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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:17:25 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; A Love Story housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1124039677 Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Aug 14, 2005, 12:14pm Into the Dark; A Love Story She was pale, pale as moonlight, as she danced in the Twilight Grove, and she danced with the grace of a predator. He could not take his eyes off her. Windfoot could not love anyone, save Ursa, his old animal companion. Ever since embarking from Teldrassil many many seasons ago, Ursa and he had hunted together, ate together, rested together. Their love for each other was absolute. By the end, she was so grizzled with wounds received protecting him that she was ready to be taken away by Elune into the spirit-realm with a kind of relief. And after the transformation she was still with him, though now in spirit-form, speaking to him in the language of the beast as he followed the path of a druid. She was like an animal instinct in him, making him more aggressive, more feral, and able to shrug off blows that would fell a normal elf. Arellaz and Vedda’s wedding had been a great success. Everyone was relaxing now. Though Hugnir still had plenty of food, most were deep into their cups and uninterested. Every so often someone would find a leftover firework and there would be a burst of red sparks upon the crowd. He was not drunk himself; Windfoot never drank alcohol. Not that he couldn’t. He had discovered that joining with Ursa had brought the curious ability to consume virtually anything. Still, he did not enjoy losing control. With the recent departures of Keryth and Elron, and Drakmar’s corruption and loss to the Scarlet Monastery, many felt that the guild was a shambles and teetering on the brink of collapse. It seemed to fall to him to hold fast; to dig deep into the soil and grow new life into the wounded tree that was the Defenders of Valor. Thank Elune for the support of Anchar, Calydon and Turi. Still, he could not afford the luxury of drunken revelry. Keryth, the former Lord of the House of the Beast, had come to the ceremony and Windfoot had been heading over to talk when he saw her, dancing. He could not move further. She danced with a friend, and Windfoot watched as red shadows flickered across her lithe form. She danced well, and with the desired effect. He was entranced. All thoughts of guild politics left his mind. Ursa smiled. Windfoot watched, entranced, in the Twilight Grove, and a whispered growl escaped his lips. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Aug 17, 2005, 9:10pm He never spoke of the tingle that rushed across his skin when she grew near. He was always courteous, treating her with the honor that she deserved, but he never betrayed his feelings to anyone. In fact he was confused by his own emotions. And Ursa was no help; her deep laughing voice only teased him about his secret. They were together again. Windfoot could not help conspiring to invite her on every group expedition. He told himself that they needed a hunter to track down running prey; the truth was he was drunk on the feeling she elicited from him. The agonizing pleasure that burned indelibly into his very soul. Deep in the bowels of Uldaman, in the dark cavernous halls and corrupted mines of the old dwarves, surrounded by grotesque misshapen troggs and worse, he was content. She was near. As the seasons passed her arm was getting stronger, her aim surer. Now Windfoot fought along side doughty Vangelis and the child-like Kasie, cutting a grisly path through to the heart of the dungeon, or fell back to supply much-needed healing when their collective strength waned, all the while watching her growing strength and grace. The shafts were thicker now and the arrows sang songs of blood and death, imbedding themselves in their prey with cruel pleasure. Windfoot felt his own blood rush at their song. One day soon her hunting skills would match his own; the very skills he had sworn not to use while he continued his druidic training. His mind wandered to a fantasy of hunting together, killing together. He shook it off; he must stay focused on the needs of the team. Down the rough-hewn tunnels of the troggs they ventured, into the heart of a scorpids nest. Sharp-eyed Kasie was ready and let out a piercing shout to attract the beasts' attention while Vangelis readied his two-handed sword. Windfoot hung back to provide the necessary healing against scorpid poison. Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw a devilish curl twist the corner of the huntress’ full mouth. Too late, Windfoot saw her hands working furiously, unleashing a torrent of arrows into the scurrying mob. Cursing, he watched as the scorpids turned and rushed the huntress to overwhelm her. Calling out, Windfoot transformed into a dire bear and threw himself into the mob, growling ferociously. No time to think; all instinct. She must not die. Moments later, it was all over. Scattered bits of scorpid scale littered the rough stone ground. Vangelis was cleaning his sword; Kasie had run off to ensure that no more scorpids were coming. Windfoot returned to elven form, angry words on his lips for such carelessness. She could have gotten herself killed! Them all killed! “Vezesara…” She turned to him, two-handed sword in hand, that devilish grin still playing in her eyes, and the tiniest hint of perspiration on her lips. “Yes D’ana’no?” His eyes were drawn to her lips again. Was that perspiration…or blood? Two tiny holes showed on her lower lip, one on each side. She must have bit herself. Suddenly, he yearned to reach out and wipe her lips clean. After a lengthy pause, Vangelis spoke up, “Milord, we must keep moving…” “Yes. Yes, of course Vangelis. Lady Vezesara, perhaps you could be more… cautious? I need to protect you.” She met his eyes proudly, “Just playing, Lord D’ana’no.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Aug 19, 2005, 12:07am Windfoot stood alone in the main Hall of the House of the Beast in the Hinterlands, before the roaring fire, lost in thought. In a nearby room his small table overflowed with paperwork, but guild matters were forgotten. He stared into the dancing fire and breathed in the faint wisps of her smell upon him. Being part-beast, those wisps were strong to him, unmistakable, and overpoweringly sweet. He was lost within them. A few hours before he had been working in his study, surrounded by paperwork. It seemed that there was a never-ending supply and Defenders issues to address. A new recruit of Andenia’s had turned out rather vain and had been crowing to anyone who would listen of a rich benefactor and his fancy armor. He would need to speak with her about asking him to leave. There were rumblings in the House of Virtue again that Lady Ireculb’s illness would not lift and that the Lords were not moving fast enough to appoint a successor. Ireculb was deathly pale, but Windfoot trusted in the strength of her fighting spirit. The House of Virtue would need to be patient. Now was the time for faith. There was a letter from another guild complaining that Eigeruch had behaved himself in a manner unbecoming of a Defender and asking for a formal apology and sanctions. Windfoot had traveled several time in Eigeruch’s company and had never seen or sensed anything but the most honorable character; he did not accept the complaint, but would nonetheless have to speak privately with the healer about it, and formally respond. The work was exhausting, and thankless. Windfoot had to claw back uncharitable thoughts that his blood-brother Turi, the guildmaster, should be attending to the guild management instead of drinking, relaxing and, Windfoot suspected, following around after fun-loving Kasie. Windfoot sighed and shook the uncharitable thoughts away. It was clearly time for a break and some fresh air. Throwing on his leather cloak, Windfoot emerged from the House of the Beast and welcomed the stinging breath of the Hinterlands air. He stood for a moment in the gusting wind, letting its cleaning voice dance around him, and breathed deep. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adumbro, his mount, peek around the corner and duck back inside, unimpressed with the cold. Ah well. A quiet walk through the hills would be perfect, he thought. It was when he was slipping through the trees gathering herbs when he saw her. She was standing sideways, her great bow loaded and taut, perfectly still. For several long seconds she stood so, and then the shaft was released and flew with lightning speed to find her target. With a yelp, the impaled wolf launched itself towards her. There was plenty of time for a second, maybe even third shot, but as Windfoot watched Vezesara passively unstrung her bow, staring at the rushing wolf. At the last possible second her sword appeared in her hands, parrying the charge and drawing blood. Was she smiling? Windfoot watched as the wolf rolled and bounced back at her, flailing with claw and tooth, only to find her blade again. Windfoot knew the song that a killing sword sang. It was cruel and harsh and intoxicating. He remembered it well. His own cruel blade, Aress, was locked away in a vault in Darnassus; put away when he accepted his second life. The ways of the sword were not those of a druid. But he remembered, and longed to sing such a song again. Once his training was complete; then, and only then, would he unwrap Aress again. The great wolf was bleeding profusely now, and had realized that it would die soon. Breaking away, it ran from the huntress, trying desperately to escape. In its panic it ran straight at Windfoot, revealing his presence. Vezesara’s eyes locked upon Windfoot’s own as she reached for her bow. The wolf, seeing itself trapped, launched itself towards Windfoot in a final killing frenzy. Though the wolf ran straight at him, Windfoot continued to stare into her eyes. Time slowed. With practiced hands, Vezesara slipped the long shaft into place, drew the bow to full extension, and released. The wolf launched itself into the air, the arrow struck deeply, and it fell at Windfoot's feet, dead. Vezesara regarded him coolly as she approached. “Lord D’ana’no.” She inclined her head. “Lady Vezesara.” He bowed. His heart was racing. She drew out the two arrows from the beast, roughly, a small frown creasing her forehead. He remarked, “You are not content?” Vezesara shook her head, no. “It is nothing.” He paused. Though curious, he wished to remain respectful. To change the subject he asked, “Why did you not shoot a second time as he approached?” Too late he realized that was not the right question, as he felt a flash of anger fill her spirit. But before he could retract his question she sighed and said, “I was angry. Because I missed.” “You missed?” “I missed the throat of the beast. See?” With long fingers she pointed at the carcass. “My first hit here, at the shoulder. Off by four inches. Had I hit what I was aiming for he would have fallen instantly.” Windfoot considered her for a long moment. Then he said, “let me show you.” She looked at him curiously. “I thought you did not hunt any longer?” “Lady, I do not. But I have not forgotten.” She offered him her bow and smiled. “This I’d like to see.” “Though I am honored by your gesture, I will not take your bow,” he refused. “But, if you will let me, I will guide your spirit.” She nodded. Windfoot moved beside her. “Take up your bow,” he said. She turned, drew an arrow, and placed it ready. Then he stepped close behind her and touched her skin. This close, he could feel her breathing and her scent filled his nostrils. He tried to ignore it but could not for several moments; so overwhelming was her presence. Then he reached out his spirit to her. It was not hard; she was like a bright light in the half-light of the spirit world. Strong and supple her spirit stood, oblivious to his existence. She was so beautiful. “Aim,” he whispered to her. He felt her spirit focus as she heard him; the soft lines blurring the edges of her spirit tightened. She was indeed strong, but her focus slipped. Reaching out in the Dream, he took hold of her head and held it still. “Aim,” he whispered again. Green light passed between his fingers and entwined in her spirit-form. He felt her stiffen, frightened by his strange presence. He breathed calmness into her. “Aim…” Then a click, a rush, and he was watching from her eyes. Another wolf had wandered into her eagle-sharp eyes. He helped her see nothing but the wolf; the neck of the wolf. Gently he guided her arm back. Then still….still…still… release. The arrow flew sharp and true, found its target, and the wolf fell still. Returning to his body, Windfoot removed his hands from her. She stood breathing lightly for a few moments, unmoving, before stepping from him. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by Magdha on Aug 21, 2005, 9:31am ((Yowsa.....you don't have to take a cold shower after writing this, do you? Wonderful to read, though...keep it coming!)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Aug 24, 2005, 8:12pm Windfoot rode through the Wetlands, heeding the summons of Fetner, a young druid who had recently joined the Defenders. Fetner had requested the meeting, and it had seemed urgent, so Windfoot had agreed to meet the young druid. It was a muggy afternoon, as it seemed to always be near Menethil Harbor, but Windfoot did not mind. Adumbro was in good spirits and racing fast, and the wind was laughing around him. Suddenly his communicator crackled to life, and the sweet voice of Vezesara issued from it, “Lord D’ana’no, what are you up to?” “Traveling through the Wetlands to meet Fetner, actually,” he answered. “Would you like some company?” she asked. Suddenly, and without reason, his heart was racing. “Lady Vezesara, I would be most honored by the pleasure of your company,” he managed. “Well, then I shall join you in the Wetlands.” The wind, the heat, Adumbro’s speed… all instantly forgotten. Wild thoughts crowded into his mind. Always he had been the one to initiate the invitations, and always under the rubric of a quest or undertaking what needed the assistance of a hunter. Now there was no cause for her presence, and yet she was to come and join him! Windfoot tried to control his wild thoughts, but could not. A million fancies ran through his mind. How much could he read into this? His mind scolded him for being a fool, but his heart ran off to various outrageous conclusions. Windfoot spied Fetner, waiting on a nearby rise. Fetner waved to him, and Adumbro turned and slowed to a leisurely lope before stopping a few yards from the young druid. Windfoot looked away, sure that a flush was on his cheeks from his racing heart and wild thoughts. Doing his best to mask his embarrassment, he dismounted and approached Fetner. He bowed, as was proper, but even before he had finished, Fetner launched in to the reason for the summons. “How do I become your Warden. I want to be your Warden, Lord Danano.” Windfoot straightened, a startled look on his face. But it was not the abruptness of Fetner’s announcement, nor his neglect to observe proper etiquette, nor even his mispronunciation of Windfoot’s elven name, that startled Windfoot. It was the fact that he had long given up hope of finding a Warden. He had almost forgotten that another might shoulder some of his burden! Fetner must have misread his body language because he said, “Oh yeah! Sorry” and bowed. Windfoot bowed to show proper courtesy and sat awhile studying Fetner. For his part, Fetner sat and elaborated his thoughts. “Pein Warhammer was the old Warden, right? And, well, he’s been gone for some time… I think he resigned? Anyway, I’d like to know what I need to do, like, how does someone become a Warden? And I’m a druid, like you, so I thought if I talked to you, I could become your Warden. I’m really interested in advancement. But I don’t know what I need to do, you see? The Charter is not clear. Do I have to be a certain season, and if so what season is that because I am willing to increase my seasons to become Warden. Anyway, what do you think?” As Windfoot sat and listened his heart fell. Fetner was too young. Not too young of season – seasons did not matter to him – too young of spirit. Windfoot closed his eyes and reached out into the spirit world to take a better look at Fetner. Just as he thought. Fetner’s spirit was laughing and spinning; dancing. Happy as the day he was born. It was heartwarning to see, but not at all the spirit of one who might act in his stead. Windfoot opened his eyes again. Fetner was looking at him curiously, obviously waiting for a response. Windfoot chose his words carefully, “Fetner, I am honored by your request. You are right that I do not have a Warden. But the path of a Warden is not easy, nor is it necessarily pleasant.” “I am ready, sir.” “I can see how ready you are.” Windfoot knew that if he spoke his mind he would crush young Fetner. Again he considered the matter. He scrutinized himself. What if he was being too harsh? What if he misjudged the boy? Not all leaders needed to be carrying a heavy burden. Was he not once much like young Fetner himself: carefree; ambitious? And no one else had sought out the duty. Was that not to young Fetner’s credit? Fetner explained to Windfoot again how he was very committed to becoming Warden, but that he did not know what was involved. When Fetner finished, Windfoot made a decision to give Fetner the benefit of the doubt. “Fetner, listen to me. To be my Warden means to be a spiritual leader to the guild. Others must look to you for guidance, and see in you a connection to the wisdom that is to be found in the voices of nature.” “But how do I do that?” This was not off to a good start, he thought. “I cannot tell you how to earn the respect of the House. That is something you must find out for yourself.” “Can you give me a hint?” Windfoot sighed inwardly. “I can tell you this. Respect is earned with time, and by good deeds. Perhaps you should spend more time with the members of the House.” “Well I try but no one ever needs me, or they are too high of season for me to help.” Having become engrossed in the discussion and his own inward thoughts and feelings, Windfoot had failed to see Vezesara approaching. Suddenly the light of the setting sun was blocked, and Windfoot looked up at the silhouette of Vezesara, mounted. Squinting, he quickly got to his feet. “Lady Vezesara!” he bowed. “I am sorry, I did not see you approach.” “I did not wish to be seen.” Though he could not see her face, there was a smile in her voice as she dismounted. “Please, I did not mean to interrupt.” Vezesara sat with them, and Windfoot sat beside her. As always, that intoxicated feeling slipped into his stomach, but he did his best to ignore it and to focus back on Fetner. It did not help matters that Vezesara moved closer to him each time he shifted away from her. Or that each time he glanced her way she was studying him. One time, she even seemed to slide her hand against his, like a caress. After lengthy discussion, and much protestation from Fetner that he would do whatever was asked of him, Windfoot gave the young a druid a task. “Fetner, I will give to you a first task, to help you become a Warden to the House of the Beast. Go, find a young hero who must quest in Gadgetzan, the lost city of the gnomes. Find out what he or she must do. Then, form for him or her a fellowship of heroes to achieve that goal. Travel to Gadgetzan, help the fellowship succeed in their quest, and then report back to the guild what you have done and, more importantly, what you have learned. Can you do this?” Fetner beemed. “I will sir!” He evidently wanted to lose no time at it, for he immediately ran to his packs and headed off to Menethil. Windfoot rose and wished him Elune’s protection. Vezesara stepped near and asked quietly, “do you think he will be your Warden?” Windfoot stiffened at her nearness, but answered as calmly as possible, “I do not know. He is young. But eager, and quite determined.” For awhile they merely stood and watched the retreating form as he ran off to the West. Windfoot did not move or speak, fearing that if he were to do so the moment would end. What Vezesara thought, he had no idea. As the sun sank on the horizon she spoke. “Would you like to walk with me?” “Lady, of course.” She led him up to the top of a nearby hill. Beneath them the rivers, hills, and lagoons of the Wetlands spread out in the fading light. Standing in the light of the setting sun, Vezesara was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her armor fit her tightly, accentuated her sharp proud features and shone with a deep luster. Her eyes glowed with a crystal shimmer. The wind blew her braided hair, causing small tendrils to escape their warrior-bonds, and dance upon her cheeks and neck. As he stood watching her, Windfoot noticed a patch of brairthorn growing near at hand, the beautiful red flowers peeking out from among the thorns. Kneeling down, Windfoot picked a few of the delicate flowers and showed them to her. “Though rough and sharp, I have always found briarthorn to have a wonderful beauty. Don’t you agree?” She turned and smiled at him, taking the flowers from his hands. “There is sometime beauty in dark places. Thank you, D’ana’no.” Vezesara held up the flowers and stepped closer to him. “What is it like to spirit-walk?” “It is different for everyone who enters the Dream. For me it is like blowing wind; for my Tauren brother, it is an animal kingdom in full flourish.” “Is it dangerous?” “There are some dark places in the Dream, places that none but the strongest dream-walker should venture. Dark corrupted places filled with demons, and worse things.” After a pause, while he swallowed and tried to regain his composure, he asked, “Are you interested in learning to spirit-travel?” She shook her head. “No. I do not think it safe for me.” Windfoot looked intently at her. “Not safe? How can that be?” Vesesara had been looking away from him, but now tilted her face to him and bared her teeth. In the shafts of half-light remaining in the day, two elongated canines were revealed. “There is a darkness in my blood. A taint from my heritage. My friends tease me about it, calling me “Vampy” and the like. I would not want to be noticed by the dark things in the Dream.” Windfoot stepped back, shocked. “I can sense no evil in you, Vezesara.” She stepped closer again and took his hand, smiling. “I know. I like the one you see when you look at me.” There was a sadness in her voice. She was so close now, and so beautiful. He gazed into her eyes, lost himself in their sparkling depths. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed away a strand of hair from her lips, feeling the wet from her mouth along his fingers. They stood thus, alone atop a hillock in the Wetlands, as the moon rose behind them. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by Magdha on Aug 24, 2005, 9:26pm ((I think the comment still stands....Yowsa.....)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Aug 27, 2005, 6:14pm Ever since that twilight in the Wetlands, Vezesara and he always traveled together. When he came back from his meditations or the guild paperwork, he would hear her sweet voice on his communicator, and would fly to her. She began to come with him they interviewed potential recruits to the Defenders. He was glad. She was a credit to the guild and always carried herself with grace. When he protested that she need not come, she simply said, "I want to contribute." Sometime they just sat and talked late into the night. Talked of small things, or guild politics, or thoughts on the advancing war. He put his trust in her advice and confidence. She admitted that she loved to be pampered and to go shopping in districts of Stormwind or at the stalls in Darnassus. He found her a proud woman, as an elf should be. Windfoot disliked crowds and could not imagine struggling through crowds of faire-goers to shop, but his mind would sometimes wander to thoughts of how he would have dresses made for her out of finest Darnassian runecloth and silk, and delivered to her by some of his winged friends. He kept such foolish thoughts to himself. Then came the day that he received his summons to the front lines. “…your help is urgently needed. The Horde advances, and our lines will not hold. Please, answer this summons…” So. Though many denied that the next war was upon them, Windfoot had seen glimpses of the future in the Dream and knew better. A dark future indeed for the Alliance if his visions were true. Still, he would not shirk his duty to the innocent of Azeroth. He began to make preparations to travel to Warsong Gulch – one of the strategic targets hardest pressed by the Horde. That day hunting with Vezesara was especially hard. She was in high spirits, and he did not know how to tell her, or even if it would break her heart the way that it did his to think of not being with her. Loosing Ursa’s spirit, he stayed feral most of the hunt, only returning to his elven form periodically to see that she was safe and healed. She noticed his silence, “D’ana’no, you seem quiet. Is there something wrong?” What could he tell her? There had been no protestations of love between them, no passionate embraces, no promises. He had no doubt that his passion for her was obvious to all, but he had no reason to think she thought anything more of him that a good friend. “I am sorry, Vesesara. I was just lost in thought.” For awhile more they hunted in silence and then she spoke again, “Lord Windfoot, wait a moment.” “Yes, Lady?” She approached him and tousled his fur playfully. “Come, come! It is the elf that I want” She grinned. He transformed from dire bear and stood before her. She gazed at him for a moment, then said, “You have not remarked on my armor. Do you like it?” Vezesara was dressed all in black chain; a beautifully crafted and supple suit that flexed and breathed like leather but glistened like dragonscale. It also exposed a good deal of the huntress’ pale skin. “I had noticed. It is very striking and looks well crafted. Where did you find it?” She shrugs and grinned wickedly, “Shopping.” As he stood before her, Vezesara took his hand and placed it on her side, saying, “Feel how smooth it is. I love it! And it is wonderfully light.” Windfoot’s heart raced as he ran his hand along the smooth surface of her second skin. How slight, and beautifully shaped her body! How much he longer to crush her next to him; to feel her full lips upon his! Inside, he heard Ursa’s unmistakable growl cursing him for a fool. She felt that Vesesara had done everything possible to make clear to him that she had chosen him and that he was a fool for not mating her ages ago. He pushed the bear’s voice away, and whispered to the huntress in front of him, “I have never seen anything so beautiful.” After a moment she asked, “Do you find me aggressive and provocative? Because of the way I dress?” “Aggressive? No.” As she stood before him, she reached up and ran her hands along the leather armor on his arms and chest. Though muffled by the thick armor upon him, her touch sent shivers along his flesh. “I like your armor too. It’s tough on the outside, but I think there’s a softness behind it.” She smiled up at him. “You are a good leader, D’ana’no. Others look to you for your strength and wisdom.” It was too much. He could not bear her looking at him so kindly. “Vesesara…” “Yes?” “I received a summons today. To go and lend aid at the front lines. The horde is advancing, and the Alliance falls. I have decided that I must go and help.” She was obviously confused and upset. For a long time she simply looked at him. Then she said, “I thought you stood for peace? I thought the Defenders were committed to peace, not more war. Have we not had enough war?” As she spoke, her voice rose. “I am. I am committed to peace, but I must defend our lands. You don’t understand…” Now she scowled. “Don’t understand! Do you really think that any good comes of the skirmishes at the front lines? There is no war! Just a bunch of young adventurers seeking glory for themselves! All your talk of peace, and now you talk of going to join them?” She turned her face away. He tried again. “Vezesara, I have seen the future. There is a war. You must believe me…” he trailed off. She was not listening to him. She brushed his hand from her side brusquely and turned away from him. She stood, arms folded, next to him, and yet a thousand leagues away. His heart sank. “Vesesara…” He moved to put his hand on her shoulder, but she moved away and Samantra snarled a warning. For a long moment they stood. Then she summoned her mount, and left him alone. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by Magdha on Aug 28, 2005, 8:05pm ((Very good....but so sad......)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Sept 2, 2005, 7:35pm There was a blood-soaked trail behind him as Windfoot stumbled into the safety of the Alliance camp. He did not know how long it had been that he had stumbled, seeking safety and healing. His fur was matted with blood and great scar cut across his shoulders, perilously close to his neck. Congealed blood still trickled down his fore-leg and onto his claws. Dirt and debris littered his belly from where he had dragged himself the last half-league or so, stubbornly refusing to die. The front lines did not hold. A week ago he had arrived, distraught at his departure from Vezesara, but determined to help in any way that he could. When he had arrived there was no one to greet him, no one to instruct him on procedure. There was an endless whirlwind of activity, but no one seemed to be in charge. A steady rain pelted down, and just as steady was the stream of Alliance adventurers and heroes who appeared in the camp, only to rush off alone Elune knows where. A few disheveled Alliance stood about, and Windfoot approached them asking directions, and for the officer in charge of the war effort. He was either ignored or rebuked. In answer to his questions, one scowling hunter growled, “The war effort?! You’ve got to be kidding, Greenie. How the hell would I know? It’s every elf for himself here. All I know is that I haven’t won a fight yet. I’m gone give up soon. What a waste of time.” There was a steady stream of expletively through his little speech. After a day trying without success to find order in the chaos, Windfoot headed from the camp to scout out the battlefronts. Padding on silent feline paws, he climbed to the top of a nearby rise overlooking the Gulch. In front of him, he saw a rude bastion of stone leading to an open field. Far in the distance was the sound of fighting and what looked like a Horde fortress. As he stood on the hillock and looked out, Windfoot saw the most extraordinary and horrific thing. He watched as a lone paladin raced his charger over the hill and out into the plains. He looked magnificent, with gleaming mail and upraised sword, a great golden-covered cloak flowing out behind him. His charger’s blood was up, and the two of them were screaming as they charged towards the Horde outpost. As the great gleaming champion raced full tilt at the enemy, a tauren warrior appeared before him. The paladin charged, but the warrior neatly sidestepped, then hamstrung the charger. A moment later a flash of magic light struck the hero, knocking him from his saddle. As the hero struggled to rise in his magnificent plate mail, he was hit by two well, placed arrows. Then, while he was dazed, a troll rogue mysteriously appeared behind him. In two fluid motions, the rogue stabbed the holy warrior through the eyelets of his helmet, then slit his throat. The paladin fell dead in a swelling pool of his own blood. The death of the paladin was horrific. What made it extraordinary was that the paladin was alone. And as Windfoot watched, the Horde slipped into hiding, and, to Windfoot’s dumbstruck amazement, another “hero” charged into view, exactly as the first paladin had. This new hero was a lone mage. He died just a brutally and efficiently as the paladin had. It was then that Windfoot saw that the field was covered in blood and bodies. Nearly all were Alliance. Windfoot was sick. No wonder he had been summoned. This was not a war! This was a slaughter. The Horde worked together and killed, as a pack should. The Alliance ran pell-mell to their death. What madness had come over the Alliance? On that second day Windfoot watched as countless so-called heroes ran to their death. A few were in pairs; once he saw three Alliance together. But it did not matter. The Horde worked in packs of five or ten. They knew the strength of the pack; they knew how to maintain order. They killed quickly, efficiently, and without fanfare. And the Horde advanced. Each night their fire-pits advanced against the Alliance. There were many more Alliance than Horde, but the Horde were patient, worked carefully, and suffered few losses. Windfoot suspected that they also enjoyed slaughtering the fool Alliance who continued to run foolishly to their deaths, and were in no hurry to overrun the Gorge and attract the attention of the Alliance. Azeroth continued to believe that the war was not upon them; this suited the Horde perfectly. Why would they draw more attention to themselves while they captured the strategic objectives they needed to win the eventual great battles? Returning to the camp that night, Windfoot again tried to speak with any heroes, adventurers and mercenaries that he could find. His message was simple, “we must work together.” He tried everything he could think of to gather a few to him: he explained what he had seen, he cajoled, he begged, he argued, he yelled. “I have seen the Horde working. They kill like a pack should. Do you want to die? Our families and children, our elderly, the innocent are behind us, they are relying on us. If we start to work together we can push them back!” Most ignored him; still he persisted. At night he went to the hill and watched the movement of the Horde fire-pits. On the morning of the third day a young human priest approached him and asked him if he was “that elf” who wanted to form a team. He nodded. To his amazement, he young fellow pledged his support. It was a start. By the end of the week he had four heroes who would listen to him: Berm, the priest, Volpor and Valdius, two elven hunters, and Jaine, a lady paladin. Other than Berm, none of them was particularly convinced that Windfoot could do what he promised, but they listened. He had made a plan. Windfoot had now studied the Gorge and the strategic points the Horde was claiming. Wherever they conquered, the Horde mounted the heads of their slaughtered enemies and raised the flag of the Horde. The flags marked the advance of the army. If he could infiltrate one of the Horde camps and recapture it, he could steal the Horde flag and bring it back to the Alliance camp to fly or burn as a signal to the Horde that the Alliance was stronger than they thought. The symbolic gesture might be enough to give the Horde pause, and to show the Alliance that military precision and teamwork could turn the tide of the war. He spoke to his team to explain the plan. He and Jaine would enter the camp by night. By shape-shifting into cat form he could sneak into the camp unnoticed, he would grab the flag and run. If he was spotted and attacked, Jaine could cast a protective holy aura upon him. Once he broke clear of the camp, the hunters would be waiting to take down any pursuers. Berm was to wait in hiding with the hunters and keep everyone alive. A simple plan, which in Windfoot’s opinion, was the best sort of plan. Night arrived. Windfoot’s team mounted up and rode to the Horde camp. Jaine had a fanatical look in her eyes. The hunters kept talking to each other in Darnassian about how “it would never work.” Berm rode beside Windfoot, beaming with excitement. Windfoot had a bad feeling about the adventure, but was grim. He needed this to work. The Alliance needed this to work. Arriving, the hunters disappeared into the trees. Berm was confused and alarmed until Windfoot explained that the elves were shadow-melded to better surprise their enemies. He told Berm to hide behind a tree and wait for him. Reluctantly, Berm did as he was told. He kept saying he could be more help in then camp keeping Windfoot alive. Finally, Jaine and he snuck into the camp. Gesturing to her to wait out of sight from the guard, Windfoot shape-shifted and slipped into the shadows. Slowly, carefully, he snuck into the camp. Inside one of the huts he heard the sounds of loud talk and drinking. Good. He steeled himself and turned towards his prize: the huge red flag flapping in the night winds. Then it happened. While scouting out the camp, he had not been watching Jaine. Suddenly he saw her at the Horde flag, ripping it out of the ground. He heard her whisper a chant and a bright holy glow sprang up around her. A great hew and cry leapt up in the camp. Warriors ran for their armor and weapons, the guards came running. With a maniacal grin, Jaine downed a potion and suddenly began moving a tremendous speed through the camp. Windfoot thought he heard her screaming something about “Horde scum” and laughing hysterically. Cursing, Windfoot slipped out of sight and transformed back into elven form and ran after her. As Jaine emerged from the camp, an undead priest appeared before her. With a curse and muttered incantation, a great wave of fear swelled out from the undead. Even at a distance, Windfoot felt a wave of despair slow his steps. Jaine lost all reason, dropped the flag and began running aimlessly back into the camp. Outside the camp the two hunters had rushed from hiding and were pelting the undead with arrows. A Tauren warrior charged out from the camp and into one of the brothers. The hunters switched from bow to sword and attacked the warrior; out of the shadows emerged their animal companions to aid them. “No!” Windfoot thought. “Kill the priest!” But he could not shout orders without exposing himself. Instead he released Ursa’s spirit and charged the priest himself. The Tauren turned back, but was too late. With a rattle, the undead fell to his claws and lay still. It had not taken long for the Horde to be roused. Windfoot watched in horror and they descended upon Jaine. There was nothing he could do for her. Windfoot shape-shifted from bear to cheetah and, grabbing the fallen flag in his teeth, raced off towards the woods, calling to Volpor, Valdius and Berm, “To me! To me!” The elven hunters did not listen, but went riding into the camp, perhaps to save Jaine, perhaps to simply join in the melee, Windfoot did not know. Sadly, Windfoot knew that they would not last long. As he raced from the camp, Horde flag tearing as it caught on the undergrowth, he saw Berm staring at him wide-eyed and unmoving. With the flag in his jaw he could not shout coherently, but he roared nonetheless. The next thing he knew, there was a flash of lightning, a searing pain, and he stumbled, hit. He heard the shouted chanting of a mage behind him. Dazed, he glanced back and saw a dozen Horde racing after him, black blood glistening on their drawn blades. Windfoot redoubled his efforts to run, crying out to Berm for healing. Berm continued to stare open-mouthed at the approaching Horde. “Keep your head, Berm!” he shouted, as best he could. He suspected that Berm could not hear him anyway. “RUN!” he called. Berm ran. Not along-side Windfoot, as Windfoot had intended. Berm ran wildly off into the woods. Windfoot never saw him again. As a cheetah, Windfoot could outrun the Horde behind him. They harried him with arrows and spells, but he kept his legs moving; pushed himself faster. Half a league, no more, and he would reach the Alliance bastion, and safety. He would make it. Windfoot ran like his namesake, he ran with abandon and fear in his throat. Behind him he heard the sounds of curses fading and his heart lifted. They would return for their mounts, he knew, but he was sufficiently far ahead that he knew he could make it. When the flag tripped him and the undergrowth ripped at his underside drawing blood, he only doubled and redoubled his efforts. Arrows protruded from him, his legs ached from the strain, but he would make it. Then, as he emerged from the woods for the last push to the Alliance bastion his heart fell. Where were the defenders? At the entrance, barely hiding in the shadows were two trolls, long wicked blades in their hands. They looked him and evil smiles smeared their faces. He saw himself in their eyes; easy prey. With a tremendous roar he dropped the flag, transformed into dire-bear again and charged into the trolls. But they were well trained at killing. Try as he might, one kept slipping behind him while the other distracted. He tore at them with tooth and claw, all the while roaring at the top of his lungs, but no one came to his aid. The trolls were making sport of him. Blood got in his eyes from the many wounds they inflicted. He felt himself weakening. As his strength ebbed, and his knees began to buckle, he saw what he thought was a vision. Somehow, miraculously, Jaine was there, lifting the flag. But it was not a vision. Against all odds, Jaine had survived. Perhaps when he had raced off with the flag they had turned from her. Perhaps the hunters had saved her. Somehow she was there, astride her great charger, with her holy glow shining like a beacon in the night. Jaine did not try to save Windfoot. She merely grabbed the flag and raced off with it into the night. For whatever reason, the trolls turned and raced after her; but not before disposing of Windfoot. Windfoot felt 10 inches of cold steel enter his shoulders and pierce through to his neck. He tried to rise and give chase but only slumped into the stone wall, smearing a trail of blood. His legs gave way; darkness descended. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by Vangelis on Sept 3, 2005, 7:23pm (( Sigh. Well told. Too true! )) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by Magdha on Sept 5, 2005, 9:49am ((Good battle story....not sure if I want to enter the Gulch now though!*wink*)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Sept 5, 2005, 7:12pm The spirit-world was different for every traveler. For Windfoot, it had always been like blowing wind, or like being under water. The world looked similar to the mortal world, but the edges of things bled and moved, and more so if you did not focus on them. Distances were fluid as well; approaching something often involved a sort of rush where things that had been distant and hazy suddenly became close and in focus. Windfoot knew the spirit-world well; he traveled there often. He had come to understand that, eventually, he would leave the mortal world behind forever and simply become a part of the Dream. As his mortal dire-bear form lay dying, Windfoot found himself watching from the Dream. He felt, more than saw, a great bulk approaching, and knew that Ursa had come to stand with him. "You are so frail," she growled, softly. There was sadness in her voice. "This is the part I hate the most." Windfoot knew what she meant. When they had explored Azeroth together she protected him. Now she could only watch and counsel. Time too was fluid here. The two stood watching the blood flow from the neck of the bear, from his own neck, in silence, and it was impossible to tell how long he and Ursa stood watching. Then she said, "You should have at least mated her before you came to be slaughtered." That got his attention. Windfoot turned to Ursa and looked into her great brown eyes. "We were not ready. I would think you of all beasts would understand." "You would never be ready," the old bear dismissed. "And how do you know she was not? You just walked away from her." "That's not true." "True enough." Her words hurt him. Windfoot looked into her face and saw the twinkle of compassion that he needed. He laughed. "You are right, Ursa. I was a coward." Then more seriously, "But it is not easy, this love. It confuses me and I do not know how to proceed." "Who said anything about love? I was talking about mating." Ursa was really smiling now. Windfoot was shocked. "You are a dirty old sow. I could never treat the lady Vez..." She cut him off. "Don't even start with me! You see that... the "Lady Vezesara." As if she is made of glass?! That is why you could not do anything. You want a dirty old sow's opinion?" She gestured at his dying form, "You would have been better off mating and producing cubs than lying dead in Warsong Gulch." Windfoot had had enough of her rebukes. He knew that treating Vezesara with courtesy and respect was the proper way to treat a lady. Perhaps in the animal kingdom it was acceptable to just mount a mate for natural purposes, but elves were not bears. He looked away. He looked off to scan for the Lady Vezesara's spirit. Sensing his intentions, Ursa asked, "Are you just going to let your body die?" "There's time. Watch over me, Ursa." "I always do," she said gruffly. Then Windfoot swept away towards Vezesara. He wanted to just see her again. He had been too long away. He needed to see her, just for a moment, to replenish his spirit. Besides, he did not relish returning to the pain of his tortured mortal form. Time enough for that ordeal later. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Sept 7, 2005, 12:35am Vezesara was in the Eastern Kingdom, near Southshore. As he swept across the sea from Kalimdor, her spirit pulsed at him, drawing him in. Beating, beating, and making his blood rush faster as he sped to her. Suddenly he was upon her and the scene came into abrupt focus. He stood above and slightly behind her, upon a small rise. She stood in the middle of a field near Tarren Mill. An army of Alliance, harrying the town, surrounded her. As the spirits of the assailants fought or died around her, her fingers flew from quiver to bow, and a hail of arrows descended upon the town's Horde defenders. The acrid stench of brimstone and charred flesh surrounded her. At her side, her two-handed sword was planted in the ground within quick reach, the blood of a recent victim still running down it's polished surface. Her heart was racing; her blood was up; and a bloodthirsty smile played upon her lips as she counted out the number of her kills. The images startled him. Was this bloodthirsty image real or just a vision with some other meaning? What did it mean? Instead of replenishing his battered spirit, he felt confused and weak. As he stood watching, a shadow passed over him shading his eyes for a moment. A scavenger flew above the battlefield. An undefined shape of blackness, something like a vulture, or a raven, flying smoothly, surveying the slaughter and death. It's black eyes flickered from soul to soul, watching, observing it all. Windfoot felt it watching him, but could not take his eyes from Vezesara. As she danced the dance of the kill her heart raced with fear and pleasure, and his heart beat quickly in time with hers. A shadow flickered over his eyes again, and then the bird was gone. Ursa was there with him. Ursa had come to stand with him and watch Vezesara dance. Windfoot knew that Ursa had come, he felt the shadow of her presence upon him, but he still did not take his eyes off of Vezesara. In her passion, she had bitten herself with those extended canines, and Windfoot tasted blood in his own mouth. Ursa spoke to him. Her voice was deeper, gruffer than he was used to, "Beautiful..." He nodded. She continued, quietly, "Look at her grace and speed. They stand no chance against her. They are weak, and so they die." He nodded. Something about Ursa's speech was different, but he could not concentrate on it. A, Orc hunter rushed towards Vezesara under a hail of arrows. As he reached her, her sword appeared in her hands like magic and she ran him through. Her mouth moved to shape the words "two hundred!" He felt intoxicated. Ursa's dark shadow was upon him now, and she whispered in his ears, "Perhaps you fell because you were not strong enough? She does not hesitate. Do they deserve such mercy as you have given them? Have you stopped the war from coming with mercy and compassion?" "No..." Windfoot's voice was weak, and hollow. He realized that he had made a terrible mistake all those season ago. Why had he forgiven the Horde for the death of Ursa's family? He could not remember. It did not matter. He felt stronger here, watching Vezesara dance. "It is what they deserve..." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Sept 8, 2005, 12:17am Something was not right. He felt sleepy and a distant ringing… or was that a distant roar?…was in his ears. For a moment Windfoot felt sure that it was Ursa’s voice ringing distantly in his ears. But that could not be right. Ursa was here with him. “I am here with you, D’ana’no. Listen to my voice. Watch your true love dancing,” she whispered. The ringing stopped, as if suddenly muffled. Something broke in him, and a cold emptiness crept into his heart. He suddenly felt very alone, very small and alone. Something was definitely wrong, but he was too weak to do anything about it. He turned to Ursa, “What…what just happened?” Her fur was brown, but there were flecks of red in her fur that he had not noticed before. Her beady eyes seemed blacker than he had remembered. “I felt nothing,” she stated. “But you are weakened from your travels…” “Come,” she ordered, and led him towards Vezesara’s spirit-form. Windfoot could not resist. Vezesara was laughing, swinging her great blade with wild abandon. Her small demonic fangs flashed within her full lips. “Her love for you is sure. She can strengthen your spirit.” The closer he got to Vezesara, the more he felt that unmistakable tingle, like waves of yearning rippling across his skin. Space shifted and he came to her. He stood so close that her sword passed through him like smoke. Her spirit pulsed red, casting a dark red light across his spirit-form and his eyes. She was entirely unaware of him, but such was the gravity that she exerted upon him that his memory of the cold loneliness slipped away. Soon he could think of nothing but the rush of her beating heart; their beating hearts together pulsing and racing. “You want her,” the voice pushed him forward. “You are hungry. Replenish your spirit.” As if in a trance, Windfoot slowly raised his hands to envelope Vezesara. Green tendrils, interlaced with flecks of blood red emerged from his hands and his eyes. Windfoot felt their hearts beating…beating… beating ever faster. “Yes,” the voice urged. There was a small part of him that was afraid, that wanted to stop, but the beating drowned out everything else. He could not stop. The tendrils snaked out and pierced Vezesara’s spirit-form… Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story Post by windfoot on Jan 11, 2006, 8:57pm ((Someone recently told me that they wished these chapters were all together. Now they are!))
