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About Literature / Hobbyist Member Cosette WymoreFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Claws scraped against the red earth, the sounds of cannons and warfar filled the air. It was time once more for her. A eerie howl filled the air. It's source? A muscular wolf that didn't seem to belong to the world. Ghastly green eyes examined it's surroundings before it took off quickly once more. It's form did not seem to belong to this world, it's body the far from solid. Many of the lumbering, brown skinned orcs  stopped to stare at the wolf. Many of them still reveered the spirits and the wolf was one they all remembered well. The spectral wolf suddenly turned  and leapt onto the nearest orc, it's body twisting and changing in time for hooves instead of paws to catch the orc. A crunch filled the air as bone was broken by the sheer strength of the Draenei's hooves. Rolling onto the ground and quickly standing once she had felled her first Orc, Syvra's lack of restraint startled even these Orcs.

She was no longer bound by a desire to keep peace, instead she was bound by a desire to protect. Maukiaas, Vordiniir, Asrivera, Morashev. She would protect them all. She drew her weapons and charged, the Elements at her side.
Dyvera awoke in the middle of the night, a presence making itself known to her. Blazing orbs narrowed as she unwrapped herself from the layers of blankets that she had come to wrap around her form. She dressed herself quickly, her brow furrowed in deep thought. She opened the door to see a masked Draenei adorned in the vestiments of a shaman. This woman carried with her a long object that was the size of a two handed sword.
"Syvra." Dyvera stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her. She crossed her arms across her chest and gave the shorter shaman a look of displeasure. "Why do you wake me at such an hour? I do enjoy my rest." Full lips parted, the only part of the shamans face that was revealed, and closed as Syvra hesitated, her grip on the object tightened.

"Your..." She started, hesitating once more. "Your son has perished." Dyvera's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I do not enjoy these jests, Syvra. I spoke to my son two weeks ago." Her accent growing more pronounced as her temper rose. Silence filled the small corridor of the Exodar for several long moments before Dyvera turned and slammed a fist into the wall, her calloused skin cracking open  at her knuckles.
"WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN!" She yelled, swearing loudly and she continued to punch the wall, "WHAT HAVE I DONE!" Dyvera slammed her fists into the wall before slumping to the ground, her body becoming limp as tears streamed down her face. Her chest heaved as she sobbed, only accepting the comfort of the wall that she had abused beforehand.
Syvra stood there, pursing her lips together as she too fought back tears, too many times had Dyvera been subjected to this loss and it only pained her to see it happen yet again. Dyvera, the Draenei that many had come to know as Asrivera, had suffered time and time again. She always lost what she cared for.
"Why... why..." She continued to sob, her body quivering with her sorrow. Tears stained her scarred face as she continued to mourn, her eyes closing.
"He.. left you something, my friend." Syvra's voice was silent as she unwrapped the brown cloth which covered the object. A large sword was revealed, it's blade covered by an ornate scabbard. The scabbard itself was colored a deep violet and decorated with gems of only the richest purple. The hilt of the blade was a spiral of gold and silver metals dancing together, the same gems adorned it but these gems hummed softly with an enchantment. Dyvera kept her eyes closed even as the gift was revealed.
"Please... leave." She spoke softly. The Shaman nodded and set the sword and two letters down on the ground before her.
"I am sorry, Dyvera. I tried my best to save him." And as quickly as she came, the Shaman was gone.
All these voices,
They're screaming in my head.
'that person doesn't like you'
'Maybe you should be dead'.
These voices,
They spit such venomous things,
They speak of panic,
They speak of extremes.
As I start to listen
I come to find
Out of all these voices,
None of them are mine.
What do you do when the voices aren't yours?
When you can't even be yourself behind closed doors.
What do you do when you're unsure?
Unsure of who you really are.
These voices they scream
So very loud.
'Be silent and modest'
What do you do when you realise
The voice have been weaving lies
They took you over,
They made you a lie
What do you do when they all fade away?
Leaving only silence
To pave your way.
A poem reflecting my feelings at the current moment. I've spent my life having choices made for me instead of making them myself.
The wailing of a single creature filled the cavern in which many animals had come to avoid religiously. The shrill sound was almost inhuman, something not of this world sang out in pain as a roar, the call of a Guardian overwhelmed it suddenly.  It was a call for help. Within the cavern a large spider decorated with reds and yellows  danced with a feline who's fur was only matched by the color of the ever-changing waters of Darkshore, it was dressed in the color of the water on a brilliant summer day. The eyes of the spider stared down the feline, each eye radiated a magic that could only be defined as -wrong-. The two lunged at one another once more, the claws of the feline aimed at the eyes of the beast who's very presence made her feel sick. The spider raised its two front legs, an aura consumed the feline and forced her back into her elven form. Quickly the tables were turned at the monstrous spider hung over her, an unearthly voice speaking to her, the sound made up of a series of hisses and clicks.
"C-c-comeeee, the Nightmare will c-c-consuuummmmme. C-c-commmmee my sweet." The spider almost laughed, "Itsssss only hurtsssss for a moment." The spider was more than it seemed, much more than it seemed.
After a very, very long hiatus I am back to working on my writing/drawing! You will more than likely see many of my World of Warcraft characters getting some love in my stories. The curse of being an avid Roleplayer/Writer. As you can see  my latest addition is based off my human warlock named Denecia! ((Don't worry, I have many, many alts so it won't be just her)). I may post some stories that I collaborate with others to write as well, they will be given credit if I do.

Here's a list of my characters if you wish to whisper me at any point:
Syvra-Moon Guard (A)
Kirinae-Wymrest Accord (H)
Liavis-Zul'jin (H)


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Cosette Wymore
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Falling in love with a story is something I do quite often. The delicate structure of a story is something that makes me stare in awe. I love writing and I love reading good writing. Ever since I can remember I've been writing short stories and poems in my idle time. It got to a point where many of my classmates would challenge me to write a poem about a specific item on the spot to test me quite often. Sometimes I could and sometimes I couldn't. My love spread over to art when I discovered that drawing people isn't what art is all about, I could draw other things. I started decorating my binders and notebooks with my drawings and caught the eye of my art teacher once and he taught me a few tricks to help me along the way. Now I design basic concepts for tattoos and still doodle in my free time.

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Dawnie-chan Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thankies for the fav :iconeweplz:
hotbento Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2014
Thanks for the fav! :iconsqueeeeplz:
TheTwothings Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2011
Hey sis, you are an awesome writer keep writing your story's and read other peoples poems so you can get even better than you already are. :)
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