A tidal wave of emerald and scarlet looms over me, gaining height with every second.
As ugly as death might seem, there is a certain morbid curiosity that steals over me - this looming presence might strike with the open hand of nature's wrath...yet the hand guiding that wrath is far larger.
It is the will of a god.
The will of a Titan.
The pack mule plodded behind the chestnut mare Aerie rode toward the massive shattered trunk. Eagles wheeled overhead, and elk moved through the brush. Winter whined, forbidden to chase after them—for now. The air was finally warming, and the sun was beginning to burn away the mists that had rolled off the snow-capped mountains that morning.
The world felt fresh and clean as Aerella followed the road to the Vordrassil Pass and the camp that nestled in its shadow. It had been Madi’s idea to seek out a wise woman named Ruuna.
“Will o’ wisps.” I cried and pointed to the edges of the tall frozen cliffs surrounding the ship, a large smile on my face. I reached for the arm of the soldier nearest me to direct his attention, excited that there was something familiar in this strange land, “ Look!”
I had grabbed the muscled arm of a sergeant, though I didn’t know that at the time. He was an older man, maybe in his forties, his brown hair and beard were laced with white hairs, while wrinkles surrounded his lips and eyes. He turned to look at the lights, following my finger and paled, his face chalk white as he took in my wisps. He turned and began shouting, “Incoming!”
I didn’t catch what he said, I just stared at the lights as they grew bigger and closer. I wanted to change into a bird and fly to meet them; to be the first to touch a will o’ wisp. I think I had taken a single step forward, my body ready to jump up into the air and change, to catch the sea breeze on my back and soar, when the sergeant reached out to grabbed my arm.
“It was not supposed to be like this,” the woman sobbed, shaking her head, cradling the young, weeping boy close to her. “He promised we would have what we need here. We do, why can’t you leave us be?”
Tiradell looked around the small room. The very air hummed with the energy of the manaforge. He kept his breaths short and shallow, his blade drawn. He saw the glowing crystalline ornaments left behind by the Draenei who once tended the forges, cushions and other furnishings scattered about as well. A Sin’dorei lay at his feet, face down, if not for the body’s stillness it could have been mistaken for sleep.
Cerwis stared Baristolth down, the large heads of two now incredibly dead Dragonkin lay at her feet.
The Night Elf looked over both heads and nodded, "You might be one of the few mortals my masters approve of. The Brood is naturally distrusting of lesser races. You've proven to me that you have the potential makings of a hero...Now, you must prove it to my master."
Cerwis held up both hands, “Wait. Wait a sec. The Brood? Which Brood? I'm tired of Dragons and I'm not..”
Lirriel put a comforting hand on her friends shoulder as Baristolth held up a hand to cut the mixed-breed off, “The Brood of Nozdormu. I need you to slay the Silithid in the nearby hives and take fragments of their carapaces. When you can carry no more, return to me."
I wake from pleasant, peaceful, bright dreaming to a dark room. Moros is shifting nervously, eyeing me. Waiting. His feathers are raised, and his threads are worried and strained.
Immediately, I see the threads surrounding my own body have altered. A meeting for drinks, a slip and a fall for tomorrow's adventure downstairs, all of the mundane little weaves that had gathered around me over the past few days stand eclipsed. One thread, one only, marks my tenuous connection to the lovely--
--Ravnok girl. It burns my vision, a pulsing, dark tendril across my inner sight. It's the uncertain future incarnate, rapidly becoming the concrete now. I reach out to it, emptying myself to follow where the thread leads me, curious...
((References back to this blog of Lirr's. Also, if it's a bit vaguer than usual, it's because I'm thinking of using it as a story for my creative writing class, so any critique would be greatly appreciated before I take it to them to workshop. Some language and at least one horror-flick moment.))
Lormar landed his gryphon on the mountaintop, trying to smooth the dark plummage as it snorted in agitation. He dismounted and let the creature wander as he found a seat on a stone that was semi-warm from the short daylight hours. The borealis shimmered above and for a long moment he just sat there watching it dance across the blue sky as he sipped from his flask. The coffee inside was still warm, and there weren't any kids up here to pretend to be drunk around.