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:18:24 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1126365106 Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 10, 2005, 10:11am [Chapter 1 introduced Windfoot, druid, former hunter, and Lord of the Defenders of Valor, the lady Vezesara, an elven huntress, and the spirit of Ursa the bear, Windfoot’s former animal companion who now speaks to him and counsels him from the spirit-world, or the “Great Dream”, as Windfoot calls it. Windfoot carries an unspoken passion for Vezesara that is consuming him. Though Windfoot can see no evil in Vezesara, the taint of demonic blood is in Vezesara’s veins, and shows in vampire-like fangs. Although it begins to look like a shared love might flower between them, Windfoot receives a summons to the front lines of the battle with the Horde and leaves, leaving an angry Vezesara behind. At the front he is mortally wounded and decides to travel in spirit form to see Vezesara again. When he finds her, he is confronted by a bloodthirsty image of Vezesara slaughtering Horde. A dark shape hovers over the scene momentarily, something like a bird of prey. Then, in his weakened state, Windfoot is visited by a spirit he believes to be Ursa, who urges him to embrace the bloodthirsty Vezesara. At the end of Chapter one, he obeys the dark voice and enters Vezesara’s spirit.] Windfoot’s eyes sparked and he gasped as his serpentine tendrils of bloodstained green entered Vezesara’s spirit-form and simultaneously spread writhing upon her. Where there had been flecks of red, thorns sprouted piercing her full lips, long dextrous hands, small muscular waist, and smooth supple thighs, and trapping her spirit in a violent embrace. A feeling of power and ecstasy flooded though him. There was no stopping; just the overpowering rapture of her tainted blood pumping dreams, thoughts and feelings into him. He opened her eyes. “Two hundred and twenty!” they shouted, as yet another Horde fell to her arrows. Around her the ground was littered with the dead, Horde and Alliance alike, and the grass was slick with running blood. The harsh sounds of metal on metal rang out across the battlefield, amidst bellows of the combatants and the wailing of the hurt and dying. Windfoot had never felt more alive. He was in her, felt her flesh as his flesh, watched the battle from her eyes, and heard her thoughts mingling with his. Another band of Orcs raced out of Tarren Mill and into their sight and Windfoot felt her hands, their hands, flying from quiver to bow, unleashing another torrent of jagged arrows into the vile creatures. He smiled with satisfaction as several of the thick shafts found their mark and one of the Orcs fell and lay still. “Two hundred and twenty one!” The Horde worked feverishly to defend the town but this day belonged to the Alliance. There were simply not enough defenders to challenge the army that had amassed at Southshore, answering the call for help of the needy townsfolk. The inhabitants of Southshore were a hardy lot, surviving not five leagues from Tarren Mill, and suffering near-daily incursions from the Horde. They needed the aid of every able-bodied warrior just to keep the Horde at bay; to ensure that their children were not taken in the night or that their crops and waters were not befouled by dark unnatural magic. The army had amassed for hours before laying siege to the Mill. Rumours flew that this time they would raze it for good and all. But the Horde were crafty, and strong. They used the natural defenses of the town to their advantage, pushing back waves upon wave of Alliance. Vezesara had sensed several priests chanting behind the enemy lines, and the brimstone stench around her was testament to the power of a mage who remained yet hidden. No matter. It was just a matter of time before their defenses collapsed. The sounds of the battlefield came to Windfoot in waves, rushing in with the beating of Vezesara’s heart. He felt her confused shock at the alien presence within her. She did not know who or what he was. Her spirit began to buckle and twist, but in the world of the Dream she was like child to him. He could dominate her utterly. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 11, 2005, 5:55pm Waves of sounds crashed in upon Windfoot like the beating wings of a hawk, faster, ever faster. Vezesara’s beating heart pounded furiously, and her body thrashed within its cruel bonds as the thorns sank deeper within her. Flashes of their past together flooded into Windfoot’s consciousness; now as seen from her eyes… He saw her looking at him on the Wetland bluff, with the moon rising behind her and shining in his face. He was handing her a freshly picked briar-thorn so awkwardly, trying to justify the gift with an herbalist’s explanation of the gifts of nature. He was so clumsy, with that great weight of seriousness on his shoulders, but she forgave him. Without question he was too serious, but when she looked into his eyes she saw herself reflected in a way she had not seen before. And she liked the elf that he saw; even if it were not entirely true. She realized that Windfoot was a good elf; an honourable elf. The scene shifted. They rode together through Ashenvale. The forest was quiet. Samantra had snuck off to hunt, and they rode slowly letting their mounts set the pace. They were not going anywhere in particular, just traveling together. Playfully, she asked him, “What characteristics do you like in a lady?” Without hesitation, and with deep sincerity he replied, “That’s easy. Loyalty.” Then added, more lightly, “I also like a sharp mind and good conversation, and a lady who takes good care of herself.” He felt her smiling inside, confident that she was all of those things. He asked her, “And you, Lady Vezesara? What is it you look for in a lord?” He felt her conviction as she replied, “Honour. Faithfulness. Leadership.” She looked at him with fondness then, but he surprised her by responding with a playful grin, “…and a nice behind?” He did make her laugh, then. She laughed at the joke, but more so she laughed because he had taken the high walls of seriousness down for a moment – or perhaps she had opened a door that had needed opening. A third scene faded into view. She rode through Elwynn forest, traveling to Stormwind city. She was so angry! He had left for the front lines without even a goodbye. And to think that she had been such a fool! They had had angry words, of course, but that was no reason for him to simply leave, without a word, as if she were nothing to him. Off to his death for all she knew, evidently without even considering that she might come to the front with him, that they might be stronger together than they were alone! Her company clearly meant nothing to him. She rode, anger curling her lips, and a deep rage unlocked within her. She needed to hunt and kill, to forget what she had allowed herself to believe. As she came into Stormwind, she passed a crier calling, “Aid to Southshore!” “Horde attacks growing daily!” “Aid needed from every creed and kind!” So be it. She would pack her things and head to the north. And the Horde would rue the day she arrived. As Windfoot stood locked in an embrace with Vezesara, up the green pulsing tendrils that entwined her and entered her, a dark sluggish power crept from deep within Vezesara, consuming and tainting crimson the verdant manifestations of Windfoot’s strength of spirit. As her thoughts and feelings passed to him, something else came with it. Something dark within her blood and history, that sought out something new upon which to feed. On the battlefield Vezesara’s eyes drooped, her sword dropped from her hands. The battle raged furiously around her, but she no longer responded. Samantra, guarding her, turned towards Windfoot, and her eyes narrowed. The hair upon Samantra's back stood on end. She hissed at Windfoot's spirit and hunched down as if to spring upon him. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 17, 2005, 8:14pm On the battlefield, Vezesara’s head sagged, and a drop of crimson blood dripped from her lips to fall onto the soiled ground. A flood of images from Vezesara’s spirit and past poured into Windfoot…. …They were in a paper-strewn room of evident elven design. Beneath the littered piles of tomes and ripped paper haphazardly scattered throughout the room, the living wood of the walls and floor flowed naturally into the furniture, speaking of elven quality and high culture. Vezesara stands in the doorway, and Windfoot feels anger, worry and confusion burning within her. Inside the room, spurning her pleas to stop, was Marsarius, her brother, wildly rummaging through the contents of what Windfoot suddenly realizes to be their father’s study. Marsarius is acting wildly and Vezesara is worried about him. “You know he has them hidden, Vezesara! All I want is what is rightfully mine!” Marsarius spits. Vezesara does not know what to say. In her hand is a short sword, but she cannot use it against her brother and he does not seem to care that she has the ability to kill him. “Marsarius, you are not yourself…stop this madness.” She pleads. Instead of responding, Marsarius lets out a venomous curse, kicks over the table, and storms past her out of the room. Vezesara watches him go, a confused look in her eyes… …four dead bodies float into Windfoot’s mind. Vezesara is studying the faces of the dead, grafting their images into her mind, and a dark resolve settles upon her… …the woods are dark, the forest smell is strong, and the moon is out. Vezesara and Samantra approach their prey in the company of her friend druid, Shaelandra. Vezesara motions for the druid to hold while she gets into position. Beneath her, down a small hill and out of the trees is a small camp of Orcs. The guards walk lazily too and fro while most of the camp slumbers. They are not here to destroy the whole camp; just one is enough. Samantra’s blood is up, but she waits for the prey to come, as instructed. Vezesara slips out of her leathers so that much of her milky skin is revealed. Leaving her bow and quiver in the woods, she hides two long blades on her body but out of sight, and steps out to partially reveal herself. As the sentry approaches, he sees an innocent elven maiden watching him from the edge of the woods. Pushing the branches aside, she reveals her nakedness to him and then slips back into the woods. He takes the bait. She flits from tree to tree, revealing herself, enticing him deeper into the woods, and towards Shaelandra. Samantra falls in behind him. The Orc blunders into the trap and finds himself caught, as thorns suddenly rise out of the ground to ensnare him. Vezesara’s two glowing blades appear in her hands and the Orc does not even have time to scream before he his dead. The Orc falls, his blood pumping out of him. Shaelandra and Samantra watch her, waiting. Vezesara knees over the broken form and breathes in the smell of blood. Even though it is Orc blood, her mouth waters. She runs a finger through the fresh blood and licks it, teasing herself, before feeding. Then she bends down to drink, and drink deeply. Windfoot feels the hot, thick taste of blood running down his throat, feels the strength and rejuvenation it brings to her body. It is delicious… In the Dream, Windfoot’s head lashed back, and a great crimson light burst from his eyes. The tendrils, once verdant green, are now pulsing crimson. While he consumed Vezesara's memories and they flooded into him, something…a dark demonic whisper…had slithered into him. It settled deep within him, laughing with cruel satisfaction. Suddenly, as if emerging from a deep trance, Windfoot looked around him with fresh eyes. Ursa was not there, but rather a great black crow stood behind him, regarding him with infinitely cruel black and beady eyes. With horror he saw his red pulsing hands, Vezesara’s limp spirit form before him, and the sick, violent tendrils binding and piercing her spirit, draining her of life. He desperately released her spirit as if burned by the sight of what he was doing and, falling to his knees, a cry was torn out of him, weakly, “My lady… ” With a harsh cackle of glee, the crow flies off, but not before calling out mockingly to him, “We will chat again… and soon, I think, ‘Lord’ Windfoot.” Vezesara stood, head bowed, on the battlefield. Something had happened to her, something she could not understand. Her head was spinning, she could not think, and her body would not respond. As she stood helpless, she sensed an Orc hunter approaching, but terrifyingly could not get her body to respond. Samantra leapt at the predator, furiously defending her mistress, but the hunter was strong; too strong for Samantra. A great axe appeared in the Orc’s hands and Samantra was cut down. The great cat struggled to rise but could not, as a pool of her own blood swelled about her, adding more blood to the blood-stained fields. A wicked grin spread across the Orc hunter’s face as he approached Vezesara. So this was the hunter who had caused his brother and so many of his comrades to die in agony! Rendered helpless by some warlock’s spell, no doubt. With one great claw-like fist, the Orc took hold of Vezesara’s face. With the other, he drew a long black sword from his back. It made a harsh metallic sound as he drew it forth. All along the surface of the blade dark Orcish runes spoke of death and carnage. In the dream, Vezesara’s spirit screamed with frustration and fear. Holding Vezesara fast he spat upon her. Then, with a great Orcish cry of, “This one’s for you, brother!!” the Orc ran Vezesara through, and she fell. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 23, 2005, 12:17am "Noooo!" With a primal cry, Windfoot was torn from the Dream. He was again in bear-form, and at the front lines. Pain lacerated through him, and a pool of blood congealed beneath his matter fur. His head slumped, and his eyes rolls back in his head as the physical agony of his wounds crashed back into him. But notwithstanding the pain, all he could see was the sight of the lady Vezesara being pierced and falling. He closed his eyes, but it was indelibly burned into his mind. Over and over he saw the black blade suddenly protruding from her back, blood spurting forth. A whimpered cry escaped him. There was no one near. The cold hard walls of the passage and floor had no compassion for him. He was alone, in the dark. Pushing against the wall in an attempt to stand, he cried out in distress. Something must have been broken in his chest or shoulder, but it was all pain to him, he could not localize it. His blood pumped down his fur in a stream with every movement. The passageway dipped and spun and dizziness overtook him. Then her heard it for the first time. The Voice. A voice that he did not know, whispering to him of hatred and death, laughing at him for his weakness. He was still alone in the dark, but there was something inside him, lurking, watching. “Ursa…help,” he whispered. Silence. Ursa was gone. Her comforting presence, which had been with him for more than a hundred seasons, was gone. He tentatively reached out his spirit to find her, and found only a terrible emptiness within him. As if in a nightmare, he felt like he was falling into a darkness of unfathomable depths. Where was Ursa? She was not protecting him. And again the voice, “‘Lord’ Windfoot!” and the mocking laughter. He realized now that he had been deceived. As if a curtain were deliberately lifted to increase his torment, Windfoot saw that in his weakness and his – “Lust!” crowed the voice – he had fallen into a trap and had allowed a corruption into his soul. A demonic power had crept into him and was now nesting within him, like an infestation. Windfoot pushed the voice away, blocking it from him mind. He had neither the strength nor the time for that battle now. The vision of Vezesara came again: her perfect skin soiled by the dark blade; her eyes flashing with terror and frustration; her body numbly falling to her knees; the Orc callously tossing her limp form aside… Calling forth the last of his mystical strength, Windfoot drew into him the healing power of the surrounding lands. But instead of a green energy, a reddish glow surrounded him. He felt his broken bones healing, but it was as if a fire was burning within his blood, fusing the bone together with a rough and brutal strength. Windfoot shuddered. This new power came with an intoxicating strength that was now all too familiar to him. He swore he would not use that power. Instead, he struggled to him feet with an agonized roar from the pain, and then began the arduous task of staggering back to the Alliance camp. With every step he told himself that Vezesara needed him. That she was not dead. That he would find her. That he would not fail her. It was only a league, but he was barely alive. Time lost meaning. Congealed blood trickled down from his neck, leaving a blood-soaked trail behind him. More than once – how many times? He did not know – he stumbled and fell. But each time the vision of what he had done to Vezesara came back to him and each time he struggled back to his feet with more desperation. At some point he realized that he was muttering incoherently to himself. It did not matter... A half-league out from the camp his legs gave out for the last time, and he had to drag himself forward, stubbornly refusing to die. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 26, 2005, 11:36pm The world came to him in fragments, surrounded by darkness and shadow... ...Windfoot is lying on his side, a great dire bear brought low. The moon is out and the ruddy flickered light from a nearby torch waves near his head. Before his bloodshot eyes is a massive forearm, covered with numerous cuts and bruises and matted with blood. The claws of the attached paw twitch with a convulsive energy before him and Windfoot realizes that the arm he is watching is his own. He is watching a large fly crawl into a gash on his forearm to inspect it. The fly is repeatedly rubbing its hind legs together with excitement and anticipation, and Windfoot watches in fascination. He cannot remember why his paw is moving... ...Darkness... ...the light of the torch is in his face again. Someone his saying something to him, but they are not making any sense. Maybe it is an Troll, Windfoot thinks, come to finish him off. There is a shooting pain in his side, as if he is being scraped, but nothing makes sense. The light is in his face, and someone is shouting, but the pain is on the other side of his body, on the side of him that is lying on the cold ground. He realizes that his arms are above his head and someone is pulling them. There is a bump, and a flinding flash of pain, and... ...Darkness... ...He is an elf again, but unarmed and in darkness. Something is bothering him, flying around him and crowing at him. "Windfoot!" "Windfoot!" His head is spinning, and he feels as if he had been pecked at all over his limbs. "Ursa..." he mumbles. The great shape rises before him; commands him, "You have great power. Use it! Save yourself!" No. It is not Ursa. He concentrates, remembering the shadow voice, and manages, "get away from me, abomination!" Ursa fades away like smoke... ...Shadows... ...He is coughing. Something is in his mouth, choking him. It is hot and sweet. He spits it out, gasping for breath. His face lies on something soft and wet and he feels soiled hair in his mouth, sticking to his lips. Then the light shifts and soft firm hands grab his head, tipping it up. He gasps for breath, then breathes deeply... ...Shadows... ...Vezesara is with him. She is behind him and is holding him closely in her arms, whispering to him. He cannot understand her words but knows that she is saying things he has so long wanted desperately to hear. Her soft smooth skin is pressed into his back, and her pale hands slide over his chest, massaging his sore muscles. He feels her warm lips upon his neck and he tips his head away, exposing himself vulnerably to her. His white hair falls down like a curtain, and he closes his eyes. Vezesara pricks his neck with her fangs, sending a shiver of expectation across his skin. He reaches up and backwards to feel her hair between his fingers. Her hair feels soft and light, like feathers upon his skin. She pricks his neck again as he holds her head, and a heat fills his body. He feels her grip tightening upon him, and her nails cut into his chest...an image suddenly flashes: the black blade suddenly protruding from Vezesara's back, blood spurting forth...Windfoot pulls away from the grasp and turns to see the grinning face of the crow behind him, batting its eyes at him in a mockery of feminine charm... ...Light... Light streamed in from an open window and upon his face. Outside, the rich hues of elven countryside showed in tree, leaf, and undulating hills. He lay in a plain cot, upon worn, but clean, white sheets. The intricate and flowing wooden construction of the room spoke of elven design as well. For a moment he was at a loss, and could not remember where he was. "Ashenvale. At the Alliance camp." Windfoot turned his eyes to the voice and saw an elf woman dressed in rich coloured garments, sitting at a nearby table. She got up and approached him, then felt his head with a healer's practiced touch. "You looked a bit disoriented," she answered his unasked question. To herself she muttered, "Fever's broken." Windfoot studied the lady. She was familiar. Vezesara's memories came back to him, assisting. "Shae...Shaelandra?" he rasped. Shaelandra stopped and studied him for a moment. "Well...awake, and a remembering the trouble you gave us, I guess?" She reached for a glass of water and helped him drink. Windfoot's hands were trembling from exhaustion. After drinking, he shook his head. "No...I know you from...a memory." "Is that so? And who's memory would that be?" "Vezesara's." Shaelandra squinted her eyes and felt his head for fever. He motioned weakly for more water, and she again helped him drink. "I am in my right mind, but it is a long story. Too long to tell," he whispered. She nodded, agreeing. It flashed again, like fire behind his eyes: the black blade suddenly protruding from Vezesara's back, blood spurting forth. He struggled to rise, as if prodded by a spear. "My Lady..." Shaelandra moved with elven speed and grace and held him down firmly, "Oh no you don't! Do you realize how hard I've worked to keep you in this world? You are not going to make me regret wasting a week saving your sorry hide, druid. You are sick, and probably delusional, and you will rest, even if I have to bind you to that bed." Windfoot lay back quietly, too weak to resist. Then the import of Shaelandra's words settled upon him. A week?! It must not be true. Vezesara's fate would be sealed. He had failed. He felt wet on his cheek and realized that he was crying. Shaelandra looked at him with concern. "You need food and rest." She stood and walked to the table. Returning, she placed a warm cup of thick sweet liquid to his lips. "Drink." It had a strong flavour and he felt a rush of vitality flow through his body as he drank deeply. On the heels of the healing warmth, a deep sleep descended. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Sept 30, 2005, 10:56pm The sweet nectar of a dreamless sleep overtook him, and Windfoot knew nothing until the next day. Waking to the dawn light, Windfoot felt refreshed and his spirit lightened. A playful breeze danced in through the open window and for a moment Windfoot was taken back to a time long seasons ago when he did not always hear so many voices, and those he did hear were light and joyful. He lay quietly, savoring the moment, and thinking. How had it happened that the joy of the hunt had been lost to this heavy burden he wore of late? Had be become so ponderous that he could not listen to the giggle of a gentle wind? Then something else awoke within him. The Whisper too was waking, and was stretching itself into his consciousness, ending his momentary reverie. Windfoot steeled himself against to resist it and roused himself from the bed. The voice of the gentle breeze was lost. His belongings had been lost at the Front, but Shaelandra, or someone, had kindly left a small bundle of plain clothes for him at the end of his cot. Simple white cotton and pale leather. Sturdy walking shoes. He dressed quickly and efficiently, planning his next act. He knew he could Dream-walk to find Vezesara’s spirit, whether living or dead, but he was worried about the Voice. The sprit-world was an amalgam of all things – past, present, and future – and only a traveler’s focused mind and careful control kept the Dream from falling to chaos or nightmare. The Voice had deceived him several times already, and shown itself to be powerful and cunning. He did not know how much of his mind it could access, how much of his thoughts could be corrupted or perverted. When he entered the Dream next he would need to be prepared, both for its interference and its deceptions. But how could he get ready for such a contest? Would it know of his intentions? He needed to be able to gauge its strength; to find its weakness. As he stood in silent contemplation, Shaelandra appeared at the entryway carrying a worn earthen plate with modest rations. Her keen eyes narrowed sharply at the sight of him up and dressed, and he saw a hint of green flash into her eyes as she studied him. After a second she blinked in surprise, and spoke, “that’s odd…” “Yes, Shae?” She shook her head, with a hint of begrudging respect, “First, no one but a few close friends calls me that. Second, I am suitably impressed. How do you keep my spirit at bay like that?” “I don’t understand. I did nothing.” She frowned, thinking him deceitful, “Come, none of that. We both know you are keeping me out. I was only going to test your spirit so see if I should put you back to bed.” Now it was Windfoot’s turn to be surprised. If what Shaelandra was saying was true, she had stretched out her spirit to him, just as he routinely did when meeting new adventurers or when gauging the honesty of someone’s response. But he had felt nothing. It was as if his skin had lost its sense of touch. A chill ran down his back, and the whisper came into his mind, “Did you think that such pathetic attempts could master me?” Shaelandra looked at him sharply and reproached, “Pardon me? Pathetic?!” Anger flashed in her eyes. In horror, Windfoot realized that his mouth had actually voiced the words! “Shaelandra… I am truly… I apologize…” he stuttered, his mind spinning at the realization of what had just happened. The Voice had spoken through him; had controlled his body! Inside, he felt a sudden rush of sadistic pleasure that was not his own, and a low gleeful chuckle. Windfoot quickly placed his hand over his mouth to ensure that the evil laughter was not voiced aloud. Shaelandra was staring at him in confused irritation, waiting for an explanation. Windfoot sat down heavily. He realized that he was ashamed to tell her that he believed that he had allowed a corrupt demonic spirit to infest him. Not only that, but an explanation would involve explaining his secret passion for the Lady Vezesara, and his betrayal of his Lady to her death. He looked up at the druidess and spoke quietly, “Shae—Shaelandra, I do not know what came over me. Please accept my heartfelt apologies. I thank you for your generous aid, and am forever in your debt. But I must go…I need to find Vezesara, and immediately.” The heat left her eyes and Shaelandra handed him the rations. “Well, you can be pig-headed if you wish, but you will eat. Here.” Windfoot was starving but looked at the food suspiciously, wondering if any of the dreamless sleep potion had made its way into the food. “Don’t worry, lover-boy,” she said, guessing his mind, “the rations are from the camp cook, I have better things to do with my time than force you to stay in bed.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 1, 2005, 10:14am Windfoot looked to the elf healer, “Lover-boy?” he asked, surprised. She smiled, then. “Oh? Now I have your attention? Good. Because I am not going to have you running off like a Westfall chicken before I learn more of you, druid. Sit.” She pointed to the small table. Windfoot obeyed. Shaelandra sat with him at the table, placed the food before him, and began, “A week ago, I was preparing to go to the front myself when you dragged your sorry carcass into the camp. You were a mess.” Windfoot was struck at Shaelandra’s earth way of speaking, which spoke of much time away from Teldrassil in the company of dwarves and men. “I had thought to simply heal you and be done, but though you were unconscious and broken, somehow you resist me. There you were, a great bloody mess, lying in the dirt, and nature could not restore you. I was stumped.” Shaelandra studied him for a second, then continued, “I guess I’ve always had a soft spot for lost and broken things. Anyway, you needed water and a bed. As you may know, the adventurers around here are mostly useless. One of the guards and I were forced to drag you off so I could treat you. You didn’t like that much.” She shook her head and grinned. “However, your bellows were enough to bring a few strapping adventurers running, so we got a hand with you after all. Anyway, I got them to dunk you in the pond and then bring you here. Sometime that night you changed back to elf, which made things easier, I can tell you. I haven’t worked with bandages this much in a long time.” Windfoot was getting impatient. He needed to go. “I thank you, but…” Shaelandra, interrupted him sharply. “Are you listening to me? I worked with bandages because nature could not heal you. And why do I call you ‘lover-boy’? Because all this past week you have been bucking a fever, grinding your teeth and ranting. I know you are ‘Lord Windfoot.’ I know that you loved 'Ursa' but that she is dead. I know that you hate someone close to you, and blame him for Ursa's death. And you are obviously in love with Vezesara…though I might warn you about her…” Windfoot felt embarrassment and rage surge through him and stood up from the table abruptly. “Do not speak ill to me of the Lady Vesesara.” Shaelandra waved him to sit back down dismissively, “Sit down, you starry-eyed fool. Vez’s like a sister to me. Speak ill? No. But I do know her, and her many ‘lovers’.” Windfoot sat slowly, stung by the obvious truth of her words. He spoke quietly, “There was never anything promised between us. But it may not matter, for I saw her dead in the fields of Tarren Mill.” “What?! It cannot be. How did you see this?” “Before you rescued me I went to her in the spirit-world. I saw…She was slain by an Orc as she fought to capture Tarren Mill.” Windfoot closed his eyes to control the pain of the thought of that image as it well up again before him. For a moment, Shaelandra sat before him. Then she slapped him, hard, across the face. “She is not dead! What is seen in the spirit is not what is in the flesh. And you were near death and feverish! You have decided that she is dead, based upon the spirit-vision of a feverish mind?!” Windfoot’s hand was on his burning face, but he felt a sudden rush of hope. “Shae…” “What?!” “Thank you.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 9, 2005, 4:26pm Windfoot and Shaelandra stood on the edge of the camp. The wind danced around them, singing of chance and change, catching at their clothing and hair. Windfoot was wearing the simple garments she had provided from the general stores and had found a sturdy walking staff in the camp; his own belongings, including his guild communicator, forever lost at the front lines. The hope that Shaelandra has inspired in him remained. His journey ahead was not short, but there was nothing else that he could do but hold fast to the hope that Vezesara still lived, until such time as he was ready to face his inner demon. Having nursed him back to health, Shaelandra was returning to the front. She stood, tall and imposing in her battle garb, but she looked at him with caring. “Sure you’re alright?” “Do not worry about me, Shaelandra. You have helped me enough. Go now, make things right at the front.” Then, with a half-grin he added, “Slap some sense into the Alliance.” She grinned. “After my struggles with a certain unduly druid, it’ll seem easy.” Windfoot bowed to the druidess, conferring to her the respect and courtesy she deserved. “Should you ever need… anything…please do not hesitate to ask.” She nodded. Windfoot turned and started out. He felt her watching him leave and felt her unvoiced concerns regarding the questions he had not answered. He knew why nature could not heal him but could not speak of it. He needed to be alone, to think. After a few paces she spoke behind him, “Windfoot.” He turned. “Yes?” She paused a moment. Her eyes burned into him for a moment, but he felt nothing. After a moment’s silence she shook her head, “Give that vampy wench a slap on the behind for me, will you?” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 13, 2005, 8:09pm Windfoot traveled alone down the dirt-packed trail, heading towards the Barrens. The smell of tree and leaf surrounded him, and the wind whispered around his cloak, but the dry heat of the savage lands of the Orcs infected the light, and lightly pressed upon his face. The Barrens were not welcoming or safe, but they were the fastest way back to the Eastern Kingdom, and to his faint hope of finding the lady Vezesara alive. With luck and determination he might be back in the Halls of the Defenders of Valor within a fortnight. From there he could ask for news of his love, even acquire a new gnomish communicator and call out to her. A shadow passed over his eyes for a moment. Looking up into the light he saw, high above him, a bird of prey circling, seeking out its prey. “A fool’s hope,” he muttered, doubt creeping in at the edges of his mind. “Did you not see her skewered like a stuck pig? No, she is dead, and you killed her.” Windfoot tried to resist the nightmare image as it surfaced within his mind. He increased his pace and tried to simply focus on the path before him. Before too long, however, he found himself muttering again, “Why play the fool? Mooning over a dead elf? Are you not wiser than that?” Windfoot stopped, realizing what was happening. He closed his eyes and spoke to the Voice within. “Demon! Your power is great, but your attack is crude. By Elune, you shall not win. Begone!” Windfoot searched within himself for the dark taint, but it eluded him. He heard a mocking voice and realized that it was his own. Fear and dread slipped down his spine, but he refused to believe it. It was not his own, but rather was the weapon of his unseen enemy. “Begone from me!!” he shouted in the wilderness. A great rage coursed through him, giving him mastery over the power that beset him. He felt it flee from him back into its dark hiding place. For a moment he stood panting. He knew the rage too was dangerous, but he needed it to control the taint. After a moment, he continued on. Around mid-day the heat of the Barren became dominant, and the land began to shift from the verdant colours of the Elven land to the faded browns and yellows of the Orc plains. The path became rougher; more full of gravel. A watchtower and guards patrolled the border between Elf and and Orc lands, but Windfoot had slipped passed them before many times, when he and Ursa used to hunt in the Barrens for the thrill of it. Remembering those days brought with it a deep sense of loneliness and frailty for the elf Lord. Ursa was half of his soul, and now gone forever. He remembered her gruff voice, her wise and compassionate eyes, and a tear came unbidden into his eye. “Ursa!” he called out. “Where are you? What has he done to you?” Try as he might to resist it, deep wells of unshed tears rose up, blurring the landscape before him. His steps stuttered, then stopped. His hands shook, as he desperately tried to wipe away the tears. Then, unable to hold back the grief any longer, Windfoot fell to the ground and he wept openly, and the heart-wrenching words were ripped from him, “What have I done? Elune, what have I done?” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 14, 2005, 8:28pm He sat alone at twilight atop a bluff in the Barrens, the fading half-light of the long sunset coloring his face and the harsh wind of the barren plain lands fitfully tossing his hair. When Windfoot had begun his second life and a druid he had done more than embrace his elven name. He had foresworn his hunter’s abilities. He had lain to rest his mithril armor and the great sword ‘Aress’ within a vault in Darnassus and taken up a simple staff. For fifty season he had kept his vow, even in the face of the trolls of Zul’farruk, even in the face of the terrible lizards of the Un’goro Crater. He had made an oath to the druids of the Cenarion Circle, and had kept it. Until today. The truth was that Windfoot might be discovered at any moment and he could ill afford to be captured or worse. In his current state, cut off from the source of his powers by the lurking voice within, did not even know if he would be even able to draw upon the druidic powers of nature to defend himself were he discovered. Though he was skilled with the staff and more than a match for any wandering predator, an Orc hunting party was another matter entirely, especially if their blood was up. Windfoot had been forced to make careful progress. A few bands of Orcs and several solitary Tauren had come near his passage, but Windfoot had relied upon his old hunter’s talents and each time he had managed to sense their approach in time to find safety. He knew that Elune would understand his choice, and hoped that he would be able to atone for his actions. The bluff had presented itself as an opportunity to gain some vantage and to be able to watch for any night patrols. Windfoot gazed out, steely sparks playing in his eyes, and prepared himself for the trial he had set for himself. He needed to confront and overcome his tormentor before the corruption overtook him any further. And for that, he needed to learn of the enemy that he faced. For a long time Windfoot sat watching the arid plains, readying himself. Though many wondered why the Orcs, the second most powerful civilization in all of Azeroth, chose to live in such a barren wasteland, Windfoot gazed over the plains and saw a harsh beauty that might have captured the loyalty, even the love, of the Orcs. The lands raced off, unbroken by hill and tree; the tall grass waved lightly before him. One could run for days without pause and without sight of civilization. It was harsh, yes, to those who were careless, and not strong like a mountain or a great forest, but there was a deep strength in the flat lands. The strength of a land that survived against the odds. The wind barked at him, taunted him, and made him smile. He heard in its baiting the desire for him to rise to the challenge. “Thank you,” he whispered to it. Drawing on that strength, Windfoot closed his eyes and released his spirit. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 15, 2005, 4:25pm Windfoot stepped from his mortal shell and looked around him cautiously. He did not like what he saw. Already the taint was there, affecting all things. The ruddy glow of the setting sun throbbed and grew, casting its red taint upon the flatlands beneath him. The land looked parched and sore. The waving grass writhed as if begging for release. Looking down at his hands, Windfoot saw that his spirit-form was now red, and that the spirit wind caused crimson to bleed off from his shifting form. Were his nails longer? He concentrated and forced the hint of claws to retreat. Good. He was still in control. There was no telling where his foe was hiding. Windfoot did not know how much his thoughts and actions the demon knew. Perhaps he would simply stay hidden. Then again, perhaps he was watching him, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Windfoot focused a moment and summoned his staff into his hands. It shone white upon his red form and a green light spilled from its end, like a falling cloud of thick fog. Windfoot felt a surge of power come from his connection with the staff and smiled. The hand of Elune was still upon him. It was as if a hole had been pierced in the blood-soak blanket that had been placed over him, reconnecting him to the healing power of nature. The sweet nectar of that power was like spring water to his parched mouth. He felt that if he drew deeply upon it, he could cast back the taint and purify the lands before him. He could transform himself front the corrupted thing he had become into the elf that he once was: strong, commanding, and clean. Should he not do so? Should he not become master of the Dream again? Windfoot turned, realizing that the last two statements had been made by the voice behind him. A small fire was burning near to his seated body, and on the other side, veiled by the smoke, sat a dark figure. It was in the shape of an old elf, old even by Windfoot’s standards, who had lived for slightly more than six hundred seasons. His features shifted and changed, making it impossible to determine any recognizable features, but he exuded an aura of confidence and power that was unmistakable to Windfoot. Windfoot bowed formally, keeping his eyes on his enemy, and sat. The light from the spirit fire placed upon his face and hair and licked at the white and green light of his staff. His mind worked furiously, trying to learn anything he could. After a moment, the old elf spoke again. “Well? You have not answered me, Lord Windfoot.” The faintest hint of condescension touched his inflection as he conferred title to Windfoot. “Should you not do so? Should you not be master of this Dream?” “Yes. I should.” Windfoot responded. “Good. I am glad that you have some sense left. You have your staff. Why hesitate? Our enemy’s corruption increases with every moment. You must destroy it.” Then after a moment, “We must destroy it, Windfoot.” Windfoot gazed upon the elf a moment before speaking. “What is your name?” “That does not matter. I have been sent to help you cast out the demon taint… by Elune. So that you can purify this land again. You have fallen, yes. But you can atone, and make things right again, as they were in the days when you grew in strength and power.” “And how will you help me?” Windfoot asked. “It is I who gave you the staff of power in your hands, so that you can fight. The power in you is great. That is why you were chosen. I can unbind the shackles that are upon you, and let you reach out to Elune again.” Windfoot studied the elf intently as he spoke. The figure spoke quietly, almost like a whisper, with a deep and commanding voice, and as he spoke ever so often his eyes would flash red, like sparks. Windfoot was not fooled by his lies, but needed more time to see through the mask and divine the source. After a time of silence, Windfoot spoke again. “Spirit, I do not trust you. Not in this place. You must earn my trust. If you have the power that you claim, you should be able to prove it to me, and to prove that you are what you say you are.” Windfoot felt a surge of anger, and the fire sparked between them before being quickly suppressed. After a moment, the elf spoke quietly, “Very well. What must I do to earn you trust, good Lord?” Again that whisper of mockery which could not be completely disguised. “Show me where Ursa is.” The form across the fire appeared to blink as if surprised. Then he shook his head, “She is too far gone. She has been torn from this land and is no more. Our enemy did that to her.” It was Windfoot’s fear articulated. He reeled, but refused to believe it. “No! Her spirit lives still!” he bluffed. “I know that she is here. Find her!” Again the fire flashed. This time flames burst forth, obscuring the form in front of him entirely. “You dare command me? Here?” cursed the spirit. Great black wings spread out on the far side of the fire, towering above his seated form. Windfoot rose to his feet. “Show yourself!” he commanded. “Are you so afraid of me that you hide behind the fire?” “You would see Ursa?” spoke the dark voice. “Go to her then!” The fire leapt towards him, cruel dark eyes opened within the flames and burning claws reached out to him with malice. Before it could strike, however, Windfoot drew upon the power of the staff in his hands and with a crack, a great pillar of lightning struck the fiery form, destroying it. Another rose up before him, and he channeled again to destroy it. Then, sweeping his staff mightily, he struck the logs of the fire with force and scattered them across the bluff. The fire went out. A great cloud of smoke rose up before him, blinding him. A moment later he was alone on top of the hill. The sun had set and he was in darkness. There was no sign of elf or fire. Windfoot stood for a moment, regaining control. Then he slipped back into his mortal form. Hopefully, he would not dream tonight. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 17, 2005, 8:18pm All things partook of the Great Dream. Living and unliving; past, present and future. Dreams as most understood them were uncontrolled glimpses of the essence of all things, as the spirit of the dreamer traveled, replenished itself and ordered its affairs. Such was the nature of the Great Dream, and such was the order granted to all things by Elune. To glimpse such spirits in their quiet tasks was difficult and to interfere with them was neigh impossible, and hazardous, for they traveled with the force of the very fabric of the cosmos. Not that the forces of chaos did not always strive for precisely such effect; attempting to unravel the order of all things. Such was the balance of existence. Dream-walking, in comparison was infinitely slow and weak. Even with Windfoot’s great mastery of the Dream, he was safer from the machinations of the Voice when his spirit traveled unfettered from his control than when he was in command of his travels. That night, Windfoot released all control and slept quiet, letting his essence find its own way. Windfoot dreamt, but did not know his dreams until waking. In the middle of the night Windfoot woke to the sense that he was not alone. As he sat up and stared into the darkness the echo of his dreams came back to him. The jumble of images came back to him with emotional force, but cryptic meaning: a wisp dancing over a pool of water, the moon reflected in its rippled surface; two great feline eyes staring out of the darkness; the rush of the hunt through tall grasses and warm blood on his lips; an old elf sleeping in the moonlight. He reached for his staff surreptitiously, and sniffed the air. Whatever it was was upwind of him; the mark of a predator. Then, in the way of dreams, it suddenly resolved in his mind like the pieces of puzzle clicking into place. “Adumbro?” he whispered. On hearing his voice, out of the darkness emerged two familiar haughty eyes and then the powerful face of his feline companion and mount. The light of the moon shone down upon the great cat, coating his jet-black hair in silver. Adumbro was all muscle and sinew, capable of running for days without complaint, and uncompromising in attitude. He respected few, and trusted no one but Windfoot to ride him. Adumbro moved stealthily forward on his great black paws, and approached the seated elf. Then, without a word, he simply lay down with his back touching Windfoot, as if entirely indifferent, as if they had not been separated for weeks. Windfoot smiled at his long-time friend and ran his hand softly along the great cat’s bristly hair. Adumbro’s harness had somewhere been lost, and as he passed his hand over Adumbro’s lying form Windfoot felt several deep gashes still healing. Adumbro stiffened and growled menacingly, clearly in pain. Windfoot stopped his hand and his heart went out to his companion. “We’ve both seen better day, old friend,” he murmured. Not two weeks prior it would have been the simplest matter for Windfoot to heal Adumbro’s wounds. Now, he was not sure if he would help or harm his friend if he reached out to channel energy through himself. Was the Voice watching? Waiting to corrupt his powers? A wave of anger well up inside him at the curse which had befallen him. Sitting in the darkness, afraid to heal the simplest of wounds, Windfoot swore to himself that he would find the corruption within himself, and then see it banished and destroyed. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 19, 2005, 12:09am Windfoot woke to the pale light of dawn and the sudden chill of Abumbro rising and slinking off to find food. The body heat from the great cat had been a great comfort and its loss, and the simultaneous loss of the shelter from the light, brought him from his restful sleep abruptly. He did not complain, however, but simply rose and watched the cat’s retreating form with a smile. A faint glimmer of hope rekindled inside of him at the simple gift of his companion’s presence. Taking up his staff, the druid set off down the grassy slope, and headed out across the plains. The air was crisp and cold, but he knew that soon the heat of the sun would descend upon him. Elves can set and keep a league-devouring light run, and Windfoot was an old hunter and accustomed to long-distance travel. Nevertheless, he set a hard pace even for himself to take the greatest advantage of the morning hours. He also remained alert to any approaching predator or hunting party. By mid-day he had covered many leagues, and was ready for a rest. The sun was beginning to beat down heavily, making his breath rasp in his throat, and he felt the heat beginning to be trapped in his muscles. The long prairie grasses were giving way to more hard earth and dusty ground as he moved southwards. Windfoot stopped to rest at a small gravel-stoned stream, drank and refilled his water pouch. The water was clear, pure and cold, holding on to the night’s coldness still, and quenched his thirst well. A large boulder stood curiously alone nearby, almost like a waypoint, and Windfoot slipped into its shade to eat a few bites of elven bread before traveling on. As he sat eating, Adumbro appeared nearby and proceeded to drink deeply from the stream before lounging over to his side. As Adumbro settled beside him, Windfoot looked for the wounds he had felt the night before. “Alright, my friend,” he murmured, “Let’s see those scars.” Windfoot did not like what he saw. Numerous gashes ran along the beast’s back and down his sides; some of them deep cuts to the bone. Adumbro had apparently rolled in mud, perhaps to cover the injuries. Infection appeared to have set in, and a white puss matted his fur in a few places. Flies crawled in and out of the open wounds. “Elune! What happened to you, Adumbro?” he asked. Adumbro lay still and looked away, choosing to ignore him. “These wounds wont heal on their own; they are too deep. You are lucky to be alive.” Adumbro shrugged listfully, as if to say, “luck had nothing to do with it.” “I disagree” Windfoot countered. “You may have escaped the front on your own power but you are lucky that the infection is not worse. You need to wash regularly, and poutice, and bandages.” Adumbro looked at him then. Turning his great head, with his deep-set and penetrating eyes, he looked at Windfoot searchingly. Windfoot understood. Adumbro was too proud to ask to be healed. “My friend, you know that you do not have to ask for my healing touch. I would have given it already if it were that simple. But…it is not. I have become like a tainted-one, and I do not know what I will do if I try to heal you.” Windfoot deliberately used the animal word that meant “rabid” to describe his corruption. It was not a word one used lightly, as virtually all pack animals enforced execution or abandonment upon the tainted. For a long time Adumbro gazed at him with those harsh, calculating eyes, panting lightly. Then, without a word, he got up, walked over to the stream and lay down in the water. Adumbro hated to be immersed in water, and Windfoot heard the unspoken promise of solidarity. Rising, he went to his friend and began to lightly bathe him. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 20, 2005, 9:14pm Adumbro was not happy to have his wounds attended to and had to be coaxed back the stream several times before his wounds were cleared of debris. Foraging about, Windfoot found a few herbs growing near to the stream that could be used to aid in the healing process and did his best to make a poultice. He had no bandages. Finally, he let Adumbro out of the water, saying, “There is not much more I can do for you.” He hoped it was enough. Returning to his pack and staff, he suddenly felt Adumbro stiffen and heard the rough guttural sounds of Orcish conversation approaching from the other side of the great stone. He had been so wrapped up in his concern for Adumbro that he had stopped scanning for the enemy! Now they were practically upon him. An unspoken command from druid to beast and Adumbro raced away on silent feet. He was in no condition to defend himself from predators. As the enemy rounded the stone’s surface, Windfoot slid silently around to the other side, keeping the stone between them. Melding with the form of the stone, Windfoot surreptitiously kept an eye on the trio. There were three of them. The first two were rough-looking Orcs, all sinewy muscle and hard unflinching features. Both were dressed in traveling leather and both carried cruel curved blades at their sides, glinting in the sun. They carried themselves with the familiarity of brothers. With them was a towering Tauren warrior, a moving mountain of chain and steel. The brothers appeared to be arguing about something. Windfoot did not understand their words. However, given the gestures of the more agitated of the two, it clearly had something to do with directions. “Perhaps they had lost their way,” he thought. The great Orc city of Ogrimarr was about a day’s journey to the northeast, and in the same direction of the Orc’s gestures. The other snarled back what appeared to be various curses, disagreeing. The Tauren bull silently filled his leather water-carrier from the stream, evidently attempting to ignore them both. As he stood silently watching he felt a stirring within him and, with a sickening feeling of dread, he heard the whisper of the Voice. “Still so cowardly, ‘Lord’ Elf? Surely you are not afraid of that rabble? Orcs who cannot find their way to Ogrimarr?” Windfoot resisted the temptation that crept along his skin to slip from the shadows. “Come, come,” the Voice continued. “They are no match for us!” “There is no us,” he silently responded. “And I will never fight for you.” There was a pause. Then the Voice began again, “Remember what Orcs did to your family? Avenge them!” Windfoot felt a jolt of surprise. The memories of his family were locked far back in the past. But no more. As he stood, the knuckles on his hand growing white from the exertion of restraining the power of the Voice within, images were forced into his conscious mind. Childhood images of savage twisted monsters coming to the den to attack and kill Ursa’s family – their family – with axe, spear and fire. Their older brothers and sisters were trying to fight the monsters, and were being slaughtered. The den mother could not fend them off. Ursa and he were hiding behind her in the dark of the cave and she turned and screamed in terror, “Run!” at him and Ursa. They ran, tears or fear and panic staining their cheeks… Windfoot could not endure it any longer. He felt a rage surging up within him and wrestled for command, without avail. Too late he realized he was no longer hidden and that the Orcs were upon him, their cruel blades flashing towards his throat. With a great rush of power and instinct he felt himself transforming into a great bear; greater in stature than he had ever been before. His skin was strained crimson. A great roar bellowed out and his massive red claw ripped into his attacker, tearing him apart. Blood spattered his face; he did not know if it was his own or the Orc’s, and Orc fell still. The scent of blood sent paroxysms of rage and power through his body, and further unraveled his conscious control. The Tauren was suddenly upon him, his massive axe cutting a great gash into Windfoot’s side. The pain was excruciating and forced his control to slip even further. Windfoot felt that familiar cruel laugher racing through him as he turned to his attacker and mauled him. The Tauren was massive and covered in plate armor but Windfoot tossed the bull into the stone beside them as if he were nothing. The Tauren buckled and fell, gasping for air. Suddenly the second brother appeared as if from nowhere, and Windfoot felt the sting of his blades as they lodged themselves deep within his back. He was all instinct now, no conscious control was left as he rose up on his hind legs and screamed at the pain. Then, with impossible speed he turned and grabbed his attacked by the face. He watched in horror as his long black claws sank into his attacker’s head then hurled the Orc against the ground as he smashed his whole weight down upon the Orc’s face, crushing his skull. The Orc lay twitching and gurgling as a pool of blood, bone and brain spread upon the ground. The terrible laughter continued to dance through his mind, and Windfoot realized that it was erupting from him as he fought. With a terrible effort, he wrestled back control of himself. The Tauren was struggling to rise and face him. Windfoot heard the Voice commanding him to kill but he screamed out “No!” and stood panting before the bull, unmoving. The Tauren reached for his axe and readied himself to die fighting. Great gasps of air blew from his nostrils as he stood panting before Windfoot, waiting for death. Windfoot’s blood rippled with energy and power, and his skin itched to shed more blood as he fought his inner demon. As if through a cloud of smoke, he looked out at the Tauren before him and saw a noble warrior preparing to die before an impossibly powerful foe. Through clenched teeth he managed “Go!… Run!” For a moment the Tauren hesitated, then he back off slowly and left him alone with the dead. For a moment there was utter silence. Then, “You have only felt the faintest touch of my power, elf,” said the Voice. “Demon, I will destroy you for what you have done.” The cruel laughter erupted from his lips again.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:19:21 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 22, 2005, 8:21pm
Reaching behind him, Windfoot set his mind against the pain and yanked the long knives out of his back. The metal slid out with a sickening wet sound. The pain was excruciating and he bellowed in agony, but managed to rip them free before collapsing. His head was spinning and he felt bile in his mouth as he lay on the hard earth gasping for air in the dry midday Barrens sun. Windfoot felt his blood pumping out, streaming down on either side of his back from the open wounds.
Within himself, Windfoot heard the Voice whispering to him to heal himself. He felt a ripple of power wash through his veins and he knew that he had only to unleash this power to bind his deep wounds. Still, he resisted it.
“Begone from me,” he hissed. “Your power is foul and I will not use it!” Then, closing his eyes he breathed deeply and released his spirit.
Standing out of himself he gazed in horror at the beast into which he had transformed. A great red beast lay on the ground, twice the size of a dire bear, with mottled skin stained scarlet. His monstrous paws were more like misshapen hands, with long dexterous fingers, and six inches of black bloodstained claws extended from his nails. Upon his head were two small horns that seemed to be forcing their way out of his skin violently. Windfoot’s spirit form pulsed red in time to the blood that pumped from the wounds in his mortal form. All about him, the Barrens were transformed into a wasteland. The ground was parched and cracked, and red soil swirled around his feet as dust within the spirit wind.
Atop the stone beside him was a raven, its black feathers darker than the pitch of night, with its head turned aside, looking down upon him with inscrutable eyes. It’s cruel curved beak made it appear as if it were smiling. Windfoot narrowed his eyes and summoned his staff. Its white light stung his eyes, and burned his hands, but Windfoot held on to it relentlessly. Surprised, the raven hopped back a few steps. Then gathering itself, it spoke, “I’m impressed. You have more power than I thought. Good.”
Windfoot spirit reviled against the staff in his hands, but he did not release it. “What do you want from me?”
The bird cackled. “Nothing. Everything. It does not matter. Plenty of time to decide that later.”
“Later?”
“After you are properly trained, of course.”
Windfoot stood, desperately holding onto the staff in his hands. Though it burned him, he was sure that its fire held the power to burn away the taint within him. “Who are you?”
The raven considered him for a moment, then said, “You will call me Dread Lord.”
Windfoot did not respond but simply stared at his tormentor, holding his rage in check.
Without warning, the raven raised one wing at him and commanded, “Drop the staff!” Windfoot felt the heat upon his hands released and looked down to see his hands opening. The staff teetered in his open palms. Focusing, he regained control and closed his hands. The burning increased and helped to clear his mind.
“Drop the staff!” the bird commanded, its voice shrill and cutting. Now, however, Windfoot was in control. He stood staring at the enemy and a cruel smile played upon his lips.
The raven blinked and turned its head. Drawing on the power in the staff, Windfoot felt a fire run through him as if his blood were boiling. He screamed but held on. Then, drawing on the white heat he channeled its burning light down upon the creature before him. There was a crack and a blinding light and the raven screeched out in pain. It jumped from the stone and flew at him, clawing at his eyes. Then, with a curse, it flew up and disappeared.
Windfoot felt the evil presence fleeing and knew that he could give chase, but he could not hold onto the staff any longer. He released it and it faded, as if blown away in the wind. Exhausted, he fell back into his body and opened his eyes.
The beast-form was gone and he was an elf again. Adumbro had returned and was watching him warily. “I am myself. He is gone…for now,” he whispered.
Blood still pumped slowly from his sides, and he felt very weak, but the wounds were not mortal. He had the healing herbs he had gathered for Adumbro in his pack, and he could treat himself.
There was nothing to do but leave the dead and move on, and soon. He would not want to be lying wounded near the stone if the Tauren returned with reinforcements seeking revenge. Windfoot struggled to his feet and scanned the horizon. Looking up he saw that the grey surface of the boulder was now charred black as if struck by lightning. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by windfoot on Oct 23, 2005, 8:36pm
((I think that is the end of chapter two. How am I doing? Any comments about what you liked best? Least? I have some ideas about where I am going *grin*. Do you have any ideas of where you'd like the story to go? Comments/criticism are welcome. And thanks for reading!)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by merlinne on Oct 24, 2005, 8:34am
((Its a wonderful story! But you need to write faster. I'm eager to learn how it ends! )) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Chapter 2 Post by Vezesara01 on Oct 28, 2005, 5:54pm
*grins* ((hmmm I wonder where it will go))
Vez
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:20:15 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1131241463 Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 5, 2005, 7:44pm SUMMARY OF THE STORY SO FAR: Chapter 1: Windfoot has an unspoken passion for the lady Vezesara. Their romance ends when he goes off to war. Chapter 2: Windfoot violates Vezesara's spirit in the spirit realm (you have to read this to understand!). During that moment, a dark taint (the "Voice") enters him. This evil begins to corrupt him. For a detailed drawing of Windfoot's suite, see here: housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=creative&thread=1132288787************** Windfoot sat up in the dark, the pale light of the moon cast across his skin in the large oaken bed of the Defenders Halls, staring at his scarred hands. A reddish band ran across both of his palms, as if burned by fire. The scars only appeared at night. Windfoot had never felt entirely at home in the guildmaster’s suite within the Defenders Halls. Not that the human craftsmanship was not of the highest quality and impeccably maintained. Dark wood paneling lined the rooms, the vaulted ceilings were embossed with ornate coving and intricate designs, and sturdy wooden furniture stood polished to a deep luster in every room. There was no dust to be found on any surface, and a warm hearth burned brightly every night in each room. The master bedroom was four times the size anyone could reasonably need, with large deep-set windows facing out to the front courtyard of the Halls and double stain-glassed doors leading out into an inner balcony looking over the main entrance foyer. Windfoot had brought some of his own furniture and effects with him of course, and had had Darnassian rugs brought in for the rooms. Still, despite every comfort, he did not rest comfortably within the quarters. They were expected of him as guildmaster, and he had accepted them, but there were times when they felt to him like a coffin. Human construction was solid and functional, and could even have a certain rough beauty, but it could not sing. It was ripped of life. Humans did not know better. They could not hear the songs of the living trees. Windfoot slept with the windows open, so that the sound of the living trees and the playful laughter of the wind could be heard. It helped somewhat, but not enough. The Voice came to him whenever he was weak, corrupting him, taunting him, breaking his spirit. Windfoot no longer entered the Dream. The darkness there was too great, and he was afraid that next time he would not be able to face down the darkness within him. It was fortunate that the guildmaster’s suite was far from any other chambers, for he often woke up certain that he had been crying out or talking in his sleep. During the day he kept to his study or took long walks alone, and struggled to decide what to do next. He still did not know the source of his corruption or how to fight it. He needed counsel. But to whom could he speak? The Defenders looked to him for strength and leadership. What would they say if they knew the truth; that their High Lord was locked in an inner battle for his very spirit with a demonic force, and he was losing? His hands throbbed. Some wounds could not be healed. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 6, 2005, 8:11pm It had been a week since his nightmare return to the Halls. He had arrived under the cover of night, so that he might avoid the inevitable scrutinizing eyes of his compatriots. Nevertheless, somehow Johnson, the ubiquitous housemaster, had known of his arrival and had met him in the main entrance hall, all bowing solicitude. Windfoot had fairly snapped at the man in his desire to pass unnoticed. He felt a fever heat and his eyes glazed as Johnson bent slightly to him, muttered a deferential “of course,” and whisked away. Curse the man! Was that condescention in his tone? Windfoot had stumbled up the stairs to his suite, barely able to keep on his feet. He was not sure, but he suspected that he was raving again. He was not even sure what it was that he said. Suddenly it all struck him as terrible funny. Him, the guildmaster of the Defenders, sneaking in like a common thief! A sharp barked laugh broke from him. He looked around quickly to see if anyone overheard. No; he was alone. As he opened the door to his bedchamber he heard running feet on the stairs behind him, and whipped around to face his attackers. Red flashed from his eyes and a heat erupted within him as he brought his staff before him. A growl escaped his curled lips. A moment later two night-gowned servants appeared and cowered before him. He knew them well. Cheslia and Shani. Both in their late teens, very capable, and though prone to gossip, fundamentally decent. Windfoot knew they shared a room nearby. “Fool!” he cursed. Forcing his hands down, he waved them away. They stood for a moment, caught between the commands of the housemaster and his command. With quaking lip, one spoke up, “You room is cold, sire. We have come to set the hearth.” She curtseyed. ‘Pathetic servant, why was it not kept ready?’ He thought. No. That was not him; it was the Voice. He hoped that it had not spoken through him. The two girls stood quaking before him. “I am not cold and do not wish a fire. Please, go back to bed.” His tone brooked no argument, and they quickly left him. Windfoot stumbled into his chambers. He should have been cold, but he was burning up. Throwing open all the windows, he fell down upon the bed. Darkness. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Vangelis on Nov 8, 2005, 3:39pm Rap. Rap. Rap. Vangelis looked up from his book and over at the gnomish timepiece on the bedside table. 2330 hours. How did the time get away from me? You'll pay for this tomorrow, farmer. And who on earth would want to speak with me at this hour? "One moment." Sighing, Vangelis swung his feet out from under the bedcovers, padded over to the closet and shrugged on a housecoat. The stone floor of the Lord of Ensign's chamber seemed unreasonably cold on his bare feet after the snugness of the bed. This had better be good. "What can I do for... Johnson?" For it was the housemaster, standing smartly outside his door. Like Vangelis, Johnson was attired as if for bed. Unlike Vangelis, even in his bedclothes Johnson managed to appear ready to entertain royalty. Suddenly sheepish, Vangelis found himself absently attempting to straighten out his housecoat as he attempted to marshal his thoughts into something coherent. "I'm sorry, Johnson, I was just about to turn in." Why are you apologizing? "What is it?" "Lord Vangelis," announced the housemaster, "High Lord D'ana'no has returned from his travels." Johnson bowed and turned to leave. "Um... thank you." Suddenly annoyed at Johnson's poker-straight back, Vangelis added, "couldn't this have waited until breakfast?" Johnson stopped and turned, bowing again. "But my Lord wished to know the ... instant ... the High Lord returned, sir." "Did he? I mean, did I?" responded Vangelis in confusion, as Johnson marched around a corner and out of sight. Well, I did make a joke about that a few days back, but he must have known I was joking... mustn't he? I'll have to watch those little jokes of mine - I probably give the wrong impression at least half the time. Even so it was nice to know that Windfoot had returned from his travels. Vangelis needed to get up early and check in on the farm in the morning, but Windfoot tended to keep early morning meditations. It was possible he could catch up with his old friend first thing in the morning. Which means I need to get some sleep. No more putting it off. Returning his housecoat to its peg, and tucking the book under the bedside table, Vangelis turned out the lantern and dropped off immediately. The next thing Vangelis knew he was groaning and swatting at the timepiece as it sounded its morning alarm. Vangelis stumbled out of bed and managed to pull on his coveralls without waking up entirely. Why did I do that last night?, he inquired of himself - as usual - and comforted himself with the thought of a morning brew. One thing about Johnson that couldn't be denied: he made a darn good pot of coffee, and it was always ready first thing in the morning. Thus it was that, mug in hand and slightly more awake, Vangelis soon found himself standing outside the guildmaster's quarters. Odd... normally he'd be down from his bedchamber by now. And why is the door open? Surely he hasn't gone out already? "Windfoot?" Pushing the door gently inward, Vangelis peered into the foyer. It was unlit, but for the lightening sky visible through the wide-open windows. It was cold; there wasn't even the hint of a fire in the grate. Windfoot's traveling cloak was sprawled haphazardly at the bottom of the stairs. "My Lord?" Vangelis stepped further into the guildmaster's quarters, only to stop short at a noise from upstairs in the bedchamber. He had never heard anything like it: part growl, part groan, neither animal nor humanoid, but both... and something else. Instantly alert, Vangelis grabbed the nearest excuse for a weapon - a fireplace poker - and quietly stole up the stairs. A few more seconds would not make much difference to whatever had happened, or was happening, to Windfoot: but surprise could make all the difference in a confrontation with an unknown assailant. Peeking cautiously through the stained-glass doors into Windfoot's bedchamber, Vangelis saw... nothing other than Windfoot sprawled in his bed. Well, on the bed more than in it; the covers were strewn on the floor, as were most of Windfoot's traveling leathers. Another ghastly moan startled Vangelis, until he realized that it was coming from Windfoot himself. Vangelis relaxed slightly, the poker in his hand forgotten. I suppose druids can have bad dreams like the rest of us, he thought. A bearish nightmare? Still, he needs to get up, and from the looks of it I doubt he'll regret missing the conclusion of this particular dream. Vangelis stepped through the doorway into the room, intending to throw open a few shutters to the morning, only to be greeted by a gust of chill wind. How can he sleep without clothes or covers in this bloody cold weather?, Vangelis thought, but all he said was, "Good morning, Lord Windfoot. I was just heading out to the farm, but hoped to catch you before I left. How were your travels?" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 9, 2005, 10:19pm The Dreams were worse. Windfoot yearned for rest but it would no longer come. He was not Dream-walking, but still he was not safe. Somehow, the corruption was spreading. His body pulsed with a visceral heat and he tossed in the great oaken bed as his spirit stumbled through a barren landscape of devastation and death. Images flashed into his mind; terrible nightmarish images, full of emotional power. He refused to keep them out, for that would take him into the Dream in a way that would bring the raven, or the old man, or a hundred other shapes; always testing him, seeking out his weaknesses. The scenes would shift and move, carrying him along like a leaf in a racing stream then suddenly slowing and crystallizing before him like ice. And whenever the racing stopped he would feel the presence of his enemy, seeking him out. Into the silence of the crystallized moment would come a rustling, like mice or feathers, and somewhere nearby he would hear the hideous Voice endlessly muttering, cursing, and taunting him. Sometimes it was before him and he was pursuing it; other times he was the hunted, bloodied and battered. He could not remember the battles any more. He was at war within himself, under siege; the war was endless, and hopeless. A light shone upon his face and he sensed rather than saw that the day had come again. He felt his spirit slowing, coming to rest within his mortal form again. These were the most dangerous times. His enemy would come; come to break him down at last. He needed to wake, but it was not so easy. His body felt like lead; his eyes would not open. Windfoot found himself lying on the edge of the Gurubachi Arena, the hard-packed sand upon his back. A cold wind blew upon him, sharpening his senses. He sat up and looked around. Tyron the hunter stood in the middle of the arena, watching him. A challenging whisper came to his ear, “My Lord…I will not follow you unless you prove yourself worthy.” Windfoot remembered. This day was many seasons ago, back before he took up the path of a druid, and long before he accepted his duty as guildmaster. Yesterday he had been Warden; today he had been proclaimed Lord High Counselor of the House of the Beast. Tyron was a member of the guild, though often silent and distant. Like many hunters he kept to himself and hunter far and often. He was one with the beasts, and would not follow someone weaker than himself. Windfoot understood. He too respected the ways of the beasts. He stood and began to walk towards Tyron, unsheathing Aress from its scabbard. The blade was light and quick and it laughed in his hands, lusting for blood. He would accept this hunter's challenge and earn this hunter’s trust. he would prove himself worthy of the title Lord of the Beasts. “Are you sure that this is what you want?” he asked. Tyron’s forms blurred and shifted as the Dream coalesced around him. Soon, very soon, he would be able to take complete control and wake. Windfoot listened for the sound of his enemy, but heard nothing. Just the wind blowing across the sand. Tyron had drawn his own weapon and was swaying before him, getting ready for the dance of death. Tyron mouth did not move, but Windfoot heard his voice taunting him, mocking him, "Lord Windfoot, I have traveled far, and battled many. I do hope your long blade can catch me..." A low chuckle escaped Windfoot’s mouth, and he whispered, “I’ll teach you a lesson about speed by friend." The sound of the wind grew louder, but he ignored it. A dark rage overcame him and with an wild cry of, “You shall bow to me!” he launched himself against his foe. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by kashye on Nov 10, 2005, 6:34pm "I knew I shouldn't have taken that last set of stairs" Kashye grumbled to herself. She was late to the practice field and had been trying to find her way from her room to the library to return a book that Lord Grayson had insisted that she read. As usual of late, she had gotten hopelessly lost. She was too unused to the vastness of the guildhall. It overwhelmed her. After all, before she had come to Stormwind a few weeks before, the largest building that she had ever seen was the Abbey. With an annoyed growl, she turned, intending to retrace her steps. A cry, that shattered the quiet of the half lit halls, stopped her cold. The hair on her neck stood on end. She knew a battle cry when she heard one. Within a heartbeat, she launched herself toward the sound. There was an open door just down the corridor. Four strides and she turned to look into the room, the comforting leather wrapped pommel of her blade in her hands before she realized that she had drawn it. Who's rooms are these?, she tried to remember, and heard another shout from the stairs across the room. That was all it took to send her across the foyer and up the stairs. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Vezesara01 on Nov 14, 2005, 2:30pm The sun was soon to come up over the horizon when Vezesara's Carriage stopped in front of the Defenders's Guild Hall, Malory assisted Vezesara down and then into the main Foyer. Mallory then excused himself and a very tired and a little tipsy Vezesara bgan the trek through the halls to her room. It was very late and the Halls for the most part were ghostly quiet. Vezesara made her way up towards her room, ascending the rich and beautifuly crafted stairways wich would eventually lead to Vezesara's room. Upon reaching the top of the stairs Vezesara noticed that it was dimly lit as usual, but could hear some comotion, not wanting to disturb anyone and feeling a bit tired, she stepped into the shadows and quietly walked towards her room. Vezesara opened her door to find her sister comfortably sleeping in her bed, Vezesara changed into her nightgown and washed up abit before climbing into bed. Vezesara lit a candle and began writing in her journal of the days activitities when she heard a loud cry...or scream possibly coming from Windy's suite. Vezesara thought to herself of her relation with Windy and sank her head deeper into her pillow, thus pondering that the inevitable was on the way... feeling always abit uncomfortable with the Emerald Dream and Windy's actions, she wondered if some part of her Blood Relation to the Nathrazim Demon had possibly infiltrated him in some way...hopefuly not she thinks.... maybe he has been so distant to me becuase of something else...Vezesara ponders on many scenarios running through her now dizzy mind. Vezesara thought of the darkness within herself.... her lust for battle and blood...and yet her eccentric and kind side, of being thoughtful, giving and hopefully pleasant and courteous to those arround her.... Vezesara then mumbles some words to Tezrasara who has taken over control of the covers. Vezesara's head spins and sways as she thinks of all the wine and mead she had with her friends Shaelandra, Vajraven, Akiri and Aidra.... This night had made her think way too much and her head was still spinning.... she thought it best to consult her Coven the next day, to give her advice on relationships... Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Vangelis on Nov 16, 2005, 11:47am Windfoot's sudden stillness was almost more disturbing than the moans. Then, a low chuckle from his sleeping form. Still dreaming. Vangelis shrugged and turned to close the window. "I'll teach you a lesson about speed, my friend." The sudden clarity made Vangelis turn back to the guildmaster. Windfoot was standing atop his bed, eyes closed, a twisted smile contorting his normally serene features. "My Lord Windfoot?" Windfoot stepped forward into a battle stance, his hands before him as if clutching a large weapon. "Lord?" His eyes opened, unfocused. Red flecks danced across them. There was a rumbling noise and the unmistakeable smell of brimstone as Windfoot's hands smouldered and burst into a dark fire. The conflagration rose out of his hands like smoke, coalesced into solid form, and burst into flame. Windfoot's face was contorted in fury. Smoke leaked from the corners of his mouth. Vangelis raised his poker instinctively as Windfoot leveled seven feet of flaming demonic greatsword at him. "YOU SHALL BOW TO ME!" Vangelis instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, his mind momentarily unable to comprehend what was happening. Windfoot's first blow would have killed him on the spot, but when stepping off the bed he was momentarily off-balance, which gave Vangelis the chance to deflect the blow. Think, Farmer, think! First things first - stay alive. The poker was at least sturdy, if slow. What he really needed was a shield... and then he saw it: a mithril tray, by the bedside. These trays seemed to have appeared with Johnson; they had hand-straps underneath so as to be carried both elegantly and securely. Vangelis feinted, and Windfoot bit: seven feet of death whistled to intercept him, but he had leapt in the opposite direction, rolled across the bed and grabbed the tray, scattering its contents onto the floor. Strapping it onto his hand, he frowned at it: it was a lot thinner than it had looked. Maybe good for two, three blocks, but his hand would certainly be broken soon. Better a hand than a neck, farmer. Windfoot had recovered impossibly quickly, and was now hammering Vangelis with blow after blow. Vangelis defended as well as he could, but the blows that would normally have been deflected by his armour were scoring. At least one finger on his left hand was definitely broken already. Where's the bloody healer? Oh, right... Bleeding and burnt, his farming coveralls ripped and blackened, Vangelis stumbled and fell backward through the open doorway onto the balcony, startling a pretty young woman he did not recognize. Another new employee of Johnson's? And what did she think she was doing with that sword in her hand? A healer! Vangelis' addled wits clarified around this one thought, as he rolled to avoid another blow. "Run! Get... healer! Get Polrena!" Vangelis panted at the new arrival. He came out of his roll and lunged in one movement, momentarily driving Windfoot back with a sharp poker-jab to the leg. "And... others!" he added, as he felt his strength failing. "Can't do this... myself!" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by kashye on Nov 16, 2005, 5:06pm More shouting and the sounds of a definite battle from the top of the stairs. Her heart was pounding against her chest. Kashye had barely taken a full stride up the stairs when instinct caused her to move, side stepping to avoid the hulk of a man stumbling backward out of the doorway, armed with a fire poker and... serving tray? He was haggard and bleeding from several places. He certainly wasn't dressed for battle. The smell of burnt hair and flesh and sulfur burned her nose. It took a moment for recognition to dawn on her, "Lord Vange..?" Her voice died in her throat. Vangelis shoved the poker into the leg of a twisted demonic creature that looked disturbingly like Lord Windfoot, who was doing his best to skewer the House of Ensign Lord with a flaming two-handed sword. "Run! Get... healer! Get Polrena!" He came out of his roll and lunged in one movement, momentarily driving the demon back with a sharp poker-jab to the leg. "And... others! Can't do this... myself!" Kashye hesitated only a breath before launching herself toward the open doorway, bellowing at the top of her lungs. "Defenders! To arms! Intruder in the upper hall!" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Doc Caspin on Nov 16, 2005, 5:09pm "Back..forth..swing." Caspin chanted. Caspin's left arm was getting stronger..the new dagger he'd obtained was perfectly balanced, and sang like a dream as it cut through the air. His morning ritual was nearly complete. Strapping his mace and dagger to his weapon belt, Caspin began to make his morning jog around the Defender Compound. He grinned. Caspin hadn't felt this good in several years, and his normally pragmatic, often cynical demeanor was starting to rub off as a result. On one end, it irritated Caspin to no end - catching himself dreaming or even being optimistic - but on the other hand it made him glad. It reminded him of the days of Silverpine..before it all had started. Circling around the Guildmaster's Suite, a smell assaulted his nostrils. "..Brimstone? A fire?" Caspin muttered, and his eyes darted up to the windows. Sure enough, a faint trail of light smoke was just barely detectable - likely unnoticeable to the untrained eye. A voice could be heard fainly from the ground. "YOU SHALL BOW TO ME!" "Lord Windfoot..." and he was gone. The stone walls made for rough climbing, but sufficient training by SI:7 had given him the means. Caspin quickly scaled the wall and hurled himself into one of the open windows of the bedroom. "If anyone hurts him.." Caspin thought, rolling into his defensive position as he landed, weapons drawn. What he saw was not quite what he expected. Vangelis was entirely focused on survival from the blows of his friend, and Caspin's Guildmaster. "The man's out of his gourd," Caspin said, almost stunned and perplexed as to what he should do. He quickly shook his head and dropped his weapons, reaching for his blackjack. "Gotta make this count, Mordain..gotta make it count.." The rogue quickly leapt into the shadow and approached The High Lord with all haste, hoping to put a quick end to what could only be perceived as madness. The circumstances left Caspin's mind - and it simply became a target. This was all business now. Sap the offender. "I'm coming, Lord Vangelis.." Caspin whispered. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 16, 2005, 5:57pm Windfoot fought with an unnatural fury as the wind howled around him. The roaring consumed him; fed his desire to prove himself lord and master over his enemy. A deep hatred pulsed within him, making his strikes stronger, more deadly. The whispered thought slipped into his mind, ‘why simply best him? Kill him for his insolence is questioning our supremacy...’ Too late Windfoot realized he had been tricked. Hiding within the wind was the cracking sounds of a fire racing and howling, and within the fire, the Voice. His enemy had found him, and slipped into the dream within the cover of the wind. With a panted curse at himself, “Fool!” Windfoot tried to tear himself from the Dream, in vain. His enemy stabbed at him, forcing him to raise the terrible blade into which Aress had been transformed. A dark red glow swelled out from within the blade itself as if it were burning inside of the steel. Around him, the sand of the arena writhed, and smoke rose up around him. Unnatural musky shapes twisted and distorted within the smoke, surrounding him, waiting for a chance to attack, and the deep familiar laughter of the Voice echoed within him. Before him, Tyron’s shape twisted and transformed. As he watched in horror, the elf broadened, his skin reddened, and horns appeared upon his face. A blackness like great wings stretched out behind him, and long deadly claws appeared upon his hands. The beast smiled menacingly as a great flaming sword appeared in his hand, and mocked him with the familiar taunting voice, “My Lord…”. Windfoot whirled, keeping the twisting shapes at bay, seeking for a way out of the Dream. His mind spun madly, trying to seek escape, but there was none. He would need to destroy his enemy…No. That was the Voice. Another deception. He retained still enough self-will to know that destruction only fed the corruption within. The words of an old friend came back to him like rain, “Patience. Balance.” Windfoot put his sword up before him, and spoke quietly. “I will die here rather than fight you.” The smoky shapes crept nearer, but he did not move. “Then you will die…and be mine.” The beast returned, descending upon him. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Nov 17, 2005, 7:54pm ((Great so far!)) "Defenders! To arms! Intruder in the upper hall!" Polrena heard Kashye's voice ring out from somewhere in the manor. Dropping her pen, she grabbed her pack, her magic wand, and her staff. The staff wasn't much good as a weapon, and she certainly hoped she wouldn't be called upon to use it, but the weight of it comforted her. Maybe she could intimidate someone with it. She ran out the door. Upper hall? Light blast it, where was that? She really needed to find a map of this place and memorize it. Preferably up-to-date and neatly labeled by room assignments. With all of the rooms and side passages, Polrena devoutly hoped the sound had not echoed too much. She headed for Kashye's voice. Crashing sounds soon augmented Kashye's first alarm. Polrena angled towards the noise, pulling up her robes so as not to tangle her legs in the cloth as she ran. The sounds grew louder. Upstairs! She took the steps two at a time. She burst into a large suite of rooms. The High Lord's profile was to her, an enormous flaming sword in his hands. Lord Vangelis, wielding an iron stick with a pointy tip and a flat, shiny shield, faced him. Where was Kashye? Where were the attackers? Who were the attackers? Were they stealthed? Could there be an enemy between the High Lord and Lord Vangelis? Such musings wasted time. Her vows were to heal, not to attack. She slammed shields around the men in the room. She'd triage later. She chanted renewal songs at them. The song came faster and more powerfully than she remembered. Another healing spell lay coiled on her tongue, ready to be uttered at the next sign of violence. She held her staff horizontally, ready to trip anyone who tried to pass. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Doc Caspin on Nov 18, 2005, 10:41am Caspin glanced back and forth quickly, trying to decide what exactly he had to do. Polrena had just shielded both Windfoot and Vangelis and was chanting..the battle still raged. Would the blackjack be able to penetrate the shield? Likely yes, the nature of the Power Word was to protect the individual from physical damage, something that the blackjack would not be doing. Stepping directly behind Windfoot now, Caspin imitated his movements, watching the dance of death he wove..waiting for the shield to drop before he struck. There could be no mistakes - he had no shield to protect him from that flaming monstrosity. "10 more seconds.." he whispered, just barely audible.. The fighting was intense..Caspin was unsure how much longer Lord Vangelis could withstand the flurry of blows that his Lord was raining down on him.. "5.." Lord Vangelis appeared to falter, prompting Caspin to strike. "Now.." Caspin emerged from the shadows, his eyes shaded black as night. A leather gloved fist rammed directly towards Windfoot's kidney, and the other, wielding the leaded blackjack, cracked in the air as Caspin snapped it back and then slammed it down towards Windfoot's head. Back and forth....here comes the wind. