Stepping through the Shepherd's Gate for the first time in seven years, Eireannan was surprised by the decadent opulence of the city.
Oh, Silvermoon had always been astonishing with luxurious buildings, sparkling fountains, and green parks. But now it felt differently, packed with chained crystals filled with magic energies, floating spires and castles and the omnipresent arcane patrollers, ceaselessly roaming the streets.
Yet, behind the impressing facades there appeared to be gloomy, dimly lit interiors...and then there was the scent of fel magic, persisting in the air, Eireannan thought. He could feel it.
People walked around in the crowded avenues, minding their own business, under the inhumanly attentive gaze of the enchanted patrollers.
Eireannan made his way on the Walk of the Elders, and turned left to enter Murder Row. He stopped by one of the buildings and peered inside through the opaque veil that masked the entrance. The scent of fel was almost sickening, he noticed, as a woman came out and brushed by him, closely followed by a succubus.
She wore red robes, her hair neatly tied back with a matching ribbon. A slender, somehow fragile apparition. But the expression of her face and the absent look spoke of blood thistle addiction, as she staggered past him, before stopping dead in her tracks and measuring Eireannan appreciatively.
'Oh, new faces in town" she observed, in a deep, purring voice.Do you want to join us for some fun, sugar?"
The succubus moved forward, loudly snapping her lash on her thigh and stretched out a sharp nailed hand to touch his cheek, then licked her lips provocatively.
'No thanks" Eireannan muttered, pushing the demon away to face her mistress. " Keep your bloody demon on a leash or it'll go back to the Nether, where it belongs."
Now, Sylvanas Windrunner was right, Eireannan thought. Any decent man in his right mind would have laughed his brains out hearing such a statement from a warlock.
So he was a summoner. But he had never thought of his minions otherwise than tools to serve his will. Calling upon them in battle to shield himself was one. Consorting with a succubus was a very different thing and there was a clear line drawn in his head between the two matters.
He strode forward, followed by the long, curious gaze of the woman.
Leaving Murder Row he crossed through the Court of the Sun, towards the Sunfury Spire. There were at least 30 Silvermoon Guards lined on both sides of the entrance, on the stairs that lead into the imposing structure, all displaying the same proud air, expressionless faces and shimmering red armor.
From the middle of the plazza in front of the Spire, Eireannan assessed the view of the sumptuous floating building with a barely hidden contemptuous smile.
What in the Nether was he expecting?
Humility and High Elves had never been close friends, and the war, the passing of the Scourge, had made it even more important, to stress to themselves the place they occupied in the world that changed so much.
Grinning a little, he brushed some imaginary dust from his robes - he had donned his battle gear for the occasion - straightened his back and calmly started to climb the stairs towards the entrance of Sunfury Spire.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Crossroads
Dawn is a strange thing in the Ghostlands.
Maybe because the light is never so strong so as to wash away the mists and the shadows that lingers over the lands.
The air seems filled with an ominous premonition, chilling to the bone, like the howls of wolves and the rustling of great spiders through the trees.
This land is not dead, neither alive…
-----
Her breathing is soft and relaxed, as she lays curled on one side, her back against the wall, her right arm forming an awkward angle in which she had nestled her face.
He traces with only the tip of his fingers the line of her jaw, half hidden in the lush, silken blue hair.
Laandra moans a little, but does not open her eyes and he wonders whether she likes to pretend she's still asleep, or if she has grown so confident in his presence that a slight touch like that does no longer cause her to wake.
He draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes to repress the overwhelming feeling of affection. So powerful that is nearly sickening, making him ache, as he tries to imagine how it would be to lose her again.
It's like looking into the abyss, Eireannan thinks, leaning back against the wooden wall of their shelter. The more you stare down, the more you feel like taking a step in.
There are decisions to make.
Decisions that may shatter their lives.
Or may bind them together even more.
Sylvanas is right. One cannot avoid his fate forever.
He has to go to Silvermoon.
"Eriean?"
Laandra stirs, uneasily, under the pile of blankets and furry cloaks that represents their bed.She raises a hand to shield her eyes from the pale rays of light that slide through the broken windows inside the cottage and tries to look at him, but Eireannan has already slid back, at her side, under the warm covers. His arms encircle her waist and he presses his face into her shoulder, with a sigh.
"It's early. Sleep some more", he whispers.
I have to think about it.
Maybe because the light is never so strong so as to wash away the mists and the shadows that lingers over the lands.
The air seems filled with an ominous premonition, chilling to the bone, like the howls of wolves and the rustling of great spiders through the trees.
