Archive for August, 2009

No updates till Wednesday! – updated

Summer holidays are over (AAGHHH) and it’s back to Canada for the new school term. I’m traveling to Gatwick airport hideously early tomorrow morning (1.30am) to catch a plane to Fredericton Airport, then I’ll be traveling back to Port City by bus on Wednesday morning. Siiiigh long journey! Oh well =D

Update: I’m now 3/4 of the way back xP A coach journey to go till I’m back, then up to the uni to drop off  this term’s $15.000 fees cheque (FFFF damn being an  international student xD I think being British should get me a reduction anyway….OUR QUEEN IS STILL ON YOUR MONEY!!!! =P JK (sorta)

New banner: got bored of the old one so changed a few things, adding in the lineart from my new commission (great art by Victor M.)

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Leafsong’s Diary 30.8 – In which Leafsong is committed to bedrest, and is not happy about it.

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I spent the entirety of yesterday in bed through no fault of my own; the visiting healer says that I am suffering from “exhaustion”. I informed her that there is no such thing as exhaustion, merely the welcome ache that racks your body when you spend your day in productive and profitable labour. Anyway, semantics aside, I have been strictly forbidden to exert myself beyond walking to the cradle from the bed and back. I have never been so bored in my life (at least when I got Azerothian Whooping Cough and was bedridden for two weeks, I was so delirious throughout that I can’t remember a thing).

I’ve never spent such a continuous amount of time in the company of the babies. They are very sweet and I enjoy spending time with them, but they aren’t the most interesting things ever. Some mothers seem to be fascinated by every fragment of unintelligible babble their children blurt out; I am definitely not one of them. Love is too plain and simple a word to describe how strongly I feel for my babies- everything that I do is for their future benefit- but they don’t do much. An’alith crawls around a lot and makes a nuisance of himself in the herb stores; Mirae sleeps. Our bedroom is little more than a nursery, and it’s extremely tedious.

Yesterday morning was nice though, I spent an unusual three uninterrupted hours with my Shan’do. We talked about several things, he said that my opinions on the Stormwind Council and other aspects of international relations were “interesting” and “refreshing”. Perhaps I should become a politician. We seem to have one thing in common- a primary love of money- so perhaps it’s not such a far-fetched idea. My terrible comprehension and writing skill would probably stand against me, though. I’ve lost count of the people who’ve asked me if I was dropped on my head as a baby, but my parents always swore that it was never so. I’ve just always had problems seeing words properly; the letters squirm and rearrange themselves before my eyes like snakes in a basket. I’ve never met any other Kaldorei with this affliction- or at least, no-one who will admit to it- but I’m sure I can’t be the only one. I also seem to be the only Kaldorei out there with crooked teeth. Why?? Perhaps I WAS dropped on my face as a baby!!!?

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Leafsong’s Diary 27.8 – In which Leafsong speaks of stories and savagery.

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My husband is the one who reads stories to the babies at night; mostly because I can’t do it. I tried once or twice, but the letters squirmed and wriggled and reformed themselves completely before my eyes. In the end I just gave up and made up my own stories. Which were incidentally very interesting and not at all “unsuitable for minors”, whatever my Shan’do says. As if he was unfamiliar to warring and whoring himself! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with informing my children early on about the realities of the modern world. Anyway, it’s not as if they understand it. Mirae fell asleep halfway through; and An’alith looked half-asleep (although at least he didn’t actually wet himself in protest, like he did during Shan’do Aphel’s boring The Little Night Elf Who Could.)

However, in the future, I might be telling them a new story; entitled The Evil Bastard Who Tried To Steal Our Fortune. And unfortunately, it will not be drawn from the realm of pure imagination, but from close to home. According to my Shan’do, there is a “rumour” – he claims it a rumour only, but a new crease has appeared on his brow recently which certainly was not there before- that his father, the fiendish Vashal Shalah’aman (Highborne loyalist and family patriarch) is not in fact dead as believed, but instead is very much alive. Or non-alive; he is “rumoured” to have arisen as a foul, but fully sentient, Forsaken- and he wishes to reclaim the entirety of the family fortune from my husband. I cannot see how the Darnassian courts would allow this transference of Ashenvale property over to a Forsaken, but it worries me still. My husband has been reading books on how to permanently destroy the Undead, who have a nasty habit of being resurrected in continuing malevolence.

I don’t need to read a book on it. Let me write down here for posterity; that whoever tries to steal my children’s fortune- the fortune that will ensure they never have to suffer like my family did- I will RIP them to tiny pieces with my own BARE HANDS; then BURN the remains into CHARRED ASHES; then SCATTER the ASHES in the SIX SEAS OF KALIMDOR. And then I will do a little dance on the shore and gloat. So let that you be a warning to you, Vileshal!

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Machinimarama

Aphel made a short, cute little video; Leafsong dreaming about the things that matter to her most.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzC5Mxg1A50

It’s awesome!