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by merlinne on Nov 18, 2005, 11:46am Merlinne made her way through the corridors of the Hall in an ambling, pointless sort of way. Her feet chose the path while her mind wandered its own road. Thoughts of Lord D'ana'no flitted through her mind and she tried hard to stifle her concern for her friend. He'd been away from the Hall for sometime and out of contact with them all. She'd sensed his presence when he arrived late last night and though she wanted to immediately check on him, knew he would be tired and in need of rest. And something else had distracted her from his arrival as well. Sometime during the night her mage senses felt something enter the Hall. Something dark and cold, like a draft in the middle of a moonless night. Yet the harder she focused on the odd sensation, the more it slipped away from her. Perhaps she was letting other concerns cloud her judgment. After all, there was hardly a place on Azeroth more secure than Defenders Hall. She stopped, startled as she heard a cry go out calling Defenders to battle. Her wandering feet had taken her to the corridor leading to D'ana'no's suite. Now she could hear the din of conflict, the distant clang of blade on metal. She hurried down the corridor, her frost shield snapping into place, and cursed herself for not having so much as a small dagger. Though her spells could deal more damage than any weapon she could wield, it sometimes helped to have something to block a blow from landing and interrupting the chants. Rushing into Lord D'ana'no's suite she heard the battle up the stairs in his sleeping chambers. She dashed up the stairs and stopped at the sight before her. Her mind took a moment to process what was going on before her. Polrena stood chanting spells of protection over D'ana'no and Vangelis while the High Lord seemed bent on the destruction of his friend. Vangelis clutched a fire poker and used a thin serving tray as a makeshift shield. It amazed her the warrior was holding off such a brutal assault with such inadequate protection. It wouldn't last much longer, she thought. She threw out her hand toward Lord D'ana'no and chanted the words for her Polymorph spell. Spending a bit of time as a sheep would not harm him and would give a bit of time to figure out precisely why the men were fighting. She spoke the final words, felt the power flow like an exhiliarating wave down the length of her arm, yet nothing happened. She stared for a moment, trying to comprehend why suddenly that spell would not work. Recovering quickly she changed tactics. There would be time to worry about the spell's failure later. She began chanting the spell to entrap D'ana'no's feet in a block of ice. It would not hold long but perhaps it would give Vangelis time to escape the onslaught. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Vangelis on Nov 20, 2005, 4:08pm (( Sorry, it's been a busy weekend for me, and I'm out of town all this coming week. Have fun! )) Vangelis' sight was dimming. His peripheral vision had faded to black; all that remained in his consciousness was Windfoot's sword. Not much remained of his improvised buckler, or, for that matter, the hand that held it. Another sweeping stroke whistled in low, towards Vangelis' legs. He intercepted it with the tray, but although the blow was turned slightly it nonetheless cut deeply into Vangelis' shin. Blood fountained out from the wound, and Vangelis stumbled forward, unable to stand. Vangelis had long passed the point of coherent thought, but as he fell forward he knew instinctively that he was inside Windfoot's guard. The poker moved under and upward into Windfoot's hands, and twisted in the disarming motion he had used countless times before. Thus it was that Caspin's sap, Merlinne's frost bolt and Vangelis' last strike all connected at the same time. As the flaming greatsword flew from Windfoot's hands and disappeared in an implosion of brimstone, the burly fighter fell into Windfoot's stunned body, knocking them both to the floor in a shower of ice and blood. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 20, 2005, 10:06pm Windfoot stood alone in the center of the arena as the darkness closed in upon him. The fiery glow from within the great sword in his hands lit the side of his face and cast the other half into shadow. In his mind the Voice whispered, “too easy…” Before him, his enemy approached, laughing cruelly, savoring the moment when he would thrust the flaming sword through the tired elf. A terrible fear and doubt raced through Windfoot, with the realization that his refusal to fight was a terrible gamble, and that if he was wrong he could well die in the spirit world and his spirit become forever lost to wander the nether essence, or worse, become the conquered puppet for a malignant force which had broken his spirit forever. Cruelly clawed hands and teeth emerged from the lurking shadows and descended upon him, biting at his side and head. Others rose up beneath him to bind his legs and possibly drag him down into dark unfathomable fiery depths. A great heat and light burst about him, as if he had caught on fire, and the smell of burnt flesh rose up around him as his skin cracked, hardened and wept boiling blood. Windfoot screamed out in agony. Then suddenly the Dream lurched, cracked and distorted. His mind raced to follow what was happening. The demon staggered and cried out. A holy glow shimmered about the demon, and blisters burst forth upon its red skin, as if too were burning. The flaming great sword flew out of its hands and disappeared in an implosion of brimstone. Then, as his mind caught up with the moment, Windfoot realized that his perspective had suddenly shifted; that he was somehow watching himself, as if the once invisible surface of a mirror had cracked, revealing the illusion. Tyron was gone. The demon opponent was gone. Instead, it was him that was the demon with the holy glow and the burning skin. It was him who's hand grasped frantically at the flaming great sword as it hurled away to disappear in a cloud of brimstone. He was howling in pain and fury, tearing at his own skin. As he watched, the demon spirit separated from his elven form, as if ripping itself away from the pain of inhabiting his body, and transformed into the now sickeningly familiar great crow. With a final shriek, it flew from the arena and was gone. Windfoot's body fell to the ground. As the crow flew past the ring of seating and the high walls of the arena, the image began to blur and melt, and Windfoot suddenly was released from the Dream and awoke on the floor of his room. The smell of sweat, blood and brimstone assaulted his nostrils, and he felt the weight of someone’s limp form upon him. His head ached, his side throbbed, and his feet seemed to be encased in ice. Windfoot blinked. With an effort, he rolled the body off of him, revealing the battered face of the Lord of Ensign. “Vangelis?” Windfoot then realized they were not alone. All about him were Defenders, staring at him in alarm and poised to attack. Windfoot stared up into that crowd of faces, his mind worked furiously to get his bearings. Then, rising to his knees, he gasped out, “Defenders? What has happened?” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Doc Caspin on Nov 21, 2005, 2:42am Caspin roughly pushed the beleagured Windfoot aside, grasping the shoulders of Vangelis, pullling him over to the side to get a better look at him. "Vangelis, my god..hang on." he said, quickly examining his body. Polrena was praying, but presumably still fixated on the High Lord. Caspin didn't wait to see, and began administering first aid to the Lord of Ensign. Reaching to his toolbelt for his mace..he actually found it there, clipped on. He ignored the ramifications of how it was there, and not laying across the room on the floor, and quickly slammed it into a chair leg, splintering the leg off and sending it sprawling to the floor. "Give me room, damn you!" Caspin screamed at the occupants of the room, forcing them to backpedal as he produced a makeshift splint for the shattered shin that Vangelis had incurred. The suppression bandage had stopped the bleeding, but there was no telling what kinds of internal damage he had going on. Caspin stopped..he had no choice. Closing his eyes tightly, he began to chant under his breath. The room stopped. Merlinne was in the process of saying something, and the sound ceased. Polrena's prayer stopped in mid sentence. "You would not PRESUME to even DARE to use powers that you have no RIGHT to-" ENOUGH. Caspin thought, and the voice ceased in mid sentence. Enough. I have lived two lives and seen too much to be derided by some fool who cannot even show enough courage to show his own face, but must play behind parlor games and witchcraft to torment the soul of one who needs no further rebuke! I will do what I must, WHEN I must, and I answer to no man nor deity for it! Be GONE! Caspin's hands glowed white, and he felt the Light that he had felt so many years ago rush into his veins again. His muscles clenched in revulsion and a mixture of guilt, and then flexed. "Arise." Caspin whispered, and laid his hands on Vangelis..then collapsed to the floor. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by merlinne on Nov 21, 2005, 3:40pm Merlinne knew she was more than useless when it came to healing. Her powers destroyed. So, trying to stay out of the way she stepped over to where D'ana'no kneeled on the floor, seemingly dazed and confused. He seemed unhurt when she reached his side, though his face was drawn and he seemed physically, as well as mentally, exhausted. She let loose her mage senses as she reached for him, the deeper inner eye most mages could utilize to "see" more of the world about them. Few could detect it, fewer still could resist it if the mage was strong enough. She hoped it would be enough to tell if this were really her friend and Lord or if it were some sort of golem or changeling. She'd never been able to "sense" much about D'ana'no, his inner barriers were formidable. Hopefully she could just enough this time to make sure he was well. "My Lord," she said quietly, trying to draw his stricken gaze from Vangelis. "Come out of the way, please." She took his arm and winced at the cold shock that ran up her arms when she touched him. That had certainly never happened before, but she'd never touched him physically while using her mage senses either. It could simply be the fact that his power and training was so much greater than hers. She would think on it later. Helping him to his feet, she led him to a chair just inside the doorway. He truly seemed confused about the events he'd been part of. When she touched his face he seemed feverish, but she could tell nothing more after the icy shock to her inner sense. "Lord, you were attacking Lord Vangelis," she said as gently as she could. "Do you know why?" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Nov 21, 2005, 5:04pm She couldn't pray fast enough. Lady Merlinne helped Lord Windfoot to his feet, though he seemed to be confused. Doc Caspin tended to Lord Vangelis. Her healing chants, prayers, and songs flew from her lips as fas as she could utter them, but too much had happened all at once for her to tend everyone. Events swept around her as a whirlwind, leaving an aftermath of destruction which she could not quite sort out. Even her ability to heal physical wounds had been inadequate. Though she could mend bones and repair the flesh, her aid could not touch the inner vitality of her patients, her charges. The men seemed to have drawn on reserves deep within themselves, reserves which were now tapped. She could do nothing for that except allow them time to sleep and regain thier lost energy. No, no self pity. She would not allow her failure to cloud what still needed to be done. Caspin bent over Lord Vangelis, so Polrena turned to the High Lord, being led by Lady Merlinne to a chair. Why did everyone insist of moving the injured? She pushed the thought aside. She set her hands on either side of the High Lord's head, and delved him as she had not been able to after Valand's collapse. Aside from a completely mangled hand, he seemed fine, physically. A few bruises, some minor cuts and scrapes that had not been healed by her previous attempts during the fight. She did notice something...missing from the High Lord, though she struggled to define what it had been. A hole, and something else that was there, that should not have been. A part of her resonated with this piece. She frowned. Whatever it was, it could not be healed, not by her, not yet. There was nothing there to heal. His hand was another matter. Her hands slid down his shoulder and along his arms. Her touch softened and her fingertips grazed his wrists. She closed her eyes and focused her energies. She heard Lady Merlinne's and the High Lord's voices but dismissed them. Whole. A whole, healed hand. Blessed Light, heal this man, our high Lord, our leader, please, I beg and beseech you. I cannot heal so much on my own. I implore you, heal him. She could not tell, through the blood, how successful her efforts had been. He would need to be cleaned and washed up. Even if she had failed, there was little more she could do for him now. He would live, at least. Her own inner strength began to wane. She turned to Lord Vangelis. Doc would help him, she knew, but she wanted to see him herself before it was too- Caspin's inert body sprawled out on the ground next to Lord Vangelis. Doc! Polrena delved into Lord Vangelis first. He was healthy, his wounds astonishingly cured. Though unconcious and possibly comatose, the Lord of Ensign seemed in no immediate danger, contrary to what she had expected, even considering Doc caspin's excellent skills as a physician. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze moved to Caspin's body. What had he done? She delved the other fallen man. Like Vangelis, there seemed to be little physical damage, but he would need rest to recuperate his lost strength. She was certain the talking could take the rest of the night, if not longer. Explanations were needed, and she had to squelch her own curiosity about the events of the night. She yearned to get the men cleaned up and moved into warm rooms, but she doubted that would be possible for a while yet. For one thing, no one remained to carry the fallen. She slid her communicator out of its pouch. No need to yell for help; that had already been accomplished by Kashye. Perhaps Johnson would have already made the arrangements, but she wanted to be sure. She thumbed one of the private channels open. "Katja," she said into the gnomish device, "I need plenty of clean towels and warm water brought to the High Lord's chambers. As quickly as possible." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 22, 2005, 7:28pm Windfoot felt rough hands pushing him aside as Caspin rushed to aid his Lord. He vaguely heard the doctor’s muttered cry, "Vangelis, my god..hang on,” but his mind was a fog. There was too much to grasp. Questions without answers rushed through his mind. What time was it? He looked out the window and saw the dawn light cascading in. The last he remembered he was throwing the windows open and feeling a cooling night wind on his face. Somehow these Defenders had come to him, and in the early morning hours, but what had brought them? A chill ran down his spine. Had he brought them? Caspin’s body language was angry to him. Had he done something? What had he done to Vangelis? Windfoot felt Merlinne’s presence beside him as his mind whirled furiously. "My Lord," she said quietly, drawing his gaze to her. "Come out of the way, please." Her touch was soft but firm as she helped him to a nearby chair and then held her palm to his forehead. She exuded concern, and also…something else. A look a deep scrutiny was in her eyes as she gazed at him. “Lord, you were attacking Lord Vangelis. Do you know why?" “Attacking…” he echoed, trying to steady himself. The memory of the dream was still powerfully with him, but he was shocked at the significance of her words. How much of the Dream bled into the mortal world? Dream-walking, dream-speaking, and other forms of channeling were not unknown within the Cenarion circle, of course. But heavy precautions should be taken to protect the Oracle, as well as those around, as controlling their behavior was virtually impossible. Windfoot had never manifested such an affinity, and had no desire to develop any, as such power was unstable, unpredictable, and sometimes dangerous. “Such as is evident,” he whispered to himself. Polrena slipped up behind him and set her hands on either side of his head. Her touch was kind and he felt a refreshing wave of light flow through him and she quietly chanted. Her power too was gentle, warm and comforting, and he allowed it to lift his spirit and clear his mind. Her hands slid down his shoulder, along his arms and to his wrist, and as the fog clouding his mind cleared, a spike of pain from his hand caused him to flinch and look down. A mangled hand. How had that happened? Polrena again began her whispered prayer and Windfoot felt the warm caress of her holy light infusing his hand, closing the wounds, and making him whole again. As Polrena whisked away to tend to Vangelis, Windfoot realized that he felt better than he had in weeks. A lightness was in his spirit, as if healing rains had unexpectedly come to the desert within him. He looked after Polrena. Had she done so much to heal him in so little time? Or was it something else? Windfoot remember the Dream. He remembered the burning flesh the holy light, and the torment of his enemy before it fled. A long forgotten feeling of hope awoke within him. Did he dare to believe that his enemy had been defeated? He turned back to the Lady of Dalaran. She wanted an answer, but he was not ready to give it. He needed more information. “Merlinne, did Polrena use her power on me while I slept? Please tell me what…I…have done.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by kashye on Nov 23, 2005, 12:41am Kashye led two servants back toward the upper hall at a lope. There were no more sounds of battle, which frightened her even more. When she entered the suite again, she found Polrena, already deep in prayers, laying her soothing touch on a prone Vangelis and another man. Kashye moved aside as the servants moved to assist the healer. She noticed Lord Windfoot, the High Lord she remembered meeting not so long ago and not the demon who was here when she fled, sitting nearby and speaking in quiet tones to Lady Merlinne. He looked confused, staring at Vangelis and Polrena with a dazed expression. She had fled, not just for help but out of fear when faced with as unlikely a thing as a demon in the very halls of the Defenders. Am I a coward then? Kashye shrugged off the thought. Keeping a wary eye in Windfoot's direction, she chanted a prayer under her breath and offered her assistance to Polrena. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by merlinne on Nov 23, 2005, 11:56pm Merlinne considered D'ana'no's question a moment before replying. She hadn't seen the entire incident so could only tell him what she had seen. And it was quite apparent D'ana'no didn't know what happened and still seemed a bit disoriented. "I did not witness the whole incident, Lord," she said carefully. She grabbed a second nearby chair and sat in front of him carefully watching his reaction to her words. "When I arrived Polrena was shielding both of you. You were attacking Lord Vangelis." She gripped his arm and held his golden gaze before continuing. "He was injured severely, Lord. Polrena and Caspin seem to have him stabilized. She did, indeed, heal you just now. Your hand..." She lifted his hand and wiped away some of the blood from where the injury had been. "Do you remember any of it?" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 24, 2005, 9:24pm Windfoot considered the question before answering. Polrena had finished praying over Vangelis and seemed to have moved on to Caspin. Her back was to him, shielding his view of the doctor. Strange. He did not think that Caspin had fallen. Perhaps he had been injured before he pushed Windfoot aside, and was now merely resting in exhaustion. Kashye had also move forward to help. “How much harm had I done already?” He realized he was thinking out loud again, and looked back at Merlinne. Her steely gaze still scrutinized him. He would need to answer her. But how? “I was in the Dream, Merlinne. I really do not…know…what my body did, or why. The last I recall I was entering my room at night. I was feeling hot and feverish and I fell asleep.” He paused to consider his words. It would not be appropriate to talk too freely. He might only frighten them. “Yes,” he found himself murmuring. He continued, “You know that for many seasons I have traveled the spirit realm as often as the mortal world of Azeroth. It is the Great Dream, where all things partake of each other; past and future, good and evil.” He paused, then continued, “The greatest beauty that I have ever seen was in the Dream. But there are dark places there as well, where even the strongest dream-walker should be wary.” “In the Dream, I was…attacked. It was a deceit. I was set upon by a dark enemy of great power.” Windfoot looks sadly at his victims “I drew my sword and…perhaps as I attacked, my body leapt to attack Vangelis. What he was doing in my chambers I do not know. From what you say, I can only guess that I somehow channeled from the Dream into the mortal world, and attacked him as I slept. I am truly sorry. This has not happened to me before.” A great weariness washed over him, and longing for peaceful sleep. The lightness in his spirit remained, however, and offered comfort. It dawned upon him that he might actually sleep quietly, and not dream. The enemy was banished. Now he needed to recover his strength. “Time enough for talk later,” he murmured. Not yet. He must do something to help repair the harm he had done. With some difficultly Windfoot rose and moved a step towards Polrena. The room lurched uncomfortably, and a pain shot through his skull, but he tried to ignore it and asked, “Is Caspin alright?” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Doc Caspin on Nov 24, 2005, 10:36pm A captive of his own body, Caspins eyes opened wide. Laying flat on his back now, he stared at the ceiling, with only the whites of his eyes to be seen. He was watching himself..or what USED to be himself, speak with a voice not his own. "Seek the annals. Seek out the name of this traitor, this Del'Paro. He is one with deceit and failure in his house, and must be destroyed. Do not interfere with the punishment of the wicked." The voice grew silent, and as the eyes of his body closed, Caspin's own world faded to darkness. (( Consult Part Two of: Eloi, Eloi, Lema Sebachthani for the future of Caspin Mordain and his unfortunate mishap here. Link: housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1132892884)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Nov 24, 2005, 10:44pm Polrena startled to hear the High Lord's voice so close, and above her head. She stood and turned towards him. His face was pale, much too pale. He should not be standing, but she doubted she could cajole him into resting while he thought he still had responsibilities. "Caspin is fine, High Lord. He was not wounded at all, merely expended too much energy healing Lord Vangelis, though I cannot say how he accomplished it." Polrena touched Windfoot’s forearm lightly. Perhaps he would see it as nothing more than a reassuring gesture. "He needs rest, as do you all." She sang softly, under her breath. A soft wave of healing flowed through her fingertips into the High Lord. He needed as much energy as she could give him without passing out herself, as that fool of a doctor had done. She would cure no one unconscious. Besides, it would be terribly undignified. "Everyone is fine, High Lord. No permanent damage was done that I can see. All three of you need rest." Though perhaps she could give the High Lord a little something to prevent dreams for the next night or two. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 27, 2005, 4:24pm Windfoot woke three days later, having been administered one of his own potions of dreamless sleep by Polrena, after the injured were cleared away. He did not know how long he had slept until Johnson appeared. The unflappable man bowed at the entryway and asked, “Feeling better?” When he answered positively, Johnson turned away saying that he would immediately send someone in to run him a bath. “Johnson.” He called. “Sire?” “How long?” “You have slept for three days, Sire.” Johnson turned again and proceeded down the stairs. “Johnson.” “Sire?” “Let me run my own bath.” Pause. “As you wish, Sire. Breakfast?” Windfoot sighed. The man was impossible. But he was hungry. “Thank you.” Johnson disappeared. When Windfoot emerged from the bath, refreshed, there was a hot breakfast waiting for him. It smelled of Annabeth’s heavy cooking. Johnson did know what he liked. Windfoot sat down to think matters over. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the library. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Nov 30, 2005, 8:40pm But it was not the library that required his immediate attention. As he slowly finished the last of his morning tea, Windfoot was forced to admit that he was procrastinating. He watched the thin vapors rising off of the surface of the water and looked for the courage to seek out the answers to his questions regarding the lady Vezesara. Even the thought of her name caused his heart to quicken and a shiver to slip along his skin. The memory of her beauty floated before his eyes, only to be quickly suppressed by darker more painful images; images deeply coloured by his own guilt. “Enough,” he said aloud, standing. He must find out if she lived or was dead. He could not longer sense Vezesara’s presence. Once, it would have been an easy matter to know of her presence. He would simply expand his presence into the Great Dream and know if she was near. But now…now the spirit world was corrupted and unsafe for him. He had seen the devastation there. Were he to enter now he might simply fall into a fiery abyss, or lose himself forever. Though it was like living half of a life, he would no longer enter the Dream. Had not Polrena’s holy light saved him? As much as he wished it were true, he could not risk believing it. Though his enemy was silent, Windfoot knew that the war was not yet over. With the help of the Defenders he had won another battle, and an important on, but his enemy was regrouping. He would return to wear away it his inner defenses. Until he found the true source of its power, and destroyed it, the Voice would never relent. He was ashamed to admit it, but he did not yet have the courage to ask anyone the truth. Instead, he left his chambers and traced his way through the corridors of the Halls towards the House of the Beast, and he room. Hers were on the furthest side from him, and as he made his way he passed a few members, and several servants, but he kept to himself and did not invite approach. Finally, he stood before her door. He knocked, and when there was no answer, entered. The door swung open revealing a room empty and barren. He stepped inside, his legs suddenly weak. A wave of despair wracked through him as he stood alone with the dusty room. The same dark vision that had haunted him for weeks on end played out before him, With one great claw-like fist, the Orc took hold of Vezesara’s face. With the other, he drew a long black sword from his back. It made a harsh metallic sound as he drew it forth. All along the surface of the blade dark Orcish runes spoke of death and carnage. In the dream, Vezesara’s spirit screamed with frustration and fear. Holding Vezesara fast he spat upon her. Then, with a great Orcish cry of, “This one’s for you, brother!!” the Orc ran Vezesara through, and she fell. “No!” Somehow, Windfoot had fallen on one knee. “I hoped…I should not have hoped…”A darkness clouded his eyes. Words poured out, out of his control, “Fool! I dared to hope. To hope against what I believed to be true. But there is no hope. She is dead now. Dead and gone. And you killed her. All gone now…all are destroyed. There is nothing left.” Windfoot’s head ached. There was a sharp pain in his eyes as the words tumbled out of him in rising volume, and in a language unknown to him, “These are your crimes Lord Windfoot. These are of your own doing. You betrayed her, you abandoned her. But you were not satisfied with that. Oh no… you had to possess her; to dominate and take her against her will. It was no accident. No mistake. You are the dark one… the destroyer. And you will destroy all those who care for you, just as you destroyed Vezesara. All those who come close to you shall be consumed in the fire just as she was…” Terror was in Windfoot’s chest as he fought for control against the Voice that had come again in his weakness. He bit his teeth together and held his head against the lacerating pain.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:20:35 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 2, 2005, 8:33pm
Then, just as the pain became unbearable, it suddenly stopped. There were footsteps in the hall, the light steps of a hunter. Windfoot felt the presence within him turn and look at the doorway and withdraw its stranglehold upon him. He felt hot shame on his cheeks and an overpowering urge to hide. "No need for all the Defenders to know their leader is broken," he whispered, melding into the shadows.
Whoever it was stopped at the door. Windfoot froze, the dread of discovery on his lips. Then he heard a quiet sigh and the door was closed.
For a long time he stood hidden, his heart racing furiously. As his pulse began to slow, his thoughts came more clearly. Was he afraid of discovery, or was that also the doings of his enemy? He could not tell.
"Perhaps we are not so different, Lord?"
He had uttered the words, but it was not him speaking, and it was not in any language that should be known to him. The demonic words slid out of him like smoke. The fire of his anger rose up against the violation of the demon voice, but he quelled it. Anger could not help him. He needed something else; knowledge! There would be time to mourn the lady Vezesara later. Now, he needed to visit the library, before he attacked any other Defenders.
Windfoot quietly slipped out of Vezesara's old room and along the corridor. Perhaps as another trick of his foe, he realized that his sense of hearing had become unnaturally strong. As he passed the doorways and halls of the Hall, he overheard whispered voices; muttered conversations that he was not meant to hear. And all too often there were comments about him. “Did you hear about the High Lord?” “Oh yes, he attacked Lord Vangelis, nearly killed him, did you know?” “This guild does nothing for me…” “I do not like what I see in the leadership… it their fault…” “They leave out those of low seasons…he does not care…”
He found himself muttering, “No.” under his breath. It must be just another trick of the Voice. He put his hands over his ears to keep the mutterings out, and pushed open the door to the library with his shoulder. The door slammed into the wall and the few Defenders reading quietly turned and looked at him. With a start, he quickly put his twitching hands down at his side.
“Gudran!” he said, too loudly, accidentally knocking a few books over off a table near the door. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 8, 2005, 11:15pm
Gudran did not appear, and the few residents of the library either slipped away or studiously kept their faces in their books rather that looks to the agitated guildmaster.
"A fool's quest, D'ana'no. You think the pages of a book can help you?"
Windfoot clamped his jaw shut, to stop the Voice from speaking. The whisper prattled on within him as he began to seek through the shelves for the section he needed. Something in the House of Dalaran bookshelves...on demons and possession... Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 14, 2005, 6:48pm
Windfoot stumbled as if drunk and the books on the shelves became scattered and disorganized as he riffled through them. The Voice nattered on, and a noise rose up in his mind; first like a ringing, and then increasing in pitch and severity until it was like a howling inside of him. He shook his head, as if to escape it, but it bore down upon him, blurring his vision.
Instinctively, Windfoot’s hand went to his forehead to block out the pain, but he kept searching. Somewhere deep within him he knew that his enemy was afraid; afraid of what he might find. He stumbled and several of the tomes fell like a shower around him. In order to stop his fall his hand shot out and grabbed for purchase and landed upon a massive, black, old and dusty tome. When he touched the book a shock, like and electric current, shot through his arm, numbing it. Off balance, and shocked, the old elf fell to the ground and the great black book landed with a dusty thump beside him. Lifting himself up over it, he looked down upon the surface of the closed book. There was no decoration or ornament on the volume; just a seamless black surface, with dark grey inset lettering. The title read, “Of Daemonia; Summons and Domination”.
The Voice had stopped screaming. “Given up, have you? I found something?” he muttered to it.
Gingerly he reached out and touched the surface. Nothing. No shock. He lifted it and carried it to a table. It was unnaturally heavy, as if it were bound with lead rather than boiled leather.
There was something fascinating about the tome. So plain, and yet, mysteriously attractive to him. He gently wiped away the duty surface. Then, reaching out, he went to open the book...only to have the shock return, this time with more force. It was not an electric current. It was more like a part of himself was being ripped away by the opening of the pages. His fingers shrank back and the cover fell back in place.
“A enchantment has been cast upon the tome to prevent entry by the unworthy.”
Realizing he had spoken aloud, and knowing that he had found something precious, perhaps the key to removing the darkness and corruption within him, Windfoot snatched up the book and slipped out of the library to his chambers. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch3 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 17, 2005, 11:33am
Ensconced in his room, Windfoot stared at the great tome before him on the table. His mind whirled with the unknown path before him, and suddenly he felt an overriding fear of discovery; enough in fact to make him get up and close the door and pull shut the curtains. Then, returning to the book, he took it in his hands.
The weight of Of Daemonia was not troubling; it was strangely comforting. It made him want to sit and hold it close; to settle down and forget any other concerns. He placed the great book on his lap, and prepared himself for the shock of opening, and his hands absently played along its surfaces. The edges of the pages were gilt in gold, and at each corner of the front and back cover were steel reinforcements, also painted black and carefully worked into the surface of the book-binding so as to not interrupt the smooth black surface. In the candlelight of his study, however, the metal surfaces glinted and were revealed.
As he sat there admiring the tome, Windfoot realized that he was alone; alone within himself. His unseen enemy had retreated, or left him. A wash of relief poured over him, along with a sense of gratitude towards whatever magics were within the book in his hands that had sent his dark tormentor away. More than ever he resolved to discover what secrets lay within, in order to find a way to finally destroy his enemy for good and all. For now, however, it was gift enough to just be alone.
With a drawn breath, Windfoot opened the cover. The pain came in a wave: dark feeling like a wind blowing him into the pages of the book along with a sharp yank, like a piece of his flesh being torn away. The cover resisted opening, held shut by forces that wanted to protect the secrets within. His hands shook with the urge to release the book, but he closed his eyes and gripped the cover tightly, forcing it open. The pain swelled, and he felt a heat and sting in the palms of his hands. Looking down, he saw a trickle of blood creep out from between his fingers and be absorbed into the black cover of the book. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain stopped. The resistance released and the tome settled open upon his lap.
Windfoot realized that he had been holding his breath, and released it as his body sagged. His held up his hands to the light and examined his palms. There were the scars that sometimes came at night, the ghost burns that ran across each palm, reminding him of his Dream battles and the staff of power that he could no longer wield. But it was not now night. Beyond the curtains was bright daylight, and still the burns were before him. They throbbed red before his eyes and, running along the edges of the burned swath, the skin of his palms were broken and scabbing, flecked with blood. For a few moments the burns remained visible, then they blended back into his skin, leaving it unblemished to the mortal eye.
The book was open before him. He began to read.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:21:22 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1135134642 Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 20, 2005, 9:10pm The hour is late. A shadow passes through the halls soundlessly. In the dark of night, all are sleeping as Windfoot passes through the House of the Beast. He is dressed for warmth, in heavy layered garments, and a heavy pack is on his shoulder. Reaching the back of the halls and the doorway, he pauses and looks up. No stars tonight. A misty rain falls, covering everything with a sweat-like dampness. Slipping his elven hood up against the rain, he steps outside. Past the stables, and the low sounds of the shifting horses, and out beyond he treads, until he reaches the dark shadow of the woods. Then, with a last look backwards to the Halls, he slips under the protection of their gnarled arms. He stands, then, allowing his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness, before moving on. He whistles low, but there is no visible or audible response. He treads deeper into the forest, kneeling now and then and using his hunter skills to find the trail se seeks. Every so often he stops to whistle and listen. The light mist rises from the ground, caused by the meeting of the moisture in the air and warmth of the forest floor. Out of the forest rises a broken monument of some kind; some homage to a fallen hero long ago. Great stone slabs lie askew and leaning upon each other, and beneath them a dark place, almost like a cave. A pale beam of moonlight run along his face as Windfoot stops in front of the deeper darkness of the stony recess, and a look of deep worry is cast upon his face. From within the darkness two lights appear. Standing completely still, he quietly speaks the language of the beasts, “Adumbro…come forth to me.” A low threatening growl emerges, but the lights do not move in the darkness. He moves slowly forward, towards the darkness. “I know that you are within, still, old friend. Your surface changes, but the spirit is strong. Do not give up…” The threatening growl deepens and becomes more harsh and the lights shift from side to side slightly. “I am sorry, Adumbro, for what I have done. I work night and day to end your torment…and…my own…I have made progress. I know that my hand is guided, that my path is known. I trust there is a way to repair the harm; harm that I have done to you…” When Windfoot places his hand on the overhanging stone a roar emerges from the depth of the darkness and shatters the damp quietness of the forest. Windfoot stops his silent progress and stands still again. After a moment, he continues to speak, though he does not move any closer, “As you wish. I will come no further.” Fluidly, the old Kaldorei slides the pack from his shoulder and lowers it to the ground. He kneels then, and draws from within it a large packet, wrapped in wax paper. Gently, Windfoot unwraps the contents, revealing a large piece of red meat. It is obviously fresh, and the smell of blood wafts forth. Another growls erupts from within the darkness, and the lights shift again, revealing the flex of Adumbro’s muscles. Windfoot’s head snaps up, casting the hood from his head and sending his white hair cascading down his back. Too late. The great cat leaps forth out of the darkness and catches the elf mid-dodge, knocking him to the ground a few paces off. Windfoot’s staff barely appears in his hands in time to block the descending teeth as Adumbro pounces upon him. The beast bites hard on the staff, then snaps its head back to wrest it away, while his four inch black nails rip into the elf beneath him. Windfoot’s clothing shreds and blood spatters forth. He gasps in pain. Instead of fighting for control of the staff, Windfoot lets himself be hauled from beneath Adumbro by the force of the great cat’s pull upon the staff and be tossed through the air to land a dozen feet away. “Some monstrous strength…” Dropping the staff on the ground, Adumbro turns and slides towards his prey. Into a shaft of light comes the great mass of the beast, revealing dripping sores and unhealed wounds. A great gash runs along his side, deep enough to be mortal, and yet the beast’s power and grace is greater than naturally possible. Defenseless, Windfoot steps backwards, still speaking soothingly, “Adumbro… hear me…” as the black panther tenses for another spring. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by merlinne on Dec 20, 2005, 9:33pm ((Ooo! Another chapter! Thank you sir. May I have some more?)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 21, 2005, 12:22pm ((*Spends the next few hours trying to put the puzzles together* So vivid and intense! More, please!)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 22, 2005, 5:40pm Polrena pads softly through the halls of the Virtue wing. She assures herself that the patients in the clinic are well and warm, though she already knows they are well tended. It is not her duty to look after the security of the Hall of the Defenders, but a strange feel has hung over the Hall of late, and she cannot sleep unless she knows all is well. Unless she knows the High Lord is safe asleep in his chambers. She wanders on through the dark halls, checking open doors, her dress whispering in the silence. Finally, she approaches the High Lord’s chambers. His door is closed, and the crack beneath is dark, indicating that no candle burns beyond. The darkness is no assurance of his presence, however, as she has learned in the time since the High Lord’s battle with Vangelis. She hesitates breifly, but then turns the handle and slides the door open as carefully and quietly as she can. She does not call out his name, for she does not wish to wake him if he is asleep. Instead, she enters with the soft rustling of fabric. Her perceptions reach out, searching each corner of the rooms, never certain where she might find him. In his sleeping chamber, the bed is rumpled but unoccupied. She frowns, and her eyes dart unconsciously to the window, as if she might see him through it. She scurries down the stairs. Her shawl in is her own room, but she brushes off the thought of wasting time to fetch it. He must be in the forest again. She has seen him enter the forest, but can never find him once he enters its darkness fully. Sometimes she finds uneaten carcasses in the forest, and she wonders who made the kill, and why they are left untouched after. Sometimes the Lord returns swiftly, and sometimes he is in back in his chambers before even she can return to the Hall. On other occasions, his stay in the forest is protracted. She does not sleep those nights, unable to rest for worry of her High Lord. She fears tonight will be one of those nights. Exiting the Hall, the chill wind assails her, but she takes no notice of it as she hurries toward the dark trees. The canopy of the forest blocks out the twin moons and most of the stars, allowing only stabs of light into its heart. She brushes off the arms of branches which reach for her. Nocturnal cries of animals and birds quicken her pulse. She strains to hear, to see, anything which would tell her where to turn. Worry clouds her heart and tightens her chest. The High Lord has been so distant and cold. She has hoped he would take council from his close friends, but she has not dared ask if he has. Something is bothering him, perhaps having to do with the void she sensed in him that night in his chambers, but she does not know. She tries to remember how it felt. Was it a void at all? Was something missing, or was something there that shouldn’t be? Since that night, she looked to her own soul, and from the council of others as well as because of the fear inside herself, she turned her back on the powers of shadow she had embraced before. Perhaps the shadow within her had prevented a clear perception of the torment that lay within the High Lord. She shivers at the thought, horrified that her own actions would have prevented her from being able to assist her High Lord in his time of need. Or perhaps she shivers at the cold. Chill mists swirl around her, and she becomes aware of her missing shawl. She walks deeper into the dark. An unnatural growl erupts in the forest, and she turns to her right, toward the sound. There, a dozen paces away in a shaft of moonlight, the tensed muscles of an animal are barely discernable from its black fur. Dark moisture drips from its side. Its gaze is fixed on a point in front of it, not on her. Her eyes dart to see what holds its concentration. A tall, shrouded figure is stepping back from the large black cat. She recognizes the movements of the High Lord, if not his features. She hears him whisper, “Adumbro… hear me…” The sight of danger to the High Lord sends an instinctual pulse of fury along her veins, and she struggles not to throw a shield around him. He knows the cat’s name. She wrestles with what that implies. Not in danger? Has he been seeking the animal, then? She freezes in place. The animal is poised to pounce, but any action she takes may divert the High Lord’s attention when he needs it most! No, that’s not quite accurate. Any action she takes to protect the High Lord directly, might break his concentration. She had been practicing a trick, something she was not comfortable with, a power which touched on the shadow, but which might now save both lives. She leaps forward, casting the spell to control the panther’s mind. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 22, 2005, 6:09pm Sorcha has been unable to sleep. Her promise to Rheyna not to do anything about Vlad until, well, until Rheyna releases her from the promise is chafing at her. It's a promise she will keep, but it makes breathing, eating, and sleeping very very hard. Seeking the comfort of the Earth Mother's realm, she leaps from her bed. Pulling on only soft leather, she slips from the Hall, and wanders into the forest. Shifting to Cat, she begins to Prowl, letting her elf senses recede, and easing into her feline self. It's all so easy when she's in Cat: wander at will, do what is necessary, and sleep curled in a ball. As she wanders, her heart begins to ease some and she becomes more aware of her surroundings. Off to her right, some rabbits are having a birthday party. She disdains to disturb them, and continues on her way, moving aimlessly through the darkening woods. Up ahead, an owl seeks its dinner. She ignores him, too. Suddenly, she hears a growl that did not come from a normal, healthy animal. Making her way towards the sound, she curses the fact that as a druid who is deeply immersed in the pursuit of the Balance arts, she cannot move very quickly while stealthed. Still, the sound of that growl make her absolutely certain she wishes to approach it unseen. She emerges into a clearing, where she sees a badly injured Cat, the high lord in elf form, and the Lady of Virtue, whose name she can't recall at the moment. Something is going on, and Sorcha has no idea what, but the tension in the glade is immense, and a shiver ripples through her fur as she realizes that the Cat is about to attack the high lord. Normally, she would leap in and fight at the side of someone under attack, but the way he is whispering at the Cat suggests that she should not leap to a hasty conclusion, lest someone die of her carelessness. She looks to see what the priest is doing. She's singing something priestly, and Sorcha hopes it helps. It puzzles her, however, because it appears to be a mind control spell, one that is aimed at the Cat. That won't work! It only works on people! However, the Lady's actions tell her what she might do to help. Shifting quickly to elf and then immediately to moonkin, she reaches for the grace of Elune and begins to cast a druidic sleep on the Cat. If the Cat is a humanoid in disguise, then the priest's spell will work. And if not, if it's actually a beast, perhaps she can put it to sleep long enough to prevent what is clearly about to be a very serious attack on the high lord. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 22, 2005, 7:06pm The great beast’s eyes flash crimson sparks as he stalks forward and his head lolls side to side as if only half awake, or half alive. His long claws sink deep into the earth as he prepares to attack and watches for a weakness in his prey. Windfoot’s movements are slow and non-threatening as he continues to speak calmly, seeking some way to communicate with whatever remnants of consciousness remain. Then, before the attack can come, into the light steps the white form of the High Priestess. The moonlight shines down upon her and another light pulses from within making her luminous, almost unearthly. A prayer flies from her lips, quiet and sweet, like a hypnotic song, and Adumbro's eyes snap into focus for a moment. The spell, or song, has no effect, other than to enrage the beast further. With monstrous speed, he turns and races towards her unprotected form. Windfoot moves with the speed of a master marksman, and dives for the fallen staff. Twisting as he falls, he hurls the wooden staff like a spear, hoping to distract, or perhaps unbalance the beast. The projectile finds its mark, and strike hard, but the black panther does not seem to feel any pain. With a mighty roar, he tenses to spring upon the priestess. Then, just as his form begins to spring, another song rises from the woods; a deep, sonorous voice, bearing the power of Elune. Windfoot turns to the sound and sees a hulking shape hidden in the woods. He feels Elune’s great presence fill the glade. Though not directed at him, something deep within him reviles against the song; and demonic curses pour forth unbidden and uncontrolled from his lips. His muscles ache to leap up and destroy the singer, but, with a tremendous effort, he turns his head away, and presses his face into the fallen leaves and dirt beneath him. After a moment, his enemy retreats, and he regains control. When he looks back to Adumbro, the massive panther lies sleeping at Polrena’s feet. With a deep breath, Windfoot rises to his feet. He is shaking, and tears seem to smear the dirt upon his face. “Lady Polrena, are you safe? Did he touch you?” Then he notices how undressed she is for the forest. “How came you here? Take my cloak…” “No, my Lord, I am fine. I am sorry, I did not mean…” Windfoot stepped to her and placed a quieting hand upon her arm. “No…I thank you. And,” turning back to the figure within the woods, “I must thank our druidic friend.” Windfoot speaks in Darnassian as well, “Please, come forth, so that we can know you, friend.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 22, 2005, 7:30pm The quick response of the great Cat to the Lady's spell terrifies Sorcha so much it nearly causes her to lose her place in the casting. Grimly, knowing now that she is the only chance of preventing an attack on the Lady, she forces her attention back to her casting, throwing the completed song at the Cat as he leaps towards the priestess. Wishing her moonkin could see as well in the dark as her Cat can, she peers into the clearing, hoping against all hope that her spell worked. There is a soft thumping sound, as if something large has landed softly on the forest floor. She cautiously moves forward, still in the shadows. Now she can see the great Cat asleep at the Lady's feet, and the high lord speaking quietly to the priestess. Shifting back to elf, to give herself as many options as possible, Sorcha waits quietly to see what happens next. The high lord turns away from the priest, and raises his voice slightly. Speaking in Darnassian, he bids Sorcha show herself, so she steps silently into the shaft of moonlight in the glade. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 22, 2005, 11:21pm She cringes inwardly at the High Lord’s praise. Again, she failed, or would have, if it had not been for the timely assistance of the Defender’s newest druid. Polrena smiles at Sorcha’Rei as the Kaldorei steps into the light of the clearing. She turns again to the High Lord. His face is dirty, which is only natural after he buried his face into the floor of the forest. Dark wetness drips from the tatters of his clothing. She knows he is wounded, and aches to heal him, to relieve him of at least some of the pain. Some pain, she knows, she cannot heal. Her hand rises to touch his smudged cheek. Some dirt there is clotted, as if from moisture. Tears? Polrena feels moisture spring to her own eyes at the pain he must be bearing, pain from wounds so deep no healing can touch them. With furrowed brows, she fights the urge to wipe his tears away. Her desperate urge to comfort him is ruthlessly squashed and set aside. Instead, she exhales deeply, and drops her hand to his forearm. As the elves speak to each other in a language she does not understand, Polrena chants softly. Warm, renewing flows of healing flow from her hands into her High Lord. It is not much, certainly not as much as he needs, but the rest can wait until he is back in the Hall, without witnesses to his wounds. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 23, 2005, 12:03pm Sometime during the night since he left the Halls, the clouds had begun to part, and now the light of the moon shone down strongly as the druidess stepped forward into the glade. Clad in exquisitely crafted leathers, her movements were light and flowing, but steady in a way that bothered him. Her light skin and white hair captured the light of the moon, and the power of Elune shone brightly within her. Great power indeed was trusted to this unknown Kaldorei, as great or greater than his own. Though she did not move to attack, his muscles tensed in anticipation of attack. “No. She saved Adumbro, and me. She is not my enemy, you are,” he said to his enemy within, who’s hate continued to pour into him. Then, realizing that he had muttered his inner thoughts aloud, Windfoot looked nervously to Polrena. Polrena’s eyes were searching him in concern. A wave of panic rose up within him. He felt trapped within these two great forces, and desperately wanted to race away into the night, away from the holy light beside him and away from the light of Elune shining from Sorcha’Rei. The demon within rose up to take control of him, and the panic swelled. Words poured out of him as he fought for control: “Who is this skulking stranger who comes to trap me?” “There is no skulking stranger. You shall not bend the truth.” “Get away from me, both of you. I do not want or need your help, and… you are not safe here!” “Safe? More tricks and lies…” Windfoot spat at Polrena. “Back! Your pathetic powers are useless here!” His body took a step towards to woods before he forced himself to stop. “No! Polrena…I cannot...” Windfoot’s head snapped back and forth between Polrena and Sorsha’Rei. “Fools! You think the battle will be ended because a pathetic human and a frail elf have discovered me?” “Few things in this world are chance, fiend. There is hope where you would show hopelessness. There is freedom where you would show a trap.” [Demonic] “They must not discover the truth!” “Oh but they will. The hour is at hand. Our silent battle will be ended.” [Demonic] “We shall see…” A great wave of rage burst upon him. And, on its heals, Windfoot felt a transformation beginning, unbidden. The sounds of the night faded and a low pounding pulse filled him mind. A great itching ran along his back and arms as his body swelled and hard scaly plating appeared upon his skin. His hair began to fade away and the flesh of his forehead was suddenly pieced by two demonic horns. He cried out in pain and fear, and a great bellowing roar filled the glade. He could not stop the transformation, the demon’s hold and power was too great. He felt himself being forced to his hands and knees and watched in horror as his hands stretched and swelled into great black paws. His clothing choked and bound him as his form grew, then ripped and fell away. He heard the distant sounds of shouting or chanting, but could not focus; the beating of the rage in his heart was too great. The demon Voice began laughing again, relishing in its final mastery of him; in the destruction of his last resistances. Fully transformed, he stood before them laughing darkly. A grotesque mockery of a dire bear; twice the size he should be, with horns and fangs, and where there should have been hair mottled scales covered him. But the demon’s power was not absolute. His hand had been forced too soon. Though the beast was dominant, Windfoot still fought for control from within. Tears poured from his eyes and a whisper escaped, “help me…” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 23, 2005, 4:50pm Sorcha watches the high lord's transformation with growing horror, imagining how it would feel to have one of her other skins so distorted. Using her inner sense, she reaches out to the demon, seeking some connection to D'ana'no's elven spirit. At first, she can't find it, but then she hears, with her inner ear, the whispered plea for help. Following it, she finds the tiny core of the high lord's self, deep within the demon growing before her eyes. Concentrating hard on establishing a connection to that shining spirit, she appeals to Elune for help, and feels herself graced by the light of the moon. Opening her mouth, she begins to speak, and speaks with both her inner and outer voices to D'ana'no. "Yes, I will help you, high lord," she hears herself say in Darnassian, "But I can only help you. You will have to win this fight yourself. I will not shift to another form, but will stay in my weakest form that still can use the dream voice to talk to you. I will place myself in front of the demon that tries to destroy you and offer to let him destroy me instead. He will want to do so, for he will feel the power of Elune pouring through me. If you can prevent him from destroying me, you will also prevent him from consuming you." She flings her arms up in the air, and holding tight to her connection to the high lord, begins to cast Tranquility. She had not known that spell could be used like this, but Elune is truly guiding her tonight, and she uses an ordinary healing spell to channel the very power of the moon into her fragile bond with what remains of the high lord's spirit, hoping she can offer him enough power to allow him to gather his own resources and subdue the demon who tries to destroy him in front of her eyes. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 23, 2005, 6:02pm She watches the scene, her hands half-raised, though she doesn’t know what to do with them. His glorious fur is now scaled and twisted in mockery of all her High Lord stood for. Horns protrude from his skull. Her eyes are hot and moist and she fights to keep them open, struggling not to shut out the terrible sight. She hears his plea, and her throat tightens. She turns to the beautiful druidess beside her, feverishly hoping one of the Kaldorei’s own kind will know best his vulnerabilities and strengths. Sorcha speaks to the beast, then begins to channel. She holds her arms aloft, and the air glimmers with a thousand brilliant sparkles which descend into the clearing. Because the druid has given the demon a target, Polrena realizes she can at least do something for the woman. Her own hands continue their rise, and she whispers. A holy shield springs into being around the Kaldorei female. The priestess turns again to the thing that used to be her master. Windfoot must be in there, struggling to get out. She approves of Sorcha’s ploy, using the High Lord’s protective nature to force him to turn against the demon. He’d never hurt either woman willingly. That was an inner struggle, however, and one she could neither see nor help with. With the druid aiding the High Lord from the inside, perhaps she can help from the outside, a little. “You cannot have him.” She looks into the demon’s eyes, and sees only fury and hate. “You will not have him!” She chants. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 23, 2005, 8:34pm Windfoot opens his eyes to blasted lands. The glade is transformed. The ground is parched and cracked red sand; the trees stand dead and burning. Fire is everywhere around him, and a hot wind perpetually feeds the flames. Windfoot’s skin crackles and burns, but he does not die; his existence is just endless pain and torment. The all-too-familiar wounds on his hands open and bleed. Time loses all meaning. “Nooo! Please, Polrena…help me!” The roaring of the flames drowns his voice out. “Demon! Show yourself!” The fire mocks him. There in the darkness and flames a dark cadaverous figure emerges; a great bear once, Ursa, his old companion and soul mate lies before him. The flames part and he sees her chained and broken. Her skin is burned and covered with weeping sores. “Ursa! No!” She shifts at his voice, and he tries desperately to run to her, but like a nightmare vision, she only slips away into the fire. Her great head turns to him, and her eyes are black and empty cadaverous holes. The fire rises up and she is gone. The dead trees around him writhe in agony, and a sense of hopeless descends. He has failed; he is too weak… Then, like a drop of water, Sorcha’Rei's voice slips into the roaring. The faint essence of life comes to him, "Yes, I will help you, high lord, but I can only help you. You will have to win this fight yourself.” “I have been fighting for so long,” he whispers, “and I am so tired…” Her voice comes to him in broken fragments. He strains to focus on it; to hear it. “I will…will stay in my weakest form…talk to you…I will place myself in front of the demon…offer to let him destroy me instead… he will feel the power of Elune pouring through me.” “No! You must not!” Windfoot cries out. “His power is too great! I will not be the cause of more death!” “…prevent him from destroying me, you will…prevent him from consuming you…” Then, into the darkness and fire, comes a wave of power. In the sky, sparks appear where darkness reigned. A thousand brilliant sparkles descend upon him. The fires abate. The demonic beast that once was the high lord is approaching Polrena, head down and growling, when the Tranquility descends upon the glade. The healing power fills the glade, and where the sparks fall upon the beast they burn. With a terrible roar, the great beast turns and launches itself at the Kaldorei. Though massive and armor plated, it moves with a terrifying speed as it bears down upon her immobile form. Reaching her, its great taloned paws slash out, only to be deflected by the holy shield which suddenly springs into place around the woman. Though only a single swipe, the shield cast upon the druidess is immediately reduced to the faintest shimmer; almost overpowered. The beast is the height of the elf while on all fours. Now it rises up before her to stand on its hind legs and roars in fury and pain. Great indeed it stands; more than twice the height of a man and pawing at the air, preparing to descend upon the unmoving elf. Impassive, Sorcha’Rei looks up but continues to sing. The stars fall, and Windfoot fells the stirrings of hope in his breast. The stars fall and the sky clears. Into the darkness comes a shimmering light; the light of Elune shining upon him. Where the light falls, the ground grows and death recedes. Rising through the channel of light he comes back to his mortal form. He blinks, and again looks out from his own eyes. Beneath him is the singing Kaldorei. Polrena stands a few yards away, a prayer on her lips. The enemy is near; tainting and perverting nature to its corrupt design, but Windfoot draws power from the prayer and song. He feels the power of Elune returning to him, and fear enters the mind of his enemy. It is enough. His enemy flees back into the corrupted dark places within him. The great beast sinks back down on all fours, then shrinks before them as Windfoot regains his elven form. His energy spent, Windfoot collapses naked upon the ground and breathes deeply the fresh earth-scented air of the forest glade. "Ursa...no." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 24, 2005, 4:46am The priestess rushed to the form of her High Lord and knelt. His anguish and pain shone clearly to her, yet she was unsure of what he needed or how she could assist. His needs and thoughts had always been a mystery to her, but she knew the attempt to live up to his unspoken expectations made her a better person. He still seemed concious, but she did not know if he would remain so, or if he had the energy to return to the Hall where she could tend him. She turned her head to look up at the other Kaldorei. "Can you...shift form? To a bear, or moonkin, or cat, or something? Something with the strength to carry him? I could lift him up but can't carry him." Her head turned toward the still sleeping form of the panther. "I don't know what to do about the cat, though. How long will it sleep? Can we take them both to the Hall?" Polrena half-stood from her crouch, and patted her fimsy dress as if looking for something. "No pocket," she said, bending to touch the High Lord once more, to send the familiar, yet inadequate waves of healing into him yet again. "I left my comm at the hall, do you have yours with you?" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 24, 2005, 12:56pm Sorcha stands dazed as the power of Elune washes through her. Whispering her gratitude for the help that had been given her, she turns to the Lady of Virtue. Kneeling beside her, she looks at the high lord, now returned to his elf form. She can see his spirit burning brightly, but her heightened awareness of him means that she can also sense the demon hidden in the depths of him. "That was a battle won, not the war, I'm afraid," she says to Polrena (thank goodness she has remembered the Lady's name!). "We need to get him somewhere warm, but first, I think we need to tend to the Cat. Can you put a shield around the high lord to hold him while we care for his friend?" She turns to look at the sleeping beast. Reaching out to the Cat with her inner sense, she feels his torment, which seems in an uncanny way to echo that of the high lord. "I think the best we can do for him right now is for you to try to heal these awful wounds. I will hold him asleep while you do that. Then we can move the high lord back to the Hall." She grimaces ruefully. "I'm afraid I didn't bring my communicator. I wasn't really in the mood for contact with other people when I left my room." Placing one hand on the head of the great Cat, she sings softly, the song that will keep him sleeping as long as she sings it, no matter what else happens. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 24, 2005, 2:33pm Loathe as she is to turn away from the High Lord for even a moment, Polrena agrees with the druidess. Besides, Windfoot would want her to tend the animal. She removes the cloak the High Lord had given her from her shoulders. Glad that it survived where the rest of his clothes did not, she drapes it over his naked form. She chants, and an oval shield springs around the him. She rises, turns, approaches the cat sleeping under Sorcha's power, and kneels. Her hand strokes the fur between the panther's ears, petting the animal as she delves to assess the wounds. Just as with Windfoot, something is wrong with the beast, something beyond physical wounds. Now that she has seen the demon take possession of her High Lord, she frowns to think the same may happen to the cat. She does not know, nor can she tell, how far the taint has progressed. All she can do is the best she can. With both hands, she clasps the panther on either side of its huge muzzle. She chants and sings under her breath, pouring her power into the cat. Her prayers plead with the Light to assist her. She watches the flesh knit together, the oozing sores close. Finally, she nods, and drops her hands. The dark wetness remains, and will continue to do so until washed off, but the skin underneath should be healthy, at least for a while. She does not know what effect the taint will have upon the health of the animal from this point. Perhaps the corruptioon was not too deep and the animal was not possessed fully. She just doesn't know. She rises. "That's all I can do for him." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 24, 2005, 3:01pm Rising slowly, Sorcha, nods approvingly at the priest's work. When the beast wakes, his pain should be considerably lessened. Alas, neither of the women can reach his inner wounds. As she was holding his sleep, Sorcha had become more convinced than ever that not only does the Cat's torment mirror that of the high lord, but that they are inextricably linked. Wishing she could simply cleanse both the Cat and the elf, she sighs as she turns back to consider how best to manage the high lord's return to the Hall. Looking down at the elf sprawled on the ground, surrounded by glowing Light, Sorcha considers his immediate predicament. She agrees with Virtue's Lady that he probably can't manage the walk himself, but she isn't sure he will consider the alternative an improvement. The only way she can get him back to the Hall would be to fling him over her shoulders and around her neck and carry him herself. Making a note to herself to carry her communicator with her at all times from now on, even when she's planning a simple Prowl, she tries to think of an alternative. As she gazes at him, the high lord's hand moves slightly. Sorcha kneels down beside him, and takes that hand in hers. "Can you hear me, Lord D'ana'no?" she asks, using Common so that the Lady will be able to understand her, too. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 25, 2005, 3:04am For a few moments Windfoot cannot do much more than just breathe in the strong forest scent, the women’s voices washing over him as they work. Finally, however, the cold dampness of the night air begins to register upon him. He shivers, and then feels something warm placed upon him. Light fingers take his hand, and Sorcha’Rei’s lilting voice asks, “Can you hear me, Lord D'ana'no?” He knows her now. Having shared a spirit bond in the Dream, he knows her as only one druid can know another. “It is…alright…I am myself again.” Windfoot stands, slowly. Though strengthened by magic, he is still weak. For a long moment he looks at the sleeping Adumbro, healed and whole again. Polrena moves to him, to comfort him and support him, and Sorcha’Rei’s calm hands stay on him as well. Their kindness is like spring water to the desert of his loneliness. Finally, he steps away from their support and kneels beside his fallen friend. He runs his hand lightly over where the mortal gash once ran down the panther’s side and smiles sadly. “Thank you, Lady Polrena; Sorcha’Rei. I am forever in your debt. “Few things in this world happen by chance, and your coming here, in this darkest hour, is no accident, I am sure. I have carried a heavy burden for…too long…and I know that it has been destroying me. But, until now, I have been too afraid…too ashamed…to admit the truth. Now…now, it seems, that my secret has been forced from me. Having witnessed what you have seen, you must now know the truth. It is…the least that you deserve.” Windfoot looks at the concern in Polrena’s face, and her unspoken words, and responds, “You are right, Polrena. It is cold, and I am not…properly dressed. We should go back to the Halls. But first, I want to heal Adumbro, if it is possible. To do that, I must tell you what is destroying him. “Adumbro is a strong and faithful companion, and has carried me through Azeroth for many season. He is fierce and aloof, and will let none but me ride him. I love him like a brother. “Several weeks ago, I went to Warsong Gulch to help hold the defenses against the Horde. Adumbro came with me; but during the chaos of war we were separated. I was nearly killed; but for the kindness of a certain druidess, I would certainly have died. When I had…recovered…I set out on foot to return to the Defenders Halls. I traveled alone through the Barrens, and it was there that Adumbro found me. He was alive, but not well. Wounds covered his body, many infected. For..reasons that I will tell you later...I could not use my powers to heal him, and I did not have the proper bandages or medicines. I tried, but day-by-day his condition worsened. He never complained, but it broke my heart to see him dying and me unable to do anything about it. A few days later, the morning came when Adumbro simply did not get up. He just lay upon his side, his breath weak, ragged and shuddering. I could not bear it. In desperation, I opened myself to the power within me and laid my hands upon him…” Windfoot looks down again, his grief overwhelming him, “I saved him from death that day, but at a terrible price. He is tainted; corrupted. Every day since then he has fallen more and more victim to the taint that I laid upon him. He is slipping into the shadow. He eats little; his wounds reappear; he does not know me. “Every night I hunt for him and find him. I bring him food and try to get near to him. I try to comfort him. I try to remind him of living things and keep him from falling forever into the shadow. At first there was sadness in his eyes, but then…it faded. After, there was only anger; hatred; violence. And then, this night, he attacked me.” Tears fall from the face of the old Kaldorei and pool on the side of the black cat as it sleeps. “He is lost, and I cannot help him!” He looks up at Sorcha’Rei in desperation. “I cannot help him, for my spirit is corrupted. My Dreams are dark and tainted; my hands do not heal. But you can. Go into the Dream. Find my brother, and bring him back to wholeness. Perhaps he is not too lost.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 25, 2005, 11:07am Sorcha feels terror growing in her again as the high lord speaks. Before he asks, she knows what he will request. She is afraid, but before she says so, she considers the alternatives. She knows that Lord D'ana'no is right: the Cat has very little time left before he succumbs totally to the taint within him. And he is right again that he cannot himself remove a corruption he caused. If Adumbro is to be saved, she will have to do it, and do it now. Her stomach clenches, as she feels herself resolve to enter the Dream and try to rescue the Cat. What she has already experienced of the demon possessing the high lord has shaken her to her very bones. And in the high lord's case, there was a fully sentient, very powerful druid present in the Dream with her. When she wanders to try to save Adumbro, she will do it alone. "Yes," she says at last in Darnassian. "Yes, Lord D'ana'no, I will do it." Considering what she is about to do, Sorcha realizes that once she enters the Dream, Lord D'ana'no's demon is likely to take that opportunity to destroy her, and the high lord at the same time. "Lady Polrena," she says in Common. "I am about to do the high lord's bidding, but I am afraid. I believe that once I am in the Dream, his demon may arise and try to consume us both. Please, can you soothe the high lord's mind while I walk in the Dream? And you, lord, will you submit to the Lady's spell?" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 25, 2005, 12:20pm Windfoot nods, and, still kneeling, lowers his head over Adumbro. "Save him...Sorsha'Rei," he whispers. "Bring a natural death to him if you must, but save him from the taint that I have brought to him." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 25, 2005, 4:51pm Sorcha nods at the high lord's words, unable to say anything adequate in response to the great trust he has reposed in her. She turns to the Lady of Virtue, in time to see her begin to sing the song that will soothe Lord D'ana'no, that will, she hopes, be enough to keep his enemy from destroying them all. Sorcha removes her boots and places them on the ground. Kneeling, she wipes the leaves and needles and other things away from the raw earth in one place in the glade. Standing, she carefully places her bare feet on the exposed earth. Sorcha enters a light trance. Knowing she will need all the help she can get, she first feels her connection to the soil and rock beneath her feet. Sending a plea down through the soles of her feet, she sings an entreaty to the Earth Mother. Concentrating on the places where her skin touches that of the Earth Mother, she sings of her knowledge of the natural world, of her love for the high mountains of the dwarves, and the sea bottoms where the turtles dwell in Azshara. Her song conjures visions of the fertile plains of the Barrens teeming with life, and of the glories of the rock formations in the place men call Thousand Needles. She sings of the welcoming, gentle places, of Elwynn Forest, of Mulgore, even of her own home of Ashenvale. Her plea for aid tinges the song with sadness, but she is singing of the glories she has known, of the sunsets and star-filled skies, the awe-inspiring storms and astonishing calms, of the world itself, with its glories and pains and beauty. "Help me, Earth Mother. This Cat is tormented through no fault of his own. Lend me your strength and stolidity as I seek to redeem his spirit." At first, the Earth Mother is silent, waiting as she so often does. Sorcha does not waste time considering whether her plea will be answered, but continues to sing her song, and gradually, she feels the soil move under her feet, until her feet are buried in warm, soft dirt. Smiling hugely at the knowledge that the Earth Mother is holding her, she sings a brief song of gratitude for this great boon. Now she turns her attention to Elune, Elune who has already graced her beyond telling tonight, who has helped her save the high lord from destruction, and who blessed her with the gift of acting as a conduit to transmit the power of the moon to the suffering lord. "Please, Lady," she sings. "I ask it not for myself, and not for the high lord. I ask it for the sake of this suffering Cat, who, through no fault of his own, is being tormented. I would right this wrong, with your blessing." Almost immediately, she feels herself fill with moonlight and starlight and sunlight, fill until it seems she will not be able to hold it all, and a voice, an impossibly beautiful, shining, silent, loud voice fills her head, fills the glade. "Go child. I have given you all you will need, but it will rely on your own fortitude now. Go with my blessing, and hold fast to the safety of the Earth Mother's hand. Go. Save the Cat if you can." Now, girded for the coming battle, Sorcha deepens her trance, standing at last at the entrance to the Dream, the place she has been afraid to come ever since news of Vlad's disappearance reached her. She has feared its beauty, feared the truths she might find here. And yet it feels as it always has, unearthly, beautiful, and a thousand paths lie at her feet, for her to choose from as she enters the Dream. Reaching out with her inner sense one more time, she seeks the path that will take her to the stricken Cat. Patiently she waits until one path draws her attention. Leaving her corporeal feet buried in the Earth Mother's gift, she lifts one Dream foot and steps onto the calling path. At first, she seems to wander aimlessly, in a forest full of life and peace, wanders among the teeming life, the aminals, the plants, the small things that are neither animal nor plant or perhaps are both, and she can feel the life of the forest around her rising up. Soon, there is so much life that she begins to feel overwhelmed, but she sighs her impatience away and follows the path at her feet. Eventually, she enters what looks very much like the glade in which her physical body now stands, but different. Here, the building is not ruined, but whole, and made of stone that pulses and breathes itself. She enters the building and descends a flight of stairs. The living stone is warm beneath her bare feet. Deeper and deeper down she goes, and the sounds of the forest recede as she walks slowly but steadily down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, she finds a sleeping Cat, Adumbro. Kneeling beside him, she strokes his large head, and croons at him, the way she would speak to Conundrum, her own mighty saber companion. "It is the Dream," she tells him. "You can speak to me, too." Reaching out to him, she finds his spirit cowering in a corner, much like a terrified kitten, and she takes some of Elune's light and uses it to comfort the kitten. Shifting in the Dream to her own Cat form, she licks the kitten clean, then plays with it a bit, winning its confidence. The entire time, she can feel the brooding presence of Another, but she pays no attention, focusing on making the kitten feel safe. "I have a battle to fight, Adumbro," she tells it at last. "Go hide behind that plinth, and let me fight it. If I fall, run away into the arms of the Earth Mother." The kitten looks at her quizzically for a moment, then nods and bounces away to the place she has indicated. Turning towards the brooding presence of the Other, she speaks again, still in Cat form. "You cannot have this poor beast. It is not he you fight, and I will not allow you to destroy one who is not party to your battle. If you want him, you will have to take me. Else, I will banish you from the prison you have made of Adumbro's body, and restore the Cat to itself." A mighty form rises before her, resembling Adumbro's earthly form as the demon version of the high lord had resembled D'ana'no's dire bear. "Puny Elf! Do you think you can stop me from consuming who and what I will?" "You will not torment this beast any longer. You will leave him or I will put him out of his misery." She feels the dark fingers of the demon's probing, questing mind enter her mind, and wraps herself more tightly in the Earth Mother's hand. She pulls the Light of Elune away from the center of her mind, and lets the demon travel within her. Where he touches her, she recoils, but remains steadfast. Demons probe, and this will not play out until he has done so. She feels him withdraw for a moment, and then the Demon Cat before her roars at her. "You have no time for this! Your Vlad is roasting over the flames of hell, and you would dally in a forest glade with ME?? Foolish Elf, to risk your Love for this!" Before her rise the flames he speaks of and she can see her paladin lover, naked and bound by chains, in the fires. His skin is burning, agony is on his face, and he is screaming an almost inhuman sound, but she can hear him. "Sorcha, if you love me, save me! No one else can! So-o-o-o-o-rcha . . . . " She screams. The terror is too much. Without thinking, she shifts back to elf and begins to run into the flames when the cooling Light of Elune washes over her again. Taking a steadying breath, stopping her mad rush forward, she says, "You will not distract or dissuade me. My business with Vlad is not at issue here. At issue here is the Cat, Adumbro. Release him!" "I will not do so unless you offer me an alternative. Will you? Will you offer me yourself? Will you lie down on the ground and offer me your throat? Or are you afraid of me?" "I do fear you," she replies, "but I will not let fear prevent me from doing what I came here to do. If I offer you my throat and yet I prevail over you, you will release the Cat. If you make this promise, I will begin by offering you my throat. But be aware, that you will not break this promise. Both the Earth Mother and Elune stand behind me and they will see, no matter what you do to me, that you keep the promise." The Demon Cat roars at her. "You are a fool, girl! No one bests me, and no one takes back what I have claimed." Calmly, now. "I do." "Then do it, druid. Lie down and show me your throat. I will rip it out, and you will die." "Promise." "I promise. I will have your life in return for the spirit of Adumbro. You are a bigger threat and now you offer yourself to me as a gift, you whom I could not touch on my own. And for what? For a BEAST? Foolish, foolish, elf!" "Not good enough. It is not my life for the Cat. It is my lying down before you, throat exposed, in return for the spirit of the Cat. Promise!" The smell of sulfur rises off the Demon Cat, and there is the sound of mighty teeth snapping together. "I promise!" Flames rise around his body. "Now, lie down and let me take you!" Fear washes over her, threatening to send her racing away from the Demon Cat, but she clings harder to the Earth Mother's hand. Sighing, a sound closer perhaps to a moan of fear, Sorcha shifts back to Cat and lies down. She rolls over and exposes her throat to the Demon Cat, a feline symbol of submission since the dawn of time. But there is no submission in her gesture, only defiance and hope. The Demon leaps and his mighty jaws descend towards her exposed throat, but the instant he moves, she rolls over and leaps to her feet. Shifting back to elf almost before she regains her footing, she reaches for the Light that Elune has bestowed on her. She remembers that her Tranquility had burned him, but she cannot afford to channel now. She needs something instant, something the Demon cannot break. Instead, she begins to throw a chain of Rejuvenation spells at the Demon Cat, wreathing him in the green ribbons of Nature's grace. Over and over, until she feels her resources draining, she flings the healing at him as if it is a weapon. The Demon Cat yowls in agony and leaps towards her again, trying to escape from the ribbons of healing that are searing his skin and breaking his Power. She knows that this is not the demon that possess Lord D'ana'no, but just a minion of his, grown huge and complacent by devouring the spirit of the great Cat Adumbro. The Demon descends on her, ripping and shredding her soft leather garments until she stands naked before him. He shifts to a grotesque mockery of Vlad's form, and stands before her, laughing. She flinches away from the awful vision, from his obvious intent to violate her in every possible way, and flings more healing at him. He reaches out a gnarled hand, sparks flying from his fingertips and grasps her chin, pushing her face up to gaze at him full in the face. "You will not defeat me, Elf! No mere mortal takes me down!" "I bear the Light of Elune. I sit in the Earth Mother's hand. They may let you kill me, but they will not let you have the Cat. In the end, that is all that matters." She smiles at him radiantly, tears pouring down her face. "You will not prevail over that poor creature." "I will have you both!" comes the snarled reply and he leans down to kiss her. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 25, 2005, 5:45pm Sorcha screams. She screams and screams and screams some more. The Demon kisses her deeply and whispers of Vlad in her mind as he does so. His touch burns her, and he reaches for her memories of Vlad, attempting to corrupt them, but she has wrapped her Love in the Light of Elune. As the Demon tries to grab those memories, he encounters the power of the moon, and his screams echo hers. Wrenching away from him, she reaches deeply into herself and flings more healing ribbons at him. Now they start to burn away his flesh, and beneath it, she can see the flames that serve him in place of a soul. "You will not have the Cat!" she snarls at him through clenched teeth. "Perhaps not, but you will never have Vlad. I wonder whose loss is greater?" the Demon snarls. These are his last words, for Sorcha reaches deep into the light she carries and flings it all at him. Where it hits him, he dissolves. Over and over she flings pieces of moonlight, shards of starlight, beams of sunlight, at him, and watches as the power of Elune destroys him, piece by piece. All the while, he fills her mind with visions of Vlad in torment, and she is driven to her knees, howling in soul-deep anguish. Still, she throws the power of Elune at the Demon, hoping against all rational hope that she can outlast him. In one last burst of fire, the Demon disappears, leaving her kneeling on the ground, tears pouring from her eyes, groaning under the burden of the images the Demon has placed in her mind. She can't escape the visions of Vlad in torment, and she wishes for oblivion. As she kneels there, she feels a soft roughness touch her hand, and looking down, she see the Kitten Adumbro licking the soot from her fingers. A smile finds its way to her face, and she picks him up, cuddling him in her arms. The sleeping Cat and the Demon are both gone. Just Sorcha and the kitten remain. "It will be fine, now, love," she tells him. Standing now, still holding the kitten, she begins to retrace her steps out of the Dream. "Let me take you back to D'ana'no, Adumbro. He has missed you greatly." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Vangelis on Dec 25, 2005, 6:07pm (( Absolutely fabulous writing - /cheer! )) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 25, 2005, 7:27pm Silence envelopes the glade, as if the entire forest watches with held breath while the unseen struggle takes place. Polrena places herself between Sorcha and Windfoot in the clearing, singing to the High Lord and soothing his mind. She watches both Kaldorei, dutifully alert to Sorcha's warnings. She cannot see what the druidess does, but knows only that whatever she is doing might either help the Cat, and thus ease the High Lord, or anger the forces inside both. The outcome seems inevitable to Polrena. She cannot fathom the druid failing. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 25, 2005, 11:03pm Sorcha makes her way back to the boundary between the Dream and her ordinary life. She pauses here and looks at herself, naked, covered in soot and blood, with burns around her mouth from the Demon's kisses, weary beyond words, and holding the warm kitten in her arms. She never knows how much of her physical state at the end of a Dream will carry over with her when she steps back across. As long as the kitten comes with her, she will be satisfied. She takes a deep breath and steps back across the threshhold. She finds herself standing in the glade, naked, covered in soot and blood, with burns around her mouth from the Demon's kisses, weary beyond words, and holding the warm kitten in her arms. Oh well. She turns to where the great Cat had lain, sleeping, and sees that he is gone. She turns back to the Lady and the high lord, and sees that they are exactly where she left them. She kneels down beside the high lord and places the kitten in his arms. It is a large kitten, one that will grow up to be a riding saber, and D'ana'no at first looks surprised at her gift. As the kitten snuggles into his arms, however, she can see the moment when he recognizes his old friend. "As he heals, lord," she tells him, "he will grow back to the size you remember." Before she can hear his answer, her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses, drained by her walk in the Dream. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by Polrena on Dec 26, 2005, 2:32am Polrena doesn't quite understand what just happened. One moment, the druidess was in a trance-like state, standing barefoot next to the tainted hulk of the full grown panther. The next, Sorsha stood in the clearing, a ball of fur in her arms, her clothes missing, spotted by soot and wounds. She had not hesitated, but strode to the High Lord, spoke to him softly, and fell to the forest's floor. Whether she understands or not, however, she know there is, at least, something she can finally do. She steps over to the fallen woman, kneels, and places her hands on the Kaldorei's head. Singing softly, she prays to the Light, and begins the process of healing. Like the High Lord, she knows this quick healing won't be enough, but it should stabalize her enough for a move into the warmer Halls. Behind her, she hears a whisper of movement. The cloak she had placed upon Windfoot descends onto the naked woman from over her shoulder. Concentrating on her work, she does not turn. The warm Light that fills her is channeled into the woman in front of her. With the worst of the wounds healed, she stands up and steps back, already knowing the High Lord will take it upon himself to carry her back to the Hall. She flushes, and looks into her High Lord's eyes. "If you like, I can carry Adumbro."
