((whoa, good stuff. Excellent as always.))
The Dying of the Light
((Harm, I added those reserved posts today. I just want to say that I have greatly enjoyed working on this with you!))
Edited by Meriste on 4/13/2012 3:20 PM PDT
Malthaes stood in his office, pursing his lips as he drained the last test tube filled with vials from the Sunwell into a larger glass orb. He touched closed the container, wrapping his fingers around the glass orb. The Sunwell’s waters made the glass feel warm, as if it had been left out during a summer day. Smirking, he took the orb and approached the giant glass container of Nightmare, the runes skittering madly across the outside of the unit, glittering as the Nightmare pressed against the outside of the container in an attempt to escape.
With eager anticipation, Malthaes attached the orb containing the Sunwell to the glittering container filled with Nightmare. A series of clicks followed as the two containers combined and then sealed in place. He watched, his eyes widening, as tendrils of the Nightmare snaked into the orb containing the Sunwell’s waters. The darkness of the Nightmare sparked and singed as it contacted the Light from the Sunwell. The entire containment structure shook, and for one wild moment Malthaes thought the thing would explode. More and more Nightmare snaked its way towards the waters, the containment unit reaching critical mass.
And then it stopped. Malthaes approached, his heart skipping. The Light had completely dissipated from the Sunwell’s waters, leaving nothing but a black, oily substance. Satisfied by these results, he swept towards his notebook and began to scratch notes into his notebook. It was clear that the Nightmare would be able to overpower the samples from the Sunwell – but the interactions were clearly unstable. He wasn’t sure exactly what the reaction would be if he combined the Nightmare, without arcane containment, with the entirety of the Sunwell. He shook his head – supposition that would have to be handled later. More testing would be required.
A knock came at the door, and without his word the doors swung open. Anyanara walked into the room, a scroll in her hand. Her eyes drifted towards the huge container of swirling Nightmare, and she frowned.
“What is that?” she asked.
“The corruption that I’m studying,” Malthaes said, smiling a bit. The lie came out smoothly, laced with just enough truth to make it technically true. She pursed her lips.
“Is it dangerous?”
“Quite,” he said, getting up from his desk. “But it is contained, so there is no immediate threat. It destroyed the samples we took the other day, however.”
“Samples of the Sunwell?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Indeed,” he said gravely. “Which means I’ll require more.”
“About that,” she said, throwing the scroll on top of the desk. “You may want to read it.”
Malthaes took a glance at the scroll, narrowing his eyes, and then returning his gaze to Anyanara.
“I trust you can summarize it succinctly,” he said.
“Your research will be coming to an end in seven days, exactly,” she said. He noted with interest that she had no mirth in her voice, even though this surely was a victory for her.
“And what convinced Halduron to change his mind thus?” Malthaes asked. Rage threatened to fester over and boil.
“He knows you are one with the Modas,” Anyanara said. “Your organization has become a political liability to the Horde and, by extension, Silvermoon.”
“Interesting,” Malthaes said, smiling. “And so one wonders why my research is given the seven days.”
Anyanara frowned.
“Is it because, dear Anya, that while your superiors and the establishment of the Horde frowns on our methods but enjoys our successes? After all, the Modas exists only to promote the success of the Horde at the expense of the Alliance.”
“Is it not enough that you’ve been given these days as a courtesy?” she snapped.
“I confess myself interested in the particulars,” he offered. “I wonder how much say you were given in the matter.”
“I’ve said nothing that I haven’t already said to you,” she responded.
“But I doubt it,” he said, leering at her. “It doesn’t make any sense. If I’m such a risk I would be out of here now. Come now, let’s not play games.”
She pursed her lips.
“Maybe I’m hoping a little extra time next to such a huge quantities of Light will help cleanse that darkness in you,” she said.
“Hope springs eternal,” he said.
“Or hope’s last gasp.”
“How sad,” he said, offering an exaggerated pout.
With eager anticipation, Malthaes attached the orb containing the Sunwell to the glittering container filled with Nightmare. A series of clicks followed as the two containers combined and then sealed in place. He watched, his eyes widening, as tendrils of the Nightmare snaked into the orb containing the Sunwell’s waters. The darkness of the Nightmare sparked and singed as it contacted the Light from the Sunwell. The entire containment structure shook, and for one wild moment Malthaes thought the thing would explode. More and more Nightmare snaked its way towards the waters, the containment unit reaching critical mass.
And then it stopped. Malthaes approached, his heart skipping. The Light had completely dissipated from the Sunwell’s waters, leaving nothing but a black, oily substance. Satisfied by these results, he swept towards his notebook and began to scratch notes into his notebook. It was clear that the Nightmare would be able to overpower the samples from the Sunwell – but the interactions were clearly unstable. He wasn’t sure exactly what the reaction would be if he combined the Nightmare, without arcane containment, with the entirety of the Sunwell. He shook his head – supposition that would have to be handled later. More testing would be required.
A knock came at the door, and without his word the doors swung open. Anyanara walked into the room, a scroll in her hand. Her eyes drifted towards the huge container of swirling Nightmare, and she frowned.
“What is that?” she asked.
“The corruption that I’m studying,” Malthaes said, smiling a bit. The lie came out smoothly, laced with just enough truth to make it technically true. She pursed her lips.
“Is it dangerous?”
“Quite,” he said, getting up from his desk. “But it is contained, so there is no immediate threat. It destroyed the samples we took the other day, however.”
“Samples of the Sunwell?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Indeed,” he said gravely. “Which means I’ll require more.”
“About that,” she said, throwing the scroll on top of the desk. “You may want to read it.”
Malthaes took a glance at the scroll, narrowing his eyes, and then returning his gaze to Anyanara.
“I trust you can summarize it succinctly,” he said.
“Your research will be coming to an end in seven days, exactly,” she said. He noted with interest that she had no mirth in her voice, even though this surely was a victory for her.
“And what convinced Halduron to change his mind thus?” Malthaes asked. Rage threatened to fester over and boil.
“He knows you are one with the Modas,” Anyanara said. “Your organization has become a political liability to the Horde and, by extension, Silvermoon.”
“Interesting,” Malthaes said, smiling. “And so one wonders why my research is given the seven days.”
Anyanara frowned.
“Is it because, dear Anya, that while your superiors and the establishment of the Horde frowns on our methods but enjoys our successes? After all, the Modas exists only to promote the success of the Horde at the expense of the Alliance.”
“Is it not enough that you’ve been given these days as a courtesy?” she snapped.
“I confess myself interested in the particulars,” he offered. “I wonder how much say you were given in the matter.”
“I’ve said nothing that I haven’t already said to you,” she responded.
“But I doubt it,” he said, leering at her. “It doesn’t make any sense. If I’m such a risk I would be out of here now. Come now, let’s not play games.”
She pursed her lips.
“Maybe I’m hoping a little extra time next to such a huge quantities of Light will help cleanse that darkness in you,” she said.
“Hope springs eternal,” he said.
“Or hope’s last gasp.”
“How sad,” he said, offering an exaggerated pout.
“There’s not one small part of you that regrets where you are now? The things you’ve done? There isn’t a tiny sliver that yearns for what could have been?”
Malthaes looked at her, considering the question. His first instinct was to cast a cynical barb at her, but then memories of their happiness together flashed in his mind. They did have something special. They once protected each other, gave each other comfort in the darkest of hours. He cursed these thoughts, cursed them for the weakness they inflicted upon him. He came too far to let the yearnings for something past to dissuade him from his mission. She approached him, getting close.
“Anya,” he began, but she held up her hand, getting closer.
“I know it’s there,” she whispered. He could feel the Light from her. She was always powerful in the Light, an incredibly strong priest in her day. Now she was a Blood Knight, powerful with the sword. The Light radiated from her, and it brought forward more memories of happier times. Before he could resist, she leaned up and kissed him. Something stirred in him that thought had perished a long time before. For a moment he got lost, the kiss stretching an eternity. Doubt stirred in him, doubt about his mission, his goals. He reached up, touching her face as they embraced. She seemed to rekindle the old love between them, like a dying flame given new life. But as soon as he thought the word ‘love’ everything went cold inside him. He broke off the kiss, and he saw confusion in her eyes.
