World of Warcraft®

((As some are aware, Lt. Skyriver took some personal time recently from her work. Seems she decided, after centuries of being without a flight partner, that she wished to have a hippogryph again. After a long and arduous trek, she returned to Ashenvale with an egg in hand, given to her by a mated pair of hippogryphs to hatch and bond with. Her family however, noticed a strange mood about the normally calm kal'dorei woman, and after depositing the egg safely in her rooms, she vanished back into the night. It would not be until the next dawn that she would return home...))

Before she saw him, she knew he was there, keeping pace with her long strides through the verdant amethyst and emerald trees of Ashenvale. Her hair stuck to her scalp in places, wet with sweat and perhaps blood, and she tried to brush an offending piece away from her face as she continued to traverse along the small deer track she was on.

She kept silent, her outward demeanour in direct contrast with the vortex of emotions inside her, each fighting to envelope her like a tsunami should she so much as speak. It was if once a word slipped out, it might never stop, and that was never the way she wanted someone to see her.

Not even her own brother.

Yet he must have sensed this, his violet feline form slipping in and out of the low lying foliage along the path, glowing eyes turning every so often to peer at her, herself unable to meet them for more than a moment. She felt numb, and though she had started off at a near run, her pace slowed, reaching a point where she nearly thought she might be better off just sitting down and giving up. Elune bless...she was acting like some green child, a voice in an inner monologue stated snidely, forcing her to put one foot in front of the other with renewed vigour. It was the anger at herself that kept her going at times like this.

The front steps of the treehome belonging to the Skyrivers were shallow and short, and she collapsed onto them for a moment, putting her hands to her temples in an attempt to stop the thoughts whirling about within her head. After a time she stood, and weaving slightly, made her way to the door itself.

It was here Shalenthane blocked her.

He peered up at her with those cold yellow eyes of his, and she could see the look of concern on his features, even in this form. The druid butted her gently, and she swayed, finally forced to find balance against the front of the tree. His form shifted in a hazy blur, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face when he gazed at her. She peered at his feet instead, even after all these years, still a little sister when in his company.

“Masser.”

So much in just her name, it nearly made her want to vomit from how guilty it made her feel.

“You are not going inside covered in blood like a savage,” he stated in a gentle voice, taking her by the shoulders and sitting her down on one of the benches that graced the stone patio encircling the home, “It is bad enough you disappear in the middle of the night when you should be watching over your gift, but to bring violence to the egg would be even more damaging.”

She frowned at his words, understanding the meaning behind them, the traditions lasting generations and more than a millennium of years. It was ill luck to introduce the young, even in egg, to violence. There were also a score of other, lesser followed superstitions and rules one must follow while hatching a hippogryph, but this one was key. Yet here she had been, about to walk into their home and foul it with this...filth.

“How much of this is your own?” he asked casually, removing the faceguard she wore with only the lightest of touches, setting it down beside her. His patience was a tangible thing as he patted her on the shoulder and walked to the spring on the side of the tree, coming back with an ewer full of water. She found herself quietly watching the ripples in the surface of the liquid as he went inside, appearing once more with a handful of cloths and an assistant in tow.

The lanky young kal'dorei frowned with great emphasis when she saw the state of her aunt, sitting on the bench quietly. She opened her mouth to speak, but was hushed gently by her father, who spoke instead, after soaking the cloths in water. “Help her with her armour Miri,” he said in a calm, steady voice, wiping some of the sticky redness from Masser's face, touching a welling bruise lightly with his hand. He raised a brow with slightly narrowed eyes as she sat passively under his ministrations, not impressed by her lack of response.

It seemed, in fact, that most of the blood had not been hers after all. Truthfully, she was surprised by the sharp pain that seared through her upper left arm and shoulder blade when he touched her there, snorting lightly when she flinched in response.

---Con't next post.

“So you are still with us, that is good,” he stated matter-of-factly, taking a fresh cloth from his daughter before going back to inspecting her wound, “You hold yourself like a volcano sister, and of all people, I have seen this the most from you, perhaps save Desderin,” he commented from behind her as he set to knitting the flesh back together.

“Desderin is dead,” she said in a bitter tone, caught off-guard by her own voice, so many hours since she had heard it last. Was she truly that angry still? Nothing could have been done to save her mate, she knew. She had heard of it from her brother himself when he had woken from the Dream. Yet the feeling of failure still ate at her, just as the failure towards her daughter compounded upon that, the ghosts of her family a lingering weight upon her soul.