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:21:22 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch4 ((open)) Post by windfoot on Dec 26, 2005, 5:14pm
Windfoot accepts the kitten numbly, his thought still spinning from what had just happened. The cat curls against his skin and purrs contentedly, and a wave of familiarity comes to him. Adumbro? No, not Adumbro. Adumbro was healed and gone, but his essence lies quiet in this little one.
Sorsha manages to whisper, "As he heals, lord, he will grow back to the size you remember" before collapsing on the ground. He looks to her then, burned and bruised from her journey and battles, and wonders what she suffered through to bring life back to him where once there was only living death. In the timeless moment when the druidess had walked the Dream, Windfoot had felt such a rush of emotion that he too is now exhausted and near spent. Hatred, fear, anger, lust, and finally utter contempt had swelled within him, as Sorcha’Rei traveled on paths he could no longer see; where he refused to look for fear of his own darkness and corruption. The whisper of the Voice had indeed come to him to taunt and command him to follow Sorcha, but he had held fast to the power of Polrena’s song and faith. The purity of her faith had been enough to keep the demon at bay.
Windfoot runs his hand over the place where Adumbro had lain. Though the ground shows the imprint of the faded body, there is no heat there. With a silent prayer to Elune in thanks, he stands and then moves to cover Sorcha’s unconscious form. Polrena is praying quietly and a golden light infuses the sleeping druidess’ form. The burns on her face and mouth fade and her breathing deepens. Satisfied, the priestess steps back and looks into his eyes.
“Come, good lady. We must return to the Halls. Our work here is done.”
Having covered Sorsha with his only garment, he stood naked before the priestess. She flushes with embarrassment, in the human way, and keeps her eyes averted from his nakedness.
"If you like, I can carry Adumbro," she says.
“Thank you.”
He transfers the sleeping kitten to Polrena, then turns and lifts the elven woman. Her heart is slow and even as he lifts her under her shoulders and her knees, and cradles her face to his chest. Her body, though limp, is light, and her silver hair falls over his arm to wave lightly as he carries her back to the Halls.
An odd trio they are, returning to the Halls. But the clouds are banished and Elune’s light shines down brightly upon them, as if dancing with joy. And for the first time in ages, Windfoot feels the faintest hint of the voice of nature, laughing.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:22:11 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1135678040 Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Dec 27, 2005, 4:07am The trio sneaks into the Hall of the Defenders the same way they had left-undetected, as far as they know. Polrena stays close to the High Lord’s side as he makes his way through the Beast wing, preferring not to follow his nude backside but not as familiar with the Wing as he, either. At Sorcha’s room, he lays her onto her bed. Polrena removes the High Lord’s cloak from the elven woman with one hand, and hands both the cloak and the tiny ball of fur to Windfoot, before covering the druidess in her own blankets. Hoping the High Lord at least sits while she works, but half convinced he won’t, Polrena sets him from her mind for a time as she works her healing powers on the druid. Her hands again pressed to the druidess’ temples, she prays and sings softly. This sort of healing takes more of her concentration, which is why she prefers to do it in the Hall, or at least in a location where there will be nothing to disturb or threaten her patient or herself while she is not conscious of the outside world. She immerses herself in Light, in the warmth of love and joy, and channels it through herself into her sleeping charge. Each blemish, each bruise and cut, is washed in Light, bathed in the healing power, erased from existence. She is unaware of the passage of time, but continues until she feels there are no wounds left to tend. Finally, she rises, wobbles a little. She knows it is perceived as weakness, and sometimes it is. Sometimes she puts too much of herself into the healing. Mostly though, she simply doesn’t remember how the ground feels beneath her feet when she comes back to herself. She is grateful for the High Lord’s steadying hand on her elbow. “She’ll sleep for a time, for some of the healing power comes from within her. How long, I cannot say." Much of it depended on her strength, and she had displayed a great deal of it in the forest. How many new recruits would have the kind of courage to face whatever had had wounded her so, for a man she hardly knew? " I have tried to ensure she does not dream, for the power which harmed her may be waiting.” Her hands and shoulders lift in a shrug. “But I do not know how your Emerald Dream works, or if normal dreams are related. Or, for all I know, she may snap awake any moment, fully rested.” Reaching for her com to call Katja for warm blankets and broth, she grimaces as she remembers she does not have it. Sorcha needs to be bathed, as well, nearly as much as she needs her rest, but the High Lord’s wounds must come before the comfort of being clean. The priestess tucks the covers around Sorcha, trying to keep as much of her warm as possible. She turns and smiles at the High Lord, who is wrapped once more in his cloak, more for her benefit than his, she’s sure. He holds the kitten in a protective embrace. “Your turn, High Lord.” He leads her to his quarters, padding on bare feet through the silent corridors. Instead of taking to his bed, he enters his sleeping chamber only for a change of clothes. In the meantime, Polrena lights a fire in the hearth to ward against the chill of the night air. She leaves the door open, in case Sorcha wakes. Fully dressed, Windfoot drapes his cloak once more over her shoulders, before he takes a seat in his enormous Kaldorei chair. She hides a smile at his display of stubbornness, but cannot even begin to imagine this man laying meekly down in his bed for her to heal. Settling herself on the floor in front of him, she prepares to enter the trance to heal when his voice cracks the silence. “You are no servant, Lady Polrena. There is another chair.” She flushes slightly at the gentle rebuke, but rises. She does need to be in front of him, however, so she hauls on the other chair to bring it into position. He rises in protest, but she waves him back down. “Don’t make me have to heal you more than I already do, my Lord. This one isn’t nearly as heavy as that monstrosity.” The chair slides easily, and the priestess soon sits before the High Lord. Placing her hands on him, she enters her healing trance once more, praying and singing, begging the Light’s power, wielding it to cure her master. The timeless embrace of the Light ends when she is satisfied there is nothing left within or without his person for her to heal. The two sit in companionable silence for long moments, and Polrena is grateful once more for the High Lord’s instinctual patience with her momentary disorientation. The fire crackles comfortingly, until the memories of the forest’s horror begin to fade, and do not seem quite so near. “Would you care to talk to me, High Lord, perhaps of how this came to pass?” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 27, 2005, 3:45pm Sorcha wanders somewhere. It is not a dream and it is surely not the Dream, but it is somewhere other than the world in which she normally lives. She is aware of very little other than the fact that she wanders, and the bruise on her heart when she thinks of Vlad. After some time wandering, she becomes aware that there is a small residual connection to the spirit of the high lord, left over from when Elune used her to channel Her power to D'ana'no. With a vague sort of curiosity, Sorcha wonders why that connection hasn't dissolved. Hasn't it been hours, maybe days, since they stood in the glade together? She continues to wander, and to wonder at that connection. This is nowhere, and she is less and less comfortable with being here, wherever here is. How she longs for the oblivion of sleep! Now a whisper enters her mind. She listens to hear what it might say. "Night Elf, you will be mine," come the words, snarled but very quietly. She recognizes the Voice, of course. It is similar to the one that inhabited the Cat Adumbro, but much, much more powerful. She has heard it before, coming from the high lord's mouth. Before, when she faced either of those voices, she was girded with the power of Elune, but now she is alone, and she is sorely afraid. "Did you think you could defy me with impunity? No one takes back what I have claimed, and yet the kitten sleeps on D'ana'no's bed now. You will pay for your temerity." She flinches away from the pure hatred in the Voice. "I will use you, and my destruction of you, to destroy, finally, your oh-so-precious "high lord" and to sunder the fellowship of Defenders. Fear me, elf, and fear him, for you will never know when I will rise up, take control of him, and claim my payment from you for what you have done." Sorcha screams. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Dec 28, 2005, 1:15pm Windfoot sits quietly before Polrena as she prays to the light. The peace of the night is still upon him, his enemy banished by the power of Elune and the holy light that had come to the glade this night. And as she prays, he feels the light pushing back the darkness within him further. He looks into the high priestess’ face as she chants; her fair skin pure and without blemish, her large compassionate eyes closed in prayer. Though always a beautiful woman, she was never more so than when she prayed. For a moment, he feels safe. Finally, she nods, sits back, and opens her eyes. The pre-dawn light slants through the window, and the fire casts a flickering glow upon them as they sit companionably in silence for a time. She smiles then, almost apologetically, and her muscles begin to relax. It is true that the enemy is gone, and that he has been made whole again, but Windfoot knows that the light Polrena has cast within him cannot last. The enemy is only banished, not destroyed. His power is too great, and his foothold upon Windfoot’s spirit is now too deeply entrenched for anyone to be able to do anything but keep the creeping darkness at bay for a time. Still, with the Voice banished, Windfoot has the clarity to see that much of the shame and paranoia that has been haunting him since his return to the Halls is not his own. Or rather, the pride and fear was within him, but his enemy had exploited and inflamed his weaknesses in order to twist him into a more convenient and pliable shape. Now, in this moment of reprieve, Windfoot knows that there is strength, loyalty and comfort within these Halls. And he knows what he must do. “Lady Polrena…thank you. I did not ask for your help or kindness, and yet you followed me. I was hiding and alone, and you brought your light to me. I know that you are trustworthy and kind. The story I must tell you is long. And, when you have heard it, you may not think…so highly of me. But, I will tell it.” With a deep breath, Windfoot begins. “I…loved…the lady Vezesara. I have never told a soul, not even her, but I was deeply, passionately, in love with her. We used to travel and hunt together. I would make excuses for us to be together, so that I might be close to her. Sometimes the way she looked at me, or laughed with me…I thought…I thought she might feel the same way.” Windfoot shakes his head, “But no matter. “Two months ago I received a request to aid the Alliance at the front, in Warsong Gulch. I answered the call. When I left I did not ask Vezesara to come with me, and she did not volunteer. We did not part well. I felt that she was angry with me for my choice. “When I arrived at the front, I missed her terribly. I wanted to see her again, to be with her. And then…and then our party was attacked, and I was nearly killed. “As I lay collapsed and near death, I thought…I thought I had to see her at least one more time. I was not rational at the time, and my mind and spirit were weak…but I traveled in the Dream to Vezesara. I thought I would just look upon her once more, but something happened to me.” Having come to it, Windfoot hesitates, unsure if he can speak. Polrena takes his hand. “What happened?” He looks at her for a long time, trying to find the words. “Lord, what happened?” “The Dream is a dangerous place. All things are there. Light and shadow, good and evil. Vezesara was in a battle at Tarren Mill. The dead were everywhere, and lurking above the dead was something dark watching the bloodshed and hatred. It must have spied me as I stood watching Vezesara’s spirit. A voice…something dark whispered to me in that moment. I did not recognize it until it was too late. “At first it was just a whisper, urging me to act on my desires; to take what I wanted. I thought it was…someone that I could trust.” Windfoot still could not talk about Ursa, the pain of her torment was too great upon him. “In the Dream, with Lady Vezesara, I heard a voice urging me forward, I was weak. I am ashamed, and cannot ever repair what I have done.” “What did you do that was so terrible?” Windfoot looks away from Polrena’s compassionate eyes. “I succumbed to the taint in that moment. I possessed her spirit…in a way that should only be given, should never be simply taken by force. I had the power to transfix her spirit, and in weakness, that is what I did. I might have consumed her entirely, but I stopped just shy of that. If I had, she would have been reduced to nothing but a mindless, soulless husk. Even so, in that moment, Vezesara was cut down. So great and so dominant was the power I wrought upon her that she was transfixed in the mortal world as well. Because of me, she was run through with a sword, and died. “I should have died on that battlefield in Warsong Gulch. But for the healing power of a certain druidess, I would have. But though my body was healed, my spirit was broken. A darkness has crept into me, Polrena. A great darkness, whose power dwarfs my own. Every day, the darkness within me has grown stronger. I have watched as my spirit world has grown corrupted, as the air has turned foul and the ground has cracked and burned. I have fought unending battles, always to lose ground.” Windfoot looks down at his unblemished hands and wonders how long before the burns return. “There is little but corruption wihin me now. Pure things have come to burn me. I have lost the ability to hear the songs of nature…the songs of Elune. I cannot heal. And, with each passing day, the demon within me grows stronger. Now, he has the power to make me feel things, say things. Sometimes I speak with a demonic voice I cannot control...and that I am starting to comprehend. Tonight you were witness as he forced me to transform into that hideous mockery of myself, more powerful than I could ever be and solely designed to reap destruction and death. “Polrena, I know that my spirit is dying. Your holy powers cannot save me; they can only keep the monster at bay for awhile.” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Dec 28, 2005, 5:00pm His pain and shame lay plain on his face. She marvels at the trust he has placed in her, to speak to her so. To lay such vulnerability at her feet is as close to a plea for aid as she had ever heard, and it breaks her heart that she can do little more than listen. She reaches out to him, her hands covering his, in an effort to bridge the distance. He looks so alone, but she does not fear him, no matter what he thinks of himself. She says nothing for a few moments, scouring her memories for something, anything that she might have learned that would help. Nothing. “My Lord, I am proud you have come to me, touched and honored to have you confide in me. Thank you.” Hoping she can lighten his anguish by sharing it with him, she continues. “Love makes us all vulnerable. In your case, this thing, whatever it is, used your love of Vezesara to reach you, to use you. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of such a thing, but it seems to me that if it found a way in, we can find a way to get it out.” She clenches his hands in emphasis, and watches his eyes so he will know her conviction. “I know the thing inside you cannot remain there forever. There are too many of us for one pitiful piece of shadow to overcome the might and Light of your Defenders!” She smiles. “It knows the ways of the mind and spirit in ways we do not, is all. Once we know how to defeat it, we will.” “And…” She cannot heal the thing that lurks inside him, unseen, but perhaps she can help begin the healing of wounds he may not even be aware of. The past tense of the word “loved” when used for Vezesara, and the way he does not mention her after the battle, leads Polrena to believe that even if the thing in him is banished completely, he won’t allow love to use him again. “High Lord, remember it is this thing that is the enemy, not you. Nothing you have done is anything to be ashamed of. Love is not evil; our foe is.” Afraid of sounding too much like a sermonizing priest, she desists. “We will beat it, High Lord. What we need to do now, is figure out how. How did it reach you, how did it even know to get to you? Perhaps one of the Defenders who is more familiar with demonic forces. Have you contacted Merlinne, or Boswell?” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Dec 29, 2005, 3:22pm Windfoot looks into Polrena’s eyes, he feels her soft grip upon him, and feels comforted. “Such faith, you have…” Gently, he pulls his hand away, and she releases him. He stands, then, and walks to the window to look out. Golden sparks shine in his eyes, reflected from the beauty of the pre-dawn light, but his face is stained and dirty and small flecks of debris shows in his matted hair, reminders of the horror and triumph of the night just past. Quietly, he speaks to her. “You are right, Polrena; right to have faith. The hollowness within me, and my weariness, makes me feel that there is no hope. But there is always hope, where there is life.” He turns from the window to look at her, sitting watching him. He feels her unspoken promise to follow him anywhere; to stand loyal to him even if he falls where she cannot save him. He steps towards her and she stands up to him, exhausted from the long night’s trials, but with a dogged determination shining in her eyes. “You honor me, Polrena, with your faith. As soon as the day dawns, I will seek out the Lady Merlinne. There may yet be a way to forever destroy this thing; a way that I have not seen. If there is a way, we will find it. Go now, my friend. Get some rest.” For a long moment, Polrena stands before him, her body language fairly shouting out a refusal to leave him, even for a moment. “I need to bathe, Polrena. I will call for you. The beast is still at bay. We have a little time yet.” She lowers her eyes, willing herself to accept his request and leave him. She has been holding her breath, and releases it. “Very well, lord.” Then she turns and walks slowly from his study, leaving him alone. A great weariness comes to him, then, with her departure, as if she had been holding him upright. Windfoot puts his hand down upon the desk beside him, and runs his fingers along the smooth black surface of the tome that has recently become his constant companion: Of Daemonia; Summons and Domination. Looking down, he speak to the book, “Will you save me as well, my friend? Or lead me forever into the dark?” Then, sliding its hands along the surface, he turns away from its silent presence to follow the stairs up to his bedchamber. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Dec 30, 2005, 7:39pm The light of day is fully arisen as Windfoot makes his way though the Dalaran Hall and up the stairs to Merlinne’s rooms. He is clean now, and has dressed all in black, in the sombre, and exquisitely crafted mageweave garments she had made for him during her recent convalescence. Once, he would have been able to hear the song of the cloth singing of its history and making; now, he hears nothing. In one hand he carries a mighty staff of power, as if ready for attack. In his other is the great black tome, radiating stillness and silence. “My Lady is not in her chambers, Sire,” he is informed. “She has stepped out to the courtyard for some air, I believe. Can I tell her that you were looking for her?” “Very well. But I will seek her there myself.” Up before dawn? Windfoot had thought the magess was accustomed to late nights studying her arts. No matter. Had he known she was up he would have sought her out sooner. Traveling to the courtyard near to the Ensign Halls, he hears the ringing of combat. Vangelis, no doubt, or else young Valand, up already and hard at practice. Never tiring, these Ensign warriors; continuously preparing for the battle in which they would need to lay down their life to save their troops. A simple life, and profoundly noble. A few corners and the lush greens of the courtyard expand before him. More like a park in size, it was formed ages ago when the four close dwelling houses expanded into each other as part of the organic growth of the houses into the Defenders Halls of today. Though one could not truly get lost in the courtyard, one could manage to become secluded and hidden here; a fact that generally made the courtyard all the more appealing to Windfoot. For a moment he stands, enjoying the pure sunshine of the morning. But then the light changes. Something about the light is not right and gives him a headache; makes him feel weaker. He covers his eyes with his hand and steps under the shade of one of the nearby trees, then begins to walk the pathways slowly, leaning for support upon his staff and looking for his friend. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Dec 31, 2005, 2:37pm Merlinne sat quietly in the sunshine of the Courtyard, her eyes closed and hands resting lightly on her knees. A light, cool breeze pulled playfully at her hair and the sounds of birds in the trees brought music to the morning. Though winter was far from over, this reprieve from the bitter cold and snow drew many Defenders from the Hall to enjoy the day. She had planned to spend her meditations in the Dalaran study, high atop the tower, but that room had few windows and she wanted to see the sun. Her senses were open to the world about her, taking in all the Elements had to offer. She drifted on the wind blowing across the estate, she delved into the depths of the earth, she welcomed the warmth of the sun into her and let her mind skip through the waves of the nearby creek. Her heart missed this intimate communion during her convalescence, her body to weak to speak to the Elements, her mage senses dulled and drained. And though she would like to spend the day just enjoying their company, she had another purpose today. Sometime, during the night, she’d felt a shadow creep upon the estate. Something dark and sinister, tainted with death and evil. She had felt something like this before, but not nearly as strong. Now that her strength had returned and she could once more tap fully into her power, she’d taken it upon herself to find whatever it was stalking her family… find it and eliminate it. Somehow the darkness she felt had been subdued, muted, but she would find it eventually. Nothing could hide from the Elements. They were the building blocks of the world. All things contained something of the five within them. It was the Mages that felt kinship to them though. Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Arcane. Though Merlinne could touch each of them, it was the Arcane to which her soul was drawn the strongest. Now, she called to all of them to find the darkness within her home. As her mind patrolled, searching like a hound on the hunt, her Mage senses opened as well. The light became sharper, the sounds more distinct. She could feel the fire of each person within the Hall. Could see their light of spirit. She pushed her senses out further, questing, seeking and came across a spirit so tired and battered her heart went out to it without thinking. She touched the mind of the tortured soul and gasped in recognition. D’ana’no. She dropped from her trance so fast, withdrew her senses with such force, she felt dizzy and disoriented. She rose from her seat though and turned to the trees where she had felt the presence of her Lord and friend. He stood concealed in the shadows leaning heavily on his staff and holding a great, dark book. She immediately recognized the volume and her concern for him increased. She could see his weakened state as she approached and the way he flinched away from the bright sunlight. Without a word she went to him, took the heavy tome from his hand, and moved him to a bench deep in the shadows. It concerned her more that he did not protest. “D’ana’no,” she said. “What has happened?” She placed her hands on his head and used her mage senses to ‘examine’ him. If this were a physical ailment she would sense nothing but if it were more, she might be able to find something else. Clinging to his being, like a dark parasite, she found the shadow she’d been seeking. Faint and subdued, but there. She could feel it writhing like a snake in a trap, trying to break free. Why had she not sensed this before? “I believe I am in need of your skills, my friend,” he said, his voice tired. He touched the cover of the book, ‘Of Daemonia’. “It has come time for me to tell you of something.” She listened quietly as he told her. His passion, Ursa, the Voice, all that had transpired and led to this moment. His spirit was weakening, his mind exhausted from the constant battle raging within. She felt guilt and shame flood her own being at not having seen this in her friend. She quelled it though, turning her mind to the task at hand. Something must be done. There was no time for regrets. “I do not understand all that book contains,” he said finally, “but I believe, to stop this, the demon must be destroyed on the mortal plane. I cannot enter the Dream to search it out. It is no common demon, I fear, but one of great power. I am unsure where to begin looking.” He looked away as if unsure where to go next. Merlinne set the book aside. She would open it and delve into its black pages to find what she needed, but not yet. This moment was for D’ana’no. Time was short, but proper preparations must be made. “I will not pretend I am an expert on Demonology, D’ana’no, but I may be able to help you find the beast.” He turned to look at her and she saw a brief flicker of hope on his face, probably the first he had felt in some time. She took his hand and held his gaze for a long moment before speaking again. “Some mages can reach another place, not so much a plane, but rather take a half step to the side in their perceptions and see the world in its elemental form.” He looked at her confused for a moment. “I have never heard of such a thing.” She shook her head. “You would not. It is magecraft and not even all mages are allowed to learn it. In this place the raw elements that make up everything in the world are laid out before the mage and can be manipulated by them. It is power unlike any other. Idly tampering in there can bring great harm to the world… and the mage. The forces there are very powerful.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “A mage normally enters this place through their own mind. A meditative state, as it were. But I believe I can enter through your mind and use your tie to the beast to find him. There I will be unfettered by the constraints of the mortal world. The world will be laid out before me in a form I can better traverse. That I can control to some degree. Should the beast choose to pursue me, he will have to do it on my chosen battleground, where I have the advantage.” D’ana’no pulled his hand away from her, his face reflecting shock and a touch of anger. “No! I will not let you risk yourself in this way. You have not seen the destruction he has wrought.” “I am open to suggestions of another way, my friend. I could spend hours, days searching my books for another method, but time is running out. I will not let the beast have you.” She watched him, letting him make his way to the conclusion she already had. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You are very close to me,” he said. “It was through my own emotions that he took hold. He may try to do so again to destroy you.” “I believe,” she said gently, “it is my choice to take the risk. We will need to involve the Defenders. Once the source of the beast is found, it will need to be destroyed.” He nodded slowly, seemingly too tired to argue further. “I can do one small thing for you now.” Her heart went out to him and she reached out her hand, laying it gently on his brow. He flinched away for a moment, then submitted to the touch. She knew he was not a physical person. He did not touch nor invite it, but for what she did now, physical contact was needed. She closed her eyes and stepped lightly to the edges of his mind. It would take just a moment to inspect his inner barriers, perhaps provide him with a bit of strength in the battle. She could not heal, nor could she channel the Light, but strength of mind, that she could grant. His inner barriers, the protections of one’s Self and thoughts, were like a wall of gray light. They were crumbling and cracking, no doubt weakened by the beast. She carefully kept herself an appropriate distance from them, not wishing to invade his mind itself. She drew the strength of Earth to her and like a painter, spread a layer of it across his inner defenses, filling in the cracks and crevices, shoring up the weak spots. She could not heal his soul, nor protect it, but perhaps just this small bit of strength on his mind would be enough to help him endure. She opened her eyes and removed her hand. It would not last long, but it was something. “We must call council,” she said then. “The Lords and Wardens must be involved.” She pulled her communicator from the pocket hanging on her belt and flipped it on to the channel reserved for the Lords and Wardens. “Lords and Wardens of the Defenders. Please report to the council chambers. There is an urgent matter that needs tending.” She rose then and turned to her friend, wishing she could do something about the tiredness and sorrow she saw on his face. “Come,” she said. “We will defeat the beast as a family.” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Dec 31, 2005, 6:04pm It is the way of things. Small, sometimes infinitesimal, actions lead inevitably to matters of great consequence. Time, too, is not what it seems. It is not linear, but expands and contracts between the seeming chaos of existence and the ordered moments when matters come together and events transpire that were always destined. Windfoot feels the machinery of time inescapably clicking together, like a great clock about to sound the hour. Whether for good or for ill he cannot tell. Merlinne takes him in hand; there are no other words for it. He marvels at her power and strength, and even moreso, at her certainty that she can stand and face his enemy, alone. He does not want to release the book, such comfort does he feel in its dark presence, but his defenses were broken; his will is failing at last. She takes it from him and places it on the bench beside her. When Merlinne touches his mind he feels a rush of excitement within, as his enemy licks his lips in anticipation of a new feast. Windfoot desperately wants to warn her, but he is now too weak to speak; the Voice will not let him protect her. For a moment he feels like he was falling, falling back into the dust and fire within his soul, but then his mind clears again, and hears Merlinne summoning the council. “So. It is time at last,” he mutters. “Let them come.” “Come,” she said, “We will defeat the beast as a family.” Windfoot laughs then. He laughs quietly, and uncontrollably, and his hands shake as he compels them towards the tome upon the bench. “Please…the book!” he gasps. Merlinne placed it in his hands, and a calmness floods back into him; the shaking recedes. She looks at him in shock and confusion. “You are right, Merlinne, to call council. We must hurry.” “What just happened, Windfoot?” He clutches Of Daemonia to his chest. “I cannot explain it. Something about this tome…it soothes me. Come, we do not have much time. The Voice returns. He is too strong, Merlinne, and he is not afraid. I think…he wants to be discovered. You must promise me that you will not face him alone. I could not bear it if you were tainted.” She nods, but he is not sure if she is promising, or merely confirming her suspicions. Out of the courtyard they walk together and up to enter the Lords’ Hall. The Hall is a mystical creation of the Archmage Elron, once Guildmaster of the Defenders of Valor. The magics of its creation are astounding. Each House of the Defenders Halls has its own magical entrance to the Lords' Hall, unlocked by enchanted keys. Invisible to the world of Azeroth, the Lords' Hall is great and vast, existing in another place, unseen and unknown. Led by Merlinne, Windfoot enters the great round council chamber. In the center of the room, surrounded by pillars of stone, and bathed in bright light streaming from vaulted windows, is the great round table of the Lords' Council. Nine chairs surround the table, all of equal size and importance. All voices are equal here. Placing the great black tome before him on the marble surface of the Lords’ table, Windfoot sinks slowly into a chair to wait the arrival of the council. "Merlinne, there is another who is involved, now. Sorcha'Rei, a Kaldorei druidess recently come to the Defenders, entered the Dream last night, to save my companion Adumbro. I do not know what part she is to play in this moment, but I know that her coming can be no accident. Also, by getting close to me, she may have brought danger to herself. Perhaps she should be brought here?" Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Vangelis on Dec 31, 2005, 10:33pm "It was you, wasn't it?" A wad of lace and embroidered mageweave was clutched in Vangelis' fist. Johnson stood at the door to the Lord of Ensign's quarters, politely inscrutable as ever. "I apologize, milord. I did not realize it was an offence to provide you with apparel for an affair of state." Vangelis shook the wad of fine cloth in exasperation, toward the exquisitely-carved mahogany desk and chair which had not been there the night before. "And I thought it was Windfoot! Otherwise I would have never... and this... this furniture!" "The wood is from Stranglethorn, milord, but it was carved by a master in Darnassus. Is there some fault with it?" "Fault??..." Vangelis' callused fist shook as he searched for words to express his outrage. The mageweave-and-lace shirt rustled delicately. "I thought... I thought... I thought I told you to stay out of my room," he concluded, pointing triumphantly at the housemaster. "I assure you, milord, that I have obeyed your order to the letter. Indeed I refrain from entering your quarters even now. But surely you did not mean to bar all Manor staff?" Vangelis' mouth opened and closed. "I looked like a bloody fool!" "Begging your pardon, sir, you looked like a Lord." He did not sound like he was begging for anything. "I'm a farmer and a soldier, not a Light-blasted L..." "Lords and Wardens of the Defenders. Please report to the council chambers. There is an urgent matter that needs tending." "Aaargh!" Vangelis threw the mageweave shirt onto the floor, near where the matching trousers and dragonskin boots were already strewn. "I'll... speak to... you later..." he grunted, as he strapped on his mail. "Could you get that?" he asked, when it came to his breastplate. "Permission to enter your quarters, sir." "Confound it, man!" "Very good, sir." Johnson stepped into the quarters and cinched the breastplate tight as Vangelis pulled on his greaves. As Vangelis grabbed axe and shield from their wall pegs and stormed out of the room, Johnson retrieved the discarded clothing and hung it carefully in the closet. "Hm. That went well," was all he said. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Fechak on Jan 1, 2006, 12:25pm Fechak was pushing Keg faster than he had in some time. Urgency hadn't been a part of his routine for months since he had taken a sabbatical from adventuring. When he received the call he had been on his eight pint at the Pig and Whistle - just getting started. Now branches threatened to clip him off of his steady mount as trees whistled past him. The hall appeared quite suddenly as Keg came to a stop. Fechak leapt off of the ram pushing his way through the doors while he pulled his weapons out of their scabbards. He sprinted up the stairs and into the entrance of the Lord's chambers a whirling dervish unsure what evils awaited. He stopped himself short of bursting the door down and was just about to get out the magical key he kept around his neck when he heard a great commotion barreling up behind him - Vangelis. The two masters of melee combat worked well together, and this moment was no different as they assumed combative positions before the enchanted door. Fechak slipped into the shadows as silent as the moon sliding across the sky as Vangelis prepared himself up against the doorway. It was a strange sensation to be transported through this doorway, as soon as it was over, the two looked upon Windfoot and Merlinne alone. Keeping their guard up to whatever hidden urgency lurked in this room, they moved slowly around the pillars. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Jan 3, 2006, 11:42am Merlinne watched D'ana'no for several moments as he clutched the black tome to him. There was little comfort to be found in that book; the spells and incantations within its dark cover were some of the most vile, most dangerous of demonlogical craft. They were the reason the book was so tightly warded. She shook her head. She would have to worry about removing the book from his presence at a later time. He was not trained in the craft enough to keep it yet at the moment she would not take it from him. Perhaps after the beast was destroyed she would be able to ease his dependence on it. "Merlinne, there is another who is involved, now," D'ana'no said quietly. "Sorcha'Rei, a Kaldorei druidess recently come to the Defenders, entered the Dream last night, to save my companion Adumbro. I do not know what part she is to play in this moment, but I know that her coming can be no accident. Also, by getting close to me, she may have brought danger to herself. Perhaps she should be brought here?" "I will have her summoned," she said as she turned from him to the door. At that moment Vangelis entered the council chamber, his stance saying he was ready for a fight. It would not be long until they all had a great fight before them. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she said as she moved over to the Lord of Ensign. "Please be seated while I fetch another that must be here." Stepping out the doorway and moving down the corridor she caught a passing footman. "Go find Sorcha'Rei and ask her if she could come to this corridor please. I will see she is escorted into the Council Chamber from there." He nodded smartly and left in a rush. It would take time for him to find the woman and bring her to this section of the Hall. Merlinne returned to the Council Chamber to wait, not wishing to be gone from her friend. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 4, 2006, 4:14pm Sorcha was still wandering in the not-Dream. The High Lord's demonic Voice was quiet now, not using the open channel that still existed between them. She probed it gently, wondering if she could close it, now that it was no longer needed for channeling the power of Elune to him. She looked around. This was such a featureless place! Not like the Dream. Not even like the ordinary dreams of sleep.... Sorcha jerked out of her drowsy state when a knock came on her door. Getting out of bed to answer it, she grimaced at the residual soreness in her body, and at its filthy state. She rubbed the soot on her arm gently with her fingers, and decided it was going to take a very hot, very soapy bath to remove it. Wrapping a robe around her, and rolling her eyes as she realized it, too, would now need to be de-sooted, she walked to the door and opened it. An impassive footman stood on the other side of the door. "Your presence is required in the hallway outside the Lords' Council Chamber. And might I suggest a bath before you go?" Sorcha quirked an eyebrow at the man, and assured him she would be there, soon, clothed, and clean. As she drew her bath, she wondered what she had done to warrant a summons to see the Lords. As she scrubbed herself clean, she worried that perhaps she was not living up to the standards of the Defenders. As she pulled on a set of clean leather and braided her wet hair, she decided not to worry about it. And as she stepped out of her room into the hallway, she realized she had no idea whatsoever where the Lords' Council Chamber was. Looking around, she saw another footman, and caught his attention. "Can you direct me to the place I should go if I have been summoned to the hallyway outside the Lords' Council Chamber, please?" The man nodded without changing his expression and began to walk. Sorcha followed him, trying not to worry. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Jan 4, 2006, 4:48pm A voice came through Polrena's com, interrupting her meditations. "Lords and Wardens of the Defenders. Please report to the council chambers. There is an urgent matter that needs tending." She shifted her legs on the pillow beneath them, crossing them and pushing herself up. Her mooncloth robe, light enough for her meditations yet tough enough for the fields of battle, was soft and clean against her skin, so she judged the garments worthy of the Lord's scrutiny. Haste seemed in order, anyway. She grabbed a key from her pack, unlocked a small box on her table, and removed yet another key. This one she pocketed. Although she felt as though she were forgetting something, she left the room. Using her enchanted key at one of the Lord's Hall's entrances, she let herself in. "Blessings of the Light unto you, Lords," she said in soft tones. A curtsey to each of the Lords already present followed the greeting. She felt no need to ask why the meeting was called, for she knew the subject would come up when all is ready. Interrupting or asking superfluous questions would only distract and delay. No matter how curious she was. Still, she could not help but surreptitiously examine the High Lord, mindful of last night's escapades. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Johnson on Jan 5, 2006, 8:03pm What in the light was happening? The new lady druid, Sorcha'Rei, was being escorted by Alberts where she had no right to be. He should know better. Whatever new shenanegans this was, it should be nipped in the bud. Placing himself squarely in their path, and barring entry to the last corridor which only served as an entry into the Lords' Halls, he spoke quickly to Alberts, first, dismissing him with a "Thank you, Alberts. I will take matters from here." Then, once he was out of earshot, Johnson turned and spoke politely but implaccably to the lady. "I'm sorry, my dear, there seems to have been some kind of mistake. THis area ia reserved. Not even I am allowed. Lords' Councils. I'm sure you will understand. If there is a message...?" Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 5, 2006, 10:13pm Sorcha looked at the man in front of her, forcing a calmness into her voice that she was far from feeling. "I was summoned here by Lady Merlinne, but if you would prefer that I leave, I will, of course do so. You can oblige me by letting her know you have turned me away." She turned and walked serenely back down the hallway along which she had come. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Jan 6, 2006, 12:02am Merlinne nodded in greeting at Polrena as she entered and took her seat. Gauging that there had been enough time for Sorcha to reach the corridor she slipped quietly from the room to fetch her. She would need to escort her into the council room since she would not have the proper key. When she came up behind Johnson she felt her temper rise at that fool of a man turning Sorcha away. "Johnson! I did indeed call for Sorcha'Rei's presence. As did the High Lord." She stepped past the man and took Sorcha by the hand. "Come, I will have to let you in." As she moved past Johnson once more she pinned him to the wall with a glare. "Do not make me remind you of your place." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Jan 11, 2006, 9:40pm As many as the council as were coming had assembled. With Merlinne’s eyes upon him, Windfoot sat still with his eyes closed, but yet he felt them arrive: sturdy Vangelis, wily Fechak, loyal Polrena, mysterious Sorcha’Rei. Windfoot sat in darkness, feeling each arrive. The great book before him on the table anchored him, but the beating of his heart deadened his hearing. He felt alone within a dark veil. Each of the Defenders arrived; the presence within him weighed each one and found them all unworthy. The war had begun again within him. His lips moved silently as the Voice tried to speak through him. He held fast to his strength and resolve. Opening his eyes he looked to the Lady of Dalaran, but she did not move to begin the council that she had called, but rather stood studying him. Finally, holding on to control like a man hanging over a chasm from his fingers, and not sure if he was in control of what he said, he began to speak. “Sorcha’Rei, you should not have come. Each of you should not have come. You are each of you in grave danger; as is every Defender. For he comes in might to consume not only me, but all of you as well. You should not have come...but, for coming, I thank you. “Polrena; Merlinne; each of you know the dark truth that I have carried; that I do carry. The rest of you need know this: I have become tainted by a dark power that dwarfs my own. Know that a foul taint warps my spirit with an indomitable will and unceasing cruel strength. I must admit to you here that I have fallen to the darkness within me. No longer can I feel Elune’s presence. I cannot heal and I destroy that which I touch. With every passing day I fall deeper into the shadow. “Vangelis, I know that you call yourself a simple man and I suspect that you do not have time for ‘cryptic’ words. Yes, I can see it in your eyes. Let me then be plain. A demon has possessed me. Even now it urges me to destroy each of you and each of my precious Defenders. This is an evil that I brought into my own life. My bad judgment and desires have brought me here. I deserve what has happened to me. And I have paid dearly already, but it is not enough. Soon it will destroy me completely and my spirit will be utterly consumed by the fire that rages within my Dream.” For a moment he stopped. He felt Merlinne and Polrena bursting to speak and argue with him. Before they could speak, he put up his hand to stop them. A trace of fire curled from his eyes. “Merlinne and Polrena defy this destiny. They would claim that the Defenders can destroy any evil, no matter how great. I imagine that is why Merlinne has called this meeting. She even claims to have to power to face me in the elemental realm. Sorcerer’s enchantments and magics to defend her! She cannot know the darkness and its power. This power is like a disease and it spreads to each who come in touch with it." The beating of his heart grew louder. Windfoot knew that his control was slipping, but all he could do was speak softly, he could not stop the words from racing out, “You do not even know me! How can you fight something that you cannot comprehend? How can this small council hope to defeat this power when they do not even know their enemy? Have your council. Talk! I am listening…” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 11, 2006, 9:54pm Sorcha has no plans to speak in such company. The Lords of the Defenders have gathered to save their High Lord and their very fellowship, and she is not one of them. Presumably, at some point, they will tell her why she is here. In the meantime, down the still-open connection between herself and D'ana'no, she can feel the despair of an elf weary of the battles he has fought to hold onto himself and afraid he will lose in the end. Reaching for the power of Elune, which is again so close she can touch it, she whispers a tiny trickle of moonlight back up that open channel between herself and the High Lord. She sets one part of her mind to the task of maintaining that trickle. Having done all she can do to strengthen him and comfort him, she turns the rest of her attention to the conversation that is about to begin. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Jan 13, 2006, 10:01am Merlinne turned to D'ana'no but did not see nor hear her friend. The beast was in control now. Time was running out. She could sense the slightest flicker of the man she called friend and with a few whispered words drew to her again the strength of Earth. She reached for his mind and wrapped it once more in her power. D'ana'no, she whispered into the darkness, seeking the faint flicker she knew so well. D'ana'no, you must hang on. Draw on the strength I have given you, reach for any reserve you can. You must hang on. We will not let the beast have you. "Time is running out," she said finally, turning to the others present. She did not know if her strength would help him at all but she could not delve into his mind further to see. Not yet. "The beast takes hold of his mind as we speak. It must be found and destroyed on the mortal plane." She turned then to the druidess that had so recently come to their ranks. "Sorch'rei, Lord D'ana'no thought you should be here because of the events that transpired last night. I know not what those were but he thought you may be in danger. I think we are all in danger should we not defeat this thing soon. D'ana'no is fading away. He is being overcome by the beast. If you have anything to offer to help strengthen him, to keep him with us a bit longer, please do. I have given him all that I can. Now I must take another path. I must find the creature. It will have a form on the mortal plane that must be located before we destroy it. I will not be able to devote power to anything else while I search." She turned then to Vangelis and Fechak. "I will need your strength," she said without preamble. "I need anchors to this plane that I can find my way back. Your strength, both of you, will provide this." "Polrena, you can commune and channel the Light in ways I could never understand. I know not how to direct you to aid him. I will trust your judgement on what you feel needs to be done." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 13, 2006, 11:06am Sorcha looked around at the Lords of the Defenders, feeling very much an outsider to this Council. Yet, of them all, save the High Lord himself, she had the most intimate knowledge of the demon, and she couldn't help but think that they deserved to know what she did. She took a deep breath. "Lady Merlinne," she said. "I can feel your strength supporting the High Lord now, but I think you will need all that strength. If you are the least bit distracted when you encounter him, he will destroy you, and through that destruction, he will complete the destruction of the High Lord. I beg you, please let Lady Polrena, with my help and the help of both the Light and the blessing of Elune, support Lord D'ana'no's spirit. Take all your resources with you. "Last night, I fought the demon in the Dream. He had torn off a part of himself, a little tiny part, and infected the High Lord's cat Adumbro with it. Over time, this tiny part fed on the essence of the cat and on its intimate connection with Lord D'ana'no, and had grown into a sort of avatar for the demon itself. It was this avatar I had to defeat last night to save the High Lord's companion. "At one point, the demon tried to assert complete control of Lord D'ana'no's mind and body. The only thing I could think of to do at that moment was to open a channel between our spirits and channel to him the power of Elune, by Her grace. It worked, and he fought the demon down. Normally, such a channel would close down as soon as I stopped using it, but this one did not. "Right now, I am using it to feed more of Elune's grace to the High Lord, in the hopes of giving him strength in the battle he is so sure he is about to lose. If you can enter my mind, you should be able to follow that channel far enough to see the demon as he really is. I believe that this will allow you to find his physical form more quickly and with greater assurance." She sighed. "Elune is standing very close to me today. She will help us help the High Lord, so that you can do what needs to be done." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Jan 16, 2006, 2:19am Polrena nodded at Lady Merlinne. Words were unneccessary; the trust between them and the danger to the High Lord was well understood by them both. She could not bridge a gap to the High Lord's spirit the way Sorcha had. The sum total of her abilities to assist lay in her prayers and healing spells. She hoped they were enough for her part. She would *make* them be enough! She watched the proceedings, alert and hypersensitive to any change which required her small abilities. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Jan 17, 2006, 10:11am There was no longer time to wait or wonder or discuss. She could sense that the strength Sorcha'Rei and she had filtered to D'ana'no had once again brought him to the surface, but he was tired and weak. The beast must be found and destroyed. She thought about Sorcha'Rei's suggestion for a moment, her mind working quickly through the intracacies involved in just entering D'ana'no's mind, much less entering his mind through Sorcha's. She shook her head. "While I believe knowing the beast's true form would aid some, I am not strong enough, nor skilled enough, to take the path through your mind into his and it is through his mind that I must follow the tie that binds him to the beast. As well, while I am distracted in the search, I will only be able to maintain wards strong enough for two. I can spare no more power than that." She began dragging chairs to the edge of the council chamber, instructing the others to do the same. "I need space to work. The table must be moved as well." Fechak and Vangelis stood the table up on its side and leaned it against the wall clearing a large portion of the room. Merlinne led her exhausted friend and Lord to the center of the room and sat him on the floor there. "Once the circle is in place," she instructed, "do not break it, no matter what may happen. Fechak, Vangelis, you will be my anchor. I will tie your strength into the wards. It will act as a beacon to me when the task is complete." Moving in a slow circle around herself and D'ana'no, Merlinne drew the power of the Elements to her. She could feel the power flow into her, swelling like the soil soaking up water. More and more she drew to her, braiding the power of each with the others. When at last she felt as if she could hold no more she walked the circle again, speaking the incantations of Warding. A ring of light appeared on the floor behind her as she walked, the only physical sign of the powerful wards she placed around herself and Lord D'ana'no. As the wards coalesced into place, she reached out and found the strength of Fechak and Vangelis. Both were strongly tied to Earth. Strong, solid, dependable. Appropriate for them. She drew threads from the wards and braided them gently with the strength of the two men. A flash of light in her mind and a warm, comforting tug told her her anchor was in place. Once the ward was complete she returned to kneel in front of D'ana'no. "The time has come," she said, taking one of his hands in hers and placing her other hand upon his brow. He looked so tired, so beaten. The strong man she called friend was so weak and preparing to lose the battle he had fought so long. Dark circles under his eyes and sunken shadowed cheeks stole away the young countenance most Kaldorei carried all their lives. Now he looked old. So very old. "I will enter your mind now," she whispered. "Focus on staying with us. Take the strength Sorch'Rei has to give." Focusing her will, Merlinne closed her eyes and began the descent into darkness and stepped onto the path to enter D'ana'no's tortured mind. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Vezesara01 on Jan 18, 2006, 10:20am **Meanwhile somewhere near Menethil Harbor** Tezrasara debarked from one of the great Human ships and began her journey to the Halls, as fast as she could. Tezrasara new that Windy was somehow changing... for better or worse, she did not know. All that the Rogue new was that she had to trek a great distance and reach the Halls as soon as possible. Tezrasara with speed and haste ran to the Griffin Roost and caught flight to the great city of Iron Forge, on her way she looked at the black laquered scroll case that was secured by the Coven seal..... What would Windy, or the other Defenders think of its contents.... Tezrasara urged her Griffin to fly faster.... Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Jan 18, 2006, 7:00pm The physical world was like smoke to Windfoot; ethereal, imprecise. The beating of his heart swallowed all other sounds. He felt his lips moving, but no sound came out, just the deep thudding of his heart, slowing and resonating in his mind. Detached, he watched from somewhere above and behind himself as Merlinne placed his body into position inside the glyph. He saw himself sitting quietly with head bowed as she moved around him; watched as she knelt down and placed her hand to his brow. But he felt nothing. The magess ordered the Defender council around. She chanted; she raised wards. He watches her moving, waiting for his opportunity. It would come. This Lady of Dalaran was so arrogant in herself, so sure of her magecraft. The spirit of the elf had fled and he could not consume the host or control this limp body, but he could wait. He could search for the Kaldorei's spirit. And once he found whatever was left of him, it would be over… When the magess lifted the elf’s head she stared into his burning eyes and he stared out into her soul. Perhaps he should just reveal himself to her? No… better to draw it out a bit longer. The pleasure of their collective terror was like wine to his lips. Besides, when she slipped, he would have his minions ready. A smile played upon his lips at the thought of what he would do to her once she was in his power. Oh humans! Weakest of races, save possibly Orcs, and best to toy with. Suddenly, Windfoot realized that he was no longer alone. A warmth had come to him, a presence bolstering him and pushing back the silence. He had not felt such support since... “Ursa?” He turned. It was not Ursa. Standing quietly behind him was a moonkin. Her eyes were closed and she was singing, and the light of Elune fell around her like the light of the moon falling into a clearing in the woods. She had a high lilting voice, and her song rose and fell like the light wind slipping down from snowy mountain peaks or like the waters of a clear mountain pool might sing to him in times of old; before his corruption. And as he listened to the voice, the great thudding of his heart receded and Windfoot knew her. “Sorcha’Rei. How have you come here? How have you found me?” She did not stop singing, but the words of the song changed. She sang to him of the love and power of Elune, of the strength of friends, and of the safety of the last few steps before home. It was enchanting and heartbreaking. Windfoot moved and stood beside her. Looking back to his body he saw the beast writhing just beneath his skin, itching to break forth and leap upon Merlinne. But with new clarity he realized that the beast needed him to control his body. Somehow he had slipped away and was hidden from the demon’s sight. Safe for the moment. He could not control his body, but so long as he remained shielded, neither could his dark enemy.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:22:58 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 18, 2006, 7:38pm
Magic.