He lingered, his eyes meeting hers. The rekindled fire burnt out in a cold stillness. Love was a dependency he could not afford, a drug like any other. Love, like their Sunwell, a gift masked as benevolence but hid only self-serving, debilitating conditions. She did not love him. She loved her idea of him. He would not weaken himself to fit some standard.
“Do you often treat your official visitors with such amorous discourse?” he asked, hitching a smile on his face. Anya took a step backwards, narrowing her eyes.
“You’re going to pretend that meant nothing to you?”
“On the contrary,” he said smoothly. “No pretense is required.”
“Look at me honestly and tell me that you have no doubts,” she said, her eyes blazing. He met her gaze, feeling the cool smile on his face.
“None whatsoever,” he said. She looked stricken, almost embarrassed. “We’ve gone over this, Anya. You’ll see, when my research is completed. You’ll see that I’m right.”
“You have seven days,” she said. “And then I never want to see you again.”
“Seven days is all I need,” he said. She walked out of the room, the door closing behind her. He narrowed his eyes. Her attempts at dissuading him caused him pause, and this new deadline would only complicate things further. Hastily he whispered a phrase in Demonic, and in a burst of flame Piztal appeared at his side. The imp hopped impatiently.
“Ready yourself, we’ll need to be heading to Azuremyst,” he said. “The paladin girl needs persuading, and we’re out of time.”
The imp chattered, grabbed the hem of his robes, and the two disappeared in a flash.
Malthaes looked at her, considering the question. His first instinct was to cast a cynical barb at her, but then memories of their happiness together flashed in his mind. They did have something special. They once protected each other, gave each other comfort in the darkest of hours. He cursed these thoughts, cursed them for the weakness they inflicted upon him. He came too far to let the yearnings for something past to dissuade him from his mission. She approached him, getting close.
“Anya,” he began, but she held up her hand, getting closer.
“I know it’s there,” she whispered. He could feel the Light from her. She was always powerful in the Light, an incredibly strong priest in her day. Now she was a Blood Knight, powerful with the sword. The Light radiated from her, and it brought forward more memories of happier times. Before he could resist, she leaned up and kissed him. Something stirred in him that thought had perished a long time before. For a moment he got lost, the kiss stretching an eternity. Doubt stirred in him, doubt about his mission, his goals. He reached up, touching her face as they embraced. She seemed to rekindle the old love between them, like a dying flame given new life. But as soon as he thought the word ‘love’ everything went cold inside him. He broke off the kiss, and he saw confusion in her eyes.
He lingered, his eyes meeting hers. The rekindled fire burnt out in a cold stillness. Love was a dependency he could not afford, a drug like any other. Love, like their Sunwell, a gift masked as benevolence but hid only self-serving, debilitating conditions. She did not love him. She loved her idea of him. He would not weaken himself to fit some standard.
“Do you often treat your official visitors with such amorous discourse?” he asked, hitching a smile on his face. Anya took a step backwards, narrowing her eyes.
“You’re going to pretend that meant nothing to you?”
“On the contrary,” he said smoothly. “No pretense is required.”
“Look at me honestly and tell me that you have no doubts,” she said, her eyes blazing. He met her gaze, feeling the cool smile on his face.
“None whatsoever,” he said. She looked stricken, almost embarrassed. “We’ve gone over this, Anya. You’ll see, when my research is completed. You’ll see that I’m right.”
“You have seven days,” she said. “And then I never want to see you again.”
“Seven days is all I need,” he said. She walked out of the room, the door closing behind her. He narrowed his eyes. Her attempts at dissuading him caused him pause, and this new deadline would only complicate things further. Hastily he whispered a phrase in Demonic, and in a burst of flame Piztal appeared at his side. The imp hopped impatiently.
“Ready yourself, we’ll need to be heading to Azuremyst,” he said. “The paladin girl needs persuading, and we’re out of time.”
The imp chattered, grabbed the hem of his robes, and the two disappeared in a flash.
((Gah, this is such good stuff. I adore what you've all done with this.))
Finnaeus opened the rusty door and stepped into the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb. Darkness clung to the walls and ceilings, penetrated only by the gentle flicker of the green-flamed candles, and he glow of a purple pentagram in the center of the room. Across the way he saw Ursula standing at a table, perusing a dusty tome. Even from feet away
Finnaeus could hear the dark whispers of the book, hissing in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise and the heavy smell of blood in the room. It made his stomach turn in nausea.
“I’m glad you could come on such short notice,” Ursula said, not looking up from the book.
“You have some information for me, I presume?” Finnaeus asked.
“In a way,” she said.
“No riddles,” Finnaeus said. “I came from halfway across the world and am neglecting my duties to be here. I hope the exchange is worth it.”
“That’ll be entirely up to you,” Ursula said, her words laced with a mysterious humor. She flicked a page in the book, and the whispers grew louder.
Blood….blood…
“Go on then,” Finnaeus said, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep his temper. Everything about the room made him want to flee to the outside.
“I found something of interest,” she said, turning to him. Even in the darkness he could see the greed in her eyes. “A way to figure out what our Modas warlock is up to.”
Finnaeus nodded at her, the smell of blood still heavy in his nose. The whispers grew louder.
“A warlock, as you know, commands the powers of demons and the Fel,” she said. “Most warlocks summon demons in order to command them. Of course, some were ambitious and attempted to summon more powerful demons to control. Ultimately this would lead to the warlock’s demise. Some would try to bend a Nathrezim to their commands. Imagine the ignorance. The lack of humility.”
“Where are you going with this?” he asked.
“There are countless incidents documented in the tomes of warlocks reaching to higher powers and being struck down like the insects they were. But there are incidents of warlocks invoking more powerful demons and their powers to see the future.”
Finnaeus looked up at her. The whispers echoed in his head.
Knowledge…power…seek it….
“The demonic can do that?”
Ursula waved her hand dismissively.
“Future sight is something that most people adept at magic can attempt, and even succeed. The Bronze Dragonflight, obviously, but many others. Mages can bend and ripple time, even travel through it. Shamans and druids have been granted visions as well. The future, however, is ill-defined. There are many possible futures, and having access to them can give you a bit of insight. Even knowledge.”
“So you invoke a demon to give you the knowledge?”
“Partly,” she said, a ghost of a smile flickering on her face. “You see, in the beginning, warlocks would invoke a powerful demon, who would then offer him the wisdom of the future. Almost all warlock spells and rituals require a sacrifice on the part of the warlock.
So, in exchange for a vision of the future, the warlock would be indebted to the demon.”
“Indebted?” Finnaeus asked, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t,” Ursula said, amusement in her eyes. “The debt was life. Once the vision was received, the demon would take the life of the warlock.”
“Why do it then?” Finnaeus asked.
“Arrogance,” Ursula said. “Every warlock who attempted it thought they would be the one to subdue the demon after the fact. If they could kill the demon, they would be absolved of their debt. All of them succumbed to the demon.”
Finnaeus shook his head.
“I don’t see how this pertains.”
“The ritual was once abandoned and thought impractical. Lucky enough for us, it’s been
modified since its original inception,” Ursula said.
“Safer?”
“Oh no,” Ursula responded, smiling now. “Just to the benefit of the warlock. You see, if the ritual is done properly, the warlock can access the future using the Fel, and if the warlock is strong enough in the dark arts. The warlock stands in the place of the demon, and can perform the ritual to give future sight to…let’s say…a generously paying customer.”
Finnaeus narrowed his eyes.
“So you grant someone a vision of the future for a substantial payment, and you don’t tell them that their lives are forfeit as soon as they get the vision.”
“It is a money maker,” she said fondly. “But it’s not just for the financial profit. The user’s life energy is drained and given to the warlock. It’s a way to stay young, healthy, and powerful.”
Finnaeus pursed his lips. “And you intend for me to take part in this ritual?”
Finnaeus could hear the dark whispers of the book, hissing in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise and the heavy smell of blood in the room. It made his stomach turn in nausea.
“I’m glad you could come on such short notice,” Ursula said, not looking up from the book.
“You have some information for me, I presume?” Finnaeus asked.
“In a way,” she said.
“No riddles,” Finnaeus said. “I came from halfway across the world and am neglecting my duties to be here. I hope the exchange is worth it.”
“That’ll be entirely up to you,” Ursula said, her words laced with a mysterious humor. She flicked a page in the book, and the whispers grew louder.
Blood….blood…
“Go on then,” Finnaeus said, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep his temper. Everything about the room made him want to flee to the outside.