At least not until the meeting tonight, when sweet 'Diva might pass him some burnwine she'd have picked up in the city. It would add to the coffee nicely, and help dull the memories that would try to haunt him when he turned in afterwards.
Besides, some evenings, booze was the only way to get through one of his guild's meetings. Crazy younguns.
When I close my eyes, I see... Sometimes during the day, when I am walking along in the Ghostlands or in Silverpine Forest on my dear, fluffy purple hawkstrider, Zenda, I close my eyes and shift into some other place where I see from your eyes, just for a moment. I can feel your heart. And I sing...
And in the night, I dream. I see images of places I have never seen and people I don't know parading through my mind.
The first time it happened, it was terrible. Horrible images, of a dark place...
Now there are moments of awesome beauty and peace...
"They're all gone."
The voice startles me from my dreaming, turning my head sharply to catch the speaker. It has been lifetimes, and no time at all, since I heard that voice.
"All of them, just like that. Their family turned on them."
He is yet as glorious as I remember, carmine wings against an Eversong sky, but his eyes are sad.
"Avenge them, my child. Please."
A sudden flash of insight. A nest in the snow. A rushing vision across the land. Zul'Drak.
"Do not let me fall into that night with them."
A spread of wings against the Northrend sky.
"Find me there at the last bastion. Find me at Zim'Torga."
And I wake.
They just kept coming.
She opened herself to the Light, calling on it's brilliance to sustain her as she fought back the endless hordes of undead, tried to heal the terrified people who looked to her for safety. For a time, she almost believed she could hold out; just a bit longer...
Her energies flagged. She tried to rally herself, but the momentary lapse had cost dearly. The fallen groaned as the foul mists made them rise again, eyes aglow with unholy flame, shambling ever closer. There were too many; the only thing to do now was to protect her own soul from joining them as claws raked and jagged teeth tore at her flesh...
It was all around her, in her, on her, she sent it out, the power bursting out of her, ripping voilently out through trembling arms and fingers. The clefthoof bull charged her in vain, bellowing his agony as the burning spells worked their way into his muscles and ate away at his bones. As quickly as the fight had begun it was over, but she did not stop.
Another hulking beast lumbered into her vision, and she let out a gleeful cry as the process started over again. Sweat drenched her clothing, tears streamed from her heat-dried eyes, and there was a strange pull in the back of her mind, something that nearly made her hesitate before downing this beast and starting upon another. Nearly.
The white sand was hot on Daras' feet, but he didn't mind. Today it was summer! Summer, summer, summer! But not only was it summer, oh no. Today, the Thalassian province of Quel'Rital celebrated the Sprite Festival. Daras didn't know too much about the festival's history or significance, or why only his and a few other Thalassian estates celebrated it, but those things didn't matter to him now. Surely they mattered to some people, but those some people were probably the smart and educated old people who didn't like fun.
Artisania Marveloso certainly thought the Nether looked closer this night.
Although it could hardly be argued that it wasn't indeed closer, standing at the top of Hellfire Citadel with the ramparts behind them. In the darkness the opaque sphere of stars and worlds and wringing spirals of energy swept above them, dancing just above their heads. Heidel had disappeared in the green glow of his hearthstone; Teledriath stood beside her; Razyel and Tylien recovered with their companions nearby. Artisania knew the spaces they occupied around her, as well as that of the fallen fel orc commander and his dragon mount. Distances had always made sense to her. That certain twisting ribbon of energy above – yes, yes it *was* almost within her reach.
She ran, helpless to do anything more as beasts she’d never seen lunged at her, creatures she didn’t know existed chased her through foggy, winding tunnels until finally she fell to her knees, curling in around herself, clutching her head in her hands and keening as she rocked back and forth. There was no help for it, let the blows fall as they may.
Artisania Marveloso did not wish to move her hand.