Vangelis did not trust magic. He was a man of the earth, and felt profoundly uncomfortable with realities that he could not see and touch. He could not help but feel as if his armour and weapons were entirely superfluous, but, remembering the flaming sword from Windfoot's bedchamber, felt somewhat reassured that if things went wrong he at least had some decent gear at hand. For a moment he almost hoped for the magic to fail... a part of him would be glad of the rematch... but then he shook his head at his own daydreams. First, get the demon out of Windfoot!
... Then arrange for a rematch.
Vangelis grinned involuntarily at this thought, and glanced across the circle at Fechak. His grin broadened. At least there was one other who looked equally out of place in the arcane proceeding. Vangelis rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. "Anchor" or not, he would be ready for whatever came. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Jan 19, 2006, 12:17am
Her eyes on the High Lord, Polrena chanted softly. She cast a spell to soothe his mind, then sang the words of healing. Praying to the Light, she begged for the health and life of her master.
Help him, Lady Merlinne. Light, heal him! Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 19, 2006, 2:56am
“Sorcha’Rei. How have you come here? How have you found me?”
The despair threaded through the words appalled Sorcha, and she reached out for something to hang onto. Before she could form her need into words, the light of Elune poured into her again, and she felt herself transforming in reality as she already had in spirit. She stood in the Council Chamber in the shape of a moonkin, singing a song that came right from the goddess through her.
Her connection to the High Lord's spirit had opened wider when he fled his body, as if it were the only thing preventing him from dissipating altogether. Knowing how close they were to losing him, she turned all her strength to pouring everything she had up that channel to the injured and forlorn elf on the other end of it. She hardly knew him, and yet she knew him as she had never known anyone else before. Keeping him alive long enough to let the others save him became her sole focus, and she began to pour her own self into the channel.
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience.
Did Lady Merlinne know that D'ana'no was not in his body anymore? Did it matter?
Sorcha looked over at the limp physical form that had been Windfoot, that must become Windfoot again, and knew that what mattered right now, to her, was preserving the precious spirit that belonged inside that body. She could see the Demon in the body, and she feared it. But she pushed the fear aside, and called on Elune to help save this man.
Moonlight. Sunlight. Starlight. The glow of a nova star gone wild. Tendrils of light as faint as the wispy mist that rises off a calm lake in the early morning. The crackling light of a thunderstorm. A lantern burning in the window on a dark night.
Like a tidal wave of hope, the light passed through her, from Elune, right to this lost child of the Kaldorei, and she opened herself to be the conduit, to become the song calling him home again. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by merlinne on Jan 19, 2006, 1:25pm
Merlinne stepped into darkness. Not the comforting dark blanket of night, but the raging, swirling darkness of a mighty storm breaking. She could feel the taint all around her, the pure bright beauty of D'ana'no's spirit all but consumed. Though she could not sense her friend within his own mind, something told her he was not yet dead. Perhaps it was the frustrated rage she could feel reverberating around the edges of D'ana'no's mind from the demon attempting to take him from them all.
Whatever frustrated the raging evil also prevented it from coming at her directly... for the moment. She knew, all too keenly, that at this moment she was on it's battleground. With D'ana'no so weakened, while she was in his mind directly, it had the advantage. Wrapping herself in her strongest wards, she moved quickly through the corridors of D'ana'no's mind.
Carefully she avoided his most private thoughts and memories, yet searched deeper for the thread she knew would be tying the beast to him. Within the darkest part she found it. Her mind perceived it as a long, black spider thread, bloated and diseased with the corruption coursing through it. She wanted to reach out and sever that horrid thing like snipping a stray thread on a garment. She knew, though, that simply cutting the umbilical of evil was not enough. The source must be destroyed.
She let her senses explore that thread, to know the feel of it, the evil of it. She felt tendrils of its evil prick at her mind as if testing her inner defenses. Unlike D'ana'no when they had invaded his mind, she was prepared and her inner barriers held firm. The beast was still occupied but she could feel its rage growing. It wanted to feast. It wanted to destroy.
Once she had the feel of the thread, she quickly finished her journey through D'ana'no's mind and stepped out on the other side... to a world of the Elements. The world lay spread before her in all of its elemental glory. She could feel the intense power swirling about her. The magic of the primal forces themselves resonated within her and her own magic sang in response. The world before her was power, raw and untamed, and yet still part of the world in which mortals lived. She felt it fill her to bursting.
Releasing her senses she sent them to pinpoint that particular evil which they knew. Finding the thread she began following it, casting her mind further and further from where she had begun. The forces of the world flashed by her. Fire, water, air, fire, arcane, earth, air. Faster and faster they moved as her mind quested toward that which was destroying her Lord.
She came within moments, or perhaps hours, for time was fluid in this place, to a place so saturated with evil even the power of the Elements was dimmed. An unnatural force overflowing across the land devouring, corrupting, bringing pure evil to what had once been a place of beauty, of purity. She could feel the beast once again, but not within D'ana'no's mind. That was far from this place. She had found the source.
She cast her senses around this ravaged place searching for something which would identify it. Her mind found death and shadow, evil in all its forms. Though she could not perceive its physical form, she knew this place once to be a city, she could see shadows of the mighty stones of Earth. The power of the earth within them now bore streaks of darkness, cracks and crevices of evil. The stench of death permeated them even in the Elemental realm.
She cast her senses further, her mind probing and searching, delving deeper. Far, far below the crust of this destroyed place the Earth whispered. It showed her what it had once been, what it once cradled. She recognized the place at last.
"So the little mage has come to me."
Merlinne drew her senses back to her conciousness and turned quickly to the source of the voice. Prowling through the elemental realm she could see a great darkness moving with an almost humanoid shape yet the corruption of the land radiated from it in a great, black corona. It moved toward her, a beast stalking prey. Demons could not enter the Elemental realm by themselves. Somehow he found her through D'ana'no.
"How delicious it will be to hear him scream, to watch him crumble when I tear your spirit apart," it said.
She moved slowly away from it, her mind tightening her wards and inner barriers. Something was wrong though. Why did it hesitate? Why did it move from side to side? The form was indistinct, fuzzy around the edges and it seemed to have difficulty seeing her.
Realization set in and she began forming the plans of her escape. This was not the beast from D'ana'no's mind, but the physical form she had been seeking. Yes, they were joined, but this one was still in the mortal world. It could not cross into the Elemental realm but could sense her here through the link with D'ana'no.
She moved away again, testing, watching. With her movement the beast shifted, coming nearer. She held her ground. It turned as if moving away and she waited. Her physical body back at Defenders Hall was sure to have a racing heartbeat, though she could not feel it here. She didn't know if the beast could touch her here, but it seemed convinced it could.
She shifted ever so slightly preparing to reach for her anchor, the beacon to lead her mind back. The demon apparition spun, part of it extending out a great clawed appendage. She didn't move fast enough before it tore deeply into her spirit. She was hurled heavily to one side, her mental form torn and bleeding from her right shoulder. Though her physical form would not share the wound, if enough of her mental form were damaged here there would be nothing left of her for the Defenders except an empty husk.
When she fell, she rolled away from where she landed. The demon pounced on where she had just been. It howled in rage, casting about for her once more.
She could feel remnants of the power of Earth in the structure and urged, pleaded with it to give to her the last of its strength. She felt it flow slowly into her and her mind shaped it into a ball of magical force. She hurled at the beast, but at her first movement it lunged again, grazing her face with its claws. The magical force found its mark though and sent the demon hurling away from her.
Quickly Merlinne reached out drawing the power of the Elements to her. They were tired here, corrupted and drained, yet they responded to her command. She whispered words of comfort, reassurances of the good their strength would do, and let them fill her like a chalice. She could feel the evil of the demon bearing down on her again but this time it was too late. Though his last strike sent her reeling and left her laying in a heap, the words had been spoken, the Elements commanded. A raging force surrounded the demon engulfing it in its fury. She could feel them tearing into the demon's form, forcing it away from her. She could hear the demon's screams of rage and pain. Fire flashed and wind roared. A hurricane of elemental power surrounded the demon.
Seizing her opportunity, she struggled to her feet, one leg now badly injured. The "blood" she lost here was her own spirit and she needed to return before too much was drained away.
She cast her mind out seeking the anchor. She felt the strength and purity of Vangelis, felt the power of Fechak. Like a lighthouse on a darkened shore her mind turned toward them and shot through the elements once more. The beast would not be slain by what she had done, but it would be enough to let her return home.
She was weakened by the time she returned to the edges of D'ana'no's mind. Her mental form had difficulty walking the darkened paths. She focused on returning whence she came, sealing the pathway to the Elemental realm behind her. Losing her link to those powerful forces weakened her further and she stumbled through the corridors of D'ana'no's mind. She could not sense what was going on with the demon there. Her mind was not strong enough. She kept it focused on her defenses hoping Sorcha'Rei and Polrena could keep the beast in his mind at bay just a bit longer.
As she took the final steps to leave D'ana'no's mind she tried to reach for the strength of Earth once more to feed his inner barriers but she had not even that left to give. She felt as if she stumbled from his mind into her own, gently severing the link as she regained her physical senses.
She sat there for a moment, breathing heavily and letting the pain of her mental wounds subside. She reached up and touched her face just to reassure herself there was no wound. It was numb to her own fingers, but whole. Her right arm would not move but she knew that would fade as well. Her leg was numb as well but no physical injury ailed her. The mind was a powerful force, and the body would think those wounds she received to her mind were real for a short time.
With a tired sigh she dropped her hand into her lap and looked at D'ana'no. She could see the demon in the backs of his eyes, hear him raging and taunting, laughing at her. She could not stand it and looked away.
"Assemble the Defenders," she said, her voice cracking. "We journey to Stratholme to finish this once and for all." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Jan 19, 2006, 7:31pm
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience.
Sorsha’Rei sang, and Windfoot listened with an aching joy to the beautiful song of Elune. How long it had been since he had heard her voice! The druid channeled the song, and light spread around him like water. New life and hope poured into him, and with it healing, strength and clarity.
All was still in the Council chambers as Merlinne knelt and worked her magic. The wards upon the floor pulsed and glowed, but no one moved. Windfoot trusted Merlinne absolutely, but knew that the beast would stop at nothing to destroy her.
“She must find safe passage, Sorcha. I do not know how to help her.”
The voice of Elune responded in the song, “You have helped her already by trapping the beast in your limp mortal form just as he moved to strike. Even now he wastes precious time searching for you, and she unravels the truth.”
“But what is the point if I have given up my body?”
“The time for you to give up that body forever is not yet, D’ana’no.”
Windfoot sat quiet, gathering his strength. It was so peaceful, away from the struggle and pain of his life, washed in the light of Elune’s voice. Part of him wished he could simply stay here, and rest, but he knew he must go back and face down the beast within himself again. Looking down at his hands he saw them healed and healthy again, and suddenly the white staff appeared within his grasp. It did not burn him.
The voice of Elune sang to him again. “The enemy made a mistake when he gave you that staff of power, D’ana’no. He crafted it from the life that was in you, and I am in all life. So long as you have a path to me, you can wield it. And with it, you may face him; even defeat him.”
Windfoot felt the power of life flowing through him from the staff. He drew himself up and prepared to return to his body.
“not yet…” it whispered.
Time stretched.
“not yet…” it whispered.
Then Windfoot felt it. A rushing force returning like a wave of sound. Merlinne; racing home.
With sudden clarity, Windfoot turned to Sorsha’Rei and said, “Elune’adore, friend. Your gift to me is beyond words. Tell Polrena to shield me. I will need her help.”
Then, raising his staff he closed his eyes and willed himself back into his body. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 19, 2006, 9:03pm
With a minute part of herself, Sorcha spoke in her sonorous moonkin voice.
"Now, Lady of the Light. He needs your shields now."
And then she was all channel again, the means by which D'ana'no could remember who and what he was, and could be touched by Elune's grace. Sorcha faded once more into the song she had become.
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Jan 19, 2006, 9:13pm
At Sorcha's words, Polrena slammed the shield into place. A bright, transcluscent glow sprang up around the High Lord. In quick succession, similar bubbles sprang up around Lady Merlinne, Sorcha, and, for good measure, Lord Fechak and Lord Vangelis.
Songs and chants for healing readied themselves on her lips as she watched events unfold. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Jan 22, 2006, 1:18pm
With a tired sigh, Merlinne dropped her hand into her lap and looked at D'ana'no. She saw the beast within and looked away. "Assemble the Defenders," she said, her voice cracking. "We journey to Stratholme to finish this once and for all." There was a moment’s silence and an audible release of tension in the room.
The heartbeat after Windfoot released back to his mortal body and before Sorcha’Rei commanded the Lady of Virtue to act stretched. He opened his eyes to flame and death. Behind him Merlinne had escaped; before him he looked up into the eyes of his tormentor, revealed at last. Three times the size of a man with leather skin covered with black armor. Two cruel black horns rose and curled above his head and behind spread the dark wings that he had glimpsed for a moment across the fire ages ago. The beast had been furiously pursuing Merlinne but stopped at Windfoot’s sudden appearance before him in surprise, though quickly suppressed. In its place, a look of sadistic pleasure spread across its face.
“Well, the rabbit returns to save his precious lady.”
Now before him, Windfoot knew his enemy in the truth of the Dream. Balnazzar, oldest and most powerful of the dreadlord brothers, thought slain by his brother, Varimathras, at the bequest of the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner. But Balnazzar was not dead, and his corruption continued to spread, twisting the minds of the Scarlet Crusade to his dark purposes.
Windfoot summoned the white staff of power to his hands. The touch of Elune remained with him and it still did not burn him, though he stood in the dark of his own tortured mind. He spoke quietly to his enemy. “Nathrezim, your strength is in the shadows and deceit. I know you now. The game is over.”
Balnazzar’s beady black eyes studied his opponent closely. “You have found your twig, have you?” he growled. “Do you really think that you can face me? Me?!”
“I have banished you before and I will banish you again. And soon, I shall destroy you.”
The Nathrezim laughed, mockingly and dripping with hatred. With a vile curse, he summoned a great pulsing blood-red whip to his hands. Then, at the speed of thought, the weapon whipped out and wrapped around Windfoot’s neck.
Deep within a trance, Sorcha’s sonorous voice suddenly broke the silence of the Lords’ Council Hall, "Now, Lady of the Light. He needs your shields now." At Sorcha's words, Polrena slammed the shield into place. A bright, transcluscent glow sprang up around the High Lord. At the same moment, Windfoot’s hand flew out and wrapped itself around Merlinne’s neck, choking off her voice. With horrible strength he then stood and lifted her body into the air, helpless. Her hands clutched frantically at his wrist and the smell of burning flesh rushed out from where he held her. Burning welts appeared on his neck and began to bleed.
In quick succession, similar bubbles sprang up around Lady Merlinne, Sorcha, and, for good measure, Lord Fechak and Lord Vangelis.
Windfoot reeled at the monstrous power coursing down upon him, dwarfing his own. Doubt and weakness raced into his mind. Then, into the weakness a golden thread of light entered the darkness and came to him. A whisper of song slipped under the bonds of the blood whip:
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience.
At the same moment, power coursed through him as the holy shield fell into place. The choking hold of the whip burned off of him and fell limp before him. Windfoot looked upon his enemy and saw fear in his eyes. Drawing on the power of Elune, he began to chant the words of healing that he had feared to say ever since he had almost destroyed Adumbro. For the first time, green light crept into the darkness and fire. Grass appeared at his feet. A white green light spread from him and crept towards the demon before him.
Balnazzar’s armor began to smoke. With a howl of rage, the demon summoned forth his flaming two-handed sword, and leaping forward ran the burning blade through Windfoot’s side. The blade sank deep. Windfoot screamed in agony.
A howl of rage and pain erupted from the high lord as he held Merlinne aloft. Blood poured from his side. Releasing Merlinne, he fell to his knees.
Windfoot fell to his knees as the Nathrezim ripped out the blade. It was all he could do to remain conscious. His eyes closed. He heard Balnazzar screaming in agony, felt him frantically seeking another nearby host, but all were shielded with holy light. With a curse, the demon retreated again.
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience.
The holy shield upon him, he drifted in the song. Darkness descended. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Polrena on Jan 22, 2006, 9:28pm
He fell to his knees, and Merlinne fell as he released her. Fechak and Vangelis, already poised to wrest Lady Merlinne from their Lord's grasp, lept to catch her before she struck the floor of the Lord's chambers.
The blood pouring from the High Lord's side told Polrena who to attend first. She dropped beside her master, and sang her prayers even as her hands stretched forth toward his side and neck.
The wounds felt different this time, different than when she healed him before. She wasn't quite sure what the difference was, though, or what it meant. The bleeding slowed as she sang, and finally stopped. She wanted to keep singing, to continue until he was complete and whole and healed, but she feared for the Lady Merlinne. Unhappy with the piecemeal and incomplete attentions she was able to give the High Lord, she turned to the Lady.
Lord Fechak and Lord Vangelis supported her. Polrena could not see any visible wounds, so delved quickly. Bruises, mostly, but she was terribly weak. She chanted at the purple blotches around the Lady's neck, soothing away the physical evidence, though she feared there were deeper wounds she could never touch.
She wished she knew if it were over, if the shadow was gone, if the fear she felt could subside. Yet these two needed rest. They all did. She hoped someone would voice the questions she would not permit herself to ask. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 23, 2006, 6:09am
The High Lord was drifting in the song of Elune, ungrounded by anything. Sorcha opened herself wider for Elune's song to travel to D'ana'no, but she knew it wasn't enough, knew she could not hold him solidly enough to give him time to win the battle.
With her heart, she reached out to the Earth Mother, seeking anchorage for herself and the other Kaldorei. Once again, she felt her feet being buried in piles of warm soft dirt. Holding tight to the Earth Mother's hand, Sorcha added the deeper solid voice of the Earth Mother to her song, braiding it together with what she channeled from Elune, and threading it with her own hopes for the outcome.
Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience.
Perseverance. Tenacity. Determination. Protection. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter Five (open) Post by windfoot on Jan 25, 2006, 12:48am
Awash in the song of Elune, Windfoot dreamt. There are two kinds of dreams for a dream-walker; controlled and uncontrolled. Now, Windfoot drifted in the dream, too tired and unwilling to guide its path. He floated in a vast ocean current as the dream took him where it would, and he was content. Above him was only light; beneath, unfathomable depths of crystal-clear water. A light wind played upon his face but his ears were submerged, dampening sound to a low muted resonance. Far away he heard the echo of a voice calling, but he had no interest in it. He had no power to lift himself to hear it. In any event, why would he want to? All here was quiet and profound. All existence was water and light. Windfoot traveled, and time ceased to exist.
Sorcha’Rei walked in the Dream, weaving a mighty song of earth and sky. Swiftly she followed Windfoot, but he was already wrapped up in the elemental forces of the cosmos, and soon was traveling too fast to her to keep up. It was as if she stood in the shore of a vast ocean, singing out to sea, as Windfoot was swept away. She felt his presence and knew that he was enfolded in the hands of Elune, but realized she could do no more than sing for him and wait. Wait to see if or when he might return.
Having attended to Merlinne, Polrena turned back to Windfoot. His body lay collapsed on his side, where he had slumped from a kneeling position. Blood matted his clothing, but his breathing was now deep and regular. The red welts across his palms were healed again. The glow of the holy shield began to dissipate from the high lord, and with a quiet prayer she replenished it. “How can I help you, Lord, if I cannot understand?” she whispered, unsure if he was slipping into a coma or simply falling into a deep sleep.
Vangelis was supporting Merlinne as she recovered; evidently glad that he finally could do something practical. The red welt upon Merlinne’s neck had faded, but memory of Windfoot’s burning palm, and the horrible touch of the fiery taint remained in her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Vangelis,” she murmured, stepping away from him.
Sorcha’Rei’s eyes had been closed as she traveled. With a sigh she returned and opened them again. Even at this slight movement, all eyes turned towards her hopefully.
“He is drifting in the deep part of the Dream,” she reported, with a hint of frustration. “Even with the Earth Mother, he was too far by the time I reached near to him. He is content, but I cannot lead him home.”
“And the demon?” Merlinne asked.
“Retreated, as far as I can tell. Your holy shield burns him Polrena.”
A looks a smug satisfaction crept into the Lady of Virtue’s eyes. “Good.”
For a moment they all said nothing, as exhaustion settled in.
[This is probably the end of Chapter 5 (unless someone is inspired). Anyone may start Chapter 6 - 'The Crusade' if they wish, or I will wake him about a week sometime later.
p.s. Thanks to everyone who has contributed to Into the Dark! And also for everyone who has been reading. I am always surprised and flattered when I hear that people have read *all* of it . This story has become a real highlight of my World of Warcraft experience.
edit: I am undecided regarding exactly when Wind will wake. Also, Merl has called dibbs of starting Chapter 6 ]
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:23:34 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open)) housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1138302679 Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open)) Post by merlinne on Jan 26, 2006, 1:11pm Merlinne knew she should be resting. The moon was high, the Hall dark. Some exhausted Defenders were still awake planning what to be done next. She was not part of those plans. She had been exhausted after her encounter with the demon, her wounds sustained while within the Elemental realm leaving her unable to stand. Though they were not physical, her mind still thought they existed so her right arm hung numb at her side, one side of her face could not feel sensation and her left leg could not bear her weight. It all would fade to painful memory within a few days. The body would force the mind to know the truth. But so soon after the occurrence it was still confused. After the completion of the ritual and D'ana'no's collapse, she'd been given over to a junior healer and ushered to her suite. She presumed D'ana'no now rested in his. She reached up and touched her throat where she could still feel the crushing grip he'd held. She could feel the heat of his hand, smell the burning flesh and she trembled again. When she saw it all again her her memories, though, she did not see D'ana'no, her friend, but the beast that fought so hard to destroy him and them all. She pulled her hand away from her throat. So close. Yet she would do it again. If her fate had been to die to help save D'ana'no, she would have accepted it gladly. Leaning heavily on a cane Emmy had brought her, she stepped away from the window in her suite and the comforting light of the moon. D'ana'no had slept ever since the collapse and she continued to worry about him. Others would work on planning the next step in ridding him of this demon. There was nothing she could do at the moment. She hated feeling useless. Pulling on her heavy woolen houserobe and a soft pair of slippers she moved toward the door to the rest of the Hall. Emmylee was suddenly beside her, her eyes bleary and tired. "Can I get you something, my Lady?" Merlinne sighed and shook her head. "No. I can't rest any longer. I can't stay idle. My Lord is dying and I sit in a bed leaving the work to others." "But my Lady," Emmylee protested, positioning herself between Merlinne and the door, "You were injured. They say your arm and leg will both recover, but the body needs rested. And you yourself have admitted you have not mind for tactics. Therefore is it not best to leave those tasks to others?" Merlinne sighed again. "I cannot sit idle, Emmy. I must at least see him. If I can do nothing more to help him then I must do at least that." Emmylee seemed to deflate and stepped away from the door. "Yes my Lady," she said quietly. Merlinne stepped into the corridor making her way toward the guildmaster's suite. She noticed Emmylee had followed, hovering close to her. She could almost feel the girl's desire to argue her lady back into her suite and a nice soft bed yet the maid kept her peace. She had tried to explain to Emmy once the depth of the friendship she shared with D'ana'no but the maid didn't seem to understand. Merlinne wondered now if she had understood better than she gave her credit for. When Merlinne reached D'ana'no's suite a junior priest met her with a surprised look at his door. "I've come to see him." The youngster nodded finally and stepped to the side. "He still sleeps," he said. Merlinne made her way to D'ana'no's chamber with both the young priest and Emmylee nearly tripping over each other in their effort to follow closely enough. He was resting, covered with a light blanket, the windows open to the night air and the light of the moon shining down upon him. She bit back tears as she montioned for Emmy to bring a chair over for her. She sat beside the bed wishing she were a healer and could rid him of the darkness that plagued him. "I am sorry my friend," she said gently. "I am sorry I did not see what pain you were in sooner." She reached out and brushed white hair away from his face. The skin was warm to her touch, though not excessively so and his expression was quiet, relaxed, content. She dearly hoped his mind was experiencing what his face showed. "The others are planning what must be done next." She said, talking as if he might actually hear her. She knew nothing else to do. She turned around slightly and ordered Goldthorn tea to be brought to this room. She then listened to the disappearing footsteps of Emmy and the young priest. "You must return to us," she whispered, finally allowing her tears to fall. "You are too important. We need you. I need you." She pulled a soft cloth from her pocket and wiped quickly at her eyes. She leaned back in the chair then to wait. Emmylee returned with the tea and set it on the bedside table, pouring Merlinne a cup and stepping back. "Thank you Emmy," she said. "You may go now." "What about you, my Lady." "I will wait here." "For how long?" Merlinne turned to gaze at her friend, lying helpless and trapped within his own mind, tortured by a demon so powerful they may not be able to defeat it. "Until he wakes or someone tells me it is time to go destroy the monster that did this to him." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 26, 2006, 3:22pm Vangelis lay back into the steaming tub, blissfully grateful (for once) for Johnson's attentiveness. The whole business of demon possession and sorcerous rituals had badly unnerved him, so his response was to inform Tatoo that he was overdue for some training. Tatoo was definitely improving, so the workout was almost as vigorous as Vangelis had wished. However Tatoo had unfortunately been on the receiving end of some rather rough moves, victim of Vangelis' pent-up frustration and relief at having a solid opponent to confront. The two of them, battered and bruised and drenched in sweat, were now soaking out their respective injuries, although Johnson had insisted that the Lord's bath be drawn in privacy rather than in the soldiers' bathhouse just off the sparring yard. This had actually suited Vangelis; not so much for the honour (with which he was still distinctly uncomfortable), but for the absence of distracting conversation - and Tatoo was nothing if not loquacious to a fault. So the demon had been driven out of Windfoot, but was not yet vanquished. For Vangelis, hearing that the matter was not yet finished was almost worse than the feeling at the ritual of being as useful as wheels on a murloc. Surely something could, something must, be done to confront the demon once and for all. Sadly, Vangelis didn't know a thing about demons - other than having confronted more than a few at sword-point in his soldiering career. He sat up suddenly, sloshing water over the sides of the tub. The old farmer knew nothing of demons, but he knew someone who certainly did: Boswell, the well-meaning public nuisance of a warlock! After a moment's sober reflection Vangelis slumped back down in the tub: Boswell would be worse than useless. The little dolt didn't even comprehend the calculated malice of his own impish "friend" Pipnip, for the Light's sake! No, Boswell would be no help... ... but Pipnip might. Vangelis let out an involuntary chuckle at the thought, but the idea had caught hold and would not let go. To be sure, Boswell would have to instruct Pipnip to answer Vangelis' questions honestly, but with the right limitations in place Vangelis just might be able to handle the imp. And who would know the ways of demons better than one of their own? At least it was worth a try. And it was probably better, he admitted ruefully, than taking out his frustrations on whatever soldier happened to be available for sparring practice. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 26, 2006, 8:18pm Vangelis found Boswell in his quarters in Dalaran, humming to himself and stitching something. There was no sign of Pipnip. "Excuse me, Boswell, but I need to speak with you. I don't see Pipnip... is he somewhere about?" "Oh, hello hello, Big Guild-friend Vangelis!" Boswell smiled up at the old soldier, evidently pleased at the interruption. "Pipnip is not being about right now, no, no! Because he is very hot, yes! And hot is not good for the stitching, no! Because nobody is liking Burned Bits of Runecloth, for the sewing, least of all Boswell! Hee!" Vangelis shook his head, attempting to sift through the prattle, but evidently Pipnip was not present at the moment, which was all to the good. "Looky looky!" Boswell held up the product of his work for Vangelis' inspection. "Runecloth Bag! Very big, very pretty, yes! Are you needing some? I was making and making them, and they are being such fun to make I am making many many, yes!" He waved the unfinished bag toward the bed, indicating a large pile of finished bags. Vangelis stopped short, both surprised and pleased. Perhaps the little gnome might contribute something other than mayhem to the guild after all! He did not need the bags for himself, but stooped to inspect the handiwork anyway, so as not to hurt the warlock's feelings. The bags were definitely sturdy and serviceable, although on each bag Boswell had chosen to arrange sinister-looking demonic runes into the shape of a giant happy face. Vangelis shook his head in bemusement, but complimented Boswell on his work. Boswell beamed. "Now, Boswell. This is very important. I need your help." "Really?" Boswell's eyes opened wide, and he leaned toward Vangelis in anticipation. "I am very-much liking to be helping, yes, yes! What is it that I am needing to be doing?" "The High Lord is very sick. Did you know this?" "Oooh! Was he being eating a bad omelet or something?" "No. He has been afflicted by a demon." "You are meaning that a bad demon was making-sick Big and High Danano's omelet?? That is bad! Or maybe it was an omelet-joke?" Vangelis paused, nonplussed. "...I did not say that there was an omelet involved, Boswell." "But why are you forgetting about the omelet? This is being a very important part of the story, I am thinking! Boswell never is forgetting the omelet-part of his stories, no, no! Hee!" "BOSWELL!" Vangelis forced himself to calmness while the warlock blinked at him in surprise. "There. Was. No. Omelet. A demon has possessed the High Lord." "Oh! Well now this story is being made into some sense, yes!" Evidently satisfied, Boswell turned back to his stitching. Vangelis dropped his head into his hands, took a deep breath, and ploughed on. "This is why I need your help, Boswell." "Really?" Boswell's eyes opened wide, and leaning forward again he was about to add something, but instead toppled off the chair entirely and landed in a gentle explosion of runecloth. "YES! Now please sit down and listen carefully. With your help, we might be able to save the High Lord! Got it?" "Oooooh! How exciting!" Boswell crawled about the chair, collecting runecloth. "Can we bring sandwiches for the saving?" Vangelis waved a hand in front of his face, as if to clear away cobwebs, and doggedly continued. "No. I need to speak with Pipnip." Struck by a sudden thought, Vangelis added, "in fact... Pipnip is the ONLY ONE who might be able to SAVE... um... Big and... and High Lord D'ana'no." Boswell, having deposited the scraps back onto his desk, clapped his hands together in excitement. "Oooh! Pipnip and Big and High Danano are very-good friends, yes, yes! I will call Pipnip right away for the saving now!" Boswell raised his arms and took a deep breath to begin the summoning. Vangelis held up a hand to forestall the gnome. Boswell stopped short and held his breath. "Not just yet. While I'm sure that Pipnip is... a good friend of the High Lord, sometimes he is... how do you say? A bit of a... joker." Boswell nodded vigorously, evidently still holding his breath to begin the incantation. "So what I need you to do is to tell Pipnip to answer all of my questions and to answer them truthfully. This is the most important thing you can do to save the High Lord. Can you do that? Do you promise?" Boswell nodded again as his face slowly turned blue. "Very good. Begin." Now almost completely out of breath, Boswell completed the summoning ritual rather more hastily than usual, which seemed to have the net effect of catapulting Pipnip somewhat roughly out of his fire-and-brimstone portal. Pipnip righted himself from his awkward landing, bowed mockingly toward Boswell, and grinned insolently at Vangelis. "You rang, master?" (( continued soon... )) Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by windfoot on Jan 27, 2006, 12:34am ((with all this writing, it's like *you've* been holding your breath...for a few chapters, perhaps )) Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 27, 2006, 1:10am "Rang! Hee! Yes!" replied Boswell. "How are you being today, friend-Pipnip?" Pipnip scowled. "Life is hell, master. The Department of Torment has assigned seventeen stacks of pointless paperwork to be completed by tomorrow, on pain of flogging. Plus the power's out - again - and do you think I could find a copy of the Brimstone Bugle anywhere?" Boswell giggled and waved dismissively. "Hee, Pipnip! Always the joker! Now, Big Lord Vanglibus..." "Just call him Big Vang for short. He loves that," Pipnip interrupted, grinning at Vangelis. Vangelis scowled and attempted to formulate a retort, but Boswell had not stopped for breath. "Hokay! So, Big Vang, who I am thinking you are remembering from our very-fine dinner, with the dancing and the singing you were making, or maybe from when we were meeting him on the road to Mangadrill Harbour, yes, but ANYWAY, Big Vang was saying that Big and High Danano was being POSSIFIED, and that PIPNIP can SAVE HIM!" Boswell beamed proudly at Pipnip and nodded, evidently expecting Pipnip to jump to the rescue. Vangelis cut in before Pipnip could figure out what Boswell was talking about. "Boswell. Tell Pipnip to answer my questions and tell the truth. Do it now." Pipnip looked up sharply at Vangelis, and turned quickly back to Boswell. "Big Vang knows not what he asks, Master. Pipnip warns you, do not..." But Boswell was nodding happily. "Oooh! Right! I was forgetting, hee! Yes! Pipnip, you must be answering ALL of Big Vang's questions, yes, and be telling the truth only, yes, with no joking at all, no! Only this way can you be helping in the saving of the Big and High Danano, yes, yes!" Pipnip shuddered slightly and closed his eyes as the compulsion took effect. Suddenly dignified, Pipnip turned toward Vangelis and regarded him silently, as if sizing up an opponent. Vangelis sat down cross-legged in front of the imp and returned his gaze, also silent. When Boswell opened his mouth to say something, Vangelis waved curtly and the gnome's mouth snapped shut. Vangelis thrust his face toward the imp's. "Pipnip: The High Lord has been possessed by a demon." Pipnip's eyes gleamed, but Vangelis could not interpret his expression. He continued, "though he is free from the demon's control at the moment, I understand that he is still in danger. Is this true?" Pipnip remained unreadable as he replied, "Danger lurks for all, but for some it lurks nearer than others." "You answer my question with a riddle? A simple yes or no was all I wanted." Pipnip grinned. "Pipnip answered the question; Pipnip answered it true." Vangelis straightened, mentally cursing the beast's devious intelligence. Pipnip was not a willing participant in this exercise; the only leverage Vangelis had was the fact that the demon was compelled to answer his questions truly. Think, farmer. Obviously no one is entirely free from danger; but that wasn't the question... or was it? When Vangelis thought back on it, he had to admit that "still in danger" was not actually very specific. He could not afford to give Pipnip any wriggle-room. "Let me try that again: Is it possible for the demon who possessed D'ana'no to possess him again?" Pipnip squirmed ever so slightly before replying, "It is possible." A sudden chill ran up Vangelis' spine. "Would it be easy?" Pipnip's face took on an unmistakeably smug look. "Very easy." "Is... is the demon controlling D'ana'no now?" Pipnip blinked, slowly. "No." Vangelis thought in silence for a moment. Then he continued, "Would it be easy for any demon to possess D'ana'no, or just the one who had possessed him already?" Pipnip relaxed slightly, and took on a condescending tone. "The farmer knows nothing. Soul-bond is hard to make but easy to use. All demons know this. Many humans know this also, but not farmers." Boswell, unable to contain himself, clapped his hands and bounced slightly on his seat. "Yes, yes! Secret Club talks about bond-souls very much, yes! Boswell has made bond-souls with Pipnip, and Phoggy, and Puppy, and Goat-Lady-Who-Is-Always-In-Bath-When-Boswell-Calls, and Tony the Pony also!" Pipnip bowed to Boswell. "Master is very clever. Not like Farmer Big Vang." Vangelis waved at Boswell for silence, not wanting to think about his secret club. "So you're saying that possession is like what warlocks do to demons, only in reverse? That whatever demon successfully possessed the High Lord could do so again as easily as... as you can be summoned by Boswell?" Pipnip glared. "Farmer Big Vang restates what Pipnip has already said and reminds Pipnip of his own condition. Farmer Big Vang is stupid and rude." Vangelis ignored Boswell's giggling and Pipnip's glaring as he mulled over this information. "Pipnip, can a soul-bond be broken?" Pipnip smiled. "Yes." "How?" Pipnip's smile broadened. "Death of subject." Vangelis closed his eyes and gently sagged in despair. Then, struck by a sudden thought, he opened one eye and peered suspiciously into Pipnip's gloating face. "Pipnip?" "Farmer Big Vang?" "Is the death of the subject the only way to break a soul-bond?" Pipnip's gleeful expression vanished instantly. "No." For the first time, Vangelis smiled. "Nice try, Pipnip. Now tell me: is there a way to break a soul-bond without harming the subject?" Pipnip fidgeted, but evidently could think of no way to sidestep the question. "There is a way." "Pipnip, how do you break a soul-bond without harming the subject?" More squirming, then: "Subject must destroy demon's corporeal form in this plane." "So where is the corporeal form of the demon who possessed D'ana'no?" Pipnip grinned. "Nowhere." "So how is THAT going to help us free him?" Vangelis growled at the imp, and looked away in frustration. As Vangelis vainly tried to think of another question, he became aware that Pipnip was again squirming. The imp was obviously wrestling with something, as if he were being compelled to say something he desperately did not want to reveal. Finally Pipnip burst out, "It will help because corporeal form can be made to appear..." "Made to appear? How?" The imp sagged. "Corporeal form will appear when fully-possessed subject is defeated in battle." "But how can D'ana'no defeat himself in battle? ...hold on..." "Stupid Farmer Big Vang is making ears smoke with thinking." "Pipnip." Vangelis stared intently at the imp, who suddenly stood very still. "Is D'ana'no's demon in possession of another subject?" The imp sagged, defeated. "Demon Balnazzar also possesses Archivist Galford of the Scarlet Crusade, in Stratholme." (( phew - couldn't stop once I started! )) Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 27, 2006, 6:11pm Stratholme. Pipnip was right - I am stupid! I should just have asked Merlinne.... The magess' cryptic comment at the end of the ritual finally made sense to Vangelis. Well, sometimes "learning it the hard way makes the lesson stick better", as his father used to say. At least now he had a clearer sense of what was actually going on. "Thank you Boswell. ... and thank you, Pipnip. You have been of great service indeed." Vangelis stood up and strode out of the room, followed by Boswell's happy babbling and Pipnip's scowls. Rally the Defenders... I guess that meant me! Well, better late than never, farmer. Vangelis switched on his communicator, but hesitated. Who was he to "rally the Defenders", or to give direction to the wise, powerful, and highly-placed members of the Lords' Council? It was painfully clear to him how out of his depth he was. Still, he had to do something - it was, after all, his duty. He took a steadying breath, and spoke into his communicator. "Lord Kalmorith, Lady Polrena, Lady Merlinne... this is Vangelis. If there's something we can do for the High Lord, well, there's no point wasting time, is there?" Vangelis winced at himself, but carried on. "I'll..." I'll what, farmer? "I'll, um, be in the Council chambers. We should meet." He thought for a moment, and added, "Right away. If you don't mind. Um... Thank you. ... Hope you're all well?" Better quit while you're behind. Vangelis switched off his communicator, and headed for the council chambers. One way or another, this job was going to get done. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by windfoot on Jan 28, 2006, 12:12pm Her love was that of a warrior princess and her lips tasted like sweat. They stood in the middle of a field near Tarren Mill. An army of Alliance, harrying the town, surrounded her. The spirits of the assailants fought or died around them, but they were removed from it. The clash of steel and cries had faded. The smell of death was gone. Her face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Her violet hair was braided up and for battle, but several long strands had escaped their bonds and lay against her face, framing her eyes and tracing her high cheekbones. In her hand she held her two-handed sword, the blood of a recent victim still running down it's polished surface. Her heart was racing; he could feel it against his chest where she presed against him. His hands trembled as he gently placed them upon her face and held her lips to his. Slowly, her hand released the great sword and it fell to the ground with a quiet sigh. No more need for violence and anger; they had each other now. Vezesara’s delicate hands lightly brushed his chest, then up along his arms, and a shiver ran along his skin where she touched him. Her hands traced his arms to his hands where they lay upon her face. Her fingers slid into the spaces between his fingers and she pressed his hands, stilling them. For a long time her lips explored him, not letting him escape. He closed his eyes and lost himself with the force of her kisses, and returned them in kind. A sudden shock of pain to his lips and she released him laughing. He opened his eyes and saw a loving mischievousness in her eyes and her voice came to him as like a high bell through a tunnel. “My love…” He touched his lips with his hand and felt where she had bitten him. “Yes, milady?” “You are too serious. Do you never play?” He smiled then, and laughed along with her. Then, shifting into his feline form, he pushed her to the ground and leapt upon her, pinning her down. His paws held her hands to the ground beside her face and he sat heavily upon her. For a moment he simply looked down upon her, a devilish grin upon his face as she struggled against him. Then he leaned down and he breathed upon her. “Ack! Cat breath!” she gasped, in mock desperation. His grin spread across his face, exposing his razor-sharp teeth. Then he licked her neck and face. Long sandpaper cat kisses. At some point, her hands escaped their bonds and went to his neck to hold him close. They laughed uncontrollably; contentedly. [One for you, Celera ] Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Fechak on Jan 28, 2006, 12:20pm There were far too much things goin' on around here, Fechak felt not only out of place, but helpless. His only reaction to magic was to kill it faster than normal so it couldn't turn him into something unseemly. So he sat in the Lord's chambers wondering exactly what to do next when his butt suddenly became freezing cold. "Whoa!" Fechak leapt up out of the chair and looked at the book he had been using to prop himself up to see over the table. The black book looked strangely familiar, but a strange sensation came over him. Ignoring the pain of touching it, Fechak pulled the large tome into his traveler's backpack. Maybe he could ask someone about it later, couldn't leave it sitting around to freeze someone's butt again. Yes, he would keep it to keep everyone safe. He could ask the miracle flingers about it some other time... Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Hugnir on Jan 28, 2006, 3:52pm Hugnir returned to what he was coming to think of as his chamber and stowed his armor for the night. He slipped into the casual shirt and pants he seemed to use more and more rarely, and frowned as he caught sight of the black clad image in the mirror. He was beginning to look as dark as he felt more often. Approaching the mirror, the dwarf scowled harder. He had known a bit of some of the happenings in the Hall...Merlinne was not the only person that told him of the day to day passings. But many of the servants did not know the details, other than the fact that the High Lord was ill. In his deepest heart, though, Hugnir knew. He had seen enough people who had been touched by the taint of demons, that he knew. And what made him scowl the most, was the tiniest spark of fear in his dull ruby eyes. Turning the mirror towards the wall, the greybeard steeled himself and sought out Windfoot's chamber. Winding through the many corridors, Hugnir only got turned about once, grumbling all the while. Though it was late, there was always the hint of activity around the manor, and a candle glowed into the hall. Peeking his head around the corner, he saw the dark haired lady he called friend slumped slightly in her chair with fatigue, and upon the bed, he saw the gaunt form of the only elf he had ever saluted and called by title. Pulling up a stool, Hugnir waited beside the lady mage, who stirred briefly at the warmth of a body arriving. Her spine straightened, years of etiquette forcing even her sluggish, waking mind to instantly correct such casual posture. Her eyes lost the moment of alarm as she recognized the grey whiskers of the dwarf beside her. Hugnir could only whisper, "I'm sorry...I tried nae t' startle y'. An'...fer m' cowardice." He turned his attention to the elf on the bed, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "I'm sorry I didnae come earlier, ol' friend. But I'm here noo'...an' I'll lend m' hammer an' axe t' doo' whatever it takes t' guard y'." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Jan 30, 2006, 1:10am Vangelis strode into the lords' council chambers, still inwardly cursing himself for his pathetic start at "rallying the Defenders". When he saw Fechak already in the room, his expression brightened. If Stratholme was their destination they would need a guide... and few guides were as well-traveled as his trusted Warden. "Fechak... I'm glad you're here. I've invited the other Lords here to get rid of Lord D'ana'no's demon for good, and your counsel would be most welcome. While we wait for them to arrive, you might put some thought into how we might track down an archivist named Galford, in Stratholme." Vangelis settled down in beside his Warden to await the remaining Lords' arrival. (( Out of town, and away from internet, till Thursday... )) Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Jan 30, 2006, 5:13am Sorcha sat on her bed, knees bent, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. Her hair was unbraided now, and dry, but wavy from having been braided wet and left there until it was no longer damp. She rarely wore her hair any way other than braided or brushed sleekly smooth, but she couldn't find the energy to brush out the waves just now. Her mind wandered. Her heart followed it. The channel between her spirit and that of D'ana'no was still open. Through it, though she did not travel down it, she coud feel the light of Elune and the hands of the Earth Mother. She knew that they held the High Lord, and that until he left their care, he would be perfectly safe, even if unavailable to any of the Defenders. She wondered vaguely if the channel would close, and if so, when. But she didn't really care. She had the discipline not to use the channel unless Elune needed it, and since Elune had opened it, and blessed it, she trusted that Elune would close it when the time was right. She thought back to the end of that session in the Council Chambers. People had arrived to move both the High Lord and Lady Merlinne back to their rooms. The Lady of Virtue had called together all the available healers and they had all scurried off to make sure both of them were well, at least physically. The other Lords and Wardens had all strode off on their own business, as Sorcha stood there, feeling the power of Elune washing away from her, now that she was no longer needed to feed it to the High Lord's spirit. She was glad he had found his way to such a safe resting place, a place where she could tell he was beginning to trust the Dream again. It was a place of waiting, a place of preparing, a place of healing for his soul. There, he would find what he needed to prepare for the coming battle. Perseverance. Tenacity. Determination. Protection. And there he would perhaps learn to trust again in the things that made a place in the world for a person, no matter how weary, how alone he might feel. Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience. Once the others had all left, Sorcha felt herself shift easily and without conscious effort back from Moonkin to elf form, and looked around to find the exit from this chamber. There she found Johnson, looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if he worried that she was somehow going to put the entire Council Chamber in her pockets and walk off with it. Instead, with the dignity she had acquired in a youth and young adulthood longer than most humans lived in an entire life, she simply nodded at him and walked out of the room, barely disturbing even the air as she passed. She wondered if he realized she was at least three times his own age, though she looked young enough to be his grand-daughter. She made her way back to her room, where she was now settled, sitting on the bed, thinking back over everything that had happened from the moment she pulled on her leathers and wandered out into the night, seeking relief from her worry about Vlad, about Rheyna, about herself. The gifts Elune had granted her since then were substantial: the chance to be the song that called the High Lord back to the goddess, the opportunity to use her own fortitude to save the Cat Adumbro (to whatever degree she had done so), the knowledge that her healing spells could be used as weapons against that which sought to undo Balance in the world. But mostly, she thought about the light of Elune that had filled her more than once during these events, about the moonlight she had used to shore up the powers of the older druid, and about the moonlight, the sunlight, the starlight she had used as weapons against the demon and his Dream avatar. She thought about how she had used Elune's light as a weapon against something that had sought to destroy the Balance she had dedicated herself to preserving. Demons were filled with a Wrongness that unBalanced everything around them. And yet, the way to fight them, even for a creature of Balance such as herself, was to fling light at them. She thought more, thought about the relationship between Shadow and Light, and wondered if she had been wrong herself. Was it that she and Vlad had been too afraid, too scared of what they would find, that they had simply given up, and claimed to be on opposite sides of a great divide? Was the light of Elune just another manifestation of that Light she had found so hard to bear sometimes, when it shone out of his eyes? What would Vlad have seen, if he could have seen her in the Dream, using Elune's light to destroy an avatar of one of the great demons? Would he have recognized what shone out of her eyes in those moments? Would he have found it hard to bear? Had she been wrong to send him away? Had he been wrong to go? And if so, had they, by being wrong, sent him to his death, or worse? She blinked away the tears that threatened to come to her now. She might be three times Johnson's age, but for an elf she was still quite young, and she wondered for the first time if her youthful affection for easy answers had blinded her to the subtleties of the situation she and Vlad had confronted. Had their task been to meld together the Holy Light of the paladin with the path of Balance she walked? And what would the cost of their failure be, if indeed they had failed? Today, she had been the song of Elune, when what the High Lord needed was a song. She had felt like light, pure and simple, pouring Elune's grace to a soul who had lost it. And she had felt like darkness, too, pouring the Earth Mother's protection to an elf in desperate need of that. She remembered what some human priests said, "May the Light shine on your endeavours and the Shadow hide you from your enemies". Now that she thought of it, that sounded very much like Balance, in a human guise. She did not know the answers, she wondered if she had yet found the right questions. She might be young for an elf, but she had learned patience at least. One thing at a time. She would wait to see if the Lords of the Defenders needed her to help them with the last stage of the battle against the Demon. She would wait to see what Rheyna learned. She would wait to see what Elune graced her with. And she would trust that she would be given what she needed, just as she had been used to give D'ana'no what he needed. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by merlinne on Jan 30, 2006, 7:42am Merlinne tried to smile at her friend as the dwarf settled beside her. She could see his own drawn and gaunt features beneath his thick beard. She reached out and gently took his hand in hers, momentarily pressing his fingers to her lips. She continued to hold it, drawing comfort from his strength, as they sat with D'ana'no. "There is nothing to be sorry of," she said quietly. "You have had trauma of your own to deal with. Bear no guilt my friend." Merlinne did not know how much time had passed when Vangelis' voice crackled over the comm. She nodded quietly when he was finished calling them to the council chamber. She reached for her cane to support her weak leg and pulled Hugnir up to follow her. "Come my friend. We'll need you now." With that she left D'ana'no's suite, leading Hugnir to the council chamber. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Polrena on Jan 31, 2006, 5:48pm Following the events in the Lord’s chambers, Polrena spent much of her time in contemplation and research. However, her frustration mounted as she realized she knew so little of the subject of demonology that she could not even determine where to look. Finally, she sought out Brother Sarno, her friend and mentor at the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind. Limited to circumspection, as she dared not reveal too much about the particulars of the case, she pried few details from the knowledgeable priest. “Demons? Stay away from ‘em, I say. Warlocks and the sort try to control ‘em, but just like certain priests who think they can control the shadow,” his eyes narrowed here and Polrena tried to keep from squirming under his gaze, “control begin to blur.” She knew that much already. Doc’s method of argumentation left much to be desired, in her opinion, but his point had been valid. She had begun to lose her sense of who she was, as the lines between using the shadow and becoming shadow became increasingly difficult to separate. All to the good, but how could she assist her High Lord? “Pray,” he had finally advised. She felt powerless, and worse, useless, but in the end the only thing she could do was to take the last of Brother Sarno’s advice. She prayed. During her meditations, she heard her com blaze into life. Lord Vangelis’ voice, deep and solid as the man himself, reached her ears. He called for the Lords! Surely this meant he had found a way to help the High Lord. She smiled, her eyes stilled closed, and thanked the Light. Then she scrambled to her feet, delighted and anxious to finally have something to do. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Celera on Feb 1, 2006, 2:50pm Hunters don’t travel to different planes of being to have supernatural battles with other-worldly creatures. Celera had once aspired to such things, and admired those who did them, but her skills pertained more to the physical world and the minds of the beings around her. Any skilled hunter has the ability to detect not only the presence of others, but their mood and intentions, and even to influence those intentions at times. So Celera did not need the gossip of servants to tell her that in recent weeks something had been very wrong with the High Lord, not an illness or an ordinary worry, but something else, something obscuring his own nature and struggling against his will. She also knew that most of the guild’s leadership was in the halls today, that during the night there had been some crisis and that people were still worried. What she didn’t understand was why the halls were so empty. And the servant’s gossip she did overhear told of the High Lord attacking and harming other Defenders. This was ridiculous, of course, and yet, gossip usually starts from sort of truth. So, although she was weary from her journey and her conversation with Anna, she could not rest until she knew more about what was going on, or at least was satisfied that her assistance would not be needed. She was never happy leaving a problem to be solved by others if there was something she could be doing, and this problem had just been going on too long. With the wolf at her side, she walked through the quiet halls until she came to the door of the High Lord’s suite. She had expected to find a gathering of the guild’s leaders here, but the main floor was empty. Still, the High Lord himself was here, she was quite sure of it. She went up some stairs and found herself in a study. Normally she would never think of walking through anyone’s private quarters, much less the High Lord’s, but some combination of determination and lack of sleep had sharpened her mind to focus on the single purpose of finding out the truth. There were more stairs and then an open door, presumably to the bedroom, and beside it sat a young priest that Celera had not met. He rose and made as if to stop her progress, but between the look in her eye and the size of the old wolf’s teeth, he stepped back and made no protest. As she stepped into the antechamber, she knew at once that D’ana’no was there, and asleep. It occurred to her then how far she had intruded on his privacy, and for a moment she was quite shocked at herself. She almost turned and ran out, but she had come this far. In for a copper, in for a gold, her father used to say. She went around the corner and stepped into the bedroom itself, where the High Lord slept soundly. There were some chairs by the bed, so apparently she had not been the only visitor to this chamber. She stood in the doorway for a moment, studying the sleeping figure. Meanwhile, the old wolf, in the ritual common to his kind, walked up to D’ana’no, sniffed him, determined that he was well, and confirmed this finding with a casual lick of the High Lord’s hand. Tim then did the same to Celera, and having discharged his canine duties for the moment, he walked back to the antechamber and lay down in a corner to begin a nap of his own. Celera’s own senses agreed with the wolf’s – the High Lord seemed free of the shadow that had troubled him recently. He slept soundly, his mind drifting in some happy dream. Although the room was darkened, the presence of Elune was quite strong, and the room seemed filled with a sense of peace and safety that Celera had rarely felt. Relieved to see that D’ana’no’s condition was improved, and almost equally relieved that there was nothing she needed to do at the moment, she began to feel her own weariness. She stepped back from the small sleeping area, into the antechamber, and sat down next to Tim. She stroked his rough fur as he laid his head on her leg. She hated to wake the aged creature, but they needed to get back to their own quarters – surely it would not do for her to be found here by the High Lord or anyone else. But it was just impossible to feel worried in this place, at this moment. Still, she really should be going… That was her last thought as her eyes closed and she joined Tim in a sound sleep. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by merlinne on Feb 1, 2006, 4:01pm As Merlinne and Hugnir made their way to the council chambers, she remembered another who should be called. Flipping on her communicator, she opened a private channel to Sorch'Rei. "Sorch'Rei, this is Merlinne. We've been called back to the Council Room. Your abilities may be needed. Please meet me at the entry and I will escort you in." Considering her slower pace, she judged it would be enough time for the druidess to meet them there. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 1, 2006, 7:04pm Sorcha's mind was pulled back to the present when her communicator lit and Lady Merlinne's voice came over it, bidding her return to the Council Chamber. "Yes, Lady. I am on my way." She stood, quickly rebraided her hair and pulled her boots back on. Then she silently left her room and headed for the great Council Chamber. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Fechak on Feb 1, 2006, 7:47pm Fechak was drawing a map of Stratholme from memory, and although he had not been within the halls of this cathedral since the disaster he knew the layout well. "It's really quite standard when ya come ta humans, they think in one direction so ta speak about thar defensive... things... so it'll all feel like home. Only... evil." Vangelis looked like he was following along as Fechak continued his map. The dwarf wasn't at all sure what was going on, only that killing needed to be done. Perhaps before the expedition for the vile city... expeditioned, he could have a quiet look see at his new book. Oh, and gather Caspin up, now a partner he had come to rely on more and more... hopefully the man was sober. "What's this?" Vangelis pointed at a large circular room with a deadly looking skull drawn in the middle. "Oh that? That be where we be headed." Fechak couldn't help but grin at the prospect of actually storming a city overrun by undead and the very heart of the Scarlet Crusade. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by windfoot on Feb 5, 2006, 2:02pm Vezesara was gone. Windfoot slipped further out of himself as the Dream carried him where it would. He traveled until sense of his self was gone; until there was only the Dream. A single tree stood alone in darkness, its black surface gnarled and charred. Fire had ravaged its surface but sap moved slowly within, refusing to stop. Its roots dug deeply, searching for water and life. Deep, deep under the ground the song of the earth reverberated, too slow for any but the most patient to hear, but there nonetheless: Perseverance. Tenacity. Determination. Protection. The wind came, making the branches clatter and shake. Its song was like a dance of swift movement and grace: Watchfulness. Playfulness. Speed. Intensity. The wind played among the branches, and then came again in force to whip the dead ash of leaves off of branch and stem. The tree bent and shook before its harsh song; broken pieces flew off and were carried away. The extremities shook and broke, but the heart remained. The tree stood, bending and whipping before the force of the wind, but the water was there. The water of life touched it, fed it from wells too deep to be destroyed. Far beneath the crusted soil a great ocean of water resided, keeping all things in balance. The water of life flowed up the roots and into the heart of the broken tree. The wind ceased, the darkness parted, and rain began to fall. Light at first; a mere mist, a mere glistening of sweat upon the surface of the bark and branch. The water pooled and gathered, forming drops that slid down the surface of its skin, then fell in silence to the parched and broken ground. A whisper ran through the tree's braches as the rain began to fall in earnest: Balance. Change. Renewal. Equality. Like a long golden thread leading homeward, a single thread of golden light, glistening and dancing, descended from the darkness upon the tree. The light fell upon a single branch, illuminating it in the dark. The light descended, and with it a distant voice singing of Comfort. Love. Companionship. Hope. Patience. Where the light fell, a single flower appeared, white and fragile, growing again from the broken husk of the old tree. And with the light, knowledge and memory. The vision was gone. Windfoot opened his eyes. His spirit had returned to his body again, and was only slightly detached from it. His body was healed and whole. He sensed its slow breathing, inviting him home. As he lay in the Dream, an euphoria took hold of him. The voices of nature and living things burst upon him. With a deep breath, he cast his spirit out, out to fly through the corridors of the Halls, out to play in the trees and fields. For so long he had been broken and corrupted; he had been blind and deaf to his true senses. Suddenly, like a breaking dam, the songs of earth and sky and living things flooded into him. It was beautiful beyond imagining. As he lay in bed, tears streamed down the old Kaldorei’s face. Windfoot flew to the council chambers, and sensed the Lords’ councils. Their mood was somber as they discussed plans of attack. And Hugnir was there among them! Oh Hugnir, broken and battered, like himself. The dwarven paladin had vast depths of strength, but so much healing was needed. Suddenly, another presence came to him. Sorcha’Rei was with them, and he suddenly felt her eyes upon him. “Greetings, Lord. You are in high spirits,” she whispered. He spun around her. The song of the wind came from his mouth and he whipped through the room and was gone. A sudden gust of wind rustled the pages strewn upon the great council table. He sensed Sorcha prepare to give chase, but whispered to her to wait. “Patience. I will come to you soon enough.” Back then to his chambers, and to a surprise. “Celera?” The huntress lay sleeping in the antechamber, her brow furrowed, her spirit wandering aimlessly. She too was worried about him. He knew he could not chase her spirit, for it traveled at the uncontrolled speed of the Dream, and too quickly to be followed. But he sensed it as it traveled, and sensed in her such strength of spirit that it was strange to him that he had not studied her before. Druidic heritage and possibilities, but foresworn by her out of a need for perfection and control. It was… fascinating. Windfoot tried to remember his old enemy, but it was being washed away, it was beneath notice. Why dwell upon a dark past? Life had returned to him! The light poured through the windows and fell upon the figure of the high lord. At last, he opened his eyes. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Celera on Feb 6, 2006, 10:34am Even in sleep, animals are aware of changes in their surroundings, and hunters learn to be the same way. So, although the High Lord had scarcely moved or made any noise in the next room, the small stirrings had been enough to wake Tim and Celera, and waking in such an odd place was enough to get Celera on her feet in almost the same instant. From the light in the room, she gathered that she had only been there a few minutes, but surely that was long enough. She walked out of the room, and saw that the young priest had also dozed off over his book. Was there some sort of spell on this place? She cleared her throat and the fellow woke with a start, looking guilty. "I believe the High Lord will be waking soon," she said, trying not to laugh. "Please be prepared in case he needs anything." With that, she walked out of the suite and went back to her own quarters, satisfied that all was well for the moment. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by windfoot on Feb 7, 2006, 9:17pm For a moment, it was all that Windfoot could do to lie in the clean sheets and hear the song of nature returned to him. Unbidden tears flowed down his face as the wind laughed at him, welcoming him back. The light shimmered, whether reflecting welcome in its own way or because of the veil of joyful tears he could not tell. He felt, rather than saw the approach of the hesitant young priest, and with him the echo of Celera, departing. The young man was unsure of whether to speak or to run for Lady Polrena. Without turning, he responded quietly, “The Lady is in council; where I shall be attending shortly. There is no need to fetch her.” The human started, wondering how the elf had known his thoughts, and Windfoot smiled. He was his old self again. “Anthony, is it? Would you mind chasing after the huntress Celera? She is not too far yet. I would very much like her company as soon as I am dressed.” Relieved, the acolyte rushed down the stairs, already worried that he did not know which way Celera had gone. He had the charming earnesty characteristic of the House of Virtue. He would do well in time. Rising, Windfoot felt a sudden sharp pain in his neck and was forcibly reminded that he could not simply leap back from such trauma. The euphoria remained, but the limits of his physical body re-exerted themselves. More gingerly, he slipped from the bed and moved to gather clothing. Looking at his wardrobe, Windfoot was struck by how dark and sombre it all was. How had that happened? How long had he carried the weight of darkness, he mused? “In any event, these clothes do not suit me today.” Reaching under the bed, Windfoot drew out a plain pine box and placed it upon the bed. Johnson had long ago replaced his wardrobe and had not so much insisted upon him putting his traditional garb away as conducted himself as if it were understood that simple garments were no longer entirely appropriate. Windfoot had given away most of his clothing, but had been unable to part with a few items. Now he drew out a plain white robe and slipped it on. The scent of Darnassus remained in the fibres, bringing back memories of days of old. He really should revisit Tyrande; she had been so kind to him of old. How was it that he had been so long away? Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Celera on Feb 8, 2006, 5:57pm Celera heard the young priest's footsteps behind her even before he called out her name. She turned to speak with him, but Tim was determined to proceed on to their quarters, so she let him go. This time of day there was a certain sunny spot on the floor where he liked to nap. "Miss Celera," the priest called out rather breathlessly. "The High Lord wishes to speak with you." "Very well. When does he wish to see me?" she asked. 'Right away. Well.. he was going to get dressed ... I guess in a minute or... right away." The poor young man blushed heartily. Perhaps, like many humans, he was uncomfortable speaking of the High Lord doing something as ordinary as getting dressed after sleeping. Celera did not have time to be amused, however. She really thought she had slipped out before she had been noticed. For someone who hates being in trouble, she told herself, you sure manage to find your share of it. Well, there was nothing to do now but go and make her apologies. She thanked the priest, who began a whole new bout of blushing, and headed back to the High Lord's suite. The door was open, but this time she stopped in the front room, where guests were normally received. She pretended to study a book that sat out on one of the small tables. "Hello, Celera. I'm glad Anthony was able to catch up with you," she heard suddenly. She turned, and as she saw D'ana'no she realized that explanations and apologies were not likely to be required. There was a new warmth in his voice, and his face suggested a lightness of mood she had not expected. He smiled, not in the cordial way that she often saw, but as if he was actually... happy. It was not a look she had seen in the few months that they had been acquainted. "I am pleased to see that you are feeling better, Lord D'ana'no," she said with a small bow. "Is there something that I can do for you?" Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Feb 8, 2006, 8:58pm "Lady Merlinne, Master Hugnir, and Sorchia'Rei .. of Darnassus." Vangelis looked up from Fechak's sketch to see Johnson standing officiously at the door in front of an exasperated-looking Merlinne. Johnson had, of course, done it again: somehow Vangelis felt like the words "how preposterous to let a former Defender and an elfish upstart into the Council chambers!" were echoing from the rafters, although to look at the man's his poker-stiff back and just-doing-my-duty demeanor you could not accuse him of doing anything other than announcing the guests. "Thank you, Johnson, that will be all." Merlinne's icy aristocratic tones implied, just as clearly, that Johnson was a pompous idiot whose misguided sense of duty only served to throw a layer of obstruction over everything that was actually important. Vangelis could not help but grin as Merlinne and her two companions swept into the room. If anyone could handle Johnson, it was Merlinne; Vangelis, by contrast, was simply reduced to fits of ineffectual apoplexy by the man. The ever-stalwart Hugnir entered the chambers humbly in Merlinne's wake, and Vangelis felt a surge of warmth as the old dwarf entered the chambers. Although Hugnir's marriage and subsequent travels had taken him from the Defenders' halls - and in particular the kitchen - his loyalty and support could not have reappeared at a better hour. The druidess was self-contained and inscrutable as ever, but she had become inextricably bound up with the fate of his master. Her presence here was both welcome and necessary, and he knew instinctively that she could be trusted. "Mother Polrena." Vangelis looked up again as Johnson announced the last arrival. Polrena smiled at the introduction and patted the housemaster gently on the shoulder, as if to say, "thank you Johnson, that was lovely", and took her place humbly, ready to serve in whatever way was needed. The two chairs for the House of the Beast remained empty. Vangelis smiled again: typical hunters, unwilling to be "cooped up" in the halls for too long. It was all right; he knew they would materialize from the wilds when the hunt was called. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Feb 8, 2006, 11:50pm You called and they came, farmer. It's up to you to fill them in. "Well, it looks like all are here who're going to be here..." Really smooth... I'm not made for this. What would Windfoot say?" He pictured the elf as he remembered him: tall, gracious, always having a kind word of welcome... Welcome. Right. "Hugnir - welcome. I am sure Windfoot would be honoured to know you have come to his aid. And Sorcha'rei, you also are welcome. Please, don't be shy to speak up, we need all the help we can get." "All the help we can get?" Wrong, Farmer Big Vang, wrong. Ah, well, plough on. "As you know, demons and such are a bit beyond me, but I couldn't very well sit around doing nothing, so I enlisted the warlock Boswell's aid and was able to ask the imp Pipnip a few questions." "I can't be sure of anything, but I did get Boswell to tell his imp to answer my questions truthfully, so unless he managed some kind of trick I think I found out what to do." "According to Pipnip, Lord Windfoot has been possessed by a demon named... Balnazzar, I think. What's worse, even after all our exertions," Vangelis nodded towards Merlinne and Sorcha'rei, "Windfoot is only temporarily free from the demon, who can re-possess him easily." "Apparently the only way to rid the High Lord of this demon, short of killing him, is to... how did Pipnip put it? ... 'destroy his corporeal form', which can be, ah, 'made to appear' by defeating in battle someone he has already fully possessed." "The good news is that this Balnazzar has not only possessed Windfoot but is also in possession of one Galford, an archivist of the Scarlet Crusade. ... well, not good news for Galford, or for the Crusade, I suppose, but possibly for Windfoot, at least. Because if we can get to this Galford when the demon is in possession of him and call him out, and if we defeat the archivist, and if that brings the demon into corporeal form, and if we defeat that, well, then Windfoot will be free." "I guess the bad news is, that's a lot of if's." "So I called you all here, well, to tell you that, and to ask if anyone has any bright ideas." Amazed at his own lengthy speech, Vangelis sat down, hoping that this council would tell him what to do.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:23:57 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Hugnir on Feb 13, 2006, 1:37pm
Hugnir listened, not willing to jump in where it was no longer his place. But as the silence continued, thoughts of the Scarlet swirled through the dwarf's mind. Remembering how his sister, Lexie, had called for rescue when she got a bit too deep into their camps in the Plaguelands...and how their gleeful smiles cut almost as deeply as their whips and blades into his sister's flesh. Remembering too, the rumors of the recovered sections of the city of Stratholme; how it had become a stronghold of sorts for the Scarlet Crusade. The scowl upon the greybeard's face grew deeper with each vision in his brain of their misguided, black and white view of the world.