“I found something of interest,” she said, turning to him. Even in the darkness he could see the greed in her eyes. “A way to figure out what our Modas warlock is up to.”
Finnaeus nodded at her, the smell of blood still heavy in his nose. The whispers grew louder.
“A warlock, as you know, commands the powers of demons and the Fel,” she said. “Most warlocks summon demons in order to command them. Of course, some were ambitious and attempted to summon more powerful demons to control. Ultimately this would lead to the warlock’s demise. Some would try to bend a Nathrezim to their commands. Imagine the ignorance. The lack of humility.”
“Where are you going with this?” he asked.
“There are countless incidents documented in the tomes of warlocks reaching to higher powers and being struck down like the insects they were. But there are incidents of warlocks invoking more powerful demons and their powers to see the future.”
Finnaeus looked up at her. The whispers echoed in his head.
Knowledge…power…seek it….
“The demonic can do that?”
Ursula waved her hand dismissively.
“Future sight is something that most people adept at magic can attempt, and even succeed. The Bronze Dragonflight, obviously, but many others. Mages can bend and ripple time, even travel through it. Shamans and druids have been granted visions as well. The future, however, is ill-defined. There are many possible futures, and having access to them can give you a bit of insight. Even knowledge.”
“So you invoke a demon to give you the knowledge?”
“Partly,” she said, a ghost of a smile flickering on her face. “You see, in the beginning, warlocks would invoke a powerful demon, who would then offer him the wisdom of the future. Almost all warlock spells and rituals require a sacrifice on the part of the warlock.
So, in exchange for a vision of the future, the warlock would be indebted to the demon.”
“Indebted?” Finnaeus asked, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t,” Ursula said, amusement in her eyes. “The debt was life. Once the vision was received, the demon would take the life of the warlock.”
“Why do it then?” Finnaeus asked.
“Arrogance,” Ursula said. “Every warlock who attempted it thought they would be the one to subdue the demon after the fact. If they could kill the demon, they would be absolved of their debt. All of them succumbed to the demon.”
Finnaeus shook his head.
“I don’t see how this pertains.”
“The ritual was once abandoned and thought impractical. Lucky enough for us, it’s been
modified since its original inception,” Ursula said.
“Safer?”
“Oh no,” Ursula responded, smiling now. “Just to the benefit of the warlock. You see, if the ritual is done properly, the warlock can access the future using the Fel, and if the warlock is strong enough in the dark arts. The warlock stands in the place of the demon, and can perform the ritual to give future sight to…let’s say…a generously paying customer.”
Finnaeus narrowed his eyes.
“So you grant someone a vision of the future for a substantial payment, and you don’t tell them that their lives are forfeit as soon as they get the vision.”
“It is a money maker,” she said fondly. “But it’s not just for the financial profit. The user’s life energy is drained and given to the warlock. It’s a way to stay young, healthy, and powerful.”
Finnaeus pursed his lips. “And you intend for me to take part in this ritual?”
“Intend? No. I’m offering it to you as a way to get the answers you need.”
“And you think I’m stupid enough to do it after I’ve been given all this information?”
“Stupid?” Ursula asked, licking her lips. “If I thought you stupid I would have sold you the ritual without telling you the consequences.”
“Then why?”
“Because I sense a great power in you,” Ursula said, flicking another page. The whispers increased. “I’ve never met a druid who could hear the words in this book. You have a darkness inside of you, Finnaeus, not involved with the worgen curse running through your blood. You have the unique ability to make horrible choices, do horrible things.”
“I do what I must to preserve the balance,” Finnaeus said, gritting his teeth.
“Which fascinates me,” Ursula said. “While so many of your Pia brethren swear fealty to the Light, you do not. You simply do what is required. You uphold the Pia’s principles not because they are your own, but because you joined them.”
“The real world and the ideals the Pia fight for are two separate things,” Finnaeus said.
“That doesn’t mean I do not wish to bridge the two together.”
“Noble, of course,” Ursula said. “But you know of the viciousness of life. Kill or be killed. The strong survive where the weak don’t. You know that sacrifices need to be made to, as you say, preserve the balance.”
“And you think I’ll walk willingly into this ritual because of my loyalties?”
“No,” Ursula said. “But in good faith to our business relationship I have been inquiring through my network about Malthaes Shadowbough of the Modas. What he is doing is grand, far grander than we can imagine. No one will talk long about it. Even the demons have been whispering about something coming, some impending change that has them licking their chops. It is big, bigger than we anticipated.”
Finnaeus’s mouth went dry. The implications of what she was saying were huge. The hunger in her eyes told him she wasn’t lying. This Malthaes was not planning some simple strike against the Alliance – that would be standard business for the Modas. But everything he knew started to form a horrible picture of malevolence. He was harnessing the Emerald Nightmare, that much he learned from the Terra Incognita. That meant evil on a grand scale.
“You could certainly try any number of ways to see the future, Finnaeus,” she said, “but none are guaranteed to succeed. I may be many things to you, mostly a despicable monster. But I can only be those things alive. And even despite my considerable prowess, I am indeed nervous that something a Modas warlock is doing is causing such a stir.”
“And you would have my life to gain that knowledge?”
“The debt must be paid, that is how the ritual works,” Ursula said. “I will not deny that I would prize your strength and power. But I also know that you would stop Malthaes if you could. And so I offer you at least the courtesy of granting you some time after the ritual to do what needs to be done. I do, begrudgingly, respect you.”
“Kill me slowly rather than instantly,” Finnaeus said, closing his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. Was he actually considering this? Would he actually forfeit his life in some demonic sacrifice in order to gain the knowledge he sought? And what would happen once he did make that exchange? He would still have to be able to prevent whatever was going to happen. Everything swirled in his head, the whispers growing in a horrible crescendo.
“I wish there was a way that I could spare your life,” she said, the smile on her face belying the sympathy in her voice. “But the debt must be paid. I know of know way to alter that part of the spell.”
Life…death…lies…….
“And you could guarantee the vision that we need?” Finnaeus asked. His mind flashed images of Erelyn, Gentyl, Kordrion, Faithe, the rest of the Pia – more and more people popped into his head as if his mind were trying to remind him of everything he stood to lose should he go through with this.
“Absolutely,” she said. “And once this is completed, you have my word that I will slow the process as much as I can. I’ll even research to see if there is an alternate way to pay the debt.”
“How generous of you,” Finnaeus said, his mouth dry.
“No promises on that front, of course,” she said, her mouth twitching into a smile.
He closed his eyes. There were many other courses of action. As she said, there were other ways to gain access to the future. But none were guaranteed, and he could get his answer now. And was he above putting his life on the line to spare suffering? He had been ready to die since he lost his family, but now that it seemed so immediate he felt a pang of what? He had a new family now. Did that not count for anything?
“And you think I’m stupid enough to do it after I’ve been given all this information?”
“Stupid?” Ursula asked, licking her lips. “If I thought you stupid I would have sold you the ritual without telling you the consequences.”
“Then why?”
“Because I sense a great power in you,” Ursula said, flicking another page. The whispers increased. “I’ve never met a druid who could hear the words in this book. You have a darkness inside of you, Finnaeus, not involved with the worgen curse running through your blood. You have the unique ability to make horrible choices, do horrible things.”
“I do what I must to preserve the balance,” Finnaeus said, gritting his teeth.
“Which fascinates me,” Ursula said. “While so many of your Pia brethren swear fealty to the Light, you do not. You simply do what is required. You uphold the Pia’s principles not because they are your own, but because you joined them.”
“The real world and the ideals the Pia fight for are two separate things,” Finnaeus said.
“That doesn’t mean I do not wish to bridge the two together.”
“Noble, of course,” Ursula said. “But you know of the viciousness of life. Kill or be killed. The strong survive where the weak don’t. You know that sacrifices need to be made to, as you say, preserve the balance.”
“And you think I’ll walk willingly into this ritual because of my loyalties?”
“No,” Ursula said. “But in good faith to our business relationship I have been inquiring through my network about Malthaes Shadowbough of the Modas. What he is doing is grand, far grander than we can imagine. No one will talk long about it. Even the demons have been whispering about something coming, some impending change that has them licking their chops. It is big, bigger than we anticipated.”
