

It burned like acid, and more blood seeped from the edges of her grimace, but she didn’t stop. Nearby cries begged for aid, but she didn’t stop. There were other malicious creatures in the thick haze that she heard – ominous noises that grew closer, but she didn’t stop, and she definitely didn’t look. She only prayed.

The distance felt like a hundred miles, and she kept moving until her senses faded.