(PS: please ignore the For Leafsong scary video in the “related” section ._. I am in no way associated with that freakfest)

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Poem

A summer storm tore the night
The night you left, lightning blazed
Like fire across the lurid dawn.
The passing years expand,
With the swollen rings of trees and yet
You still lie beyond my ailing sight.

And yet I sit still and stare,
Waiting with hawk’s patience, his eye
And mine alike. The years
Have not been kind; flesh
Once soft and yielding as bitten apricot
Has withered, revealing the stone.

The sweet caress of rain
And wind once valued has become a curse.
Corroding the curves you loved.
Nature has moved, as I could not;
Embracing my silent, stagnant form
With snaking vine and moss.

They come now often, the young ones:
Unfamiliar of tongue, seeing only an effigy
A relic of their ancestry. They come,
each feature unfamiliar. I look,
And finally recognise the futility:
Your face is lost to memory.

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New commission!

So a lovely friend is paying for a commission of Leaf and Aphel! Aaawww! ❤ She chose a super talented artist who I’ve been speaking to a bunch on MSN, and I’m really excited about the piece. Here’s the first rough sketch, I think the pose is cute =)

first sketch leaf aphel pic

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The Bassinet, the Baby and the Bee

Leafsong knelt beside the cradle, running her fingers over the delicate whorls and raised contours of the ornate carved woodwork. The rough Elwynn planking beneath her naked knees was a marked contrast to the silken sleekness of the inlaid Kalimdor cherrywood beneath the calloused tips of her fingers. The cradle had been designed in the traditional Shalah’aman style: low sides and a high back like the prow of a ship, created by a master carpenter in Darnassus, then shipped across the foaming sea to Stormwind. It now sat incongruously in the centre of their cramped quarters, a regal work of craftsmanship presiding over the motley collection of hastily gathered furniture they had amassed on their arrival. Her husband had commissioned it the moment that their son began to press against the tight confines of her belly, and it had finally arrived the week before he did. Leafsong couldn’t make up her mind about the exquisite object; a lifetime of unrequited covetousness had instilled a love of overpriced items in her, but on the other hand she could not bring herself to forget that the gold spent paying for this beautiful bassinet could have adequately supported her family back in Nighthaven for a decade. Her siblings and herself, she reflected wryly, had spent their infancy sleeping in an oversized bucket; and it hadn’t done them any harm.

A faint buzzing around her ear awoke her from her musing. An’alith was peering through the vine-carved slats across at her, his eyes glazed in their usual post-feed stupor. She blew him a kiss, before reaching into the crib and lifting Mirae out; the small infant still half-asleep.

“Wake up, lazy” Leafsong admonished, scowling down at the yawning baby nestled against her chest. Mirae opened her eyes and grimaced back, her red tongue protruding from between minute lips. Two identical pairs of grey eyes met, the same solemnity evident in both. Leafsong propped the baby up on her chest and clutched a handful of small garments in one hand, glass bottle in the other, staggering over to the rug; leaning backwards to keep Mirae in place. The buzzing around her ears increased in volume. She placed the baby in the centre of the rug, and reached for the bottle.

Just then, Mirae let out a banshee howl of fright and pain. Leafsong dropped the bottle in terror. A wasp flew over her shoulder, rebounded off the recently mended glass window; and shot off into the centre of the room. Mirae’s right foot was marred by a pinkish red pinprick, swelling into a small lump. Her initial screech of pain diminished into a whine of despair. An’alith, perceiving his sister’s distress, began to sob plaintively from the crib. Leafsong gave a roar not dissimilar to an enraged bull and sprang to her feet, leaping after the disorientated wasp. It ducked her waving fists and spun wildly sideways, hovering above Aphel’s writing desk; moving a fraction of a second before the glass bottle shattered against the wall. Leafsong hurled herself after it once more, her face scarlet; now armed with the third edition of Lifebloom and You. The book went flying down the stairs, the wasp now began to circle the largest of the three candleabra suspended from the ceiling. Leafsong stretched herself to her full height of nearly seven feet and made a grab for it. She missed; and let out a string of colourful Darnassian curses.

At that moment Aphel appeared at the top of the stairs, sporting Lifebloom and You in his hand and a bump on his temple. His snarl of accusation died in his mouth as he took in the scene; the screaming infants, the flailing wife, the glass shards and books strewn across the room. His jaw dropped; for the first time in months, Ashamal Shalah’aman had nothing to say.

Leafsong spotted her husband. She jabbed her finger at the wicked dark shape orbiting the flickering candles above.

K-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-L-L-

Aphel reached for his belt, took out a dagger, and sent it spinning across the room. It missed, embedding itself with a quiver in the ceiling. Leafsong bellowed; he took out a second, his brows drawing together. This time this knife flew true, pinning the wasp’s squirming, helpless form to the wall. After a moment, the wings slowed and stopped. Leafsong exhaled.

“I hate wasps.”

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