Finally, Hugnir could hold with the silence no longer. "Th' Scarlet ha' noo' love lost fer me, nor I fer them. So it seems clear that if'n our only shot at this demon is th' Master Archivist, then I'm fer takin' it. Windfoot deserves better than t' be th' stompin' mat fer such evil." Glancing at each of the Defenders in the room, Hugnir took strength from the familiarity in each of their eyes. Perhaps he no longer wore the colors of the Defenders of Valor, but those colors bound him to each of those that wore them now. "I'm nae sayin' t'will be easy. An' tis danger in each breeze that blows through those infected streets. But Windfoot ha' laid his life upon th' lines fer each o' us, an' noo' matter th' fear or doobt we have o' that place, noo' Scarlet menace is stronger than th' bond b'tween Defenders. Have we no' shaken th' Scarlets in their own monastery? Dealin' their recruitment a blow in th' Plaguelands? Have we no' assaulted their camps in Hammerfall, remindin' them that safety is no' assured fer them?" The dwarf's jaw clenched and he straightened tall, for a dwarf, anyhow.
"Tis time fer th' demons t' cower in fear o' us, fer a change. An' I'm tired o' lettin' them make th' first move. Tis time fer us t' strike back." Hugnir placed his hammer upon the table and the fire smoldered in his ruby eyes.
"Who's comin' along?" Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by merlinne on Feb 13, 2006, 3:24pm
So much had transpired. So much needed done still. Merlinne knew she had no skill at tactics and strategy. She did not pretend to such abilities. If arcane strength were needed, however, she would be there. She would do whatever it took to save her friend.
"I know nothing of Stratholme but I have seen, and met, the demon on another battlefield. If it means saving D'ana'no, I will meet him again on this plane. Tell me where I am needed and I will be there and bring all the arcane power I have at my disposal." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Polrena on Feb 13, 2006, 7:50pm
Of course they would go. She felt only gratitude that they finally had a target. Polrena could hardly credit the notion that Lord Vangelis would believe any of them would turn their back on this fight.
Perhaps that's why they paused; an effort to determine if the question held deeper significance.
"We need to defeat this Balnazzar," Polrena said slowly, in perfect agreemwnt with Hugnir and the Lady Merlinne. "That much is certain. If you are asking when, my suggestion would be now. This very minute."
Startled glances peppered the priestess. Not her words, she thought, but the fact that it was she who advocated the immediate slaughter of churchmen, as well as this Demonic host?
She tried to explain. "I had healed the High Lord, before. In the glade." She nodded at Sorcha. "I sensed a hole, a void, as though something had been cut." She cupped her hands in front of her, trying to convey the image of a container. "I wasn't sure. It also felt like something was trying to fill in the hole." She frowned, not sure of how to describe that people 'felt' different from each other. "The hole was still there the other night, but it had grown, and the thing trying to fill the hole was gone."
"Since then, you must all know, the High Lord has felt wonderful, he says. Healed, and with renewed joy in Elune." Her head shook. "Patients in the clinic, the elders, sick petitioners. They feel well one day, and the doctors and priests call the cures miraculous, blessings from the Light. or Elune." She wrung her hands together. "The next hour, the next day, they die. No one can explain why."
She looked at the faces around her. "I had the opportunity to delve the High Lord recently," she hurried on, trying not to flush in memory of what she perceived as deception, "and the hole in the High Lord is larger now, larger than ever, and I think it's waiting for something to fill it. And I'm terribly afraid he's like those patients who feel perfectly well one day, as if they had made peace with the universe, and then simply..." She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head again, unable to voice the thought. The silence of the others made her quail, and she trembled to think she had overstepped herself.
"He's in terrible danger. We have to go," she concluded, trying not to cry. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 14, 2006, 4:11am
Sorcha looked at the Holy Priestess and wondered that she did not understand the state of the High Lord. She blinked back that thought, knowing that Lady Polrena had saved him over and over again, when none of the rest of them could. Still, perhaps it was because she was not an elf . . .
"The High Lord is currently in the hands of the Earth Mother," she said softly, "and he is returned to the Light of Elune. For the moment, he is fine. The problem, such as it is, is that neither the Earth Mother nor Elune carry people; they only make it possible for those people to carry themselves."
She toyed for a moment with the end of her braid, feeling very much younger than she was. Her growing uncertainty about Vlad and the Light was affecting her ability to remain calm. She took a deep breath, and tried to be more reassuring.
"Lady of the Light, what the High Lord needs to fill that 'hole' you sense is himself. He has lost his way, lost his trust in himself, and in the fellowship he leads. Elune has graced him as I have seen Her grace few others; She is giving him the chance to find his way back to himself, as She has helped him find his way back to Her." She scowled. "The Demon, the Enemy, this Balnazzar, he wants to fill the same hole. And he will do it, if he gets a chance. I will not see the will of Elune thwarted. I will fight to give the High Lord the chance to reclaim himself. You are right, we must go as soon as possible."
Turning to Lord Vangelis, she bowed her head. "I am at your service, Lord of Ensign, to fight, to heal, to wait, to do whatever you think is best. Tell me what to do, and it will be done."
In the stillness of the Chamber, she felt the sudden touch of the wind on her cheek, and knew it was no ordinary wind. Without thought, she whispered a greeting to the High Lord, and reached out to him with her own spirit. "Patience," came the answer. "I will come to you soon enough."
Blinking back tears she did not understand, she added in a voice that the others could hear, "He will be here soon." Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by windfoot on Feb 15, 2006, 8:31pm
“Yes, there is. I want you to join me in the Lords' Councils and, more importantly, I want your bow at my side in the time ahead. Soon, very soon now, the Defenders shall muster arms to assault the fallen city of Stratholme, far in the plague-ravaged lands to the North, and we will need every able-bodied warrior to have any hope of success. Your loyalty and honour are beyond reproach, and your skill with the bow is renowned.”
Celera was evidently surprised by his words, and though eager to be of assistance seemed confused and somewhat reluctant to accept the invitation. “High Lord, Tim and I will fight beside the Defenders whenever asked, but I am not of the Council…”
“The time for secrecy and closed discussions is past. Even now the Council chambers are open and others who are not of the Council are present there. No longer doubt yourself, Celera. In the coming days, greater leadership will be called of you.”
“But Lord, what is wrong?”
Her instincts had already provided her with more than an inkling of the trouble, but she needed to hear it from him. He nodded to himself. It was only right.
Briefly, Windfoot spoke to Celera of the history that had led to the moment, of his illness, of the danger, and of the dark quest ahead. He provided no details of the cause of his taint, other than that the demon Balnazzar had come to him in the Dream in a moment of weakness and had slowly corrupted all that was good within him. Celera did not ask for more than he had volunteered, but her intuitions were strong and he knew that she gleaned more than he said. How much more he could not say. When he finished, she simply asked, “And now, Windfoot? Are you now healed?”
“I am not sure. With the return of my senses, I have never felt so well. Perhaps the enemy is in retreat. Still, we must not wait until he moves again. And even if we are walking into a trap, we cannot choose to do nothing. We can only go forward, and warily.”
The two sat for a moment in silent contemplation. Then Windfoot arose and walked to the bookshelf. With a small adjustment, the bookshelf slid aside to reveal a hidden locked doorway. Windfoot then brought out the guildmaster’s key and opened the door, revealing a swirling portal.
“Come, they have been at council for some time and we must attend.” Then he added, with a slight grin, “I believe that Lord of Ensign may finally be ready to command the muster of the Defenders.” Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Vangelis on Feb 17, 2006, 11:55pm
"Very well, then."
Vangelis nodded to himself. The path was clear, the company had assembled, all were poised for action. All that remained was to "sound the charge"... but how to put it?
You've stared down dragons and stomped on bugs the size of rhinos, farmer. You can muster this company.
"Defenders.
"I remember a time when we were few and scattered, and the High Lord was careworn with the burden of building us up, and when we feared for our future.
"In those days the very thought of facing such an adversary as Balnazzar would have filled us with dread. Perhaps that crisis of confidence was the opportunity seized by the demon... I do not know. But I do know that if we had been forced to confront him openly then, I doubt we would have prevailed.
"However, even as this demon wormed his way into Lord Windfoot's soul, it seems to me that Lord Windfoot, though he may have felt himself to be losing his inner struggle, was building a defence stronger than Balnazzar could ever expect... or comprehend.
"That defence stands about me in this room.
"Lady Merlinne: you have always been a woman accustomed to command, but I have seen you grow in power and confidence in these halls, and even now I am not sure you have yet plumbed the depth of your strength.
"Lady Polrena: your generosity and purity of heart has always shone like the Light you serve. Your loyalty and dedication are weapons that no demon - even Balnazzar - can comprehend or withstand.
"Lady Sorcha'rei: you, too, are wise and strong in the Earth Mother that you serve, and have already played a crucial part in Lord Windfoot's victory thus far. Balnazzar could not have predicted the arrival of such a powerful new ally as yourself.
"Hugnir:" Vangelis smiled. "Your gruff ways and humble service in the kitchens of this land have never obscured your honour, your courage and your loyalty to what is true and right and good. You also have come unlooked-for to our aid, a holy warrior who will give even a demon such as Balnazzar pause.
"And Fechak: you have ever been by the High Lord's side. Although you have always preferred the shadows to the spotlight, no one knows the dark places of this land any better than you. There is nowhere our quarry can hide that you cannot root him out, and no place so dark that you have not already explored it and brought home a souvenir (...usually valuable)."
There were a few chuckles around the room at that last, but Vangelis did not give them time to answer.
"But beyond all that, and beyond even the formidable powers of the many individuals in our company beyond this room," - here Vangelis glanced meaningfully toward the chairs of the House of the Beast - "the defence that Lord Windfoot has built is not merely the sum of these parts, but rather the the strength of the Defenders as a whole.
"None of us can face a demon alone, and it is no shame of Windfoot's that he could not conquer Balnazzar in the privacy of his own soul. Such, I am told, is the way of demons: they divide one from another, and in the end they divide one even from oneself.
"But here we stand, united in bonds of loyalty and friendship and respect, and so long as we maintain those bonds, well... Balnazzar and his ilk haven't a hope in hell against us.
"Defenders... comrades... good friends. Now is the time when we must come into our true strength: not that of a collection of individuals, but as a Company, strong and true. Let no doubt enter anyone's mind about the honour, skill, integrity or worth of any other.
"I assure you there is not the slightest doubt in mine.
"Fechak, sound the alarm: the Defenders ride to war!" Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Fechak on Feb 18, 2006, 2:52am
"Aye Lord!"
Fechak practically leapt up from the table running down the hall toward the horns used to rally the guild. Inhaling deeply, he went red in the face blasting out a single clarion note. His breath expended, and with a quick turn to salute the council chambers, the dwarf ran toward the stairs and outside to the front lawns where their drills had called for them to muster upon such a call.
To Stratholme. Fechak knew many of the Defenders had no idea what horrors awaited them... no matter: they were ready. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Rheyna on Feb 19, 2006, 11:47am
The sound of the clarion startled Rheyna so much that she drove the needle right into her finger. Sucking on the injured digit for a second to ease the sting, she dropped her sewing in an untidy pile on the floor next to her chair and leapt to her feet. Moving quickly, she donned her most powerful battle gear and then opened her cabinet to see what supplies she should take with her. Bandages, of course. Mana oil for her staff to give her more endurance as a healer, and to increase the power of her healing. Wizard oil for the weapons of the casters, to help them do more damage to whoever they mustered to fight. Potions, too. Potions to heal herself without expending healing energy, and potions to restore lost energy when she needed it. And, taught in a hard school, she tucked away an extra weapon and an extra robe so that if her main gear became too damaged to use, she could fight on.
She quickly packed her supplies and then left her room at a run, headed for the mustering point. Re: Into the Dark; Chapter 6 - The Crusade ((open) Post by Gudran on Feb 19, 2006, 12:33pm
The blast of the horn sounded throughout the halls, knocking over a few of Gudran's vials, but he cared not. This was a serious call to arms. For what, Gudran did not think about. All he knew is that the Defenders needed his strength in battle.
"I 'ave been cooped up in this dusty place fer too long..."
He gathered what potions he had lying around and a few herbal components for future use. He also strapped some of his old treasure weapons from past battle onto his waist and back, whatever he could fit. Turning back into the library before heading out, he smiled and shut the door, swiftly running to the source of the call, the horn.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:24:31 GMT -6
Epic Tales » Adventurer Journals » Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusade housesofvalor.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=Stories&action=display&thread=1140408935 Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusade Post by windfoot on Feb 19, 2006, 10:15pm Windfoot stood on the edge of the hard beaten grounds behind the Defenders Halls and near to the stables, slightly leaning on the thin fence that surrounded the paddock. A warm current of air wound through the assembling company, snatching at traveling cloaks and bags, making weapons and shields clatter and clank; the first whisper of spring coming. Vangelis and Fechak were busily at work, simulataneously explaining and barking orders to the arriving Defenders. Everyone was in a high state of agitation, and more than a few of Johnson’s staff were “lending a hand in the travel preparations” and eavesdropping. Windfoot watched the Lord of Ensign with interest. The old farmer had always stubbornly resisted his own greater destiny, but there he was marshalling troops for a great battle as if it were second nature to him. Strange how the hand of Elune guided things. Not all knew the way to Stratholme, and Fechak insisted that it was not safe to travel there alone, “not unless, that is, you’ve got a quiet foot and a knack for avoidin’ unwanted notice. Somethin’ Windy’s not right good at,” so Lord Vangelis had ordered all to gather up at Light’s Hope Chapel, the last bastion of safety in the Eastern Plaguelands. At a short distance Merlinne stood talking quietly with Hugnir, who seemed to be bringing as many pots as armor for the journey. He could not hear their words, but every so often he sensed Merlinne scrying him with her arcane powers. Good. Windfoot had his own qualms about his new-found health himself. Windfoot felt Celera and Tim approaching, and Tim too was wary. The old druid could feel the wolf’s ready stance, not hackles raised for battle, but watchful nonetheless. “You travel light, Lord D’ana’no.” Windfoot turned to Celera. She was dressed for battle, her hair was up, burnished metal shone beneath supple leather cover, and a thick quiver of arrows stood up behind her back. For a moment she reminded him of Vezesara, with a ferocious glint in his eyes; then it was gone. Celera was stronger, wiser and more cautious. Vezesara was dead. “I will be running much of the way, Celera. Besides, what with Hugnir’s storehouse coming along, none of us needs take anything I warrant.” Windfoot felt the huntress’ sharp eyes upon him, and her unspoken question. “The demon has not returned. I am well, by Elune’s grace.” “And if he returns?” For a long moment Windfoot looked away pondering the question. Celera waited, unwavering. Finally, Windfoot opened the leather pack at his side, revealing heavy mithril chains and clasps. “I have brought shackles. Mithril, and strong enough to hold an abomination. Before, the attacks were worst at night. I plan on binding myself each night, for safety.” Celera was shocked, but said nothing, simply laid a hand on his arm. After a moment, he thanked her and turned away towards the woods; one last visit before his departure. As he entered the woods he sensed Sorcha’Rei watching him from the shadows, along with his as yet unnamed feline companion, who seemed to have taken quite a liking to her. It was strange. Adumbro had not liked anyone save him. “I have brought him for you.” “Thank you.” The cub had grown extraordinarily. Indeed, he was already half the size Adumbro had been. If he continued to grow he would assuredly acquire epic proportions. Still, the fact that Windfoot had not named him spoke of the conflicted nature of his feelings. He cared for the cat, of course, but the pang of loss was still with him when he looked at the beast. In many ways he was just like Adumbro, but yet…he was not the companion that Windfoot had travelled with for so long. The cub too, while playful and exuberant with Sorcha, was a bit standoffish with him, sensing his feelings. Windfoot knelt and stroked the cub, and offered him a small treat from the kitchen. Then he spoke in the language of the animals: Be strong. Be swift. Stay upwind of your prey. D’ana’no must go and fight, and Sorcha’Rei too. You are too young to come, but the pack will return. There is food here. Don’t go, the cub pleaded. We do not fight for food this time. We fight to keep you safe. Stay here, and grow strong. Windfoot’s language brooked no further discussion, and the cub had no choice but to accept his decision. Frankly, the old druid knew that it was the loss of Sorcha’Rei that troubled the young stormsaber. The cub turned his large eyes upon her sadly. Must you go? Sorcha will come back to Ventus. Do not worry. For a moment the cat hesitated, then lay down, defeated and sad. After one last pat, Windfoot shifted into cheetah and, nodding to Sorcha’Rei, raced off towards Stormwind and the ride North. He was surprised to find the druidess racing beside him. For a while he simply ran, enjoying the power of his rediscovered limbs. Finally he spoke. “You named him Ventus?” “I did not name him,” she answered, not looking at him. “You never asked him his name.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 23, 2006, 8:50am Sorcha ran towards Stormwind. The channel between her spirit and that of the older druid was still wide open, and through it, though she did not seek knowledge of his inner thoughts, some of them came down sharp as an arrow. She could feel his surprise, and perhaps a shading of something else at her words. And she ran on in a lengthening silence before speaking again. "High Lord," she finally said to him. "Adumbro is dead, at your behest, and by the hand of Elune Herself, who gathered him home when his suffering at the hands of his parasitical demon was ended. You might ask yourself why Elune then chose to gift you with a new companion, one not raised among the riding sabers of Darnassus, but born in the Dream." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Feb 23, 2006, 7:50pm The Lord Vangelis had ordered the Defenders to re-group at Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands, so that's where Polrena aimed. Due to King's speed, and the ram's disgust at slowing to travel with others, Polrena found herself among the forerunners of the streaming line of Defenders that stretched from the Defenders' Hall to Stormwind. She waved as she passed Sorcha and the High Lord, slightly embarassed to speed past her Master but delighted he could stretch his feline legs for this run. All too quickly, she passed the gates of Stormwind. She urged Kind forward, towards the gryphon aerie. Dropping the appropriate coins into the Gryphon Master's hand, she slid onto one of the feathered beasts for the journey to Ironforge. From there, she would take a second gryphon to the Western Plaguelands, and finally to Light's Hope Chapel, where she would wait and watch for the arrival of the others. If she arrived early enough, she would be able to haggle for some of the delicious "bickies" the Argent Dawn sold, sweet and refreshing cookies she could find nowhere else in Azeroth. She grinned, looking forward to stuffing her packs full of the addicting junk food. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Feb 24, 2006, 7:20pm Windfoot did not respond to Sorcha’s query right away but simply put more effort into speed instead. He knew that she was right, of course. What right did he have to be sad that his long companion was saved from an eternal taint? Thoughts of lost kinship led him along a well-worn path of sadness to memories of his soul mate, Ursa, and his lost love, Vezesara. But there was no use dwelling upon the lost loves in his life, or upon his own guilt and shame over wrongful actions. He had been through the convolutions of such thoughts countless times and they did not bring either Ursa or Vezesara back. They served, rather, only to weaken his spirit in his ongoing war with his unseen foe. Windfoot shook his head and spoke to help push the thoughts back and away from him. “Sorcha, you are right. Elune has favored me greatly and I do not mean to belittle the honor and gift of Adumbro’s passage and transformation. I know that you want me to bond with this new companion. I have tried to not be standoffish but it is difficult for me to play. You seem better at it than I, in any event. Are you so sure that he is a companion for me?” He felt the druidess blink and look at him and felt a wash of frustrated emotion from the bond that had formed between them. He did not make eye contact or acknowledge her silent rebuke. There was no use arguing about whether he was being “ridiculous” or not. The pair raced through the cobblestone streets of Stormwind with hardly a second glance; so familiar now were humans to the ways of elves and druids. Arriving at the gryphon-master, Windfoot paid passage for them both and the stable-hands brought forth two fresh mounts. It was a long flight to the distant north and they would have to stop and get fresh mounts several times. With a polite greeting to the great beast and dark glance at him, Sorcha’Rei climbed upon her mount and prepared for flight. Windfoot waited quietly for her to launch, respectfully avoiding eye contact from his own gryphon and looking forward to the enforced solitude of air travel. Everything was always clearer with a little distance. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Feb 24, 2006, 9:57pm Light's Hope. Aptly named, thought Vangelis, as he passed a bag of silver over to the Chapel's assistant quartermaster. The soldiers' battlescars and hardened eyes were testament to their firsthand experience of the horrors of the Western Plaguelands, but they were as yet unbowed. Though tiny and beseiged, the chapel remained a beacon of hope for the Alliance, and Vangelis took heart from the outpost's courage and tenacity. It would be the last taste of relative safety for the Defenders for some time. Ahead of them lay leagues of plague-infested wasteland, swarms of undead, and the blasted hulk of Stratholme itself. Once they left the Chapel there would be no further havens... and no turning back. Vangelis greeted each Defender as they left the gryphon pen and directed them to where Fechak was organizing everyone into the small, coordinated units in which they had become accustomed to campaigning. The pipe-smoking doctor Caspin was acting as Fechak's lieutenant, supplying Fechak with advice and information that could not have been taught in medical school. Vangelis smiled at the pair and at his comrades in arms as they double-checked their gear and supplies. Storming Stratholme was not for the faint of heart, but the Defenders had become formidable indeed. Vangelis' senses were heightened with anticipation, but he was confident: the archivist would certainly be reached, even if the outcome of that final encounter was anyone's guess. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 25, 2006, 7:01am Sorcha knew that she and D'ana'no were talking past one another. Of course he grieved the loss of Adumbro! Even thinking about losing Conundrum's companionship made her heart stop for a moment. But Ventus had been created with a connection to the High Lord. She did understand that the spirit of Adumbro resting inside the young saber made it complicated for the two of them to bond. And she knew herself that Elune's gifts were often well-honed and easy to cut oneself on. Her mind wandered as she flew, back, as always lately to her soul-searchings about Vlad, about her decisions so long ago, about her own belief that rejecting the gift of great Love had been the right thing to do. Sometimes she wondered why Vlad had let her do it, why he had left. Then she remembered that he, too had been young, far younger than she, of course, in the way of humans to live so briefly and burn so brightly. How any of them ever had time to acquire wisdom, she had never really figured out. The last bird dropped gracefully to the ground in Light's Hope. After greeting the Lord of Ensign and checking her supplies, Sorcha headed for the quartermaster to stock up on manna biscuit. She had plenty of spell-enchancing potions, and she had brought her healing gear as well, if that were what was needed. Both mana oil and wizard oil lay ready to use, once she knew how she would be deployed. She walked towards Doc Caspin and Warden Fechak, ready to be assigned to either a casting squad or to healing duty. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Feb 25, 2006, 11:11am Looking upon the assembled Defenders, Fechak nodded with approval. They had come a long way since he had joined. With the help of Vangelis, he had whipped them into shape. They were just about ready for this, but there was an air of invinsibility on the air. Never before had the Defenders gathered in such great numbers for something other than a promotion. Many of the younger Defenders who had recently mastered their chosen profession would soon realize how much more they had to learn. Fechak heard the jingling and jangling of Vangelis walking slowly up behind him. "At-ten-SHUN!" Fechak barked out at the guild, Ensign stood instantly in perfect formation, the rest stood or bowed with respect. Executing a perfect about-face, Fechak saluted Vangelis and reported in. "Ensign formed and ready, sir." "Very good, Warden..." Vangelis returned the salute, then looked out at the formation. "At ease." Ensign stood at ease, joining the elven hunters - they never catching the need for such rigid ceremony. Vangelis and Fechak looked out upon their troops, joined now, finally, by Windfoot. Fechak nodded up toward the elf, he was looking good - filled out and warm as his mum would say. Vangelis leaned down to confide with his Warden, never comfortable with someone being behind him, Fechak couldn't help but move the satchel that still held the book away from Vangelis, protecting it now with his strong arm. "Do you think we're ready?" Fechak looked directly at Vangelis for a moment before answering. Something had changed in the old farmer, this was a face Fechak had yet seen. Indeed, many an enemy had seen these eyes in their last moments. "No... but they'll be ready after tha first of us goes down." Vangelis was surprised at this response. "They need a bit a humbleness. We goin' right inta tha heart here mate, hope yer ready fer some blood." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Feb 25, 2006, 12:13pm Fechak's gruff response made Vangelis instinctively take another look at the assembled company. Indeed "humble" was not the word Vangelis would have used to describe the Defenders at this moment: they were plainly itching for action, just as he was. Most were smiling and exchanging ribald jests, and he was sure that more than one aleskin was being nonchalantly concealed. Overconfident? Possibly, but such was always the way. Age and experience were the true teachers of humility; stern admonitions would only fan the flames. All they had to do today was remember their training and trust their commander, and that they would do. "In my experience, Fechak, getting bloodied has always done me good. In fact these days I can't even fight properly until I've taken a few cuts. I'm ready for a little blood." That last came out rather more fiercely than he had intended; his own blood was up already. He took a step forward and addressed the Defenders. "Defenders: we ride now to confront our foe and to strike down whatever foulness that arises to oppose our journey. I will not pretend that this will be easy or painless. We will all struggle, and some of us may fall. But if we remember our training, trust each other, and trust our commander, no force on earth can stop us. Are we ready?" The deafening reply gave Vangelis goosebumps. Ready indeed. He turned and saluted the High Lord, who stood off to one side seemingly lost in thought. "Milord Windfoot? The Defenders await your signal. With your permission, I intend to give Fechak tactical command once we arrive at the gates of the city. Say the word, and we ride." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Feb 25, 2006, 2:44pm Celera had been one of the first to arrive at the chapel. She had been there often lately, in search of rare substances found on the strange creatures that lived there, and while training Nigel. She had debated bringing Nigel on this mission -- his sharp teeth and claws had become quite formidable -- but she needed her old friend with her this time, even if his teeth were not as sharp as they had been. She greeted her sister when Larae arrived, but otherwise had remained off to the side, alone with Tim and Daedun, her nightsabre. Most of the others talked and joked and boasted of exploits past and future. That comaraderie and energy was needed by most fighters, she supposed. Hunters need calm. Time to tune the senses and focus the mind. She stood when Lord Vangelis arrived, as a proper sign of respect both for the man and his position. Still apart from the rest of the group, she seemed to be lost in thought, but in fact she saw many things. She watched the Lord and the Warden as they conferred. She saw that behind Vangelis' calm and Fechak's gruff humor there was a fierce determination. She also saw Fechak's furtive movement of his satchel away from the Lord Vangelis. Of course, he was a rogue, secrets were his stock in trade. A great shout arose from the group. How many of them knew what they were in for, she wondered. Perhaps it is just as well that they did not. She had been through the gates of Stratholme before. Two more gryphons landed, and the High Lord appeared, accompanied by Sorcha'Rei. D'ana'no looked tired and worried, but in the way one would be with a journey behind you and a battle ahead of you. He was also not young, and not without experience, and he knew something of what lay ahead. He felt so responsible for the well being of each Defender -- and Celera knew well enough how such responsibilities can weigh on the heart and mind. Still, there was no sign of the shadow that had been there before. She heard Vangelis report to the High Lord that the group was ready to proceed at his orders. She slid onto the back of Daedun, and rode out to the edge of the assembly, a little bit ahead of the group. She knew the way to Stratholme, and riding a bit in advance of the group she could send back a warning if any dangers were in their path. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Rheyna on Feb 26, 2006, 3:38am Rheyna stood quietly at the edge of the group watching, listening. She knew very well that the healing she would be called on to do in the next little while would be very difficult indeed, and that the very lives of her comrades depended on how well she did her job. She had enough experience to know that some of these people where going to get themselves unnecessarily injured. She could see the excitement and confidence on the faces of those who had never fought a battle like this one. And she knew that excitement can lead to impetuosity, which can lead to danger and sometimes death. While confidence is needful, she also knew that too much of it is a deceiver, leading folk to leap into the maws of things they would do better to approach with more caution. Still, the bravery and the willingness to venture forth in support of their High Lord were things she loved about the Defenders. Those among them who understood what they were about to face, those who knew that this would not be like a training exercise: those were the ones who would act as the backbone of the raid, quietly keeping it together. A memory came unbidden to her mind. Rheyna stood over her teacher with an unstoppable grin on her face. He lay on the mat beneath her, immobilized by her hold. She'd seen an opening and taken it, and tried something she had never heard of. After years of practice, she felt finally ready to defend herself with her bare hands if need be. Johnny looked up at her and smiled, although there was a sad look in his eyes. "Yes, child," the old man said to her. "You are ready, and I will let you go into the world, knowing there is little else I can teach you. The one great lesson you have yet to learn cannot come to you from me, or any other human being. You will learn it in the same hard school where we all learn it. But I shall tell you what it is. My words will seem silly to you. But tuck them away and take them out and remember them when the day comes that they finally make sense." Rheyna leaned back on her heels, allowing him to rise to his feet, in a blur of movement so graceful it seemed almost inhuman. She waited. "She who wins the real battles is she who knows best that the training salle is just the training salle. What you learned here will not win you a single battle. What it will do is give your body a set of right things to do while you win the battle." He had been right, of course. The day came when she found herself in nearly the exact same physical position she had been in the day she defeated Johnny in his studio. And it was completely different. The victory had come from a different place, and had changed her, nearly as much as what she did next. She dipped her free hand into her pocket and pulled out a small knife. Without a word, she cut the throat of the troll whom she had just subdued. And knew she would never be the same. Today, the Defenders were riding to a place that would mark many of them in the same way. A place where some of them would come up against their own limitations in a way that they could not now even imagine. It would be her job to keep their bodies whole while they fought, and, later, when it was all over, to help those injured in other ways find a way home from what they were about to face. She mourned the loss of innocence they were all about to witness, and she mourned her lost innocence, too. She hoped she still had some innocence to lose, and hoped not much of it would leak away today. Turning away from her study, she pulled herself up on Mistrider's back and accompanied by the thundering of his hooves, headed for the gates of Stratholme, the place where so many would be altered so deeply. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Feb 26, 2006, 2:07pm Windfoot conferred quietly with Lord Vangelis and Fechak for a moment. Then, with a nod from Windfoot, the Lord of Ensign ordered the company to set off. Two days journey to the gates, said Fechak. The land here was broken and decayed. Worse than the taint of Felwood, where life still thrived though twisted and in pain, the land here had long since given up hope of life. Leagues of scarred barren lands lay before them, no hope of clean water or anything but the most resilient vegetation. The wildlife, such as it was, monstrous plague bats, plague hounds and worse, would be mindless and feral. They would get little rest tonight. The company set off at a light canter, and Windfoot shifted into the form of a cheetah. He had to run hard to keep up, and Fechak’s ram Keg snorted disdainfully more than once as his rider held his pace with a firm hand. Adumbro’s absence was evident to all, but none spoke of it, though more than one kept a close look on him as he ran beside the feet and hooves of their mounts. Fechak had reported that the path they took would be relatively uninhabited until the broken gate that once marked the entry to Stratholme. Now a broken ruin, the gate now marked entry into the Plaguewood, a foul, blighted forest where the blight has altered the trees, transforming them into stands of gigantic poisonous mushrooms. Near to the gate, and not far from the safest path was an old broken tower, and there, said Fechak, the company would make camp. He had also mentioned something about "callin' in an old favor" but Windfoot had not asked him what he had meant. Sometimes, with Fechak, it was better not to know. Though the road was generally safest travel, there was a chance that the Defenders would meet a patrol of the Scarlet Crusade, and that the Warden warned, was a fight he wished to avoid. Even if they survived the encounter, an escaping patrol would alert the Scarlet Crusade to their company’s approach. As Fechak had muttered, “if’n we have to go to hell for ya, so be it. No need to make it more difficult.” Windfoot sensed, however, that Fechak was wrong. They would not be able to avoid notice, no matter what they did. His connection to the natural world was raw and painful here, and he still remained cautious about casting out his spirit for fear of his hidden enemy, but Windfoot knew that they were not alone. A dark dread crept along his spine at the realization that their coming was unopposed. Something was terribly wrong. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Hugnir on Feb 26, 2006, 7:40pm The acrid air burned inside Hugnir's nose as he tumbled off the gryphon at Light's Hope Chapel. An evening with his wife, Shannah, had been cut short by her duties as a traveling priestess, and so he had no comfort at his side when the hour drew near to assemble in the Plaguelands. A grey mood shrouded the greybeard dwarf already with this development, but as he drew near the preparing Defenders, his thoughts became even more clouded with despair. It had not yet been a fortnight since he and Merlinne had last spoken in the Park of Stormwind, and their confused dance around the growing attachment both had felt left Hugnir feeling horrible, both guilty for thinking he had somehow deceived Merlinne, and guilty that he could feel so deeply for another woman than his wife. Yet, Merlinne's illness weighed heavily upon him. Perhaps, guilt, even that her illness may be complicated by the vulnerability Hugnir thought he caused. Even now, Delilah started under her reins, sensing her dwarf's unease. Though he would not admit it aloud, facing a demon again made him afraid. He would rather be tortured by two cities full of Scarlet Crusaders than try to defeat a demon again. But at least this time, he would be on true ground for it. Glancing at Windfoot made him frown, and so he tried to present a brave face to the others as the Defenders made ready to ride for the once proud City of Stratholme. The Scarlet Crusade could send a legion of fighters, and Hugnir would stand beside the Defenders of Valor, unafraid. No Scarlet could defeat him, but the secret that the Scarlet hid made his whiskers tremble. ...but he would face it, for his friend. Sensing himself scowl as he watched Windfoot's form melt into the spotted cat that sprinted away, Hugnir tugged at Delilah's reins and prayed to his clan to be true to his name. And the son of Stoutheart continued the ride through the twisted woods.... Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by merlinne on Feb 27, 2006, 9:15am Though normally a well-mannered beast, today Twila wanted nothing to do with the crowd surrounding the chapel. She also made it abundantly clear, by stamping and dancing, that she did not want to be here in the Plaguelands at all. Merlinne kept her to the back of the group as Vangelis spoke to keep her from stepping on anyone. She noticed Hugnir off to the side and carefully avoided making eye contact. They hadn't spoken since the evening in the Park and she felt the knot of shame that had lodged in her chest. Never had she wanted to care so much about him. He was a dear friend to her, but deep in her heart she knew lurked more for him than mere friendship. They had spoke briefly about this. But she told him the truth; she would never interfere with a marriage. And, she swore, she would never speak of it again. When had things become so complicated? She turned her thoughts to focus on the task at hand when they began to move out towards the crumbling city of Stratholme. Another friend needed her clear-headed today. Her mind must stay focused on the task at hand, on the danger that lay before them. In order to save that friend, all Defenders must be in top form, without distractions. The battle must be won to save the High Lord. The ride was long and uncomfortable and Twila expressed her dislike of the area with every step. Her normally smooth gait rattled Merlinne and left her tired and bruised before they arrived where Fechak stopped them for the night. The other Defenders dismounted and a few small fires sprung up behind the sheltering walls of the broken tower, hiding their light from observation. Still weakened from her own illness and her contact with the demon through D'ana'no's mind, she found herself a shadowed corner along the outer wall where she carefully slid from the saddle. Her left arm still was not fully functioning, her leg also weak. She didn't want to risk being seen as weak so she kept herself to the edges, out of sight. She knew she wouldn't be able to get Twila's saddle back on in the morning if she removed it so she settled for removing her bit and loosening the cinch strap to make the horse more comfortable. She unrolled her bedroll against the wall and sat down on it, eager to rest her mind and body. She leaned against the cold stone of the tower wall and closed her eyes, letting her mind drift on the breeze that swirled through this area. Her senses might not be as sharp as they once were, but she would do what she could to help watch over their position for the night. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Feb 27, 2006, 1:05pm Like most of her kind, Celera liked the evening better than the bright daytime. But in the fetid air of the Plaguelands, it made little difference. The sun and stars were dim here, the energy of living things corrupt and fouled. She wondered if the day would ever come when the beauty and vitality that had once belonged to this part of the world would be restored. Having traveled a bit ahead of the main party, she had to backtrack to join the group to make camp. Much of the bravado of the morning had subsided -- the physical weariness of a day's ride and the more imminent danger were part of the reason, of course. But bravado was hardly possible in such a place. The very air seemed to suck every good feeling out of you with each breath. As those who were not to take the first watch began to settle down for such sleep as they could get, Celera saw D'ana'no getting ready for his own rest. He quietly made the arrangments that he felt were needed to ensure that he not be an immediate danger to his own friends. What a lonely feeling that must be, she thought. She called Tim over to her, and scratched his ears a bit while looking into his eyes. After a moment, she was sure he understood what she wanted. Then, she went just outside the door of the tower. Her nightsabre lay curled nearby, and Celera laid down and leaned her head on the great beast's side, and slept as animals and elven hunters do, with senses still tuned for any sight or sound or smell that might be a threat. Tim, meanwhile, did something he had never done before. Out here in a dangerous place, in the dark of night, he left Celera's side. He walked over to the High Lord. As he had a few days earlier, he studied D'ana'no's scent, and signaled with a lick of the High Lord's hand that he found nothing amiss. Then, he lay down nearby, keeping his own watch for any threats in the night. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Gudran on Feb 27, 2006, 2:09pm The ride was indeed long and weary for the companions and the atmosphere only made it worse. Many, however, were not in the worst of spirits. Some of the Ensign comrades had set up a fire and started telling tales of past adventures to lighten up the mood. Gudran smiled as he dismounted. He had arrived a bit late because of his age. He knew he was over the hill, so to speak, but adventuring was something he could not give up, even if his body told him not to. He steadied himself as he gained footing and stretched his back. More aches an' pains.... an' ya'd think potions could cure such things..., he thought to himself. He whispered to his ram Sanrei a few words accompanied by gentle strokes pf her mane. She knelt down and rested while Gudran unsaddled his various bags full of books, potions, and his prized weapons of choice (fer one could never be too prepared, he would always say). After settling his supplies near Sanrei, he unstrapped his breastplate in order to relax for a bit. He walked past the comrades gathered by the fire with a smile and headed to were his old friends Vangelis and Fechak were conversing. He overheard the worrying tone of Van as he approached. Gudran approached the two as cheerful as ever despite the gloom of Plaguewood. "Some night, eh mates? It seems as if tha gods 'ave left this part o' this blighted land... guess we mus' do their job fer them, eh?" Gudran chuckled and managed to get a grin out of his old friends. Then with a slightly furrow in his brow, "...although I do worry fer Wind. I was not 'ere fer what 'appened ta 'im, but his change in demeanor 'as indeed shown." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Feb 27, 2006, 3:10pm "Gudran, old friend. You are most welcome here." Vangelis stood and greeted his old master warmly. "I don't know about you, but these old bones need a rest; the early watch always seems to go to the farmer for some reason." Flashing a quick grin at Fechak, Vangelis continued, "The watches are assigned already, but any watch could use your assistance. Meanwhile, if you can sleep it's best to do so. It doesn't do to be less than fresh out here." So saying, Vangelis cast one more eye over the camp, pulled out his bedroll and settled down for what was hopefully an uneventful first night. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 27, 2006, 3:36pm Sorcha had run as hard as she could in cheetah form. She knew she was likely to have trouble sleeping at the overnight camp, and had chosen to tire herself physically by running instead of riding Conundrum or Fur'Arry. She felt the good kind of exhaustion in her bones and muscles, the kind that would likely grant her a dreamless sleep when it was her turn to sleep. For now, however, she was on first watch, and in stealthed Cat form, was Prowling the perimeter of the encampment, using her feline senses to detect danger should it move against the Defenders as they rested. Down the still-open channel between her spirit and that of Lord D'ana'no, she could feel echoing ambivalence, as if he did something he thought was necessary, but which he still hated the thought of. She declined to investigate more closely; surely Elune did not intend for her to invade the mind of the High Lord through the mysterious connection they still shared. Instead, she pulled down some light from the sliver of moon she saw on the horizon, and sent it trickling down that channel. With luck, it would ease both his sleep and his dreams. She made a quick prayer to Elune for the body and soul of the Lord of the Defenders, and returned her attention to her surroundings. She could sense unseen things watching the camp. She had been to the Plaguelands many times before, and was familiar with the sense of being haunted one always seemed to have in this corrupted land. So far, the watchers seemed like the usual denizens of this mutated and nearly-destroyed woods in which they rested. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Feb 27, 2006, 8:14pm Fechak walked around the camp slowly, most of those not on watch had bedded down - including his rowdy bunkmates. He had indeed called in a favor, one that he was unwilling to discuss with any other Defender simply because it involved the help of a member of the Forsaken. That is neither here, nor there. He had decided to stay awake for all watches, his normal sleep cycle allowed for this type of marathon, he could sleep when he's dead. Over and over the plan of attack went through his mind, his 'troops' knew well what needed to be done and how to do it. Still he fretted over the loss of some of his brethren. There are ways a demon can make you stay dead... enveloped into the nether below. Walking up to the dying embers of a fire, he was careful not to disturb those that now slept around it. Checking to make sure no one else was near, he reached into his pack and removed the large book he had been carrying since he had found it at the Lord's Hall. He had opened it once, but it was blank... blank, but still he held it. Fechak quickly replaced the book into his satchel as one of those that slept nearby moaned and turned over. Nothing... Just put it away, you can find out about it some other time. With a sigh, he stood back up and slipped into the shadows. He had no fears about any sort of ambush this night, his friend had made sure of this. That is, if one had interest in trusting the dead. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Feb 28, 2006, 12:57am A dark wind slipped among the sleeping forms of the camp as Windfoot stood in the misty darkness of the Dream. Beneath his ghostly form his body rested, breathing deeply and regularly, the mithril chain shackles hidden in the shrouded darkness of the Plagueland night. Celera’s Tim lay near him, sleeping lightly. Windfoot felt Sorcha’s presence nearby, and her kindness, but he could not rest in the Dream. Ever since they had arrived he had felt a sinking dread, like a tunnel explorer beginning to realize that he had become trapped underground behind a collapsed entrance. Because of this dread, Windfoot had not allowed himself to fall into an uncontrolled sleep, but rather had slipped into the Dream to stand vigilant for his enemy, and now, white staff in hand, he felt it arrive. But not the enemy he expected; this was something else. Not so much a shape in the dark, but a presence, deep and malignant slipped within the camp. Windfoot strained to control the shape, to make it recognizaable, but it was as if he were a novice again, untrained in the control of the Dream. All around him were the swirling misty shapes of the Dream, and each in turn could be brought into focus with his concentration, but not this thing. It was as if it did not exist; as if nothing existed where it passed, or where, perhaps, the echo of it passed. A ripple of fear slipped into him along with something else like laughter that made his spirit revile. He concentrated and light shone out from the white staff, illuminating the camp. Nothing. And then into his mind came a blinding flash: on the other side of a fire, veiled by the smoke, sat the figure of a dark elf, his body shifting and changing, making it impossible to determine any recognizable features. Windfoot concentrated upon the figure, to reveal its shape, and in that moment, a torrent of terror hit him so powerfully that the staff dropped from his hands. The light blinked out; darkness and panic engulfed him. Outside the Dream, Windfoot's body began to change... Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Feb 28, 2006, 2:29am Animals sense emotions, and fear is the emotion they know best. At first, with D'ana'no's mind separate from his body in the dream, the change was not evident. But such a powerful fear shook his mind that the old wolf soon sensed it, and let out a soft whine. Then, as D'ana'no's form began to change, the whine turned into a growl. People nearby began to wake, alarmed at first at the sight of the huge beast growling at their leader. But soon they realized something more alarming than that had begun. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Feb 28, 2006, 2:55pm Down the channel between their minds came a tidal wave of terror so powerful it nearly knocked Sorcha off her feet. She did not even want to contemplate what could have terrified the older druid so badly. Instead, she rushed to Tim's side, glad to see that Celera had already joined her companion. It was too dark, and too early in the transformation, for her to see what D'ana'no was turning into, but the fear she felt through their connection convinced her that whatever was happening was not a good thing. She shifted to elf and quickly drank a potion that would stretch her magical resources before shifitng again into her powerful moonkin form. Tonight, the moon was not even close to full, so the camp was very dark indeed, and in moonkin, her eyesight was no better than in elf. Still, she wanted access to her most powerful self, to protect the High Lord from whatever was happening now. In her deep moonkin voice, she began to sing a song to Elune, offering herself once more as the channel between the Goddess and the spirit of the High Lord. At the same time, she gathered all the light she could find -- slivers of moonlight, tiny pinrpicks of starlight, the light from the embers in the banked fires of the camp -- and started making a pool of light inside herself, ready to use to heal or to fight, whichever turned out to be necessary. In the back of her mind, she heard suddenly the sound of elven children, singing a song she remembered from her own childhood treks with her friends. Give me the light of the campfire, Warm and bright, Give me some friends to sing with, I'll be here all night. Love is for those who find it, I've found mine right here, Just you and me and the campfire, And the songs we love to hear. She looked around for the nearest unbanked fire, and found just one, with a low flame and lots of smoke. Something was there, in the smoke, struggling to materialize. Swinging her great beaked head back and forth, she watched the High Lord slowly change into something she could not recognize, and watched the presence in the smoke wax and wane as it tried to manifest itself. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Feb 28, 2006, 7:16pm In the darkness of the Dream Windfoot’s mind reeled as he struggled to regain control. Something unfathomably dark and chaotic had touched his spirit, and such was the power of that presence that the entire Dream threatened to collapse in upon itself. A howling swirled around him, but whether from his own voice or the wind he did not know. Red cracks appeared around him, as if the very ground itself were merely a thin façade, and beneath hellish fires raged. The druid’s form rippled and contorted before the eyes of the onlookers. Still dreaming, he rolled out onto all fours from beneath his light blanket, exposing with a dark glint the mithril shackles that bound him. His head shifted uncontrollably into the shape of a bear, then something unrecognizably reptilian. His back buckled and his light cloth robe ripped as black spikes thrust forth from his spine. His arms swelled, burst forth with hair, then scales, then contracted again. His shoulders bulged and quivered as if something living were trying to break free from within his skin. His breathing came raggedly and a piteous agonized moan escaped his lips. Tim’s growl deepened in ferocity as the wolf sidled back in forth, protect his mistress and waiting for the command to attack. Celera stared in horror as Windfoot gasped for breath and her hand instinctively reached for her bow. Several of the company loosened their weapons, and stared grimly, preparing themselves for the worst. Into the chaos of his mind Sorcha’s presence came, comforting him and singing to him of light, beauty and childhood innocence. Windfoot grasped onto her song, centred himself upon it, and focused her thoughts on that one pure thing. He focused on the words of the distant song, desperately fighting for control of his spirit. Slowly, the fear and panic subsided. With a sigh, Windfoot collapsed to the ground. His body lay panting a moment. The shifting slowed; became less erratic. The spines retreated from his back and his skin became smooth again. After a moment he open his eyes. His look darted from person to person, taking all details and searching for the dark presence amongst them. Whatever he had seen, it was gone. After a moment he sighed. Had he not brought enough danger to the Defenders already? “I am sorry, friends. It seems that I may have made a terrible mistake bringing you all here. I am afraid that it is not going to get better; only much worse. I thought that I knew the danger…” he trailed off, unable to find the words to describe his vision. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Feb 28, 2006, 10:12pm Shouts of alarm stirred Polrena to wakefulness. Hastily donning her robes and weapon, she listened for the sharp bark of orders from Lord Fechak or Vangelis, but the sounds outside the canvas walls seemed oddly muted. Only low mutterings drifted towards her, not the confident, staccato commands of battle. Frowning and uncertain, she lifted the doorflap of her tent and crept outside. A growing crowd of Defenders gathered in the cool night air. The dim moon shed little light, but she picked out the glows of Kaldorei eyes. She stood and walked with swift steps to the growing throng. The High Lord's weary voice reached her. Her heart ached at the sadness in his tone, for she had hoped never to hear such desolation in him again. He spoke words of apology. She shut her eyes, as if to block out the words. Suddently, everyone seemed to speak at once, in order to reassure him of their resolve. Her words twined with the voices of the other Defenders. She did not know if he could understand so many speaking at the same time, and she felt vaguely embarrassed at speaking at the same time as anyone else, but like the others around her, she had no choice. The words came of their own accord, spilling out of her like blood shed in battle. Her eyes opened, shining and fierce. "You did not bring us here, High Lord! We came of our own will, and we will continue to fight whatever holds you, master!" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 1, 2006, 2:55pm Celera had run in at the first sound of trouble, and had watched the next events with mixed feelings. Shock and concern for the High Lord, of course. Admiration, for Sorcha'rei, as the druidess was able to tie her mind to another's and both feel and overcome his fears. Pride in the readiness of the Defenders to do whatever was necessary to rid their leader and themselves of the evil that had been in their midst for so long. Of course, the deeper her feelings were, the less she showed them. Instead, with a hand on Tim's back she stayed him from attacking, and as the crisis passed the wolf stopped growling and sat beside her, no longer threatening but still wary. She studied the High Lord carefully, and for a moment he met her gaze. Although he was deeply affected and shaken by the dream, or whatever it was, she felt quite sure that the power that had inhabited his mind for so long was still gone. At least, it was not within D'ana'no himself. She had the distinct feeling that some evil force was still present among them. Sorcha also seemed less relieved than one might expect at D'ana'no's apparent recovery. She wondered what else the druidess had seen in the Dream. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 1, 2006, 5:53pm Ignoring the general clamor that arose in response to D'ana'no's words, Sorcha shifted back to elf and walked purposefully over to the smoky fire. Squatting down in a position she could hold for hours if she had to, she shadowmelded and gazed at the smoke. What was there? Something, and it was still there. When the High Lord had managed to regain control of his body, and the shifting slowed then stopped, she had felt the presence in the smoke get stronger and more, more something. Angry, perhaps was the right word. But it didn't feel like pure anger. It was larded with resentment and frustration and contempt. It felt alien and yet very familiar to her, and she struggled to remember where she had felt its like before. She could feel the High Lord searching for a dark presence and felt his relief when he did not find one. So, somehow this thing in the smoke was cloaked from D'ana'no's senses. Why could she see it, sense it, feel it, when he could not? Even though she was in elf form, not Cat, she felt a low growl form at the base of her throat, and fought it down. She did not want to draw the attention of the thing in the smoke. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 1, 2006, 8:33pm Vangelis shifted his posture and tossed down his shield, signalling that the threat of attack was over. He and Fechak exchanged a look, and Fechak slipped out of sight. Windfoot knew that while the Lord and Warden of Ensign, and others present, had an appreciation for the power of the spirit realm, they had little patience for it things mystical. How could he blame them? All he had accomplished was to disrupt the needed sleep of the company. As he lay recuperating, Vangelis politely dispersed the crowd, reinforcing the need for sleep and the hard work ahead in the plain language of a farmer. Polrena attended to Windfoot momentarily, but could find nothing wrong with him. After he had promised to call her the moment he felt any disturbance or pain, no matter what, she left him as well. From the spirit connection to Sorcha, Windfoot gathered details of his own frenzied transformation. The knowledge shook him, for such chaotic shapelessness might be part of the Dream in an initiate’s hands, but never part of the mortal world. It was as if the division between the spirit world and the mortal world had been momentarily undermined, or broken. She remained tense and watchful of something, but would not tell him why. He did not have the strength to argue. Finally, the company began to settle. Unfastening the shackles, Windfoot expanded his senses, seeking the Warden of Ensign. Not too far off, and returning. Good. Windfoot waited, and then walked a short distance off from the company and in the path of Fechak’s approach. Tim followed him, and more than a few Defenders were watching him closely, but he did not go out of sight, just out of hearing. Fechak appeared beside him. “Looks t’me as you’d have a word with me.” Windfoot nodded, then spoke quietly. “A long time ago…this was early on after I can become infected by the taint…I had a vision of a figure, an old elven figure, sitting by a fire. I could not make out his features exactly, but I could sense that he was old…old even by elven standards. I spoke to him in the Dream…and became convinced that he was my demonic enemy. The elven image that he projected was clearly an illusion. When I met the old elf before I challenged him, and he transformed, growing in stature and sprouting demonic wings. I had always thought he had accidentally revealed his true nature. And later, it was confirmed that Balnazzar’s spirit corrupted me. It all clicked together. Perfectly. But tonight, on the threshold of our enemy’s lair, I dreamt of that elf again, and either Balnazzar has grown in strength and power or I have weakened significantly, or the spirit that I met tonight was something else. I have faced Balnazzar in the Dream and I know of his power. He is great, far greater than me alone, but not greater than this company. This other…” Windfoot trailed off. Fechak listened carefully. “Well, if’n you don’t mind me sayin’ so, more than likely it is because ye have lost power, Windy. Ye’ve had the wind right knocked out o’ ye, so to speak. Closer we get to Bal…” “…the more of a liability I become,” Windfoot finished. “Now, I din’t…” “You didn’t have to.” The two stood in silence of a bit, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, the old Kaldorei spoke again. “I hope you are right, that I am simply weak, or weakening. But my heart tells me that it is not so. I fear…I fear that the Defenders are walking into a trap. I do not see the trap, but I feel it. I have felt it since we arrived in this fetid land. “Fechak, You are a practical man. You know the necessity of hard choices. Our choices remain: to risk all in a desperate gambit, or to sacrifice me to end this thing. Inch by inch my enemy has consumed me. Everything else that I have loved has been burnt away, and all that I have left now are you, my Defenders…my friends. I would not sacrifice your lives uselessly fighting some twisted corruption of myself, or some unknown terror. “I know that I am asking a lot of you, but I need your help. I am ready to die. There are many things worse than dying. But Polrena, Hugnir…they will never consent, and will never agree to let me go. I want you to kill me. Then I want you take my ashes as far as possible away from this dark place, to the top of Teldrassil, and scatter them over the misty uncharted waters of the Veiled Sea.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Mar 1, 2006, 9:48pm "Hm." Although Fechak was shocked that Windfoot would ask such a thing, there were many layers of the situation that clouded it from showing upon his face. Partly, he understood where the elf was coming from... there were times he had thrown himself into impossible to survive situations hoping for the worst only to come out the other side without the sweet release. The mystery of the situation kept all the wheels spinning in Fechak's head. He had no illusions of understanding what was going on behind the scenes, all he knew is that his family needed help - and help he could give. "I dunno how that'll help ya much, mate." Fechak finally replied softly. "An' I dun unnerstan' 'ow exactly that'll help us. So say me slicin' ya open would stop this here demon. How does ya know he won't come after sommon else, eh? So mebbe this here demon we be goin' aftar ain't tha one that be eatin' ya up... he still needs killin'." Fechak pulled his Assassin Blade from a hidden place tied under his pack. Unsheathing it, he threw it tip-first into the cold dirt. "You wanna die? Do it yerself mate. I ain't gonna do it... not yet." Fechak eyed the elf as he looked down at the blade without speaking. "If'n I think yer a threat... if'n that demon uses ya against us, I won't hesitate." Windfoot made no move, not even to look up from the sword. "'Sides... They'd not unnerstand. They ain't from tha same blood as we be." Fechak took the three steps over to his Leader and placed his hand on the elf's arm. "I know why ye'd ask me. But like hell if I'm gonna kill ya fer no damned reason... but I'll make sure yer wishes are done... when tha time be right. Come on..." Fechak left Windfoot and his sword standing behind him. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 1, 2006, 10:13pm She can feel the despair in the old druid, and knows what solution he will seek. She simply trusts that the one he will ask will not comply, at least not now. Sorcha knows that if the time comes when D'ana'no must die to save the Defenders, or to save his spirit, she will be among those who are able to deliver the killing blow. But now is not the time. She prays that such a time will not come. Turning her attention away from the High Lord, she focuses totally on the thing trying to manifest in the smoke. She considers putting out the fire, or adding fuel to it, but is afraid of introducing anything new to a situation she does not understand. She can tell that no one else can sense the malignant presence among the company, and she wonders again that she can. Reaching out with her inner senses, she tries to determine what this is, this inchoate, horrifying thing that wants to break free into this physical world, from wherever it normally lives. Carefully, she approaches it, with her hidden senses. Even in this warped and plagued land, this thing is more corrupt, more degenrate than anything anywhere nearby. She is sure she could track it for a thousand leagues just by the pure horror it spews. And again, she wonders why no one else can sense it. That moment of curiosity is her undoing, for when she is just a little distracted, it is enough. The thing in the smoke has not yet coalesced, but it is whole enough to strike, and it sends a billow of something that looks like smoke in her direction. The sudden attack breaks her stealth, and she leaps to her feet, but it is too late. With only a tiny gasp as she tries to breathe through the blackness that envelopes her, she drops to the ground, unconscious. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Hugnir on Mar 1, 2006, 10:39pm Hugnir had watched the commotion, frustrated. It was happening. All of it was happening again, and despite all he had learned in fifty years...despite all he had prepared, the taint of the demonic was stealing someone he cared about again. Shame flooded the normally greyish complexion of the dwarf to make him ruddy and reddish. Fear was still within his heart, now more than ever. When Sorcha'rei suddenly gasped and fell to the ground on the other side of the fire, Hugnir could hold in his emotions no longer. With a scream more startling than any banshee in the woods, Hugnir pounded out the fire with his bare fists, beating the logs against each other until darkness fell over the camp. His ruby eyes flashing, he turned to Sorcha'rei, finally thinking to check after her safety....