"Yoo be glowin' bright, Miz Artie," he murmured quietly, watching her across the Thunder Bluff rise. Kolja looked at her with his special gaze, and saw the whorl of tremendous love around Artisania -- indeed, the very thing about her that had first caught his eyes, months ago. Only this was...so much more active. So beautiful. So full. Too much so to crowd.
((Warning: Lengthy, with a sexual situation that ends badly.))
It was a long walk up to the top of the bell tower, and the only creatures to watch their ascent were the pigeons that roosted there and made a mess of the masonry. It was private and offered a breathtaking view of the city, and that was why Cret took all his most favored students there. He let Marisa go ahead of him on the spiral staircase. Ladies first, it was only polite. He maintained a respectable distance a few steps behind her, which just happened to put his eyes level with her rear as they climbed. The way her skirt shifted with every step was positively hypnotic. It would have been so much nicer if she didn’t insist on talking the whole way up.
“I really enjoyed your second treatise on the nature of the Light,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Cret forced his eyes up to meet hers. To his relief she didn’t seem to notice where they had been. He smiled. “Did you?”
“Oh, yes.” She faced forward again, and Cret’s gaze immediately fell downward. “It was very enlightening.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Cret licked his lips. Marisa moved slowly, much slower than he would have wanted. After so many steps the view was growing increasingly frustrating.
Before meeting with her aspiring pupils, Abby made her way on foot to the Scarlet Raven in Darkshire’s town square where she ran into one of her former apprentices, Kithandrea and also Noctilia the Bard. She had hoped to gain some solid verification on the details from a rumored arrest made the other night right outside the inn. When she saw the white haired elfish woman handing out drinks in the taverna, she was sure the task would be much easier.
“You have her?” A male's voice...old wise...worried...
“She's fading.” Resignation, another voice...female...sad... “I can't hold her. She's going to discorporate...” It fades out...
Light...so much light....
“Try another harmonic,” the male's voice again...tingling...
“No good...” sinking...warm...”She's slipping”
“What do you think of this one?” She says. That strange face turns up to me, looking up at me from her seat on the floor. She wants me to answer her. I open my mouth automatically to say I think she should choose the blue one, a blue roll of some fabric...but I can't name it, I've never seen it before either. Where am I? And who is she? I feel a sense of panic, my stomach explodes with butterflies. My heart is racing. I look around, feeling the beginnings of panic.
“Get her into the water,” the voice was strange to Eridah's ears. A kaldorei voice, familiar but she couldn't place it. Everything was too bright. Her heart seemed like it would explode with the fury of its beating. Pain lanced her and she screamed. Arms lifted her as she bent in two under the onslaught. It passed as quickly as it had come, leaving her clutching her abdomen wondering if she'd felt it at all. She was afraid, blood covered her naked legs and stained her linen shift, making the water of the moonwell cloudy as they lowered her into it.
She stared at the shineing waters, instinctive fear screaming at her to flee, warning of danger.
A voice, his voice, "No matter what happens, I will be beside you until the end..."
A step, and cool water, then, unconsciousness, an orgasm of agony following in the wake of all consumeing purifying flames...
An empty waste, desolate, and charred.
A green field, flowers freshly in bloom.
A woman strides amongst the ashes, clothed in gossamer white.
A woman sits, girded in black mail, picking a flower to smell.
Takar felt his body lift into the air. Though blind, he knew all too well the nature of the small, older woman who had come to him seeking her daughter. He had provided her visions on many occassions, but this time, even he was of no use.
The image haunted his dreams as surely as any nightmare, yet, he could only wish it had been a dream.
He recalled with exacting detail he way Sowelu had glared at him, the venom in her voice as she accused him and the Prophet of working to corrupt and undermine those who truly followed the Light. No less was the detail in the pale shadow that he had glimpsed, if but for the passage of a solitary heartbeat, looming up behind her.
Savas sat, watching the water flow over the falls, and tried to make sense of things. He had sworn his service to the Lady Sowelu Danea, in honour of his debt to the fallen Lord Darkehart, but he wasn't sure he could be of any great use in this great mess.