Finnaeus’s mouth went dry. The implications of what she was saying were huge. The hunger in her eyes told him she wasn’t lying. This Malthaes was not planning some simple strike against the Alliance – that would be standard business for the Modas. But everything he knew started to form a horrible picture of malevolence. He was harnessing the Emerald Nightmare, that much he learned from the Terra Incognita. That meant evil on a grand scale.
“You could certainly try any number of ways to see the future, Finnaeus,” she said, “but none are guaranteed to succeed. I may be many things to you, mostly a despicable monster. But I can only be those things alive. And even despite my considerable prowess, I am indeed nervous that something a Modas warlock is doing is causing such a stir.”
“And you would have my life to gain that knowledge?”
“The debt must be paid, that is how the ritual works,” Ursula said. “I will not deny that I would prize your strength and power. But I also know that you would stop Malthaes if you could. And so I offer you at least the courtesy of granting you some time after the ritual to do what needs to be done. I do, begrudgingly, respect you.”
“Kill me slowly rather than instantly,” Finnaeus said, closing his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. Was he actually considering this? Would he actually forfeit his life in some demonic sacrifice in order to gain the knowledge he sought? And what would happen once he did make that exchange? He would still have to be able to prevent whatever was going to happen. Everything swirled in his head, the whispers growing in a horrible crescendo.
“I wish there was a way that I could spare your life,” she said, the smile on her face belying the sympathy in her voice. “But the debt must be paid. I know of know way to alter that part of the spell.”
Life…death…lies…….
“And you could guarantee the vision that we need?” Finnaeus asked. His mind flashed images of Erelyn, Gentyl, Kordrion, Faithe, the rest of the Pia – more and more people popped into his head as if his mind were trying to remind him of everything he stood to lose should he go through with this.
“Absolutely,” she said. “And once this is completed, you have my word that I will slow the process as much as I can. I’ll even research to see if there is an alternate way to pay the debt.”
“How generous of you,” Finnaeus said, his mouth dry.
“No promises on that front, of course,” she said, her mouth twitching into a smile.
He closed his eyes. There were many other courses of action. As she said, there were other ways to gain access to the future. But none were guaranteed, and he could get his answer now. And was he above putting his life on the line to spare suffering? He had been ready to die since he lost his family, but now that it seemed so immediate he felt a pang of what? He had a new family now. Did that not count for anything?
But I would give my life to ensure their safety, Finnaeus thought. He needed to ensure their safety first. After he stopped Malthaes, then he would worry about a way to escape a warlock’s debt. But he couldn’t think of himself first.
“Let’s do it,” he said, the words thudding out of him with finality. The whispers from the book got louder, more excited.
“You decided that quickly,” Ursula said.
“My life means nothing if keeping it means everyone I care about will suffer,” Finnaeus scowled. “Now tell me what to do.”
Ursula licked her lips, her eyes flashing with excitement.
“Very well. Kneel in the center of the pentagram.”
Finnaeus fell to one knee at the center of the symbol. Ursula spoke demonic above him, the words sounding harsh and vulgar to his ears. The purple rune below him hissed to life, glowing brighter. The smell of blood and acrid smoke threatened to overpower him. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the nausea turning his stomach.
“Hold out your hands, palm up,” Ursula said. He obliged her, and without a moment’s hesitation she ran an ornate dagger across his palms. Blood blossomed out of the slits in his hands, and then she took them and pressed them down on the floor. The blood sizzled as soon as it hit the rune, and the purple rune sparked and blazed around him.
She continued to speak demonic, and a hot, heavy wind filled the room. It swirled around him, weighing him down. The chanting got louder, the whispers in the books now a high-pitched scream. Finnaeus rocked, about to lose his balance, wondering how much longer it would be, but then –
He stood at the edge of the Sunwell. A harsh screeching – like nails on a chalkboard. Everything looked blurry, tinged with red. It was future vision, Finnaeus was sure of it, except it felt dirty, unnatural. His mouth tasted of heavy, warm blood, and it turned his stomach. This must be what Fel tasted like, and it sickened him to his core.
Across the way he could see a blood elf paladin trapped in what looked like a demonic cage. A bright green rune glowed on the ground where she stood. Next to him stood Malthaes, grinning smugly. His eyes were trained upwards. Finnaeus followed his gaze, and then he saw it.
A huge, black cloud of crackling energy hovered above the Sunwell. It seethed and turned as it coiled on itself. With a wave Malthaes sent a beam of shadow into the cloud. For a moment nothing happened, but then the cloud twisted upwards and then spiraled into the Sunwell. The two substances converged, and the room shook and shuddered. The Sunwell’s waters turned violently, spinning into a small version of the Maelstrom. The waters hissed with volatility, the cloud of the Nightmare battling the purety of the Sunwell’s waters. Finnaeus watched in horror, hoping that the Sunwell would win out. But when the rest of the cloud penetrated the waters, he saw something else hovering in the air.
It looked like a small spark, but it was completely devoid of Light. Instead, it pulsed in shades of darkness. The spark sent out bolts of pure Void energy, feeding the Nightmare until finally the waters of the Sunwell ceased to glow. The Nightmare dissipated, completely used up by the Sunwell’s energies. But the Light from the waters disappeared. Malthaes laughed with victory.
In the next moment, Malthaes flicked his wrist, and the Void Spark plummeted from the air into the waters. It burst then, the waters churning once more, only this time the waters grew dark and thick, moving with the consistency of oil. The room seemed to get darker, and when Finnaeus turned to get a good look at the warlock, he saw that his eyes had changed from the green they once were to the infinite darkness of black. Finnaeus moved forward, hoping to say something, but –
A series of images flickered before his eyes, like a hellish scrap book.
Malthaes standing at the base of Light’s Hope Chapel. His hands were cloaked in shadow, and with a few words a horrible cloud of shadow formed over the town. Before anyone knew what happened, pillars of shadow and flame burst out of the cloud and caused mass destruction. His black eyes crackled with power, fueled by the new Void Well.
An army of undead soldiers poured from the Bulwark, covering the Western Plaguelands. The corpses were shrouded in swirling void.
The blades of grass in Seradane turned black. The trees lost all their leaves, and the branches twisted and gnarled. Blood oozed from the trees. Up the ramp, one of the portals to the Emerald Dream swirled open. Blood Elves, all with black-lit eyes, streamed out of the Dream carrying orbs of crackling black energy of the Emerald Nightmare.
“Let’s do it,” he said, the words thudding out of him with finality. The whispers from the book got louder, more excited.
“You decided that quickly,” Ursula said.
“My life means nothing if keeping it means everyone I care about will suffer,” Finnaeus scowled. “Now tell me what to do.”
Ursula licked her lips, her eyes flashing with excitement.
“Very well. Kneel in the center of the pentagram.”
Finnaeus fell to one knee at the center of the symbol. Ursula spoke demonic above him, the words sounding harsh and vulgar to his ears. The purple rune below him hissed to life, glowing brighter. The smell of blood and acrid smoke threatened to overpower him. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the nausea turning his stomach.
“Hold out your hands, palm up,” Ursula said. He obliged her, and without a moment’s hesitation she ran an ornate dagger across his palms. Blood blossomed out of the slits in his hands, and then she took them and pressed them down on the floor. The blood sizzled as soon as it hit the rune, and the purple rune sparked and blazed around him.
She continued to speak demonic, and a hot, heavy wind filled the room. It swirled around him, weighing him down. The chanting got louder, the whispers in the books now a high-pitched scream. Finnaeus rocked, about to lose his balance, wondering how much longer it would be, but then –
He stood at the edge of the Sunwell. A harsh screeching – like nails on a chalkboard. Everything looked blurry, tinged with red. It was future vision, Finnaeus was sure of it, except it felt dirty, unnatural. His mouth tasted of heavy, warm blood, and it turned his stomach. This must be what Fel tasted like, and it sickened him to his core.
Across the way he could see a blood elf paladin trapped in what looked like a demonic cage. A bright green rune glowed on the ground where she stood. Next to him stood Malthaes, grinning smugly. His eyes were trained upwards. Finnaeus followed his gaze, and then he saw it.