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:25:25 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 2, 2006, 2:13am
She couldn't sleep. Not now. How could she? Yet she was sent away, like a child who could neither understand nor help worried parents. Her assistance was of no use.
What good was the Light to her, here? Surely this was when the Light would have been the most useful, when there was darkness, shadow, to overcome. Yet she, and the Light she wielded, were powerless to tend to her High Lord, her master.
She left the warmth of her bedroll and her tent. It felt wrong to be warm and comforted by the close canvas walls when so much was wrong. She longed to attend the High Lord. Maybe if she prayed harder, meditated more purely than she ever had before, maybe then the Light would..? No, the High Lord had promised to send for her if he thought she could help. She supposed he needed to be alone, or with those who could comfort him.
She wandered out from the encampment. She thought she smelled pipe smoke. Doc couldn't sleep either, she supposed. She thought about finding him, but realized she felt a need to be comforted herself. The doctor's presence would not soothe her, however. He only brought more confusion. She avoided the area the stench eminated from, and wandered farther.
She saw a reflection of the moonlight in front of her, and stopped just before her slipper hit water. A lake, perhaps, or a pond. It didn't matter. The beauty of the twin moons, one above and one below, the irony of seeing such majesty while she felt such pain in her soul, wrenched her heart.
Her legs trembled beneath her, and finally would not support her. She fell, bruising her knees. Grateful for the physical pain, an excuse for the outlet she needed so desperately, her eyes closed and she began to cry. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 2, 2006, 2:42pm
Celera had gone back outside, but, as with many of the Defenders, it would be a while before she could sleep again.
She saw D'ana'no talking with Fechak. Tim sat near them, wary but not alarmed, even when Fechak threw a sword onto the ground between himself and D'ana'no. Whatever they discussed, she suspected that the Warden's practical nature would be a good antidote for the dismay that D'ana'no seemed to be feeling. She didn't want to interrupt them, and there was something else to investigate. The smell of pipe smoke. Probably Doc Caspin. She shook her head. Even a rogue as clever and experienced as he should not be out here alone. She walked in the direction of the smoke, but then something else caught her attention. Not a scent but a sound. A sound of a human walking nearby -- humans never seemed to master the art of being quiet outdoors -- and then a fall, and the sound of crying. Not loud, but distinct.
She rushed over toward the sound, and there by a pond she saw the Lady Polrena lying on the ground weeping.
"Polrena," she said softly, so as not to startle the priestess, "what is the matter? You should not be this far from the camp -- it isn't safe."
She sat down next to Polrena and waited. After a few moments, and a few unconvincing protests that nothing was really wrong, Polrena admitted that she was worried, and afraid for the High Lord and for the group, and frustrated that she couldn't be more help. Celera sat quietly for a moment before saying anything.
"I think I know how you feel, Pol," she said finally. "In the last few days I've been feeling bad about something I thought I had gotten over years ago. If I had made a different decision then, perhaps I would have been more useful now."
"But no one person can fix this problem. Sorcha and Merlinne have been able to hold it at bay for a while, but they can't solve it alone. They'll need us and the rest of the group. There will be moments, in the next few days when your abilities will be the difference between life and death for many of us. Just like there will be moments when my skill, such as it is, with a bow will be more useful than the ability to walk in the Emerald Dream. When you need a new dress, you don't hate yourself because you aren't a tailor."
She smiled, hoping to coax a lighter mood out of the priestess. "Come on back to the camp," she said after a moment. "It's really not safe here."
"Thanks, Cel," Polrena answered. "I need a few more minutes to myself. I'll come back soon."
"OK," Celera answered dubiously. "I'll be watching for you. Come back soon so I can get some sleep." She smiled again and, getting a feeble smile from the priestess in return, she headed back toward the camp.
As she walked, a new thought occurred to her. She knew from her conversations with Thelanya that much of the power that demons have comes from our fear of them. Something was in the camp, troubling not just D'ana'no but others as well. Causing fear and with it self-doubt and despair would be exactly the sort of thing a demon would do in order to cause the group to give up their mission, or continue it in a weakened condition.
As troubling as it was to have a powerful evil spirit among them, there was a bit of comfort in it. It suggested that Balnazzar was not eager to face the company in Stratholme. Perhaps the demon himself was a bit afraid. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 2, 2006, 5:35pm
Polrena smiled at Celera's back as the Kaldorei woman left the priestess to her solitude. She wiped her tears away with an impatient hand. Celera was right. The elven woman would never critisize, but Polrena felt ashamed at her selfish desire to be useful.
The fight requiring the Defenders would come. The High Lord had his own fight to tend to in the meantime, and it may harm him, more than help him, to have others assist in that struggle. As she knew all too well, sometimes the lessons learned while overcoming challenges was necessary in order to survive the next ordeal.
She sniffled involuntarily, and felt disgusted by her weakness. Some representative of the Light she was! She wondered, momentarily, if the length of elven lives naturally lent themselves to such wisdom. She was grateful to her friend in any case.
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then lifted the hem of her robes to reveal the skinned knees she hoped she would never see past her 'tween years. The nice thing about being a priestess, she thought to herself, is that nobody has to know how stupid I've been. She chanted softly, running her hands over her legs, and the wounds disappeared, leaving no trace of injury. Let the men have their battle scars. I for one need no reminder of tonight's folly. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 2, 2006, 8:17pm
“Sorcha!”
All thought of despair left him as Windfoot felt the shock of the druidess’ sudden disconnection and fall struck his consciousness. His head whipped around to pinpoint Sorcha’Rei’s location and, shifting to cheetah, he sprinted to her. There she lay next to the smouldering remains of the extinguished campfire. Shifting again, he knelt down to inspect her but found nothing; no physical injury. The memory of his last thought of her, her tension and watchfulness, her scrutiny of something, came back to him forcefully and with it a dawning awareness came to him that she had seen something he had not, and had gone to investigate.
In his mind he castigated himself for his self-absorption and callousness, but there was no time for such thoughts now. Hugnir’s eyes flashed with concern and anxiety as he crouched down beside Windfoot and scanned the fallen druidess for the cause of her malady.
“I fear that this camp is no longer safe, Hugnir. Shield us both with your holy powers, for I must seek her in the spirit realm. Pray for us both.”
So saying, Windfoot shifted out of the mortal world and into the swirling mists of the Dream. Sorcha’s mortal body lay beneath his feet, but her spirit was nowhere to be seen. For a moment of panic he thought she was lost, like Ursa, torn from her body and chained in some infernal place, but then the pulse of her spirit came to him like a thread pulling him forward. Blind to the potential danger of a second encounter with his enemy and driven by an overwhelming need to ensure her safety, Windfoot summoned the green-white staff of power back into his hand, then concentrated on the whisper of her presence and raced through the Dream to find her. The Dream blurred and followed the thread of spirit and then coalesced around a new vision.
Sorsha’Rei was in darkness, as if a shadow had fallen upon her. As he travelled into the darkness he found that her spirit remained in cat form, but was hidden in a cave. All he could see were her eyes, flashing out at him from the dark. Her eyes were filled with hostility and fear, and all too reminiscent of Adumbro’s eyes before his merciful release by Elune. Windfoot’s heart lurched at the sight, and he stepped forward mechanically. Not Sorcha! How could he have done this to her?
Fighting back the despair that threatening to overwhelm him at the image, Windfoot thought back to all the times that she had strengthened him in his darkness and despair, and remembered her voice. Even just tonight she had again sung to him and brought him safely home. Pouring all of his strength into the tenuous connection between them, quietly he began to sing back to her, continuing the childhood song that he had heard from her lips earlier that night,
Come to the light of the campfire, Warm and bright…
The eyes still flashed without recognition. Windfoot pressed on, redoubling his effort.
…Laughter and music and dancing, Here in the fireside light. Everyone loves an old song, They’re the songs we all come to hear, and With you and me and the campfire…
Windfoot edged forward, trying to get close to Sorcha, to reconnect to those still-distant eyes, pushing back the small voice that told him that what he was doing was futile.
…we will sing to till morning’s near.
Windfoot stretched out his hand into the darkness.
“Sorcha, please…”, he whispered. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 3, 2006, 10:11am
Darkness. Suffocating darkness.
Pain. Pinpricks of pain all over her skin. Waves of convulsive pain wracking her body. Endless nausea without the blessed release of unconsciousness. Aching joints, sore muscles, twitching nerves. So much pain.
Deep within her, a tiny light, a vague memory of being something other than a suffering soul.
Fear. So much terror. And nowhere to hide from any of it.
Something reaches out to the tiny light deep within her, and she tries, oh, so hard, to reach back. It seems as if comfort might be available if only she can find a way to reach out and take it, but it hurts too much, and she can't breathe deeply enough to move like that.
Her skin is on fire, her toes are frozen, her mouth is dry as ground bones, her teeth ache. Even her fur coat is a source of pain.
And worst of all is the knowledge that this is all there ever has been, all there ever will be.
Again, she is aware of the other presence, the shining light trying to reach her, but it just hurts too much to reach back.
She is afraid. Afraid of the pain, afraid of the dark, afraid of the future, afraid of the past. And terrified of the present. She opens her mouth and howls, the sound of a suffering Cat.
The darkness thickens around her. She struggles to breathe. Lightning flickers across her skin, leaving singed fur and open wounds in its path.
Stubbornly, the tiny light inside her reaches out again to the comfort it believes is coming closer. Who is it? Can someone really intend to help her? Or is it just another way to make her suffer, to offer hope and then snatch it away when she makes the effort to hold onto it?
A fragment of a song reaches her ears, and she wonders who is singing in this forsaken place. The song feels like a cooling balm on her burning skin, and she listens to it, glad for the tiny respite from the engulfing pain. She can't move, can't think, can't do anything else, but she is grateful for the easing of the pain and the terror.
Then she hears someone whisper something that might be her name. If only she could remember who she is and why she is here, in this dark, dank, terrifying place.
Someone is begging her to make an effort, and so she does. she gathers the tiny amount of light at her core and reaches out. She can feel the relief in the soul of the person who is tracking her, and he reaches back.
She stretches as hard as she can, trying to trust that this other person can help her, can at least end this pain, fear, and misery. Her eyes clear a tiny bit, and she knows she should recognize the soul who is seeking her. She reaches a little further, and knows they have almost found one another.
Taking as deep a breath as she can in the dank atmostsphere that surrounds her, she leaps towards the promise of comfort. She finds it, briefly, connecting with the spirit of the other druid.
And then she falls back, into the pain, this time larded with self-loathing, for awareness has flooded back. She knows who she is. And what she has done. This was a trap set for the High Lord, and she was merely the bait.
All there will ever be is pain. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 3, 2006, 2:25pm
Vangelis sat on a stump absently sharpening his sword. Unexplained transformations and swooning, shadows in smoke, whispered conversations and worried, grieving expressions... how he would have preferred to be woken up by a call to honest battle!
Think, farmer.
There was nothing he could do about things he could not see or touch, that much was plain, so the only practical solution was to set those concerns to one side. Either the Defenders' souls were going to be eaten by demons or they weren't, but there wasn't much Vangelis could do about it.
Morale. That's the problem, right there.
"Kanammer, Valand:" Vangelis smiled at the two veterans as they snapped instantly to attention, "I think this is a good time for a shot of whatever it is you've been passing around behind your backs. A little warmth would do us good. And don't worry about Gudran - I'm sure he wouldn't want to be called from his watch for something as trivial as a bit of grog..."
Well, that got a few chuckles out of them, anyway. Good souls, these two, and not discouraged. This is where we start.
"Tell you what: I'll supply the first round. I think I still have a little Green Grog tucked away for a special occasion, and this is as good a time as any to share it." This idea was greeted with enthusiasm, and Vangelis made sure to tease Kanammer at the dwarf's obvious relief that he was not asked to supply the camp with drink (although he seemed to have brought enough to do just that). Soon the three of them were contentedly pulling on their mugs around a little fire and swapping stories.
By the time they decided that Master Smith Burninate only accepted tribute of dark iron residue four teaspoons at a time because he had lost a finger on his left hand and needed his right hand to do the counting, a small cluster of Defenders had gathered around them, chuckling (and helping themselves to Kanammer's grudgingly offered grog).
That'll have to do for now. I think we are all a little more aware of how dark it's going to get, but at least we've remembered how to whistle.
"Alright, folks - I'm heading back to sleep, and recommend that you do the same. When we assault the horrors of Stratholme we'll need to hit them with something better than yawns."
"I don't know, milord," quipped Valand, "if Kan's yawns smell anything like his belches I can't think of a more devastating assault! Ow!"
Vangelis smiled as Valand went down under Kanammer's headlock.
That'll do. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 4, 2006, 12:18am
Windfoot sat near Sorcha'Rei's prostrate form, and time passed slowly. Others went to sit and find cheer, with Hugnir remained vigilant.
In the Dream, time had no meaning. Eternity could be in a moment.
Sorcha’s eyes were filled with pain, but a longing and flickered recognition flashed within them. Then, just as she seemed about to come back to herself she slipped away and dissolved before him. His hand moved through her like smoke. Too late, Windfoot felt the darkness swell around him and saw the trap. This time, however, the presence he felt was familiar. Turning, he faced the darkness and spat out, “demon, show yourself.”
Before him, the darkness coalesced and rose up into the now familiar form of him enemy. Out of the darkness, two pinpoints of hellfire erupted. Windfoot’s eyes flashed white light and a field of green-white light sprang up around the elf as he looked up into the eyes of his foe. The light and darkness wrestled with each other. Then, with a metallic rasp, a burning two-handed sword appeared in the hands of the ink-black form before him. All along the surface of the blade dark runes spoke of death and carnage. Windfoot knew the blade well. It was the blade that haunted his nightmares; the blade that had run Vezesara through.
“So you come to my doorstep, Lord of the maggots,” the dark form mocked.
“What have you done with Sorcha’Rei?”
“You have something of mine, and now I have some something of yours. Well, actually, I have something new of yours. I will add it to my collection.”
Windfoot felt waves of rage pulsing within him. Everything being presented to him was designed to hurt and enrage him. It was a trap. Fear, loathing and hatred, these were the weapons of the enemy; to make him follow the path of destruction, and ultimately consume all that was good within him.
“You cannot manipulate me, demon.”
Balnazzar chuckled sadistically. “Oh? And yet you come with gifts for me.”
Windfoot knew he was no match for the demon, and he was afraid, but he stood his ground. His mind worked furiously. He could feel the holy protection of the prayers of Hungir, and possibly Polrena as well, upon his mortal form. He knew the demon was susceptible to such powers. He also remembered how the barrier between the mortal world and the Dream had been distorted earlier this night. If he could lead the beast back to his mortal form, it was possible that it might manifest enough to be susceptible to attack. And if he could also distract it enough, perhaps Sorcha would be able to escape from whatever prison she had fallen into to…
Windfoot concentrated and began to retrace his steps. “I come with nothing for you but your destruction, fiend.”
The demon took a step forward, and the tip the burning blade bled into the bright light around the elf. Great black wings coalesced out of the darkness and spread out behind him. With a sudden shift, he appeared over him and brought his great sword word upon the druid’s staff. Where the weapons touched, an arcane burst of power flashed out. Windfoot felt his spirit form weaken, but he continued to taunt his foe, all the while racing towards his mortal form.
“It is no wonder that the undead queen destroyed you, Balnazzar. Your power is weak, weaker that a lone elf!”
Glistening scales flashed into existence and covered Balnazzar’s form, further materializing him before Windfoot. Again he stuck as the elf, but wildly, and Windfoot escaped his blow. Then, seizing upon the opportunity and before Balnazzar could bring another assault, Windfoot concentrated and shifted again, this time back over his body. If only Hugnir had protected him enough…
After hours of stillness, a ripple of power coursed through the motionless druids. Suddenly, where D’ana’no and Sorcha lay the very space around them began to ripple an distort, as if a tear in the fabric of the cosmos was being stretched… Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 6, 2006, 8:41pm
Pushing herself off the ground, Polrena continued to scold herself as she alked back to the camp. In the end, she resolved to behave more like the representative of the Light's grace that she wanted to be. Calm. Serene. Patient. Accepting.
She watched the ground as she returned, warying of tripping on the uneven earth. Absently, she rubbed the hair prickling on her arms as she entered the encampment. The gruff bass of dwarven laughter drifted on the wind, and she smiled.
She looked up into the field of tents, trying to remember in which direction her own lay. As she scanned the area, movement caught her eye. She walked toward the motion, wondering if she could offer one of Doc's sleeping potions for the insomniacs. One side of her mouth quirked in grim amusement at her hypocricy.
The dying light of the smoldering campfire offered only a silhouette for identification, but her comfort and ease with her companions was such that she felt no embarrassment at approaching boldly. "Can't sleep?" she asked from a few yards away. The black shape gave no answer that she could hear.
As she drew closer, she could make out the shape of Hugnir's cloak and helm. His body appeared rigid and tensed, as though a beast preparing to spring. His attention was on something in front of him. Forwning, she quickened her steps to stand beside him.
She gasped at the huddled forms of the High Lord and Sorcha'rei. They needed you and you were not here, a voice whispered in her ear. Startled, she jerked her head toward Hugnir, who had not moved.
Not Hugnir, certainly not Hugnir, who could easily have commed her to tell her she was needed! Besides, the paladin was just as capable -more, really- than she, to tend the High Lord. Much more experienced. He would know what to do. She stomped on the notion that he would have spoken to her so callously, and refused to believe she heard the voice at all.
Hugnir seemed to be watching the High Lord, Sorcha'Rei, and any threats from outside simultaneously. She was not quite sure how he managed that without moving an inch. Satisfied that the two forms, despite laying on the ground, were not wounded, she began taking her own precautions.
First, the fire. She withdrw the flint and tinder she always carried with her, and started a feeble blaze that she hoped would warm her companions and prevent sickness. As she added wood, she prayed for fortitude for her friends. Standing, she chanted until healing waves of renewal and glowing shields of protection surrounded them all.
She stepped back beside Hugnir. "How long?" she asked. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Hugnir on Mar 7, 2006, 3:23am
Hugnir remained in that stillness that all dwarves could produce, borne of the rock of the earth itself. He managed to mutter in response to Polrena's question, "...elves. Who knows." His hands stayed in place, one over the form of Windfoot, and one over Sorcha'rei. "Tirin', lass. M' prayers an' protection are fer battle. I'm thinkin' ye'rs would be helpin' more." The dwarf was glad to have something to do, at least. Much more of the silent dread that had lain over their march, and he surely would have gone mad. Still, his fingers itched for his hammer and shield, but he did not remove his grip upon the two prone elves.
"Demons, Polrena. Why does m' life always come back t' them? An' how c'n I get past..." Hugnir clamped his mouth shut over his near-admission of his fears. His outburst had been bad enough, but to say the words would shame him further. Looking down at the Kaldorei, Hugnir spoke a few last words. "Get ye'r spirits back here, ASAP, elves. I'm noo' good at dreamin', an' less good at waitin'...." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 7, 2006, 4:59pm
For what might have been a moment or an eternity of moments, the pain and fear continued to build. She started to lose, again, her sense of who she was and why she was here...
Then felt the attention of the source of the pain turn away from her. First, just a little bit, and the tips of her claws stop[ed aching. Next, even more distraction, and the pain aimed at her began to flow around her, instead of into her. As the pain becomes less focused and even a bit intermittent, she gathered her internal strength. She did not know why the source of her pain was paying less attention to her, but she was surely grateful for that. It gave her time to think...
She looked at herself still in Cat form, and she looked inside herself. There, she found the pool of moonlight and starlight she had gathered before she fell into the Dream. How could she have missed that? Well, she knew the answer, having learned something about pain and its ability to blot out the senses over the last little while, or long eternity, or whatever it has been....
She reached slowly into the pool of light, not wanting to recapture the wandering attention of the pains source. Carefully, slowly, she used the moonlight and the starlight to ease her aches and pains. Then she sent a silent prayer to Elune, thanking Her for the gift of the light and the knowledge of how to use it....
As the pain receded further, she became more aware of her surroundings, and she could see that D'ana'no was taking a great risk to allow her the chance to escape. She vowed that will not fail him and she will not let him suffer for it. Gathering half the remaining light inside her, she used it to fuel a mightly leap and landed still stealthed, behind the materializing demon.....
As the air near their bodies begins to distort, she whispers to D'ana'no's spirit "I am here, High Lord, and at your service." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 8, 2006, 1:04am
A wave of twisted energy poured out from the rift in the Dream, twisting Windfoot’s spirit. Something was terribly wrong about the Dream, not evil or tainted, just wrong, as if it should not exist. As he stood over Sorcha’s prostrate form and his own seated body, Windfoot saw Polrena and Hugnir conversing, but instead of the swirling mist traditional for the Dream, they were substantial, as if there were merely a thin veil between the Dream and the mortal world. Through the veil, he felt the power of the prayers of these two giants of faith undiminished, and from them felt a renewed power to face his foe. Standing up straight ad turning to the attacking demon, Windfoot drew upon their holy power and cast out a wave of light and power from Elune’s staff, forcing his towering enemy back and extinguishing his flaming weapon.
“Demon, I tell you that your time is short.”
However, as soon as he had manifested his power, nausea poured over him from the rift and the light around him shimmered and fragmented. For a second, Windfoot could only struggle to maintain his spirit form; so overpowering was the weakness that was wrought upon him. Whatever was wrong was getting worse. The sounds of the camp bled into the silence of the Dream, and a swirling portal began to open behind him.
Looking at his attacker, Windfoot saw Balnazzar hesitate as well, as if he too were surprised or weakened by the rift in the Dream. Then, in that moment, he suddenly felt Sorcha beside him, and heard her whispered greeting. Through the connection between them he knew she was battered and weakened the terrible extent of her ordeal crashed upon his consciousness. Though it hurt hims to feel such pain, a wave of relief washed through him at her voice, and his spirit was lifted by her presence and the presence of light that she always carried with her. Before the demon could recover and attack again, Windfoot grasped hold of the her and, bending his power to hers, helped her back home, to her mortal form, while he too shifted from the Dream and returned to his seated form.
Polrena stood aghast as the air began to shimmer and bend in upon itself, and as the ghostly figures of D’ana’no and Sorcha’Rei appeared before them. The space around them blackened, and a hew and cry went up among the nearby Defenders as a crack like thunder rippled through the camp.
Opening his eyes, Windfoot felt the full strength of Hugnir and Polrena’s prayers. Suddenly he realized that, truly, he would not have been able to have been able to face Balnazzar but for their support. Looking up he saw the rift spreading, and clearly saw Balnazzar revealed through it. As he watched, the demon lord visibly regrouped and prepared himself to assault them, even if it meant hurling himself through the portal. Flames rekindled as he raised his great sword, and a long black whip appeared in his other hand. His bat wings unfurled behind him slowly and armor-plating rippled over his body. Then with a piercing howl, the beast launched himself at the portal and stepped through and amongst them. Emerging from the portal, his shape was not altogether material, and yet he tossed the astonished Hugnir aside like tinder. He rose up amongst them, before the backdrop of the swirling blackness of the rift, 20 feet tall at least and clad for battle.
In the Demonic language that Windfoot sadly knew all too well, Balnazzar’s spiritform-made-flesh spat out, “fallen Lord Windfoot, you have served us well, but you have outlived your usefulness. It is time for you and your pathetic cohort to die,” then set upon them. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Mar 8, 2006, 8:23am
Even Fechak could feel the evil that suddenly found its way among them. And that was saying something considering the evil all around them. It was now that the voice first spoke to him.
"Destroy him, quick!"
The Dwarf froze for a mere heartbeat in his tracks, there were none nearby and he was hidden from all sight. It was nothing... Vangelis, half in and half out of his armor, had lead Ensign to distract the demon away from it's target. Fechak began to sprint through the shadows looking for some sign of Caspin - ah! There he was.
"Caspin, here!"
The two rogues that worked so perfectly together burst into the melee. Fechak was proud of Ensign, most had grabbed their weapons and instantly charged into their formation of flurried swords and maces. But when Balnazzar laughed, after what seemed like hours - actually seconds - of slicing into his strange flesh, Fechak grew slightly worried...
"Do not fail me..."
There was no mistaking it, the voice drowned out even the sounds of battle. Balnazzar turned to Fechak after the Dwarf eviscerated his knees and cracked the great whip through his armor, flaying open his chest. The blow threw him back and away... he took this moment to wait for the healers to tend to him before thinking about strange voices and yet more hours - seconds - of battle. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 8, 2006, 12:24pm
Celera was a hunter, but the wolf was a warrior, and like the other warriors in the company, he quickly changed from restless wariness to furious combat, relieved in a way to have a real enemy to fight. He sensed, rather than heard, Celera's sending him into the melee, and rushed toward the demon. As he ran, he gave out a howl that usually gave his allies courage and his enemies pause. The great demon, however, scarcely noticed the wolf, or the persistent stings of Celera's arrows. Each arrow was no more than a bee sting, each bite merely a scratch, and Balnazzar focused his attention on more dangerous enemies. Thus, bit by bit, the sharp teeth and arrows, many enhanced by simple magical spells, siphoned off a share of the demon's enormous power, without his notice.
But only a share. Celera thought, with little satisfaction, that she had been right. Balnazzar had not wished to face the Defenders fully armed and ready for battle. Many of the company had half or less of their armor, most were fatigued from their journey and lack of rest, some had just awakened from sleep to find battle at hand. The demon's greatest weapon was the fear he caused, and by attacking them unprepared, he was using that weapon to good advantage.
Well, she thought, if Balnazzar is going to kill me tonight, he'll have to do better than that. She steeled her mind against the anxiety and kept shooting. As if reading her mind, Tim howled again and the battle raged on. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 9, 2006, 1:51am
Everything happened at once, or so it appeared to Polrena. She had no time to reflect, or question the new situation. She acted, as her training had taught her. Her instincts were becoming honed by use.
The first to suffer grievous wounds was Fechak. As usual, the valiant dwarf had waded into the fray, heedless of his own safety and placing his trust and life in Polrena's hands. She would not let him down now. The sound of her prayers difted on the wind, lost in the cacophany of battle, but the Light heard her pleas. The blessings granted to her spread from her hands to the Warden of Ensign, repairing his torn flesh and restoring lost blood. She remembered to leave a scar. The men did enjoy their scars.
Satified of the rogue's continued health, she searched for new patient. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Rheyna on Mar 9, 2006, 5:25am
Rheyna had been sleeping. Knowing she would be on second watch, she had asked the Light for the blessing of deep sleep through the first watch, and this had been granted her. Nevertheless, as always when campaigning, she slept in her armor, grateful that her armor was made of runecloth and mooncloth, and possible to sleep in, unlike the leather, mail, and plate armor of some others of the company.
What precisely awakened her, she never knew, but she had risen to her feet and was standing at the doorway of her tent when the air around the fire began to ripple in a way that could only mean that something very wrong was materializing. She grabbed her staff, and rubbed the oils on it that enhanced its power, then looked around for a place to stand.
There! a slight rise, somewhat behind the area where the action was taking place. Quickly, she got herself into position, and stood watching and listening, waiting for her skills to be needed.
All too soon, the men and women of Ensign marched into battle against a foe that had not yet fully shown himself, but which sliced into them as if they were so many toy soldiers. Warriors and rogues took grievous injury, and she could not let them fall. Dropping her own guard, she sent her spirit climbing towards the Light, praying for solace, for protection, for healing, for those who threw their bodies against the foe.
With the soldiers from Ensign, the great beasts charged into battle as well, supporting their beloved companions, who stood back and fired their bows and guns. No one creature could make much headway against this terrible demon, slowly solidifying in the middle of the company, but together they hurt him. She could sense his anger that the company was not easily dispersed, and his frustration at the discipline and determination that kept them fighting him even when he tried to frighten them.
Careful not to impede the ability of the warriors to gather their powers, she tossed shining bubbles of Light around the rogues and beasts who tore at the demon. She could see the other priests healing and protecting as well, and knew she was in good company. She gave up trying to understand what was happening and let her spirit guide her, sending her prayers to the Light, and pouring the Light she was granted onto those of her companions who needed it most. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 9, 2006, 11:18am
Windfoot struggled and rose before the great demon form, expecting attack, but Balnazzar’s attention was drawn away by the ferocity of the Defenders. The terrible wrongness of the portal was sickening and continued to cause waves of nausea to pass over him. Windfoot knew that he needed to shift to the aspect of a bear and overcome the monster amongst them, but he could not focus.
The battle teetered on the edge of disorder and rout. Vangelis commanded the soldiers of Ensign into rank and file with a steely determination, as if he were not only half-dressed in plate armor and without helmet or shield. Arrows whistled to find their mark, guns retorted, and beneath them, the whispered prayers of the healers breathed new strength and determination into the beset troops. Balnazzar’s sword clashed on steel of flesh and his whip lashed out mercilessly. As Windfoot watched, the dogged Valand received what looked like a mortal blow, throwing himself in the way of a flaming arc aimed at the Lady Polrena. The Lady of Virtue stumbled back as Valand’s form slumped and fell against her. Balnazzar’s long whip found purchase on the throat of several of the hunters, only to send them limp through the air and out into the darkness. Within minutes, the company was reduced from a mighty contingent to a handful of beleaguered Defenders.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
A quiet voice echoed in his head, but that voice was unmistakeable. In a state of shock, Windfoot turned to the swirling rift beside him.
“Ursa?” he whispered, gazing at last upon his soul mate of so long ago. Ursa stood in the Dream, just on the other side of the rift in space. Her massive body whole again, she looked down upon him with gruff but loving brown eyes and nodded.
“Aye. Back from the fires of hell for you. You don’t think you could lose me that easy?”
All around, the battle raged, but Windfoot stared speechless. “Ursa… I…”
“Enough,” she stopped him. “Your friends need you. And Balnazzar’s the least of your troubles, Wind.”
“This portal…”
“Yes, this…thing… is closer to the problem. But, if you want my opinion, I’d say it’s about time you stopped moping, and started fighting. Where’s that lady friend of yours, Merlinne? She can deal with portals.”
Windfoot nodded and turned back to the fray. With Ursa’s spirit returned, even on the other side of the rift, a wave of power and strength washed through him. Suddenly it was easy to shift to bear again; natural. Windfoot was larger, more indomitable than ever. He felt armor plating covering his body. His claws were longer, and sank into the hard packed ground as if it were soft clay. With a terrible roar and flash of red fire, he charged at the towering form of his old enemy and corrupter. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 11, 2006, 3:02pm
Momentarily knocked off balance by Valand's plate-mail clad form, it took her a few precious seconds to recover her senses. By the time she threw a protective bubble around the warrior to prevent further injury while she healed him, Rheyna had already acted. Polrena's shield failed, since Rheyna's was already in place. As she chanted her healing prayers, she heard Rheyna's voice echoing her own. Their spells reached Valand at nearly the same time. She glanced quickly at Rheyna. Their eyes met and they briefly smiled at each other.
That was all the time the two could spare to communicate, and might have been too much. The Defenders of Valor weakened quickly, and it became apparent that even the priestess' fastest spells would soon be unable to keep up with the carnage from which their patients were suffering. Yet she could not, would not, give up, and neither would the Defenders. They must prevail!
She heard the feral roar of the High Lord's bear form, and took heart. Something must have happened, she thought. Light, be with him!
Then her attention turnd to the next flagging Defender. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by merlinne on Mar 11, 2006, 5:22pm
So much was happening so fast. The beast was risen before them before Merlinne could counter it. Defenders fought valiantly against it, wounds being struck, blood being spilled. The din of combat drowned out all else, even thought. She threw her most powerful arcane might against the beast and yet like everything else thrown at it, it was not nearly enough.
Her mind could feel the pull of the rift beyond Balnazzar. It drew at her soul and mind hungrily. She felt it pulling at all of them, draining them, and yet Balnazzar it fed. His strength was tied into that rift. His power growing from the evil it fed him.
She broke off her attack of the demon and rushed through the battle to wage combat of her own. That portal must be closed. Never before had she tried to collapse the portal of another and fear gripped her heart at the thought. There could be arcane backlash that could wipe out all of them or simply shatter her human mind. But if she were to die today, she would die fighting to rid them of this monster.
She reached out to the rift, both physically and with her arcane senses. As she touched the power behind it her mind recoiled from the evil it could feel. Hunger, death, destruction; those desires assaulted her, reached out for her. Pain, corruption, darkness; they battered against her wards like a hurricane. Yet amazingly the wards held firm. The power was intense though, crushing against her mind as she reached for it, grasping it to her.
Her hands closed in the physical world as her mind grasped the power of the portal. She drew the power through her, channeling it back into the rift, draining it of its life. Her mind screamed, her body echoing the sound, as the power burned through her, fighting her efforts to close the rift. She continued to channel it, feeling her own strength wane, yet she could also feel the rift growing smaller, weaker. Something beyond it fought against her, battered her from within. Balanazzar did not create this rift. Something else did.
Distantly she could hear her own voice crying out in anger and pain. She could feel flames licking at her skin. Her attention remained focused on the task at hand, though. She could not falter, lest she lose the battle and perhaps much more than just Lord D'ana'no.
She felt the rift shrink further, felt the power burning through her and returning to the rift grow weaker. She heard Balnazzar cry out in rage. It occurred to her she'd never tried to channel so much power. Never tried to fight such a terrible battle of the arcane alone. Yet there was no one else.
Her screams of pain became those of rage as she fought off the despair that she would not be strong enough to win this battle.
I will fight until I die if I must! This rift must close to protect far more than the Defenders! Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 11, 2006, 6:47pm
Sorcha stands for a moment, stunned by the sudden carnage around her. Then, through the channel to the High Lord, she hears him greeting someone, can feel that he is more deeply happy than he has been any time since she has met him. Without even trying, she, too can see Ursa on the other side of the portal.
The High Lord shifts to a powerful Dire Besr form and moves forward to do battle, and Sorcha is aware of the priests trying and failing to keep up with the healing. For a moment, she considers joining them in their struggle to keep people alive and fighting, but she sees Lady Merlinne move towards the portal. Thankfully, the mage is using her considerable power to close the portal.
Then Sorcha realizes that when the portal is closed, Ursa will still be on the other side of it. She reaches out to the High Lord, asking him, "Do you want me to try to bring Ursa over to this side?"
Regardless of whether she will be healing or working to get Ursa back where she belongs, she is going to need light to work with. When did light become her raw material? Oh, Vlad! Pushing that thought away, she sings a quiet but depserate prayer to Elune, and reaches out to gather light. With Elune's grace, she fills herself with starlight, moonlight, firelight, even the light from the shields the priestesses are so valiantly creating.
She waits for the High Lord's answer, readying the songs she will need to heal or to guide Ursa back home. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 12, 2006, 11:03am
Ursa turned to Sorcha’Rei. “My dear, thank you for taking care of my foolish elf. I cannot come over yet, but hopefully soon. Actually, there is something you could do to help.” Ursa’s brown eyes surveyed the battle scene looking for something. Behind the demon’s form, her eyes settled upon the darting shape of the Warden of Ensign. “Fechak.” Ursa speaks quietly, but the dwarf’s red eyes snap immediately to hers. “Come now; do not fail me. Sorcha, help Fechak through the Dream with me. Fechak carries something important, and perhaps with both of your help I can be free at last, free from that fiend’s torture.” Ursa’s eyes narrow at Balnazzar.
The power Windfoot felt as her reared up before the mighty form of Balnazzar was tremendous. Rage and power coursed through him like a drug. Ursa fed him strength from the rift and he knew that he was more than a match for the demon in front of him. All around him, the bodies of the Defenders lay strewn, but Windfoot could no longer think of them. A great pulsing rage and wildness filled him, drowning out all thought. His horrible claws raked at the black form, and great red gashes appeared in Balnazzar’s side, causing red light to seep out like blood. With a cry of rage, Balnazzar turned upon him.
In the Dream one’s power was limited only by one’s control and power; all things could exists or be summoned to hand. The danger was that without proper training and control, the limitless power of possibilities of the Dream could destroy the mind and essence of the traveller. And, of course, there was always the danger that some other entity within the Dream might find and impose their maleficent will upon the innocent traveller. This was why the druids of the Cenarion Circle refused to teach spirit traveling to any but a few. Past, present and future were all wound up in the limitless possibilities of the Dream, and the very fate of the world itself might be twisted into a nightmarish fate by the undisciplined. Better indeed to leave most blind to the interconnectedness of the world and the Dream, shaping their destiny in the mortal world alone.
Balnazzar’s form was some half-bred thing; not fully material and was not fully astral. By crossing from the Dream into the mortal world, he had shared in the violation of the natural order of things caused by the rift itself. Now, looking into the red eyes of the dire beast before him, Balnazzar smiled. Dismissing the black whip, the wicked blade in his hands suddenly transformed as if it were the Dream. This new blade was smaller, thinner and serrated. A sickening poisonous cloud enveloped the cold steel. As Windfoot reared forth, Balnazzar’s vile blade stabbed into the dire beast’s chest, found soft purchase, and sank deep. Windfoot felt the poison entering his blood, crippling him. His eyes blackened over and his senses dimmed. All of his consciousness dwindled to a tiny point, as if the battle were far off at the other end of a tunnel. He howled in rage and frustration, and fire erupted from his jaws.
Leaving the green blade embedded in the dire beast’s chest, Balnazzar summoned again the fire blade into his hands. Vangelis, and the remaining Defenders pressed the demon, and he responded with horrible force. His great sword cleaved through the air in great arcs of fire, and the stench of brimstone filled the combatants' nostrils, weakening them.
The great demon pulled power from the rift and laughed mockingly at his attackers. An inky darkness began to pour out from Balnazzar and snake upon the ground. The corrupted darkness consumed everything it touched, crawling over the fallen and feeding upon their living essence. Where Windfoot stood transfixed, black tendrils reach him and begin to climb up his legs. Where they touch him cold fear rippled through him. His heart beat frantically, in panic, but he could not move.
Suddenly, Merlinne’s arcane power lashed at the portal. The mage’s body became transfixed. A great light poured from her form and arced through the darkness to attach itself to the portal. She drew power through her, channelling it back into the rift, draining it of its life. For a moment, the pure energy coursed back and forth. Then, with a buckle and twist, the arcane energy seemed to lash out at her and her body became engulfed in arcane fire. Merlinne screamed, but did not collapse. The rift began to shrink.
Ursa looked to Merlinne, a shocked look on her face.
“Sorcha, we must hurry. Fechak! Now!” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 12, 2006, 11:46am
Without pause, Sorcha responds to Ursa's words by reaching out and taking Fechak by the hand. She sings to Elune and to the Earth Mother to protect them both, and whispers to Fechak.
"I am sorry, Warden, but if we are to save the High Lord, we must both go into the Dream now. I hope you have the item Ursa wants."
Without waiting for a response, she reaches deep inside herself and starts to pull out the light she has been gathering. Carefully, she plaits it into the shape of a cloak that she places on Fechak's shoulders, pulling the hood over his head, encasing the dwarf in the glowing light of Elune's gift.
Fechak looks stunned and somewhat resistant, but she has no time to spare, so she sings on, opening her own doorway into the Dream. "Don't let go of my hand," she warns the dwarf. "I don't think I can hold you in the Dream if we lose contact."
She lifts her foot and steps into the Dream, hoping that the stalwart rogue will follow her. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 12, 2006, 12:52pm
Her fears came true. Even the fastest healing could no longer sustain the lives of the Defenders.
In split seconds, she coldly decided who would live, and who would die. She no longer tried to heal them all, instead concentrating her power on those who would be best able to live through the encounter. A piece of her soul died each time she watched a Defender fall from her deliberate inaction.
She rarely knew what occured during fights like these. Her entire being was focused on the Defenders, not the enemy. Only afterwards could her friends tell her how well or poorly the fight had gone. As she briefly tried to feed strength to the High Lord, however, she felt and heard the sickening rip of a serrated blade tearing through his flesh. She sought him with her prayers, but her cleansing failed.
She threw a shield around him in order to concentrate a few precious seconds longer, though she knew she prevented his rage from growing when she did. She prayed that her interference would not wash the will to fight from him. She frowned and delved into his new wound. Poison! Why would the Light never shine allow her to cure such a mundane affliction? She clenched her hands into fists and howled in frustration.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of another Defender falling. Trying not to sob, knowing that tears would make her work even harder, she pulled her attention from her beloved friend. She stumbled toward her next patient. Prayers and chants fell instincively from her lips. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Rheyna on Mar 12, 2006, 1:09pm
Rheyna felt time slow as she prayed to the Light to help her comrades. She sensed Polrena moving to triage status, and knew how hard that was for the other priestess, but she could not stop to confort her. Instead, she simply kept praying.
After awhile, she noticed something black and tarlike moving on the ground, destroying and mutating everything in its path. She felt rather than saw the High Lord falter. Reaching out to him, she saw that he was poisoned. Trusting Hugnir to cleanse that as soon as he could, she returned her attention to creeping darkness. Did she dare turn her attention away from healing to try to fight it? If she did not, who would?
Tears running down her face, knowing that her choice would doom some Defenders to die, Rheyna placed herself between the dark corruption spreading on the ground and her comrades. Praying to the Light, she made a barrier of herself and the Light she channeled. At first, it did not seem to help. The darkness just kept coming. Desperate to stop it from consuming the entire company, she thought furiously. Shielding people did not help; the dark corruption just kept spreading, and slowing them, consuming their spirits in some way she did not understand. Even shielded within their bubble of Light, people were succumbing to its slowing and demoralizing effects.
She thought and thought -- and prayed for guidance. Almost without her noticing it, an idea started to grow in her mind, and she furrowed her brow in thought as she composed the prayers she would need to pull this off. Dragging her wandering attention together, focusing her mind and her heart, she began to chant a prayer she had never heard, one she hoped would at least slow the creeping darkness.
As she chanted, Light gathered in her hands, and she worried that she could not hold it all, but she kept chanting until she thought there was enough. Then she threw the Light granted to her at the creeping darkness, and to her surprised delight, it worked, at least for the moment. A huge bubble of Light appeared around the darkness, and prevented it from spreading anymore. She tried cautiously to move the bubble and found she could. Carefully, slowly, she pulled it away from the Defenders who were already covered in darkness, and breathed a tiny sigh of relief as that pulled the blackness off their fallen bodies. Once the darkness was contained, she changed her prayer, trying to make the bubble collapse, in the hopes that it would take the darkness with it.
As she watched, the darkness continued to grow, and began to fill her bubble. With quiet desperation, she kept praying, trying to keep the bubble strong enough to hold the corruption off the Defenders. The Enemy roared in frustration and turned his attention to the source of the bubble. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Mar 12, 2006, 3:41pm
Fechak was quite confused. One moment in deep, deadly battle with a great demon, the next being wisked into some sort of strange light thing. Sorcha guided him into the dream, yet the strangeness of the place left him feeling ill. Slowly all sound and light vanished, even the hand of Sorcha floated away from his vision. All was silence, all was nothingness. Fechak realized his eyes were closed tight from fear, his body tensed as if awaiting the final blow from the executioner.
"Fechy..."
That voice.
"Fechy stop playin' yer games ya right wee bastard an' get back ta bed!"
No.
The smells, her bread, her room.
He didn't open his eyes as the warmth of the room swam to him, replacing the fear and doubt of the dream with a welcome embrace of love. Every muscle in his body released itself slowly and a gasp of air escaped his lungs just before tears welled up in his throat.
His voice could barely escape the sheer pain of joy, "Deylum?" Through his tears, he finally opened his eyes to look upon her and his breathing stopped at the sight of her. Unchanged in forty-five years, she was just as beautiful now as the day he had first seen her. "Where have you been?"
"Not now, lad, put yer packs o'er 'ere an' we kin get back to it then..." She pointed at a small dias and smiled at him seductively.
"I dun-"
"The book," she interrupted, "Fechy, put the book on that thing there then ."
Fechak looked down at his hands now and saw the book resting there. Of Daemonia rippled toward him, reflecting in the lights of the room as water in the caverns of Ironforge. The book felt warm now, in fact hot.
"Fechy?" He looked at his wife, writhing under the silk blankets she so loved. "Please?" He could never say no to her.
Something strange was happening, he wanted nothing more than to place the book upon the dias, but his legs could hardly move. Now that he was used to the sounds of the room, he could hear something... a yelling off in the far distance. Whispers through a foot of stone. Shaking, he began to slide his feet closer to the dias.
"There's a good lad... hurry up and finish an' I'll take care ah ya..."
He was nearly convulsing with willpower just trying to move across the room when just before he could hardly take it any more, the weight was lifted from him and he nearly tumbled into the stone dias. The yelling stopped, all was silent except for Deylum purring at him. Dusting himself off, picking up the large tomb, Fechak finally placed the book upon it's rightful place.
"Thank you Fechy..." Her voice began to change, grow deeper. "I promise to make it up to you...."
Suddenly the room lost all warmth, the echo of footsteps clad in plate reverberated all around him and the cold dank smell of undead flooded his senses. The room he was standing in began to morph itself into yet another, one he had been in years past, deep inside the Cathedral of Stratholme.
Several members of the Scarlet Crusade were at the doorway protecting an elder man, balding and with as serious of a face that could possibly be imagined. When he spoke, his voice was a deep blazing baratone, rivaling even Fechak's father.
"I see you've finally arrived, dwarf, as expected."
The dwarf could do nothing, but instinctively unsheath his swords and face this vastly superior enemy. Something strange happened then, as if that weren't enough. Fechak could hear the book open behind him and the pages flipping quickly. Where once lived blank cold pages, flame danced over the mystical paper leaving behind chilling words of a language long since forgotten.
Heat overtook the dwarf, making it difficult to breath. When flames errupted from the book engulfing the room in an inferno, he was almost happy to soon be dead.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:26:35 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 12, 2006, 3:47pm
Bloody damnation! What is happening to me?
Vangelis had not been shouting orders for some time - there was no semblance of order to this battle any more. Instead he had been hurling himself bodily at the demon, his mighty greatsword unable to do much more than draw blood from the demon's supernatural hide. His world had narrowed to the haze of cut and thrust, dodge and stagger. This would have been enough, and to die in this battle would have been a fitting and welcome end for the old soldier, but somehow his normally instinctive battle fury was ... corrupted.
Vangelis' fighting technique had long since passed the point of thinking - it was instinctive, rooted in reflex rather than reflection. In this way distractions were weeded out of his consciousness and his whole being focused on nothing other than the dance of combat. At least, that was how he should have been fighting. But in this particular battle his mind was not cooperating: in his imagination he found himself reliving the last moments of the lives of his beloved wife and daughter. Over and over again he saw their limp forms tossed aside and their killers exulting, and with each repetition of the image a leaden weight of anguish and despair grew in his heart.
His sword was a dead weight in his arms. There was no "technique" remaining to him now, just a brutal hacking at his foe as his eyes streamed with tears. The blackness now enveloping his feet barely registered on his consciousness, nor did the sudden appearance of the bubble of light around the combatants, nor the shrinking of the portal.
You failed them, farmer. All this soldiering was your escape from the reality of your failure, but it changes nothing. It was your fault they died, and yours alone.
Vangelis cried out as the demon's fiery blade sliced into his armour and raked across his chest, but not from the physical pain so much as the sense that it was no more than he deserved. When no healing came he felt almost relieved. Soon it will be over, farmer. Accept your fate. Join them.
Vangelis sank to his knees, immersing himself more deeply into the blackness that surrounded him and filled his heart. He would not deflect the next blow. It was only right. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 12, 2006, 3:47pm
Sorcha walked with Fechak into the Dream. At first they moved together, holding hands, and then he drifted away from her. She looked around, trying to find him, but he was gone.
"Ursa?" she whispered. "Can you help me? I've lost him!"
Behind her, she could feel Merlinne starting to close the portal. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 12, 2006, 6:31pm
Galford the Archivist stepped forward, and with him the steely-eyed fanatics in-step beside him, but he dismissed Fechak as insignificant now that the prize was won. Instead, his feverish eyes glazed with rapture upon the black stone dais where the great black tome sat within a perfect indentation, spine open, pages madly flipping, as if some great power were reading its pages in haste. Red runes flashed upon the pages, written in a language not of elves of demons, but something older, more powerful. A great light shone forth from the pages and heat began to fill the room.
"At last!" whispered the Archivist, transported. "For many long years we have fought to keep the Light alive, against all heretics, unbelievers and the fallen.” As he spoke, his voice rose in pitch and volume. “Now, at last, the Scarlet Crusade will ride forth in glory. This day, the key that had been lost has been found! The prophecies of the Grand Crusader, foretelling the coming of the key and the glory of the Light, are at last at hand! Brothers and sisters, bask in the power of the Light, for each of us shall be granted power beyond imagining. Power to scourge the world of Darkness and turn all to the One Truth of the Light!”
From the Dream, Sorcha turned to Ursa beside her for aid. As she watched in horror, the bear’s skin became mottled and cracked, as if a red fire burnt within her, then burst and peeled away revealing a flaming skeleton. A dark laughter shook the Dream, and a second hole in space appeared, as if some thing took pleasure in revealing the drama as it played itself out in the Archivist’s chambers. With a sickening dread, Sorcha’Rei realized that the thing beside her was not Windfoot's beloved Ursa, but rather a deception made by something vile and twisted, something opposed to all life and meaning whose power new no limit. And only some mystical bonds held it back from entry to the world and Azeroth and into the Dream; bonds which were rapidly unravelling with the flipping of the pages of the tome upon the dais.
Merlinne shouted in pain and rage, but did not falter. The rift continued closing. As Balnazzar descended upon Rheyna to destroy her, his attention was suddenly riveted on the portal in the moment that the tome was placed into the dias. His concentration slipped. The black nether essence collapsed, the waves fear and doubt waned. The poison dagger disspeared as if it never existed.
Through the spirit channel between them, Windfoot saw with Sorcha’Rei’s eyes. His mind raced to understand what he was seeing. How was it that Of Daemonia had come to be with them? More importantly, how had he forgotten about the necromantic tome that had so recently possessed his every waking thought? He suddenly remembered the blood pact, and his compulsive reading as if someone else had taken possession of him...as if someone else had been reading through his eyes. And ever since he had awoken from battle in the lords' council chambers, it was as if all memory of the book had been blocked from his mind. He felt sick to his stomach as the pieces fell horribly into place. It was never him that the demon meant to acquire. He was only a pawn in the master deceiver’s game. With crashing force he remembered his last exchange with Balnazzar in the Dream: “You cannot manipulate me, demon.”
“Oh? And yet you come with gifts for me.”
And before that, the creeping dread that he had felt from the moment he arrived in the Plaguelands, as if a trap were being closed upon them. And even before that, all of the pieces of the truth: the Dream visit by a dark indistinct figure which 'accidentally' revealed demonic characteristics, all of the ‘revelations’ that had led step by step to the Defenders coming to Stratholme…
The rift had evidently served its usefulness and was now rapidly closing before the force of Merlinne's arcane strength. With a sadistic hollow laugh, Balnazzar faded before them, blew away like smoke and was swept into the rift.
Looking down, Windfoot realized that he had taken on the hideous shape of the dire beast that he loathed. A great beast, twice the size of a dire bear, with mottled skin stained scarlet. His monstrous paws were more like misshapen hands, with long dexterous fingers, and six inches of black claws extended from his nails. He knew that upon his head were two small horns that seemed to be forcing their way out of his skin violently. There was no time for self-loathing however. Time now only to act.
“Merlinne, do not let the rift close! Vangelis, you must take the Defenders though before it closes! There is no time to explain! Sorcha’Rei and I can make it a path for you to the Archivist’s chamber. You must retrieve the tome from its dais before whatever is summoning itself into our world can complete its ritual!”
Windfoot reached out his spirit to Sorcha’Rei. He knew that she was aware of his revelation. He only hoped that with her light inside the Dream and his power outside, they could somehow keep the path visible to the Defenders.
Inside the Archivist’s chambers, a terrible heat filled the room and the dais burst aflame. The first inklings of doubt and fear flecked the Archivist’s eyes. For he too had been deceived… Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 12, 2006, 9:00pm
Sorcha sings as she has never sung before, reaching to Elune, begging Her grace one more time. And it is granted. The light she had used to form Fechak's cloak is replaced, and more light pours into her. Soon, she is filled with light, more light than she thought she could ever hold inside her. She hears the Earth Mother in the back of her mind, too.
"Hold fast to my hand, child. I will not fail you, if you do not fail me."
Reaching deep inside her, she pulls out a strand of light, as if she were spinning it on the kind of wheel her mother used to make thread from shorn lambswool. She sends the fragile strand of light through their shared channel to D'ana'no, so he can anchor it on his end. He ties it to something she cannot see and tugs slightly to test the hold.