Mirianna sat down in front of her on the grass, rolling a small spark of arcane magic between her fingers like a game. She caught her aunt's eyes in her own, and made an gesture to hand the spark to her. In a reflexive daze still, Masser reached out to take it, staring at her hand when the spark vanished into thin air as it left the young mage's hand and touched her own. The girl tilted her head, “Auntie...it is not for one person to keep something with us. Or someone. You have always done your best, and that...that is enough. For all of us,” there was an earnest tone to her niece's voice that added a crack to the brittle shell she had been building around herself all these years, the artifice of her mind that seemed to weaken with every passing day.

“When someone you love dies, and you are powerless to stop it, then say those words to me again Mirianna,” Masser replied in an unsteady voice, “Until then I--” her words broke off with a pained gasp as her elder brother gave her swift smack across the side of her head. She turned to look up at him, her face registering a look of sharp surprise, “You hit me!” she exclaimed, putting a lightly scarred hand up to the side of her head, as she stared at him in wonder.

“You deserved it. Elune guides us all Masser, but this is not a path she would want you to take. You have bottled up all your uncertanties and fears and shoved them so far down you yourself are now running scared when they come to the surface. You hate yourself, we see that, but I swear it, despite my love for you I will not have you talking in such a way to my daughter. The younger generation looks up to you, and this is how you act? You pretend to be selfless, but for selfish reasons!” he gave a frustrated growl and tossed the cloth in his hands onto the bench, “How can you expect to protect others from harm, when you do such damage to yourself?” he asked, voice softening.

She tried to muster an answer, but found she could not. With a frustrated sigh she heaved herself up off the bench and grabbed the robe Mirianna had brought out for her, tossing it on and striding into the house. With each step she could feel the floor moving underneath her, and to her back, she heard Shalenthane muttering a prayer to Malorne and Cenarius while Mirianna fluttered about around him, talking in excited whispers.

Her own rooms were warmly lit, and a number of braziers added heat to the room. Sitting amongst a nest of pillows and blankets sat her other niece, this one by her younger sister Lorbethine. The girl looked up at her expectantly when she entered, taking her hands off the egg in the center of the nest and bowing to her aunt.

“Symmber...you know that is entirely unnecessary within our family home,” Masser commented wearily, gesturing for the young sentinel in training to sit back down with a motion of her hand. The youngest Skyriver hastily complied, unable to mask the concern on her face as her aunt lowered herself with some difficulty onto the pile.

“You're shaking!” she exclaimed finally, bright silver eyes wide with disbelief, “Are you alright? Uncle Shale said you shouldn't have left the egg alone, so I stayed here to keep her company,” she said in a rolling tumble of words, patting the egg in question as though one might a puppy.

Masser raised her right hand and peered at it with narrowed eyes. Shaking? Well...so she was. She sighed and shook her head, too tired to get into long winded explanations. “My brother was right,” she conceded, shutting her eyes and resting her forehead lightly on the thick shell of the egg before her. “About a lot of things, it seems.”

A rustle of fabric on the other side of the nest sounded as Symmber shifted uneasily, still unsure of how to act around the aunt she had only ever known as quiet and stoic in nature, steadfast as a rock, now openly weary. Her voice sounded tentatively out in the calm, as though afraid to wake some monster in the dark, “Did...did you decide about my training?” she asked finally, voice fraught with trepidation.

--Con't next.

The older Sentinel did not raise her head from the egg, nor did she open her eyes. Minutes dragged on before she answered, her voice once again holding an element of the calm it normally belayed. “You will come back with me to Stormwind if your mother allows,” she replied softly, “As tradition dictates, family will set you on your path as a Sentinel, until such a time as I can no longer teach you what you must learn.”

Though her eyes were closed and she did not see it, Masser felt Symmber jump up from the cloth nest, leaping towards the doorway, “She'll say yes! She will, she can't say no if you offer to train me!” the girl exclaimed before running out in search of her priestess mother. As the room fell back into peaceful calm, Masser took a deep breathe and tilted her head, putting her ear to the egg in front of her.

It was steady and strong, the heartbeat of her little companion. She listened for a time, and eventually, a small smile crept back onto her face. Her own shell cracked a little further.

Things would be fine.


((Shalenthane, Mirianna and Symber all written about with the express permission of their players ^^ Thanks for the feedback you three!
To everyone else: Thanks for reading! ))

((Poooooor Masser. /hugs.

((I agree with Raoul. This is brilliantly-written, though. A very touching story!))

((Very dramatic. Things probably turned out for the best for Masser at least.))