A huge, black cloud of crackling energy hovered above the Sunwell. It seethed and turned as it coiled on itself. With a wave Malthaes sent a beam of shadow into the cloud. For a moment nothing happened, but then the cloud twisted upwards and then spiraled into the Sunwell. The two substances converged, and the room shook and shuddered. The Sunwell’s waters turned violently, spinning into a small version of the Maelstrom. The waters hissed with volatility, the cloud of the Nightmare battling the purety of the Sunwell’s waters. Finnaeus watched in horror, hoping that the Sunwell would win out. But when the rest of the cloud penetrated the waters, he saw something else hovering in the air.
It looked like a small spark, but it was completely devoid of Light. Instead, it pulsed in shades of darkness. The spark sent out bolts of pure Void energy, feeding the Nightmare until finally the waters of the Sunwell ceased to glow. The Nightmare dissipated, completely used up by the Sunwell’s energies. But the Light from the waters disappeared. Malthaes laughed with victory.
In the next moment, Malthaes flicked his wrist, and the Void Spark plummeted from the air into the waters. It burst then, the waters churning once more, only this time the waters grew dark and thick, moving with the consistency of oil. The room seemed to get darker, and when Finnaeus turned to get a good look at the warlock, he saw that his eyes had changed from the green they once were to the infinite darkness of black. Finnaeus moved forward, hoping to say something, but –
A series of images flickered before his eyes, like a hellish scrap book.
Malthaes standing at the base of Light’s Hope Chapel. His hands were cloaked in shadow, and with a few words a horrible cloud of shadow formed over the town. Before anyone knew what happened, pillars of shadow and flame burst out of the cloud and caused mass destruction. His black eyes crackled with power, fueled by the new Void Well.
An army of undead soldiers poured from the Bulwark, covering the Western Plaguelands. The corpses were shrouded in swirling void.
The blades of grass in Seradane turned black. The trees lost all their leaves, and the branches twisted and gnarled. Blood oozed from the trees. Up the ramp, one of the portals to the Emerald Dream swirled open. Blood Elves, all with black-lit eyes, streamed out of the Dream carrying orbs of crackling black energy of the Emerald Nightmare.
Edited by Finnaeus on 4/29/2012 3:23 PM PDT
Finnaeus came to. The rune below him was no longer active. He looked up and saw Ursula, her eyes trained on him.
“Did you see?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Finnaeus said, his eyes downcast in a look of horror. “He’s going to rebirth the Sunwell into a Voidwell.”
“Fel,” she said, the smugness in her voice no longer there. “If he succeeds...with that kind of power…”
“The Modas will be unstoppable,” Finnaeus finished for her. “They’ll press forward into the world and wreak havoc.”
Finnaeus rose to his feet. He felt no different. He met her eyes, and there was a look of horror and something else. Pity? Sympathy?
“You know what you must do then,” she said softly.
“How much time will I have?” Finnaeus asked. She broke eye contact, as if she suddenly reconsidered what she was doing to him.
“I can’t guarantee anything. Just…move quickly,” she said.
Finnaeus nodded. The clock was ticking. He turned to leave wondering what it would feel like to slowly die. He reached the outside, the fresh air all around him.
He coughed.
“Did you see?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Finnaeus said, his eyes downcast in a look of horror. “He’s going to rebirth the Sunwell into a Voidwell.”
“Fel,” she said, the smugness in her voice no longer there. “If he succeeds...with that kind of power…”
“The Modas will be unstoppable,” Finnaeus finished for her. “They’ll press forward into the world and wreak havoc.”
Finnaeus rose to his feet. He felt no different. He met her eyes, and there was a look of horror and something else. Pity? Sympathy?
“You know what you must do then,” she said softly.
“How much time will I have?” Finnaeus asked. She broke eye contact, as if she suddenly reconsidered what she was doing to him.
“I can’t guarantee anything. Just…move quickly,” she said.
Finnaeus nodded. The clock was ticking. He turned to leave wondering what it would feel like to slowly die. He reached the outside, the fresh air all around him.
He coughed.
((You better not be killing Finn off. *weeping*))
((Amazing writing, as always. Looking forward to seeing how this plays out!))
Finn had been one of the first to join in the defense group to answer alarms in Darkshire. Regent Tenwit caught up with Finn who was the first on the ground.
"Where are they, Master Finn? I have a gift for them."
The Regent was an obnoxious little twirp most of the time, but he was mad to defend and formidable on the field.
It was Modas up to no good again. They had several skirmishes with them until at last the dust had settled and all was quiet. Caylea, an enthusiastic druid had joined them also as well as the homicidal gnome Ettinjandy.
Finn rested against a tree after the battle. He coughed several times during the fight. He was the joint lead of Pia's Silent Guard and often ran himself ragged, but he seemed more fatigued lately. Gentyl frowned. "Finn, are you all right?"
He waved her away. "I'm fine. No need to worry for me. Sepha, when we can, will you summon the new recruits so we can see if any are suited to the Silent Guard? Soon would be good."
She looked around the darkened woods. Evil walked here. It held sway like a malevolent hostess at a ball of shadows and mist. There was something more, however, that sent a shiver down her spine. "Of course. We have several people who would make good additions and I need our ghosts to verify some information."
The ghosts. They were the members of the Silent Guard who specialized in gathering information. They slipped in and out of places quietly gathering information for various operations. Pia was at war and their next target was the Modas warlock who had attacked Harmyone.
Finn obviously needed help and the new people might be an excellent way to take some of the strain off her most trusted ghost.
He nodded. "I must away. Mira needs some help with fighting."
"You need some rest."
He looked at her a moment, his golden eyes studying hers. She could almost hear the Commander's words whispering in her ear when she urged him to slow down and lay his weapon aside for just a bit. "I can rest when I'm dead."
She shivered again. "Let's get out of this place."
"Where are they, Master Finn? I have a gift for them."
The Regent was an obnoxious little twirp most of the time, but he was mad to defend and formidable on the field.
It was Modas up to no good again. They had several skirmishes with them until at last the dust had settled and all was quiet. Caylea, an enthusiastic druid had joined them also as well as the homicidal gnome Ettinjandy.
Finn rested against a tree after the battle. He coughed several times during the fight. He was the joint lead of Pia's Silent Guard and often ran himself ragged, but he seemed more fatigued lately. Gentyl frowned. "Finn, are you all right?"
He waved her away. "I'm fine. No need to worry for me. Sepha, when we can, will you summon the new recruits so we can see if any are suited to the Silent Guard? Soon would be good."
She looked around the darkened woods. Evil walked here. It held sway like a malevolent hostess at a ball of shadows and mist. There was something more, however, that sent a shiver down her spine. "Of course. We have several people who would make good additions and I need our ghosts to verify some information."
The ghosts. They were the members of the Silent Guard who specialized in gathering information. They slipped in and out of places quietly gathering information for various operations. Pia was at war and their next target was the Modas warlock who had attacked Harmyone.
Finn obviously needed help and the new people might be an excellent way to take some of the strain off her most trusted ghost.
He nodded. "I must away. Mira needs some help with fighting."
"You need some rest."
He looked at her a moment, his golden eyes studying hers. She could almost hear the Commander's words whispering in her ear when she urged him to slow down and lay his weapon aside for just a bit. "I can rest when I'm dead."
She shivered again. "Let's get out of this place."
(( Interesting concept! I like the idea of a Voidwell! Way cooler than a pansy Sunwell. ))
"A letter for you, Lady Meriste. We found it this morning."
The new recruit was one of Hearthglen's fresh faces. Spring had brought forth many of them: young, able-bodied men and women, not only to the ranks of the Argent Crusade but to the Presidium as well. This particular recruit - a young paladin by the name of Vaeldan, if she remembered correctly - seemed a little nervous. He shifted in place, holding out a neatly folded piece of parchment.
She smiled warmly and reached out to take the letter. "Please, call me Meriste."
He hesitated a moment, pushed a piece of dark brown hair away from his face, and returned the smile. "Yes, Miss Meriste."
"That's a little better." She laughed. "I suppose the courier mixed up the mail again?"
"Yes ma'am."
Meriste held up the letter. "Thank you for bringing this to me. Vaeldan, right? You didn't have to come out and do that...and please, no formalities. Just call me Meriste."
He smiled, pleased that she had remembered his name, and nodded. They exchanged salutes, and then Meriste sent him on his way so that she could examine the letter. The letter was a report on Harmyone's training; she had been looking for it for several days. Hearthglen ought to rely on the AAMS more for this type of thing, she thought, considering their physical closeness and record of reliability. She made a mental note to bring it up with town authorities later, then opened the letter.