Sorcha uses that strand as the basis for weaving a thicker one, wrapping layer after layer of light around the thread that connects the Dream world to the mundane and precious world the Defenders live in. As the pages of the tome flip faster and faster behind her, fiery words coming alive on each sheet, she and the High Lord braid her light into a bridge between the worlds.
Time passes without her being able to gauge its speed. She sees the closing portal stop closing, feels Merlinne's agony. She sees Rheyna hold the black corruption at bay until it mysteriously disappears, and the priestess takes up her task of healing once more. She senses Vangelis helping the Defenders form up in a battered but disciplined line behind their Lord. Finally, the work is done and she stands next to her end of the bridge, anchoring it with her body. A bridge of light, 10 feet wide, now links the Defender camp in the Plaguelands with the Dream.
She says to D'ana'no, "They can come over now. Send Lady Merlinne second to last -- the portal will begin to collapse when she crosses, which will not leave you much time. You come last, for the bridge will break up behind you when you come." She shrugs. "If we live, we will have to find another way home." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by merlinne on Mar 13, 2006, 9:49am
Merlinne could feel hot tears spilling onto her cheeks and evaporating into the arcane fire surrounding her. Her mind and body burned, her legs trembled as her physical form reached the limit of its endurance. Her mind began to lose focus and weaken in its task. The battle to close the rift had taken so much from her, and now she must find strength to keep it open.
She sobbed as she saw the Defenders, her friends, her family begin to move into the portal. Her strength was fading and she couldn't do anything to warn them. She felt a black despair begin to creep over her, the portal shrinking even further.
Strength! Her mind worked furiously. I'm not strong enough! I need more!
Somehow a cool breeze pushed through the flames surrounding her and brushed her face. She became intensely aware of the small fires still burning around her, of the soft earth beneath her feet. A small brook nearby sang to her, calming her thoughts. The elements. She'd only been calling on Arcane, the one in which her strength lay, but she understood now what needed done.
She called to her first the wind. The playful currents of air swirled to her, around her, picking up speed and power, turning into a small tornado surrounding the mage.
Next came water, flowing from its bed to her feet. It eagerly joined the dance, weaving its strength, its flexibility into that of the wind.
Fire leapt from the ground and bushes, dancing to her, answering her call. It brought power to the dance. The power of life and death. Hot and fast it turned the whirling cyclone orange with its own form.
Finally came earth. Great clumps of the land leapt from the ground about Merlinne's feet into the maelstrom surrounding her. It brought its strength, its solidity to the dance.
Merlinne could feel their song pouring through her, giving her what she needed. She sipped at the strength they offered, thanking them silently for their gift. With a thought she directed the whirlwind to the portal.
The cyclone detached itself from the mage and move inexorably across the ground. When it touched the edges of the portal it changed, surrounding the edges. Using her will alone, Merlinne braided the power of the elements come to her bidding through the edges of the portal. The strength of forces that would live forever pulled at the portal, allowing passage of the Defenders to the other side.
She could feel the power trying to close the portal lashing out, trying to stop her. Dark bolts of energy flew through the arcane power she still channeled from the rift. She staggered as they hit her but managed to continue her work.
When the last Defender had entered the portal and she could sense they had passed over Sorcha's bridge she turned burning eyes to Lord D'ana'no. He stood there, channeling power as well, his face drawn in pain. He nodded at her.
She turned and with a cry of pain, severed her connection with the power she had been channeling. She would not be able to maintain it while she moved through the rift. She staggered into the rift, her body screaming at her with each movement. She could feel the power collapsing, the elements she had called returning to their natural state. She tried to look back to see if Lord D'ana'no had made it to the bridge. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 13, 2006, 8:51pm
Fool of a farmer!
Vangelis shook his head as he jogged along the mystical bridge he had been ordered to cross. The demon's appearance had been so sudden and unexpected that the assault upon his will and spirit had taken him entirely unawares. Mercifully he had regained his senses upon Balnazzar's disappearance into the rift, which meant he had had the presence of mind to scoop up his helmet and shield, along with the gleaming badge now affixed onto his chest. A token of membership in the Mithril Brotherhood, the insignia carried a small but highly effective enchantment against assaults upon the will, and this time Vangelis was not about to suffer from having been caught napping.
He had reached the far end of the silvery bridge. The archivist's face was strangely clear in the midst of the flames leaping from the ancient book, the fear in his eyes contrasting bizarrely with the powerful chant emanating from his mouth. Crusaders milled about the room: three of them stood facing Fechak, momentarily unsure what to do in the absence of an order to dispatch him, while others had taken up a defensive position between the archivist and the portal.
They see the rift but not us, so we will have a slight advantage of surprise; but we'll have to strike soon to give Fechak a chance.
Vangelis looked behind him. Few were left of the mighty company that had set out from Light's Hope, and those well enough to have followed Vangelis through the portal were looking as tired as Vangelis felt. Merlinne looked particularly drawn. Vangelis did not want to look too closely at Windfoot's hulking form as he brought up the rear, but at least the High Lord seemed to be in command of his senses.
The flames billowed higher, enveloping the chanting archivist. Fechak and his opponents faced each other like coiled adders. There was no time to lose: Vangelis bellowed the attack and exploded out of the rift into the midst of the Crusaders. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 13, 2006, 10:03pm
Merlinne’s strength had reached its limit. As she stumbled into the portal, Windfoot felt the magical energies collapsing about her, and with it the tear in the order of things represented by the chaos of the rift. Windfoot had anchored the bridge by digging deep into the ground with all of his monstrous strength. Now, he lumbered into the closing vortex, half supporting, half carrying the Lady of Dalaran as the path deteriorated behind them. Sorcha, Vangelis, Gudran, Hugnir, Polrena, Celera, Rheyna, Merlinne, and Fechak in the chamber beyond, these were all that remained of the mighty contingent that had arrived with such high spirits a Light’s Hope Chapel. So many noble Defenders, slaughtered in the night.
Windfoot felt Vangelis’ tactical assessment, and knew the warrior’s instincts were right. The beleaguered company would need to hit the Scarlet with all of their remaining power and force. Even them, it might not be enough.
Windfoot’s horrible form was a dark testament to the indelible stamp of the corrupter upon him. He knew that the soul bond was permanent; it could not be broken. “So be it,” he whispered in his mind. He would use the demon’s power to destroy that which it had made. Windfoot reached down deep within himself to the rage and anger that wanted only to break free and consume him. From deep within the corrupted core of his being Windfoot brought forth a mighty strength and power and cast it out over the Defenders. Like a dark pact, the power of each Defender doubled in force and strength as, at the battle cry of the Lord of Ensign, they tore out of the Dream and into the Scarlet Crusaders. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 14, 2006, 12:58am
Sorcha flinched as the dark power poured into her from Windfoot. Then she noticed that where that power touched the light of Elune she still carried within her, it was cleansed. Still powerful but no longer corrupt. She began to channel the light into the pact of power the High Lord had forged for the Defenders. Now the Defenders would have the strength and power offered by the High Lord, but it would burn the demon enemy where it touched him, having been cleansed by the power of the moon goddess. Only in D'ana'no himself did the light appear to do nothing. She did not allow herself the luxury of worrying about that. Like the question of how they would get home, she could consider it later.
For now, her job was to stand with Merlinne and fight with spells. She looked at the mage and knew she was deeply wounded by her struggle with the portal. Sorcha reached down into her pool of light again and began to use it to repair Merlinne's weariness. The injuries were beyond her, but the deep tiredness she could address, and did. She had seen Merlinne work with the elemental powers, and knew that the mage, too, had a connection to the forces of nature, even if she was more usually engaged with using arcane powers. Sorcha whispered to the Earth Mother, asking her to protect and hold the Lady of Dalaran, who was able to merge with the elemental forces so deeply. Again, she heard the voice of the Earth Mother.
"I am holding you all in my hands, child. Your mage is as safe as she can be here. But this battle will require more than any of you know. The cost will be very high to each of you. It is the nature of this sort of desperate struggle to strip you down to your essence, and to reveal you to yourself. May you all have the courage to face who you are, and the wisdom to embrace it."
And with these words, Sorcha felt a warmth encompass her, as if she were indeed being held in the hands of a loving mother. She smiled fleetingly and then turned to the enemy. It was time. She readied herself for the coming engagement, and waited for Lord Vangelis to call out the order of battle. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Gudran on Mar 15, 2006, 12:13pm
The battle with the great demon had sapped Gudran most of his strength. He was weary and weak, but he shook the thought of failing his family. Balnazzar had disappeared as suddenly as he came. Gudran thought it a victory, but saw Merlinne writhing in pain trying to keep the portal open. He knew where they must go now and the thought of the mysteries of the dream intrigued him. Vangelis began barked stern orders on formation and led the way into the rift. Gudran smiled at the old farmer, remembering how humble he was when he first arrived in the halls.
He be a much better leader then I ever was anyhoo, Gudran thought to himself and chuckled.
As Gudran entered the rift, he saw the pain of Merlinne and sorrow of Wind as they held open and created a path for the Defenders to travel through. He was tempted to help each of them, but knew all too well that time was of the essence. He could not do much in the ways of magic and spirits anyways and thought it best to press on.
As the few remaining Defenders made haste through the portal, a dim vision of the Scarlet Crusade and Fechak began to materialize. Gudran felt intense heat press hard against his body. Dark whispers of fear and mocking filled his mind.
Come to me... all you fools!
Gudran attempted to shake his head to clear the shadowy words. He wondered if anyone else was experiencing the same evil taunting he did.
You know you have no power... you are too old dwarf...
Once again, Gudran shook his head. He glanced over to the remaining Defenders to see is they too were troubled. He tried to ignore the mocking of the demon, which he assumed it was. Moving up to Vangelis, he whispered.
"What er yas thinkin' lad? Charge head on? Wait fer Fech's first move an' then support 'im?"
"We have no time my friend-"
Vangelis was cut short by the immense power he, and the rest of the Defenders, began to feel. Gudran found a new, cleansing strength about him. He glanced back at the two elves giving forth their power and nodded in thanks. He caught sight of Merlinne, also regaining some strength from an unknown force, but the look of pain still etched into her face. Gudran, while glancing back towards the casters, said allowed,
"Van, ya might wanna sip this 'ere brew... it'll give ya great strength an'-", Gudran cut off his offer by the battle cry of Vangelis. He turned around and saw the Lord of Ensign burst through the rift into the midst of the Scarlet Crusade. Other defenders began to follow.
"Always hasty...", Gudran muttered, and drank the elixir of brute strength himself as he leaped through the rift into the immense heat of the chapel. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 15, 2006, 4:20pm
When the black fog seeped across the floor toward Celera, she was not as much affected as the others. Perhaps it was because she was further away, perhaps it was because she expected an assault on mind and spirit and was ready for it. Perhaps it was because she had lived with self-doubt for so long that another wave of it now didn't make much difference.
It was harder watching the battle itself. Tim's energies had been expended, although she had healed him when she could, but he lay on the floor now, wounded or dead -- she could not be sure. And he was not alone, depsite the desperate efforts of the priests and other healers. She faltered a moment at the sight of Valand, lying motionless after landing with a thud on the ground, several feet from where he had stood a moment earlier. She saw Polrena rush to tend him, and with a quick unspoken prayer that he was better off than he looked, she resumed the business at hand.
When the order came to go through the portal, she doubted the wisdom of this plan. The evil nature of the rift was obvious, she could feel it as plainly as she felt the bow in her hand. But as the few Defenders still able to fight stepped through, there was no time to debate the strategy, and she stepped in just ahead of the High Lord and the Lady Merlinne.
She hadn't known what to expect, but to be standing in what appeared to be a part of Stratholme was still surprising. Looking ahead she saw Warden Fechak, swords drawn, eyeing several evil looking men in scarlet. They stared at each other, braced for a deadly attack, like animals preparing to fight to the death over a kill or a mate. Still without any real idea what was going on, she quickly pulled two arrows from her quiver and strung them, with another in her hand ready to follow quickly after. If she was lucky, the arrows would distract the enemies, give Fechak some moment of advantage, and perhaps allow the enemy to suppose there were more Defenders than the small company that was actually there.
All of this had taken only a second or two, and as Lord Vangelis called for attack, her arrows were already halfway to their marks. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Rheyna on Mar 15, 2006, 4:30pm
Rheyna stepped across the bridge of light without allowing herself a moment to doubt what they were doing. She turned back and saw the High Lord helping Lady Merlinne across the bridge, just behind Celera. She felt the huge impact of the surge of power from the High Lord, quickly followed by the purifying touch of Sorcha's light. She saw Sorcha pouring energy into Lady Merlinne, and knew they would need all the mage had to offer. Not knowing if prayers to the Light even worked in a place like this, she offered one up, and was relieved to see it start to heal Merlinne's wounds.
She turned to Polrena, and saw the other priest standing for a moment with her eyes shut, as if where they were and what they intended to do was too much for her. Knowing that the other priest was as prepared for this as anyone could be, Rheyna contented herself with a quick prayer for the spirits of the Lady of Virtue, and then she turned her attention to the enemy.
Her job would be to try to keep the small remnant of the Defenders alive while they fought to destroy the enemy they had tracked to this place. She slammed Shadow protection guards on all the Defenders except the High Lord. For some reason, she didn't trust that Sorcha's purification had worked on the High Lord's strength and she feared that protecting him against Shadow would weaken his power.
Praying to the Light to protect them and the Shadow to preserve them, Rheyna prepared for a battle she knew would be a desperate and ragged fight for survival. As Celera let her first arrows fly, Rheyna called for a shield around Fechak, and then she started to pray for healing, not yet aimed at anyone, but simply so it would be ready when the first Defender needed it. She closed her eyes to concentrate on her prayers, knowing that it was her inner eye she needed here, not the one that could see the battle.
She raised her hands, and Light began to flow from her into the bodies of those Defenders who engaged the enemy. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Mar 15, 2006, 7:47pm
With the flames growing behind him, and the two warriors standing in front of him, Fechak had little to do but wait. Although most wouldn't acredit him with much, his age had given him much wisdom. In a fight such as this, strategy and patience were the only ways to survive. So when a strange rift appeared behind the small party in front of him, causing the alarm to sound and many, many more Crusaders to spill into the hall, Vangelis and several others poured out, arrows and magics close behind - Fechak did the first thing that he could think: disappear.
With a flash of powder he was gone, rolling out of the room away from the fray, knocking one of the warriors over as Vangelis swung his sword down upon him with a cry. Just as Fechak was about to sap one of the unknowing Scarlet priests, a great beast poured out of the portal behind his guild. At first he was about to turn his attention toward it, but after the thing eviserated a Crusader nearly in half, he was pretty sure it was on his side.
"What in the 'ell is goin' on 'ere?"
Still more Crusaders began to pile into the hall, a good fifty or more. Very few Defenders seemed to have gotten through this miracle of a portal. Although the Crusaders were bottlenecked by the small passage, the Defenders had thier backs up against a wall - a wall that just so happened to be on fire.
"Thank you, Fechak..."
This time the voice was closer, reverberating in his mind. Already precious moments had passed in the battle that was quickly turning toward the tide of the Scarlet Brotherhood, without another thought, still shaking the voice from his head, Fechak literally leapt into the fray slamming both of the butts of his swords into the temples of a battle mage.
Just keep killin' 'til you can't kill 'em no more. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 16, 2006, 6:59pm
Windfoot roared out of the rift in space and crashed upon the arriving Scarlet like a wave of blood upon a rocky coast. Such was the force of this rage and power that even the Scarlet zealots fell back before him. Drawing deeply upon the smouldering rage that he had fought back for so long, the beast ripped apart the enemies around him. His bloody six inch claws pierced armour like paper and cast a spray of blood before him, coating his armour in a sickening sheen. His jaws ripped and tore through the Scarlet, tearing off huge chunks of flesh or tossing aside his prey with such force that their armour crumpled as they hit the wall. The room continued to increase in temperature, but Windfoot did not feel any heat.
“So few?” he roared, as the Scarlet fell around him.
This close to the tome, Windfoot felt waves of absolute power surging through him, and a wild laughter erupted from his lips. Death and carnage were his playthings; what a beautiful sport is was. As he destroyed everything around him, Windfoot felt the presence of the great evil he had sensed palpably increase.
The words, “Soon, now… I shall be free!” burst unwilled simultaneously from him lips, as well as from those of the Archivist.
The Archivist stood over the flailing tome, his arms now outstretched, whether in rapture or in pain, it was unclear. Flames erupted from the pages now, and the Archivist’s voice had transformed into something else as he spoke words of incantation in an unknown language. Four stony faced guards stood before him, not entering the fray, ready for any on comers. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 19, 2006, 4:00pm
((/bump I think It's Van's turn)) Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 20, 2006, 11:36am
Finally, a straight-up fight.
Here at last was something for Vangelis to do; for apart from the magical fire, the hellish chanting and Windfoot's transformation into a huge, bizarre bear-demon, this was finally a fight that he understood. A few Defenders, vastly outnumbered and surrounded by crack Scarlet troops, with the only goals being to stay alive and take out the archivist... that was far preferable to arcane rituals, sorcerous energies, and questions of possession.
Perhaps it was the sheer hopelessness of the odds; perhaps it was a lingering shame at being so badly demolished by Balnazzar's sudden assault in the Plaguelands; but the few remaining Defenders now fighting in the heart of Scarlet territory had found a skill and determination like nothing they had achieved before. Vangelis, doughty Gudran and the Windfoot-beast had formed a triangular perimeter of claws and steel around the women as they variously healed and rained a storm of arrows, fireballs and arcane bolts at the press of Crusaders. Fechak fought like a dervish, enemy after enemy falling to his blades; Vangelis' great blade was a blur of steel and blood; Windfoot's hideous claws raked through steel and bone, tossing Crusaders across the room.
It might have been a minute or an hour later when Vangelis yanked his greatsword from the body of his most recent foe and looked up to see the last few battered Crusaders retreating. They would undoubtedly be back, but for the moment the room was empty but for the Defenders, the archivist and his four retainers. Blood ran freely down the cracks between the paving-stones, boiling into vapour where it touched the howling flames surrounding the archivist.
So much death.
Vangelis sagged, suddenly aware of his fatigue, and looked at the drawn faces of his companions; the healers in particular looked almost grey. Only Windfoot seemed unaffected: if anything, he had... grown even larger.
"Milord Windfoot?" Vangelis spoke to the air beside Windfoot's snout, pointedly ignoring the remains of the Crusader hanging from Windfoot's jaws. "The archivist is... behind us, in the fire. Shall I call for ice when Merlinne and Celera are ready?"
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 21, 2006, 12:55am
The world was red. The bodies of the scarlet lay crumpled about him as Windfoot’s rage new no limit. Time stretched. There was no pain or fear or thought. He was lost in the pounding rhythm of his heart as it poured rage and power into his monstrous form. Diminutive enemies thronged about him, hacking at him with their futile weapons and pathetic spells; they were weak and fell before his swelling might. Behind him the fire began to pulse in rhythm with his heart. It fed his strength and filled his blood with fire.
From far away Windfoot heard shouting in an old familiar voice. Who was it? His thoughts were crowded; he could not think clearly. A booming voice rushed out to him, carried upon the crashing waves of his heart:
They must not touch the chalice!
The power of the Voice was immense. The chaotic essence was close now to manifesting itself. Its power was unfathomable. Windfoot felt the command more than he heard it and immediately moved to place himself in the way those who threatened the Archivist. With alarming speed he moved and turned upon his one-time friends. Windfoot’s eyes were black and cold, and a red fire burned in his mouth. A hideous beast, he stood, head down and swaying, ready to attack any comers.
Behind the beast that was once the High Lord, the Archivist’s voice had now escalated to a frantic screech of pain and anguish as his vestments began to melt away and his skin began to crackle and peel. The stench of cooking flesh filled the room. Though they stood stone-faced, the guards’ armour began to glow red in the heat of the furnace that was the pedestal.
For a moment, the Defenders faced Windfoot and hesitated, unsure. Then from behind them in the doorway, they heard the low sadistic laugh of Balnazzar. The deep demonic voice rippled out disconcertingly from the tall, plate-clad form of Dathrohan, the Grand Crusader who stood blocking the doorway. In his hands he casually held a now-familiar runed blade, a shadowy energy rippling over its surface.
“Such gifts you bring to be, Lord Windfoot. A ragged collection of delivery minions, to be sure, but they have served well enough. Oh yes… most exceedingly well. And,” he turned his blackened eyes to the exhausted remnants of the Defenders’ company, “your service is not yet done. For you shall each have the honour of becoming a first meal for Deathwing. After so long banished, I am sure that he will be hungry, and I would not be accused of being called a poor host…” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 23, 2006, 8:11pm
Whether from shock or exhaustion, or both, the Defenders said nothing. Trapped between the burning heat of the ritual and corrupted form of Windfoot on the one hand, and the sneering presence of the possessed Grand Crusader on the other, they simply closed ranks and prepared from whatever might come.
Balnazzar, however, was not about to let the moment pass by without letting them know how it was that he had twisted their noble efforts to serve his dark plans. With a courtly flourish, be mockingly bowed before them.
“Speaking of bad hosts, I have not introduced myself.” Balnazzar chuckled at the double-entendre. He put his hand to his chest. “This is Dathrohan, Grand Champion to the Scarlet Crusade. Greatest of their champions, and puppet to my will as it suits me. And that,” Balnazzar waved towards the writhing form of the Achivist, “was Archivist Galford. I did use his as well, on occasion, as a host.” Banlnazzar smiled again, evidently pleased with himself. “In fact, he now providing his greatest service. For he is to be the mortal host for our guest, the great black dragon Neltharion. Father of Onyxia and Nefarion, known by some as ‘Deathwing’ or ‘the Destroyer.’”
“You look blank, Defenders. So much ignorance!” Banlazzar shrugged nonchalently, pretending to be unimpressed. “Ages ago, during the War of the Ancients, the dragon Neltharion was driven mad and began to plot against his bretheren. In a bid for power, Neltharion created an artifact called the demon soul. Each dragon aspect offered over a portion of their power to the demon soul and were promised that it would be used to the destroy the Burning Legion. Neltharion, however, betrayed his allies and used the power of the demon soul against them.”
Balnazzar stopped for dramatic effect, and saw Vangelis’ eyes flick to the Archivist as the pages continued to fly. The Archivist had stopped screaming now and hung limply in space, his body rippling with power. The guards continued to stand inhumanly stone-faced at either side, evidently willing to die before acting against orders. It was not clear if they heard or understood Balnazzar's soliloque. Vangelis’s hands shifted on the pommel of this sword and Balnazzar turned and addressed the Lord of Ensign.
“Lord Vangelis, don’t bother yourself with thoughts of saving him. The heat would melt you out of that armor before you reached him. And even if you could, the ritual cannot be stopped. The fleshy shell of Galford has already been stripped of life to feed Deathwing, and his soul belongs to me. Just as I have a soul bond with your D’ana’no, it cannot be broken by force so long as I live. Besides, you are not particularly good at saving anything, are you? Particularly not wives and children.”
Balnazzar rubbed his lips. “But where was I? Ah yes, your history lesson. Neltharion ultimately lost control of the demon soul and it was destroyed, returning the power trapped within it to its former owners. Then Deathwing was confronted by those he had betrayed and banished from the world of mortals. Most presumed he was dead. But it is not so easy to kill a dragon, and certainly not one as powerful as Neltharion.
“As he could not be destroyed, a great incantation was used to trap him away from his physical essence for all time. To ensure that he could not ever return, the power of the banishment was infused into two arifacts: a pedestal and a tome. Within the tome, written in the language of the ancients, were the words of the incantation. But alone, the book was a mere trifle. Then the tome and the pedestal were separated and placed in hiding. Millenia passed, and the spell was forgotten.” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 24, 2006, 11:35am
In the stories Celera used to hear as a child, the villain often explained his evil plans before finishing off the captured heroes. Perhaps villains are just naturally vain. But this gave the heroes the opportunity they needed to save the day.
This wasn't a children's story, and saving the day wasn't looking very likely, but Balnazzar's long speech did give everyone a few moments to catch their breath, and it gave Celera a few moments to think. She didn't pay much attention to what was being said. If they lived, someone would remember the story, and if they didn't it wouldn't matter anyway.
She looked for a moment at D'ana'no, and this was the one thing that briefly shook her resolve. The noble bear that had led them through many a battle was changed so -- corrupted and made hideous. His own mind and spirit were still present, and she felt his grief at all he had lost and all he stood to lose. The pain of it, like a burning weight inside her, was almost overwhelming. But a strange thing happened then. Next to the cruel mockery of a bear she saw another bear. Greater, wiser, older than D'ana'no. An ancient spirit, with eyes as deep as the earth itself. A voice she had only heard once, a very long time ago, spoke to her mind again, simply saying, "Now is the time for the strength of body and spirit. He is not invulnerable and the Defenders are not here alone."
Suddenly, anxiety and weariness left her heart, if not her body. She turned back toward the great demon, and heard her own voice saying, with an odd calm, "It may well be beyond our power to destroy Neltharion. But we have already seen that it is within our power to destroy you. And I believe one body will be as tasty as another for a hungry dragon." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 24, 2006, 12:16pm
"I may be a simple man, unworthy of lordship. I may be a... poor defender of wives and children. But do not take me for a fool, demon. You can give me all the history lessons you like, but I know how your kind can twist the truth to make it appear as if all hope is lost. We're not going to fall for it.
"If Sara and Kala taught me anything, in life or in death, it was to make the best of a bad thing. I remember thinking I heard Sara's voice in my head - as I sat in shock beside the body of my daughter - and you know what she said? She said, 'Van, you old lump, crying's not going to bring anybody back, so get up off your arse and make yourself useful.' She was always the strong one, my Sara.
"So if there's nothing we can do about the ritual and all, we'd best accept it; but meanwhile don't expect us to sit on our arses and cry about it. There are worse ways to die than down a dragon's gullet. If we get to tan your demon hide back to whatever hell you came from while we wait, I'd count it a fair trade." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 24, 2006, 7:05pm
Dathrohan laughed mockingly. “Such gallantry! Such honor! And such ignorance. You cannot kill me. I am beyond death. For in secret I found the Destroyer trapped in his prison!”
Dismissing Vangelis, Dathrohan turned upon Celera. “Didn’t your father teach you not to speak in ignorance? This is why you were never good enough to be assassin or druidess. Failure has been the mark of your life and so it shall be that of your death.
“When my spirit fled from the Banshee queen I came here and found harbour in the blind hatred and weak spirits of the Scarlet Crusade. Here it was, inhibiting the pathetic vessel of the Archivist Galford in order to work my corruption upon the Grand Crusader and to bend the Scarlet Crusade to my will, that I heard the whispered voice of the banished lord of chaos. The dais was here and Deathwing tested his spirit prison seeking release. It was I that traveled to him in spirit. I learned of the prison and the artifacts of power that bound him. I listened to his mad vows to cleanse Azeroth of all life except for his own black dragonflight. I felt his lust for release and his willingness to treat. And in exchange for the promise of unlocking his prison, he granted me power beyond your imagining.
“You pathetic fool. You have not understood your enemy, and have instead done his will. Though I knew of the existence of Alexstrasza’s tome I did not know where it lay hidden, for it was squirreled away and lost from memory. Then your pathetic druid came to me. At first he was a mere dalliance. He had pestered one of my minions before, and I am not one to forget a slight. Besides, your… guild…has been something of an annoyance. Working upon the corruption and wickedness within him, I bent his spirit to break his will.”
The Grand Crusader was talking furiously, but delivered the next with mock rapture. “And then, by mere happenstance, he found the key!”
“At first, I could not believe it! Through the eyes of that broken fool of a Kaldorei I read the hidden inscriptions and confirmed the truth that Alexstrasza’s tome had somehow come to be hidden away within a nondescript book in the library of an infinitely forgettable company of heroes. Deathwing fairly salivated with anticipation at my report, and redoubled his gift of power to me in the hopes of achieving his most-coveted release.
"Once I had confirmed that the tome was in fact the long lost key to Deathwing's imprisonment, and that it contained the secret incantations for his release, I needed only to crush the last remnants of strength in the Windfoot to make him bring it to me. But he continued to be...troubling. He managed to conscript you lot to bolster him, sent the magess sneaking about in his mind to spy on me, and somehow weasled out of my grasp. Frankly, I was shocked. Though I knew he had no died, it was as if he had ceased to exist. I still do not know how he managed to hide his spirit from me for a time. But no matter.
"Knowing the location of the tome of Alexstrasza and not having a host to do my will was, to say the least, frustrating. I could not go myself, as my current hosts were known and hated throughout much of the world. I could not guarantee that marshalling the Scarlet and descending upon your home in Elwynn forest in force would be successful. And of course, any overt action might reveal my secret knowledge to others who might wish to contest me for it. Like Deathwing in his prison, all I could do was relentless seek for the cowardly spirit of the weakling elf so that I might reassert my mastery over him.
"And then, like a gift on a silver platter, you brought it to me! As I frantically sought for the spirit of the elf Windfoot to reassert my soul bond upon him, I suddenly felt his presence, here upon my very doorstep! And with him, though cunningly hidden upon the dwarf, the tome! Idiots and deluded dreamers! Thinking yourselves mighty defenders of valor and goodness, all that you have done, and all of your ignorant brashness has only served me and my will!"
Dathrohan lifted his blackened blade and its dark power throbbed in his hands, sending a wave of fear and doubt through the huddled company. “Now, as Deathwing at last becomes manifest, his power increases. And with it, the Destroyer’s power courses through me, granting me the ability to bend the very cosmos to my will!” Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Mar 25, 2006, 2:03pm
"Your memory and your wisdom both serve you ill, Demon." Sorcha said.
"Windfoot has defeated your intentions many times, and I myself have met you in the Dream and reclaimed the spirit of one you thought you held." She closed her eyes and when she opened them, the light of Elune shone from them.
"I do not know whether the one you summon would permit you to live long past his summoning, but like Celera, I doubt it. I do know that you cannot be permitted to finish what you have begun. You have underestimated the Defenders before, and this will be the last time you do that. I may die here today, but so will you. And that is enough for me."
She looked at the High Lord, at his misshapen form, that he seemed to believe was inevitable and permanent. Perhaps, but perhaps not. In any case, it was a place to start. Whether what she did could change his physical shape, she did not know. That it could cleanse the corruption from that shape, she was very sure of.
"You twist and turn things, and attack us in our very spirits. You will not prevail in the end. And you will not twist and turn this elf into something so corrupt."
Feeling herself full once more of Elune's light, she simply released whatever was holding it inside her, and allowed it to pour down the channel between her own spirit and that of D'ana'no. On the tidal wave of light that passed through her, she could feel Elune Herself riding, as if She went to meet the shining spirit of the High Lord of the Defenders. To her surprise, the movement of light was not invisible, as it always had been when she was outside the Dream. She could see it streaming from her body into the twisted, misshapen Bear that stood beside her.
And at the back of her mind, the voice of the Earth Mother whispered to her, "Face yourself, child. You were born to cherish Balance by bringing light where darkness threatens to prevail." Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Mar 26, 2006, 4:04pm
Fechak had watched from the shadows the entire ordeal. Much of what was said mattered little to him, the machinations of this monster left him two choices: kill it or die. He droned on, laughing again, as Fechak looked at his immediate surroundings for any advantage.
Vangelis, looking more tired than Fechak had ever seen him, interrupted the demon in the middle of his lecture. "Enough!" His strength came from deep within reserves he hadn't tapped in years, raising his great blade to point at Balnazzar. "You will not stop us!"
The demon laughed at Vangelis, here Fechak saw his opportunity. "Fool! I beg you to stand before me in battle, I would grow accustomed to the look of pain on your face would it not be so short lived." Inhaling deeply, the demon released his power shaking the foundations of the cathedral, his voice boomed out through the marble. "Deathwing shall come and he will be my slave! His coming will mark-"
With a sickening thud, Fechak's sword found purchase, flung from dozens of paces, deep within the belly of the demon's host. All time stopped for a heartbeat. None of the Defenders knew to act or not. Fechak's eyes were wide as Orc coins, mostly in surprise that the beast could be hurt. He waited now for whatever retribution befell from his enemy.
Slowly, Balnazzar pulled the sword from hilt to tip out of his host's stomach. The blood gushed out of the wound and his mouth, pooling at the man's feet. Staggering for a moment, he fell to the ground.
The fire behind the Defenders grew more intense as the man was slain. Fechak rushed forward to retrieve his sword when the scarlet guards standing next to the deformed D'ana'no screamed out in pain behind them - the flickering heat finally melting into their armor. Sorcha had been channeling a pure light into D'ana'no, but something was wrong, her face was contorted in pain.
Everyone's breath was held in their throats, unsure of the next move. The heat made it impossible to stay, unconsciously, the Defenders began to fall back. They stepped carefully around the body of Dathrohan and away from their Lord. Vangelis was attempting to pull Sorcha away, Fechak could see him, but not hear, what he was yelling over the roar of the flames.
"Lord Vangelis?" Fechak practically screamed, his voice raw from the fighting. "What are ya doin'? Get out o' there!" Now Fechak ran back toward the flames to Vangelis and Sorcha to try and pull them away. Already the flames were beginning to overtake D'ana'no, but the great deformed bear made no move.
"Vangelis! We must go!" The heat was impossible, he felt as if his lungs would explode with another breath. Vangelis looked down at the dwarf and was about to dismiss him back away from the flames, but could speak no words. Fechak watched the farmer's face turn from determination, to shock. Following the gaze of his eyes, Fechak looked back to the body.
Dathrohan was twitching on the floor, his skin contorting outward as if something was trapped inside.
"By the gods..." Vangelis put himself in front of Fechak and Sorcha as a great wing ripped out of the body's back. No less than twenty feet in size, it opened up into the walls, knocking down the remaining tapestries that would soon be aflame. "Defenders! Attack now!" Vangelis did not wait for anyone else to react, now would be the time to slay the demon once and for all.
For Fechak, everything stopped. All time stood still. The strange echo of the battle continued on around him when his wife showed herself to him once again.
"Fechy..." She walked up to him and began to play with his beard, tugging on it gently. "Why aren't you following your friends?" She kissed him tenderly on his sweat and grim crusted cheeks. "You don't want to upset me now, do you?"
It felt like a lifetime turning his head away from her, to look behind him at D'ana'no. The flames were all around him now, but never touching. There, in his eyes Fechak could see it. Through the fire reflected within, the dwarf could see a great red maw wide open with laughter. There he could see Deylum, looking at him with a smile. That horrible smile that could make him do anything.
The heat began to return to him as he turned away from Deylum and walked toward D'ana'no.
"Fechy? What are you doing?" Her voice turned quickly to anger. "Fechy! Stop this instant! NO!"
He knew now what he was here to do. The fire in his Lord's eyes disappeared as the warm blood of the elf fell upon Fechak's hands. Pushing the dagger further in, Fechak let out D'ana'no's life, like he had done thousands of times.
Sorcha flew back as her connection was severed and the flames grew more intense, nearly overtaking Fechak before he could stumble away with parts of his beard aflame.
"NO! You will all feel my wrath!" Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Polrena on Mar 26, 2006, 8:37pm
Polrena's prayers failed her. She could not believe what she was seeing; couldn't begin to understand it. Madness!
The actions of the Defenders made no sense to her, but then, she rarely understood the battles others fought while she healed. Her world narrowed to the life-force of her friends, every time. Once in a while she tried to comprehend the complexities and orders barked by those in command, but they rarely had anything to do with her, and only confused her.
This, however, she knew was not normal battle confusion. Yet it did not occur to her that it could be treachery, either, not from Fechak! Something else had to be happening, something she was not close enough to understand. She fought back tears as she watched the High Lord fall under her friend's blade.
Instead of protecting the High Lord - if evenshe could have helped, by this point - she threw her shield around Fechak. Perhaps the others did not understand his actions any more than she did, but she trusted the dwarf. The shield was to protect him from interference, demonic or otherwise.
She wept, even as her gaze moved to pray for the next Defender. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Mar 26, 2006, 9:28pm
Light faded; sound faded; the great pulsing rhythm drowned out all else. Windfoot felt cast adrift from himself, no longer rational or capable of control. It was as if he stood within the very breath of the Destroyer as a great fiery pulse surrounded and consumed his essence. He felt, more than saw, the great beast devouring the secret inscriptions on the tome and willing itself from its mystical prison. Such was the power of the corrupted dragon that he could not see anything but fire; he could not feel anything but rage and a lust to destroy all other life. Then, into his world of fire and hatred, came pain. A sharp jolt of white-hot light erupted into the darkness of the fire and burned him. A song erupted into his mind, pure and beautiful, and intolerable. He writhed within it’s force, and screamed.
Sorcha’s power transfixed the great red beast that had been the High Lord. Where the light hit, scales ripped off of its body, exposing a soft bloody mass beneath on its face and neck.
A terrible pain ripped through Windfoot, and with it came sound and sight. For an instant, Windfoot saw the terrible shape of the great dragon, twenty times the size of an elf, it’s great black wings furled against it and its eyes flashing fire and rage. It’s eyes turned to him and an incalculable hatred shone down upon him. But also in that gaze, a rage that someone or something might dare to threaten its escape. A horrible will pressed down against Windfoot's soul, commanding him.
Destroy her.
“No!” Windfoot cried out, in desperation. The pain lashed at his body like a whip, but there was power there too, terrible in its beauty, and he clung onto it, though it burned him.
For a moment, Deathwing the Destroyer stopped. A deep intelligence rippled across the surface of its eyes as it blinked at this insignificant druid’s force of will. Then, pressing the full force of its will upon the Kaldorei’s spirit, it dominated Windfoot utterly.
Destroy her. Your body is to belong to me!
Windfoot watched in horror, powerless to stop his body. The beast that was his body roared up, then landed on all fours with force that it cracked the marble floor. Then, fixing upon Sorcha’Rei, the monstrosity surged forth to destroy that which hurt it, its long nails sinking into the marble surface of the floor as if it were dirt. Deathwing breathed into the Archivist’s chambers and the inferno emanating out from the pedestal and tome trebled in force, consuming the guards. A black nether essence rippled though the stream of light coursing from Sorcha's form, causing her face to contort in pain.
“Elune, aid me!” Sorcha cried, redoubling the force of her cleansing light. As the red beast reached the tiny druidess, Polrena slammed a holy shield in place, unsure that it would even slow the power of the attack that was coming. A deep rumbling like thunder erupted from the belly of the demonic bear and a smell of brimstone wafted out of its nostrils, then it opened its great maw to breathe fire down upon the shattered remnants of the company. Then, at the last moment, Fechak appeared beneath the transformed beast, his eyes cold and hard; the practiced look at a perfect killer. His vorpal blade sliced faster than thought, deep into the exposed neck of the beast. Blood spewed out, and with it the burning flames of fire in the monstrosity's eyes. The beast stumbled a moment. Fechak thrust the dagger further in, then stepped aside. With a pathetic gurgle and quiet sigh, the grotesque mockery of a bear slumped to the ground and lay still in a swelling pool of blood.
Sorcha flew back as her connection was severed and the flames grew more intense, nearly overtaking Fechak before he could stumble away with parts of his beard aflame. Only the speed of Polrena’s protection saved him.
"No! What have you done?!”
Out of the slaughtered flesh of the Grand Crusader the form of the demon Balnazzar swelled and bloated forth hideously. He rose up before them, but there was a look of shock and horror in its eyes.
“You fools! The Destroyer is coming and you have taken away the only means of controlling him! Deathwing shall come, and when he comes he shall take a mortal host. I had convinced him that the elf was the perfect host! And, unbeknownst to Neltharion, I established a soul bond upon your D’ana’no. With that soul bond I would have ruled Deathwing the Destroyer! Now, if any of you live when the imprisonment is broken, you shall unleash an unbridled force upon this world that might well consume it utterly!"
With that, as fires erupted from the pedestal behind them showing the towering rage of Deathwing in his otherworldly prison, Balnazzar unleashed the full force of his power against them.
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Post by Nedward Underhill on Oct 29, 2008 23:26:51 GMT -6
Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Gudran on Mar 27, 2006, 2:03am
The whole battle had mostly been a blur. But what Gudran was seeing now was perfectly clear. As Fechak pulled the blade out of the throat of Windfoot's distorted bear form, he could only stand there, frozen. The form of the bear slumped to the floor and blood formed a pool around Fechak.
"This kinnae be happenin'..."
As Fechak fell to the ground, the flames pouring forth from the pedestal erupted into an even hotter inferno. Polrena had thrown a shield up in time on Fechak, but he was not moving. The twisting form of Balnazzar appeared with a look of horror on his face.
You fools...!
But that was all Gudran actually heard of the foul demon. All he could tell was that the beast was clearly frustrated, and the increasing heat from across the room only imitated his anger and frustration. Gudran still did not understand it all, but knew he must do something. He turned to Polrena and yelled above the flames.
"Lass, kin ya shield me?"
Without waiting for an answer, hedropped his shield and mace and sprinted as fast as his stout legs could carry him to the slumping Fechak. He felt the warmth and glow of Miss Polrena's shield and smiled, glad she actually heard him. Reaching Fechak, Gudran raised his voice over Balnazzar and the flames.
"Fech, come on! We mus' git outa 'ere!"
No answer. Only a cold stare emanated from Fechak's eyes.
"Well, if yas won' come wit' me, I'll take yas meself!"
Gudran started to pick his friend up when the flames suddenly grew in strength. He had Fechak in one arm and attempted to go for the form of Windfoot when a tremendous wave of heat blasted both Gudran and Fechak back, forcing him to grab onto Fechak and flee back to the other defenders. Although the fames never touched Danano, Gudran still cried out in anguish over his failure to retrieve his friend. Gasping for air and slamming his armor clad fist onto the tone floor, he could only look back to see Windfoot's form lying in front of the terrified Balnazzar... Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Celera on Mar 27, 2006, 11:53am
After that first time, she had never looked away.
Her mother retreated from painful realities, hiding in some corner of her mind, and as a result she was not only useless, but still unhappy. Celera went with her father, saw who he was, and what he did, helped when she had to, and took in all of it. Many times they sat with people of all races, drinking and laughing the night away in a pub or around a campfire. Nice people, some of them friends, some even allies in previous plots. She would go to them the next day, saying that her father needed to see them to exchange some leather goods, or just to say good-bye. They would come with her, trusting a child, and she would watch as poison or sharp blades, or both, took their lives in seconds. It was painful, it made her feel guilty and sad, but it was reality.
And she never looked away.
____________________________________________
In the heat of battle, things often get confusing, and she had learned long ago to watch Fechak at such moments. Whatever he was aimed at, she targeted as well. In a fight as strange as this, with fires that did not consume things, and enemies that changed form and voice, it was quicker to follow the experienced rogue than to sort things out herself.
She saw Dathrohan fall, and the dwarf behind him. She watched, bow at the ready, as he seemed to hesitate. He never hesitated. Something was wrong, but she continued to follow him as he turned and, out of habit and training she fixed her aim on his new target.
Hideous, distorted and changed as he was, physically and otherwise, D’ana’no was not gone, and she could not release the arrow. She saw the vicious blade find its opening and sink in, saw the blood cover Fechak’s hand and clothes. He was still for a moment, finishing his work, plenty of time for her to shift her aim to his temple – even a dwarf’s thick skull was vulnerable at just the right spot. There were tears in her eyes, but that didn’t stop her. She wasn’t sure what stopped her, but something did.
The arrow fell from her fingers as she looked at the two of them. The bear’s life rushing out onto the floor, the dwarf stumbling away in pain beyond that of the flames on his beard and clothes. She bent, thinking to pick up her arrow, but instead found herself on the floor, covering her eyes with her hands. Finally, she had seen more than she could bear. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Vangelis on Mar 31, 2006, 1:37am
It had all happened too quickly. Windfoot's paralysis; Fechak's sudden strike; the reactions of the other Defenders. Vangelis quite simply didn't know what to think, except that Fechak must have been acting under special orders from Windfoot himself, if worst should come to worst. Apparently, it had.
A veteran of countless battles, the old soldier instinctively shelved his grief, diverting it for the moment into hot, clear rage. There would be time to mourn his lord and friend later - if he survived. In the meantime Balnazzar stood before them, raving something about his master plan gone awry and conjuring up some sort of demonic assault upon them.
Vangelis barely heard what the demon said. The mission stood before him, and Vangelis' blood was pounding in his ears, screaming for vengeance. There really was nothing else he could do.
With an inchoate roar of fury, Vangelis launched himself at the demon. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Apr 2, 2006, 5:26pm
With a clang of steel and flash of black fire, Balnazzar met Vangelis’ charge. His great two handed sword thundered down upon the warrior with such force that the warrior staggered back a moment, but the Lord of Ensign was unbridled in his fury and launched himself again against the towering demon meeting Balnazzar’s power with grit and steel.
As if a spell had been broken, suddenly the rest of the Defenders launched into the attack, led by Vangelis’ charge. A stone-faced Gudran waded in beside Balnazzar, then Hugnir joined them, calling down holy protections and seals of might to bolster their force. Polrena and Rheyna took up lines behind the warriors, lending healing wherever Balnazzar’s attacks broke through the fighter’s block and parry. Balnazzar raged and cursed, but slowly they drove him back.
But Balnazzar was no fool. He knew that with the healers alive he would be hard pressed to defeat these heroes. But might was never the main weapon of this enemy. Fear and corruption were what made him terrible. As the Defenders drove him back, he drew from each of them their worst fears and nightmares, then with a spirit howl he cast out a great wave of fear into the minds of his enemies. This was his greatest weapon. An attack that would not be blocked or parried; that no amount of spellcraft of swordplay could stop. Into the mind of each hero crept that darkness that had been manifest in the camp. Like an inky nether essence it crawled within their minds and souls, breaking their will.
With a broken cry, both Gudran and Vangelis dropped their blades, turned, and fled from the room. Hugnir’s face fell, as if a vision of something too terrible for words consumed his mind, and he simply stood before the great form of the demon, helplessly lost in his own mind. Polrena fell to her knees and wept uncontrollably. Only Rheyna, drawing deep from inner resources of faith and constitution, stood resolute against the onslaught of that terrible power. Balnazzar turned to her and smiled. Then with two great strides he was upon her.
Rheyna stood tall before her fate. Casting a holy shield upon herself, she levelled her staff with a steely eye. “Demon dog!” she spat. “For all of your treachery, you will not win this day.”
The runes upon Balnazzar’s horrible black blade flashed as it descended upon the lone priestess. There was a blinding flash as her staff broke in two; then she lay still.
For a moment Balnazzar savoured his kill, with a condescending, “Where is your holy power now priest?” Then he turned on the Lady Polrena. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Fechak on Apr 5, 2006, 9:54pm
Each was living their own nightmare, Fechak was no different. He could see all of the things he had done with his hands at once, flying through his vision like the wind on gryphon-back. Always his face was the same, reflected in the eyes of his target. Cold. Murderous.
The feeling left him almost as quickly as it had begun. The Defenders had scattered throughout the cathedral as Balnazzar was hunting the healers. He could see Polrena around the corner just coming out of her own torment only to see another bearing down upon her. Those that were left were now charging back into the fray to protect those that kept them alive in battles such as this. Fechak watched Vangelis limp back into battle, the old man couldn't take much more as only the prayers of the healers kept him upright.
The dwarf held for a moment outside the fight, always looking for just the right moment to strike at the weakest point. Although the demon was of another world, it's corporeal form was still made up of muscle and tendon, and behind its knees the armor was bare allowing for the perfect place to land his blade.
Arrows and the arcane flew through the air at Balnazzar, each finding purchase. No longer would the demon merely shake them off as a nuisance, but instead feeling a great deal of pain. With Vangelis stricking the beast in as many places as he could reach, Balnazzar reached for him first.
Now.
Fechak sprinted now into the melee with both of his swords drawn, and running past the demon's legs he slammed the edges of both swords down into the backside of its right knee. Surely as he had thought, the tendon ripped, bringing with it the muscle with a snap and splurt of blood. Balnazzar was terribly strong, but this injury caught him off guard. Fechak was still sprinting around the room slicing into the great legs anywhere he could.
Falling back with a blood curdling scream, Balnazzar moved toward the flames away from these endless arrows and fireballs. Still the Defenders came at him with a vengence he could not understand.
No one was prepared for what happened next.
A great force seemed to suck all of the flames out of the grand hall, nearly knocking over the Defenders as they pursued their foe. Over the dias, just above D'ana'no's deformed body, a strange light took shape with the sound of an army of thunderclaps.
"NO!" Balnazzar screamed out, his once mighty voice reduced to a shrill choke after so many a grievous injury. The sound had stunned all those present, the rumble grew now in strength and the very walls of marble begane to shake and crack. The blackened paintings and statues all fell from their places. Everyone was practically on their knees, all they could do to attempt standing up.
When Vangelis had to leap out of the way of a falling piece of the ceiling, Fechak knew things were about to get worse: something he wasn't sure was possible, but there it was.
"Flee!" Fechak screamed out over the din, none could hear him, but all knew his intent.
Just as he was turning to run out of the cathedral, Vangelis grabbed ahold of his collar and screamed in his face. Fechak couldn't hear him, still the thunder rolled through his bones, but he was pointing at D'ana'no's body so Fechak guessed what he was saying.
The dwarf merely shook his head quickly in reply. When a new crack formed above them, even Balnazzar looked up in fear all now realizing the very building would soon be in ruins. Now the demon turned to limp away as quickly as his great legs would allow, and escape soon it would were it not for the great dwarf standing in its way. Hugnir brought his weapon down upon the demon with a prayer to the gods and smote upon it such a strike that Balnazzar was stunned backwards.
Fechak saw it first, the center of the buttresses bursting into an oblivion of dust under the stress as a thousand cracks leapt up inot the ceiling. After centuries the great room that once housed Dathrohan came down upon itself. Balnazzar, Hugnir, D'ana'no and who knows who else were instantly buried. The shock of the event and the dust left the survivors completely shaken.
There were mere moments to act, for the cracks in the marble had spread and were not stopping. The entire cathedral was coming down, and there was no time to escape.
"Merlinne!?!" He could see nothing through the dust and smoke, more pieces of the walls and ceiling were coming down around him. "Merlinne we must-" Fechak had no time to react when a large piece of marble struck him in the back, flinging him forward several paces. He lay now on the ruined floor unconscious. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by merlinne on Apr 12, 2006, 2:42pm
Merlinne shut down her emotions long ago. There was too much at stake to be fettered by fear or grief. Her power swelled as it flowed through her. She could feel it beginning to burn out her physical form. Her objective mind told her though, this sacrifice, any sacrifice paled before the need to stop this monster from being unleashed on the world.
Suddenly she saw him stumble; heard the rumbling of the building around them. The marble began crashing around her and the other Defenders. Her mind automatically reached for the spell that would be their escape. She began speaking the words that would open a portal to Stormwind. Before it was complete she saw the demon turn and try to flee, saw the ceiling crash down upon him, D'ana'no and Hugnir. She felt her heart clench in her chest, trying to free her pain from the wall she had locked around it.
She could not hear what Fechak said as he turned toward her. A piece of marble soon cut off his words. With the last of her breath the portal formed before her. She staggered to where Fechak had fallen and began dragging him to the portal. She hoped the other Defenders had enough sense left in them to see it and use it. There was no time left.
Someone took Fechak from her grasp. She didn't know who. Her mind had turned her back toward the pile of rubble where she had seen D'ana'no and Hugnir buried. The wall around her emotions began to crumble as her heart cried out in anguish for the elf she'd called friend for so long and the dwarf her heart could not leave behind.
She watched the dust begin to settle as the rest of the room began to fall apart around her, hoping to see some miracle. Hoping against hope that they would emerge. She'd always made a practice of waiting to be last out through a portal, in case someone was delayed and another needed summoned. She continued to wait, to watch, as she felt others using the one she had already summoned.
Suddenly heavy hands grasped her from behind, dragging her away from the collapsing room. She cried out in rage and anguish as she was thrust through her own creation. When she fell to the carpeted floor in the mage tower in Stormwind, she felt tears burning her face and simply lay there, at last letting her emotions free as broken sobs of loss. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by Sorcha'Rei on Apr 12, 2006, 6:57pm
Sorcha stood at the edge of Merlinne's portal with her heart thundering in her ears. So many had fallen. She would have to trust the priests and paladins to the Light. She looked hard at one of D'ana'no's paws, still visible under the rubble falling on his body. Time stopped, her heartbeats stopped, all was silent.
She looked at that paw, and remembered the shining spirit of the druid who had once inhabited that corrupted body. Praying to Elune that she was doing the right thing, she pulled a seed from her pocket and sang a quick song over it, then threw it in the direction of the dead bear. Elune, do with my song and seed what is right and best.
Time started again, and she saw a shaft of moonlight suddenly among the rubble. Without stopping to see the results of her actions, trusting in Elune to make it right if it could be made right, she stepped past Merlinne through the portal and collapsed to the floor, weeping for their losses, and for the evil in the world that sought to unBalance everything. Re: Into the Dark; A Love Story - Ch 7: The Crusad Post by windfoot on Apr 14, 2006, 3:40pm
Windfoot opened his eyes. The vision of Deathwing in his prison lair was gone. Windfoot was back in his monstrous, deformed and broken body. But where the beating rush of blood had been all consuming, now there came a quiet peace and understanding. An inferno of fire raged about him but did not burn him. The beating pulse of Windfoot’s heartbeat slowed as his lifeblood poured out to hiss upon the marble floor of the Archivist’s chamber. His strength flowed out upon the floor and the beating of his heart quieted. Windfoot knew that he was dying and was content. He would not destroy the Defenders.
The battle with Balnazzar raged on nearby but Windfoot could only watch as Balnazzar lashed out against the heroes. Any attempt to move simply poured more blood out from the deep wound in his neck. With a quiet impassivity, he looked out from behind blackened eyes upon the great demon and saw his rage and power. The battle raged on. Balnazzar shrugged off the attacks of the Defenders and unleashed his destructive power upon them, but the Defenders held fast.
The fire raged about Windfoot; it was the breath of Deathwing as the bonds that held him broke and unravelled. Windfoot felt the dragon’s rage and excitement, felt his fixation upon release. Deathwing furiously read the pages of the tome to complete the incantation and to finally escape from the prison lair where he had remained trapped for eons. The last pages of the tome flipped upon the dais and Windfoot felt the spell breaking. With a quiet clarity, Windfoot understood that Deathwing would come to Azeroth this very hour, and that his rage and destructive power would have no bound.
As he lay still within the hissing pool of his own blood, Windfoot saw Balnazzar’s plan with the clarity of otherworldly knowledge granted to druids of the Dream. Deathwing would find a host in Windfoot’s body, to grow and transform it into his own dragon shape and power eventually. Windfoot felt the coming force of the dragon’s ancient spirit and knew that the transformation had already begun. It had begun ages ago, though he had not understood it. With horn and scale, his own shape was half dragon already.
When Balnazzar unleashed his darkest power and cast out a wave of fear, Windfoot was unaffected. He could not raise a hand to defend Rheyna when she fell. He felt a distant sadness, but the rage in his blood had slipped away and he was quiet. Rheyna’s nobility and unbreakable resolve in the face of impossible odds was universal to the Defenders. The Defenders conquered their fears and rallied. Windfoot watched as the first breaking of terror in Balnazzar’s eyes as the dawning realization sank upon him that these ragged Defenders would hold fast against him and would ultimately defeat him.
The last page of the incantation was completed. The last of the runic symbols within the black tome of Alexstrasza blazed forth and the tome closed with a crack like thunder, then disintegrated upon the dais. The ancient spell was broken! A great force seemed to suck all of the flames out of the grand hall, nearly knocking over the Defenders. The spirit of Deathwing raced forth from its prison to possess Windfoot’s shell.
He does not know I am dying, Windfoot suddenly realized. Of course! Neltharion had been so fixated upon his release, he had not been aware of what had happened to his intended host. A weak grin spread across Windfoot’s lips, revealing his dragon-like teeth. The path of his destiny now at last revealed.
As if a final curtain had been lift from his eyes, Windfoot looked up and saw a ghostly figure standing over him. Another bear; greater, wiser, and older than him. An ancient spirit, with eyes as deep as the earth itself. The Great Bear Spirit looked down upon him with eyes that showed pride and compassion. And behind the ghostly visage, another greater shape rippled, like a great tree of pure white-green light. In the shadow of this indistinct shape, Windfoot felt the presence of an even-greater essence than that of the Great Bear Spirit, equal to or greater even than Neltharion. A great dreaming power, bound to the Emerald Dream in an eternal trance to forever watch over the wilds and the druids in the Emerald Dream. A great peace fell upon him and with the certainty of the Dream Windfoot knew that he was in the presence of Ysera the Dreamer, one of the five Dragon Aspects that watch over the world of Azeroth. Time seemed to stand still. In shocked awe, Windfoot struggled to rise to show respect but the Great Bear Spirit motioned for him to be still. It’s deep voice echoed in his mind, resonating with the echo of that other presence,
“D’ana’no, well done.”
Windfoot stumbled an answer in his mind, “Why…have you come?” he whispered at last.
“We have come ensure that Neltharion does not enter this world. Your companions have allowed our arrival and the need is dire. Are you ready?”
Windfoot could only answer “Yes.”
“Your body is broken, but as you have guessed Neltharion does not know that. He thinks to enter this world through your mortal host and to reassert his destruction upon Azeroth. However, after he first possesses your body he will be weak. After he enters your body, that is when we shall strike to destroy him.”
“And the Defenders?”
“We shall do what we can to ensure their safety.”
For a moment, Windfoot was speechless before the awesome power above him. Then he apologized, “I am sorry for bringing this trouble before you.”
The quiet voice of Ysera spoke then, like a wave of quiet waters, “It was fated to be ever since the prison spell began to weaken and Neltharion first whispered to Balnazzar. Be at peace.”
“But we brought the book.”
“And so too was it destroyed. He will go to a greater prison with your death.”
Windfoot lay quiet.
A great force seemed to suck all of the flames out of the grand hall as Neltharion’s spirit arrived. The Great Bear Spirit stood protective over Windfoot’s fallen body, distracting Neltharion upon his arrival with pretence of challenge.
“You shall not have this one!” he growled.
Taking the bait, the spirit of the great dragon narrowed his eyes, then rose up and struck the bear aside with a backhand swipe. The spirit of the Great Bear was cast back by the overwhelming power of the dragon spirit. With a grin of triumph, the spirit of the dragon rushed into the fallen form of the transformed hideous mockery of a bear. Windfoot felt his connection to his body tear and break as Deathwing severed him from his body with no more than the merest shrug of his power. Deathwing’s eyes snapped open, and Windfoot saw the terrible realization in his eyes. The trap was sprung. There was no escape. No return to the prison was possible, and the blood of Windfoot’s body was nearly spent. Deathwing could not even move.
Over the dias, just above D'ana'no's deformed body, a strange light took shape as Ysera rose up to her full height and shattered the building above them. The very walls of marble began to shake and crack. The blackened paintings and statues all fell from their places. The buttresses burst under the stress of her force and power as a thousand cracks leapt up into the ceiling. After centuries, the great room that once housed Dathrohan came down upon itself. The massive bulk of the marble cathedral collapsed upon Balnazzar as he tried to flee. Merlinne opened a portal and the Defenders were forced or dragged into it. The Great Bear Spirit moved with the speed of thought to invisibly take the fallen or reluctant to safety.
With a darkening eyes, Neltharion looked helplessly up to see a fifty ton pillar of stone hurtle towards his prostrate form, crushing him utterly. Darkness and death took him. Windfoot’s spirit watched as Neltharion’s momentary hold upon the world of Azeroth was broken forever and he faded away to exist no more. For a long time the cathedral continued to collapse into itself before the dust finally settled and a dark quiet silence descended upon the final resting place of the body of D’ana’no Keldamyr.
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