Out of all the duties Meriste performed, the responsibility to train new squires was her favorite. She enjoyed reading the reports of their progress and helping them to find a comfortable niche. While she was only able to take on a few squires at a time, she looked forward to working with them individually; each squire was different, bringing forth their own strengths and challenges.
Harmyone's challenge had been her low sense of self-worth. After her ability to wield the Light had been taken, she lost sight of her potential. Thinking that her gifts were gone forever, she struggled to find a sense of identity and faded into the background, distracted by her own thoughts.
Meriste's goal was to bring out her out of the darkness by emphasizing her other strengths. She didn't know if Harmyone would regain her ability to wield the Light, but it was clear that she still had a strong heart and the will to survive. The trauma Harmyone endured could've easily brought a more seasoned soldier to his knees, but she kept going, kept trying. That alone spoke volumes of her character.
The report in the letter detailed how Harmyone had continued her training with Meriste's father: her sword arm was improving and she had greater success deflecting Tolnaar's attacks with her shield. It was a good place to start. Meriste was also pleased to read that the exarchs had taken Harmyone into the wilds of Azuremyst on a tour of the island. Meriste would have to ask about it the next time she saw her squire. The villagers spoke of Harmyone's persistence in helping others and how she seemed to have regained a sense of confidence. All in all, it was an excellent report.
Meriste smiled and placed the letter on her desk. She quickly prepared a bag for traveling and set out for Azure Watch with She'ahu at her side. Harmyone had done very well, advancing quickly with her training. This meant that Meriste had a promise to keep.
Tomorrow, Harmyone would meet a Naaru.
The new recruit was one of Hearthglen's fresh faces. Spring had brought forth many of them: young, able-bodied men and women, not only to the ranks of the Argent Crusade but to the Presidium as well. This particular recruit - a young paladin by the name of Vaeldan, if she remembered correctly - seemed a little nervous. He shifted in place, holding out a neatly folded piece of parchment.
She smiled warmly and reached out to take the letter. "Please, call me Meriste."
He hesitated a moment, pushed a piece of dark brown hair away from his face, and returned the smile. "Yes, Miss Meriste."
"That's a little better." She laughed. "I suppose the courier mixed up the mail again?"
"Yes ma'am."
Meriste held up the letter. "Thank you for bringing this to me. Vaeldan, right? You didn't have to come out and do that...and please, no formalities. Just call me Meriste."
He smiled, pleased that she had remembered his name, and nodded. They exchanged salutes, and then Meriste sent him on his way so that she could examine the letter. The letter was a report on Harmyone's training; she had been looking for it for several days. Hearthglen ought to rely on the AAMS more for this type of thing, she thought, considering their physical closeness and record of reliability. She made a mental note to bring it up with town authorities later, then opened the letter.
Out of all the duties Meriste performed, the responsibility to train new squires was her favorite. She enjoyed reading the reports of their progress and helping them to find a comfortable niche. While she was only able to take on a few squires at a time, she looked forward to working with them individually; each squire was different, bringing forth their own strengths and challenges.
Harmyone's challenge had been her low sense of self-worth. After her ability to wield the Light had been taken, she lost sight of her potential. Thinking that her gifts were gone forever, she struggled to find a sense of identity and faded into the background, distracted by her own thoughts.
Meriste's goal was to bring out her out of the darkness by emphasizing her other strengths. She didn't know if Harmyone would regain her ability to wield the Light, but it was clear that she still had a strong heart and the will to survive. The trauma Harmyone endured could've easily brought a more seasoned soldier to his knees, but she kept going, kept trying. That alone spoke volumes of her character.
The report in the letter detailed how Harmyone had continued her training with Meriste's father: her sword arm was improving and she had greater success deflecting Tolnaar's attacks with her shield. It was a good place to start. Meriste was also pleased to read that the exarchs had taken Harmyone into the wilds of Azuremyst on a tour of the island. Meriste would have to ask about it the next time she saw her squire. The villagers spoke of Harmyone's persistence in helping others and how she seemed to have regained a sense of confidence. All in all, it was an excellent report.
Meriste smiled and placed the letter on her desk. She quickly prepared a bag for traveling and set out for Azure Watch with She'ahu at her side. Harmyone had done very well, advancing quickly with her training. This meant that Meriste had a promise to keep.
Tomorrow, Harmyone would meet a Naaru.
Edited by Meriste on 5/4/2012 12:42 PM PDT
Nightmares disturbed Harmyone’s sleep. She tossed and turned, images of demons and blood flashed in her head. The same pair of green eyes stared at her, alight with malice and cruelty, chanting the same sentence over and over.
Bring me the spark…
Harmyone awoke, sweat on her brow, and she felt a chill unrelated to the temperature in the inn. A few calming breaths later, she closed her eyes again. She would not find sleep – only thoughts of demons and sparks, malice and Naaru, all mixed together in a confusing jumble.
“Don’t let him in,” she said to herself, punching her pillow.
But the thoughts would not go away.
***
The next day she stood in the center of town, letting the sun hit her skin as she watched the Draenei idle. She had just returned from another day in the wildnerness. It was surprising to her how much she enjoyed it – most of her life was spent in the city, specifically the library. It was liberating to be out in the world, among the wild things, learning about the
wildlife and the trees, the waters and soil types.
The sound of hoofsteps brought her to her senses, and when she looked up she saw Meriste standing before her with a smile. Harmyone jumped to her feet, excited and eager.
“Meriste! How are you?”
“Well,” she said, her musical laughter alight on the air. “And you?”
“I’m well!” she said breathlessly.
“And your training?”
“I’ve been very busy!” Harmyone said, and without a breath she ploughed on, “I’ve been sparring every day, as well helping to rebuild. We’re almost done, do you see? And the Exarchs took me into the wilds a few times, and –” She realized she was rambling, and she blushed, looking down. “I’ve been busy.”
Meriste laughed.
“I’m glad to hear!” Meriste said. “I’d like to do something a little different tonight.”
Harmyone nodded, composing herself.
“I’m ready for anything,” she said.
“Good. When we first talked, I mentioned taking you to see a Naaru, once your training had progressed.”
Harmyone gasped, leaning forward.
“You think I’m ready?”
“I’m really happy with how you’ve progressed,” Meriste said warmly.
Harmyone blushed, staring at the ground.
“I would still be broken in the Keep if it weren’t for you.”
Meriste shook her head, looking at the girl.
“You have a strong heart, Harmyone. All you needed was someone to help you rekindle the fire.”
“I hope I can be as strong as you one day,” she said, glancing up at her knight. Harmyone adored Meriste; she marveled at how strong she could be, steady and resolute, and yet not lose that gentle and warm spirit about her. She was stalwart, a rock, and without her to brace against the storm Harmyone felt she would have been forever lost.
Meriste laughed. “Stronger, I hope. Never stop learning.”
“I won’t,” Harmyone said. “I promise.”
“Good. We’ll take the road to the Exodar.”
The two walked, chatting idly about the wilds. While Meriste talked, pointing things out to her, Harmyone cast a thought towards the Naaru they were visiting. She had no idea what to expect – the only thing she knew of Naaru was what Malthaes muttered in the depths of the dungeons. He hated them, though he never said why. And yet he constantly harped on the spark, another concept that Harmyone didn’t understand. A great deal of her curiosity towards the Naaru was to answer those questions for herself, to see exactly what compelled him to take her and do horrific things to her. But a part of her sensed that they were something greater than herself, in a way she couldn’t explain or even, perhaps, understand.
All that came to her mind as they walked into the Exodar. Despite the bubbling storm of confusing thought, Harmyone felt her jaw drop and her mind cleanse as she looked about the Draenei ship. Purple energy crackled through gleaming purple crystals. It was beautiful and haunting. She had no words, and while Meriste smiled with a warm recognition,
Harmyone suddenly felt small and insignificant.
“It’s beautiful…in a different way…if that makes sense…” Harmyone muttered, her breath catching in her chest.
Meriste laughed, looking around fondly.
“It is very different than anything else I’ve experienced on Azeroth,” Meriste said. “I love it here.”
“There is nothing in the books about anything like this,” Harmyone said.
“With time, I hope that more will be written.”
“I hope so as well! All they ever taught at the Abbey was old Alliance history. There aren’t any books on the Night Elves, let alone the Draenei.”
“I’d be happy to teach you what I know,” Meriste said. They passed through the trade area. Meriste nodded to a few of the Draenei, who smiled and nodded back. “Most of what we have left has been passed down from memory.”
Bring me the spark…
Harmyone awoke, sweat on her brow, and she felt a chill unrelated to the temperature in the inn. A few calming breaths later, she closed her eyes again. She would not find sleep – only thoughts of demons and sparks, malice and Naaru, all mixed together in a confusing jumble.
“Don’t let him in,” she said to herself, punching her pillow.
But the thoughts would not go away.
***
The next day she stood in the center of town, letting the sun hit her skin as she watched the Draenei idle. She had just returned from another day in the wildnerness. It was surprising to her how much she enjoyed it – most of her life was spent in the city, specifically the library. It was liberating to be out in the world, among the wild things, learning about the
wildlife and the trees, the waters and soil types.
The sound of hoofsteps brought her to her senses, and when she looked up she saw Meriste standing before her with a smile. Harmyone jumped to her feet, excited and eager.
“Meriste! How are you?”
“Well,” she said, her musical laughter alight on the air. “And you?”
“I’m well!” she said breathlessly.
“And your training?”
“I’ve been very busy!” Harmyone said, and without a breath she ploughed on, “I’ve been sparring every day, as well helping to rebuild. We’re almost done, do you see? And the Exarchs took me into the wilds a few times, and –” She realized she was rambling, and she blushed, looking down. “I’ve been busy.”
Meriste laughed.
“I’m glad to hear!” Meriste said. “I’d like to do something a little different tonight.”
Harmyone nodded, composing herself.
“I’m ready for anything,” she said.
“Good. When we first talked, I mentioned taking you to see a Naaru, once your training had progressed.”
Harmyone gasped, leaning forward.
“You think I’m ready?”
“I’m really happy with how you’ve progressed,” Meriste said warmly.
Harmyone blushed, staring at the ground.
“I would still be broken in the Keep if it weren’t for you.”
Meriste shook her head, looking at the girl.
“You have a strong heart, Harmyone. All you needed was someone to help you rekindle the fire.”
“I hope I can be as strong as you one day,” she said, glancing up at her knight. Harmyone adored Meriste; she marveled at how strong she could be, steady and resolute, and yet not lose that gentle and warm spirit about her. She was stalwart, a rock, and without her to brace against the storm Harmyone felt she would have been forever lost.
Meriste laughed. “Stronger, I hope. Never stop learning.”
“I won’t,” Harmyone said. “I promise.”
“Good. We’ll take the road to the Exodar.”
The two walked, chatting idly about the wilds. While Meriste talked, pointing things out to her, Harmyone cast a thought towards the Naaru they were visiting. She had no idea what to expect – the only thing she knew of Naaru was what Malthaes muttered in the depths of the dungeons. He hated them, though he never said why. And yet he constantly harped on the spark, another concept that Harmyone didn’t understand. A great deal of her curiosity towards the Naaru was to answer those questions for herself, to see exactly what compelled him to take her and do horrific things to her. But a part of her sensed that they were something greater than herself, in a way she couldn’t explain or even, perhaps, understand.
All that came to her mind as they walked into the Exodar. Despite the bubbling storm of confusing thought, Harmyone felt her jaw drop and her mind cleanse as she looked about the Draenei ship. Purple energy crackled through gleaming purple crystals. It was beautiful and haunting. She had no words, and while Meriste smiled with a warm recognition,
Harmyone suddenly felt small and insignificant.
“It’s beautiful…in a different way…if that makes sense…” Harmyone muttered, her breath catching in her chest.
Meriste laughed, looking around fondly.
“It is very different than anything else I’ve experienced on Azeroth,” Meriste said. “I love it here.”
“There is nothing in the books about anything like this,” Harmyone said.
“With time, I hope that more will be written.”
“I hope so as well! All they ever taught at the Abbey was old Alliance history. There aren’t any books on the Night Elves, let alone the Draenei.”
“I’d be happy to teach you what I know,” Meriste said. They passed through the trade area. Meriste nodded to a few of the Draenei, who smiled and nodded back. “Most of what we have left has been passed down from memory.”
Harmyone frowned, thinking of that. She learned never to trust the stories that people told – not that they were necessarily lying, but memories were poor and inaccurate.
“No books?”
“There are some, but many of them were destroyed,” Meriste said. They reached a ramp, and Meriste uttered a command to She’ahu to stay.
“The monks once told me that they thought I would mourn the loss of a book more than a life. It’s not true of course, but…I suppose they have a point.”
“I don’t have much of an affinity for them, though I do enjoy learning new things,” Meriste said. “I always favored the practical approach. Hands-on, I think you call it. It frustrated
those who tried to teach me.”
“That’s fair,” Harmyone responded. “But a book can be a playground, to let your imagination wander and grow. They can be exercise for the mind. Plus I love the smell of paper and parchment. It’s comforting. Maybe I’ll teach you the joy of books in return for all you’ve taught me.”
“Perhaps,” Meriste said warmly. “Come, it’s not far now.”
Harmyone followed Meriste, looking around and taking in more of the sights. As they descended down a ramp, she could hear a distant music, unlike anything she’d ever heard before. It glistened, almost, tinkling melodically in a beautiful arrangement. She stopped.
“Do you hear that?” Harmyone asked. “It’s like music…”
Meriste smiled.
“That is O’ros.”
“O’ros?” Harmyone repeated.
“You will see,” Meriste said. They turned the corner, and then she saw it.
The massive Naaru hovered over a platform, a brilliant column of golden light streaming upwards. The music sounded louder to her, though it was nothing that she heard with her ears. Every inch of her tingled as she looked upon the Naaru. She stood, thunderstruck, until she saw that Meriste had knelt. Harmyone followed suit, listening to Meriste.
“Belan shi ZEkul kar tiriosh revos maev ur ruk kar mannor ur rikk naztheros,” Meriste said, and then stood. Harmyone followed, staring up at O’ros.
“Is he made of Light?” Harmyone asked, watching as the O’ros swirled and gleamed, brighter even than the sun.
“Yes,” Meriste said, smiling. “You can hear if you listen. Let the music speak to you, and then through you.”
Harmyone looked back at the Naaru, and then she heard it. It made her skin feel warm and her heart swell.
Come closer, child.
“I think he wants me to get closer,” Harmyone croaked, her mouth gone dry.
“Don’t be afraid,” Meriste said, nodding with encouragement. Harmyone stepped forward, walking towards the stairs. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had been before nothing like O’ros before, and while she wasn’t necessarily scared of the Naaru, she was terrified she would do the wrong thing. She turned back to Meriste, who nodded, waving her forward with one hand. The smile on her face gave Harmyone strength. She nodded. Harmyone nodded, ascended the stairs, and then knelt before the Naaru. Light swirled around her, making her warm and comfortable.
“No books?”
“There are some, but many of them were destroyed,” Meriste said. They reached a ramp, and Meriste uttered a command to She’ahu to stay.
“The monks once told me that they thought I would mourn the loss of a book more than a life. It’s not true of course, but…I suppose they have a point.”
“I don’t have much of an affinity for them, though I do enjoy learning new things,” Meriste said. “I always favored the practical approach. Hands-on, I think you call it. It frustrated
those who tried to teach me.”
“That’s fair,” Harmyone responded. “But a book can be a playground, to let your imagination wander and grow. They can be exercise for the mind. Plus I love the smell of paper and parchment. It’s comforting. Maybe I’ll teach you the joy of books in return for all you’ve taught me.”
“Perhaps,” Meriste said warmly. “Come, it’s not far now.”
Harmyone followed Meriste, looking around and taking in more of the sights. As they descended down a ramp, she could hear a distant music, unlike anything she’d ever heard before. It glistened, almost, tinkling melodically in a beautiful arrangement. She stopped.
“Do you hear that?” Harmyone asked. “It’s like music…”
Meriste smiled.
“That is O’ros.”
“O’ros?” Harmyone repeated.
“You will see,” Meriste said. They turned the corner, and then she saw it.
The massive Naaru hovered over a platform, a brilliant column of golden light streaming upwards. The music sounded louder to her, though it was nothing that she heard with her ears. Every inch of her tingled as she looked upon the Naaru. She stood, thunderstruck, until she saw that Meriste had knelt. Harmyone followed suit, listening to Meriste.
“Belan shi ZEkul kar tiriosh revos maev ur ruk kar mannor ur rikk naztheros,” Meriste said, and then stood. Harmyone followed, staring up at O’ros.
“Is he made of Light?” Harmyone asked, watching as the O’ros swirled and gleamed, brighter even than the sun.
“Yes,” Meriste said, smiling. “You can hear if you listen. Let the music speak to you, and then through you.”
Harmyone looked back at the Naaru, and then she heard it. It made her skin feel warm and her heart swell.
Come closer, child.
“I think he wants me to get closer,” Harmyone croaked, her mouth gone dry.
“Don’t be afraid,” Meriste said, nodding with encouragement. Harmyone stepped forward, walking towards the stairs. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had been before nothing like O’ros before, and while she wasn’t necessarily scared of the Naaru, she was terrified she would do the wrong thing. She turned back to Meriste, who nodded, waving her forward with one hand. The smile on her face gave Harmyone strength. She nodded. Harmyone nodded, ascended the stairs, and then knelt before the Naaru. Light swirled around her, making her warm and comfortable.
Do not be afraid, Harmyone. You are safe here.
“Ok,” she croaked.
You do not need to speak, the music said to her warmly, almost with humor. It comforted her. I can hear you just fine in your mind.
“You know me?” It seemed incredulous that a being such as O’ros would know of her.
The Light knows all of its children, as do I. I am sorry that you had to suffer so much in so little time on this world. You have faced horrors that many before and after will never understand. You have shown true strength and grace.
“I thought I would die there,” Harmyone thought, emotion overcoming her. It was as if the Naaru’s voice was extracting all of the dark and horrible thoughts out of her, like leeching a patient of poison.
But you, and your spirit, perservered. And that is a true victory. The warlock sought to break you, and he has only made you stronger.
“He took my Light,” she said.
No one can take the Light from you as it truly is. You may not be able to call it to your aid, but it lives and breathes in your goodness, your warm heart.
“He wants a spark from you,” she thought. “He says if I get for him, I can have the Light back.”
I could give this to you.
Harmyone froze, the thought hovering between them. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“What?”
The warlock speaks the truth. If you give him the spark, he can undo the damage he has done to you and give you your power back.
“But if he gets the spark, he’ll do awful things! He’s a terrible person, he would hurt others.”
And so you face a choice, as many have, and many will after you have come and gone. If you were to take a spark from me, I can see you returning to your former power, a paladin of mighty renown. And the warlock Malthaes Shadowbough will get what he desires. Or, should you decide not to, you will forever be unable to bend the Light to your will. Your choice here will echo through your life. How would you decide? You can undo all that was done to you.
Harmyone felt her eyes stinging. There were tears sliding down her cheeks. She wanted the Light back – she wanted it back so desperately that her heart hurt. Her desire to return to the way things were before ached in her bones. What she would do if she no longer had to face the nightmares? Or how strong she could be if she could just feel the Light dancing between her fingertips again? It was wrong what Malthaes did, wrong to take that away from her.
“Some things you can’t take back,” she thought sadly. All that was done to her was done. She cast a thought to Meriste, who felt so strongly that the fire in her heart could blaze as bright as she would allow it. If she learned anything from Meriste, it was that strength came from within, and not from some power. At what cost could she take the spark from O’ros and not feel guilty? How could she rest knowing she gave an evil elf exactly what he wanted, in the selfish pursuit of what was taken from her? The cycle had to stop.
What is your choice?
“If that warlock got the spark…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Light or no. If you gave it to me, he could take it. Somehow he would find a way. I can be strong on my own, somehow. I’ll find a way to help others without the Light.”
You have learned much from Meriste, the Naaru responded with a warm sense of pride. You are more powerful in the Light’s ways than you even know, Harmyone. I see a difficult path for you, with many struggles. But with your strength of heart, and those whom you love to guide you, I can see you prospering.
Harmyone nodded, the tears freely flowing now. She knew at that moment that she would never get the Light back. That her time had come and passed. But it did not hurt as much anymore, because that knowledge came with knowing that she did not need to erase the past to move on. The scars would show, but they would serve as a lesson, a reminder, as well as proof that one can heal despite grievous wounds and impenetrable darkness.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and she strode away from the Naaru. O’ros left one last message in her mind.
The Light is not all healing and magic. It is goodness, generosity, humility, and above all, love. The Light has not abandoned you, because you are a true embodiment of the Light at its best. Go well, Harmyone.
Meriste looked at her squire, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Are you ok?”
Harmyone took one last look back at the Naaru, and then looked at her knight. She wiped some of the tears from her cheeks.
“I will be,” she said.
“Ok,” she croaked.
You do not need to speak, the music said to her warmly, almost with humor. It comforted her. I can hear you just fine in your mind.
“You know me?” It seemed incredulous that a being such as O’ros would know of her.
The Light knows all of its children, as do I. I am sorry that you had to suffer so much in so little time on this world. You have faced horrors that many before and after will never understand. You have shown true strength and grace.
“I thought I would die there,” Harmyone thought, emotion overcoming her. It was as if the Naaru’s voice was extracting all of the dark and horrible thoughts out of her, like leeching a patient of poison.
But you, and your spirit, perservered. And that is a true victory. The warlock sought to break you, and he has only made you stronger.
“He took my Light,” she said.
No one can take the Light from you as it truly is. You may not be able to call it to your aid, but it lives and breathes in your goodness, your warm heart.
“He wants a spark from you,” she thought. “He says if I get for him, I can have the Light back.”
I could give this to you.
Harmyone froze, the thought hovering between them. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“What?”
The warlock speaks the truth. If you give him the spark, he can undo the damage he has done to you and give you your power back.
“But if he gets the spark, he’ll do awful things! He’s a terrible person, he would hurt others.”
And so you face a choice, as many have, and many will after you have come and gone. If you were to take a spark from me, I can see you returning to your former power, a paladin of mighty renown. And the warlock Malthaes Shadowbough will get what he desires. Or, should you decide not to, you will forever be unable to bend the Light to your will. Your choice here will echo through your life. How would you decide? You can undo all that was done to you.
Harmyone felt her eyes stinging. There were tears sliding down her cheeks. She wanted the Light back – she wanted it back so desperately that her heart hurt. Her desire to return to the way things were before ached in her bones. What she would do if she no longer had to face the nightmares? Or how strong she could be if she could just feel the Light dancing between her fingertips again? It was wrong what Malthaes did, wrong to take that away from her.
“Some things you can’t take back,” she thought sadly. All that was done to her was done. She cast a thought to Meriste, who felt so strongly that the fire in her heart could blaze as bright as she would allow it. If she learned anything from Meriste, it was that strength came from within, and not from some power. At what cost could she take the spark from O’ros and not feel guilty? How could she rest knowing she gave an evil elf exactly what he wanted, in the selfish pursuit of what was taken from her? The cycle had to stop.
What is your choice?
“If that warlock got the spark…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Light or no. If you gave it to me, he could take it. Somehow he would find a way. I can be strong on my own, somehow. I’ll find a way to help others without the Light.”
You have learned much from Meriste, the Naaru responded with a warm sense of pride. You are more powerful in the Light’s ways than you even know, Harmyone. I see a difficult path for you, with many struggles. But with your strength of heart, and those whom you love to guide you, I can see you prospering.
Harmyone nodded, the tears freely flowing now. She knew at that moment that she would never get the Light back. That her time had come and passed. But it did not hurt as much anymore, because that knowledge came with knowing that she did not need to erase the past to move on. The scars would show, but they would serve as a lesson, a reminder, as well as proof that one can heal despite grievous wounds and impenetrable darkness.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and she strode away from the Naaru. O’ros left one last message in her mind.
The Light is not all healing and magic. It is goodness, generosity, humility, and above all, love. The Light has not abandoned you, because you are a true embodiment of the Light at its best. Go well, Harmyone.
Meriste looked at her squire, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Are you ok?”
Harmyone took one last look back at the Naaru, and then looked at her knight. She wiped some of the tears from her cheeks.
“I will be,” she said.
((Wow. Just...wow.))
((A friendly visit to say that this is -incredible- stuff. I now want to roll a character so badly here just to take part in such epic storylines!))
((Ah, I love this. I've been sitting on the edge of my chair waiting to see what would happen. Well done, all of you.))
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