This land is not dead, neither alive…
-----
Her breathing is soft and relaxed, as she lays curled on one side, her back against the wall, her right arm forming an awkward angle in which she had nestled her face.
He traces with only the tip of his fingers the line of her jaw, half hidden in the lush, silken blue hair.
Laandra moans a little, but does not open her eyes and he wonders whether she likes to pretend she's still asleep, or if she has grown so confident in his presence that a slight touch like that does no longer cause her to wake.
He draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes to repress the overwhelming feeling of affection. So powerful that is nearly sickening, making him ache, as he tries to imagine how it would be to lose her again.
It's like looking into the abyss, Eireannan thinks, leaning back against the wooden wall of their shelter. The more you stare down, the more you feel like taking a step in.
There are decisions to make.
Decisions that may shatter their lives.
Or may bind them together even more.
Sylvanas is right. One cannot avoid his fate forever.
He has to go to Silvermoon.
"Eriean?"
Laandra stirs, uneasily, under the pile of blankets and furry cloaks that represents their bed.She raises a hand to shield her eyes from the pale rays of light that slide through the broken windows inside the cottage and tries to look at him, but Eireannan has already slid back, at her side, under the warm covers. His arms encircle her waist and he presses his face into her shoulder, with a sigh.
"It's early. Sleep some more", he whispers.
I have to think about it.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Weakness
"I ain't going nowhere!"
"Oh yes, you are!"
"No I ain't!"
"Yes you are!"
"You can't throw me away like that!"
"I'm not throwing you away...I'm trying to protect you!"
"I don't need to be protected..."
"...look at you!" ( dragging her to the cracked mirror, which hangs on the wall, as she put up a fight and tries to wrestle free her arm)." I said look at you! You're a bloody mess!"
"I'm fine. I'm not leaving. This is my home!"
" This is what you call fine? How many broken bones this time, huh? I lost count of the times I had to patch you up. You need to go away, at least for a while. Change your mind frame..! (exasperation)
"Look who's talking!"
"It's a quiet place. You'll like it! You'll feel much better afterwards..."
" I'm not sick and I ain't leaving nowhere!"
Laandra sighed, taking her head into her palms and massaging her temples. Light, her head ached... From the other room, the sounds had reached unbearable levels.
They had been fighting for nearly three hours now, and she wondered how they still had energy to do it. It went through the crying phase, as Daria sobbed and murmured almost incoherent words in the beginning, then to the utter amazement stage, when Eireannan had told her it would be a good idea to leave the Plaguelands for a while and then it had settled into sheer arguing. More precisely, Laandra corrected herself, screaming at each other, with what was probably short breathing pauses in between.
It was the least thing she would have expected from Eireannan, she thought, stretching her long limbs as she rolled on the improvised bed, keeping an ear to all sounds that came from outside. The place was another one of their deserted shelters, near the edge of Ghostlands, but he Scarlet Crusade had found them once and it was very probable they could do so again.
...what was she thinking? Yeah, something she wouldn't have expected from Eireannan, with his usually quiet mood, keeping himself to himself and sharing very little, even with her.
But he seemed perfectly at home yelling at Daria for more than two hours now and judging after their voices, they were both still far from being exhausted.
"...if only I could trust you that you wouldn't EVER do something like this again...Oh, but I can't...the moment you'll have the opportunity you'll rush to find another one to tear you to shreds..."
"It's my life. At least what's left of it..."
"But it is me the one that has to cope with the the bloodied mess..."
"Then don't do it anymore, she screamed,in frustration this time. Just let -me-die for once. Leave me alone!"
"I can't."
His words, breaking into a whisper, as Laandra could make out muffled sounds of movement; taking her into his arms, maybe.
" How many times do I have to say...that I care for you?"
----
And she's trembling, again the little girl she used to be, as her fingers dig into the dirt and the debris that now covers her mother. She withdraws them red with blood. So much blood, everywhere, that she dares not look...not anymore...and there are those sounds....the horrible creatures...the fouls smell...the cries...and the silence...
Why did she run? She should be dead. She should be dead like they are...she only breathes because she is a coward and ran away from the house, way from the screams, until her feet gave up under her own weight...
She should be dead.
"There's no one left alive", one of the men says, his face betraying utter exhaustion and pain as he bends down to pick the remnants of a ragged doll, then drops it and almost smashes his fist against the wooden wall of the barn.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
There's another voice.
"A child."
"Let me."
This one is soft, almost caring, and, through the tears that blind her, Daria can see him reaching out to lift her from the wreckage. She doesn't know what to do with her hands covered in blood and mud, so she keeps them clutched in front of her, afraid to touch.
" What kind of Light allows this sort of things to happen?" she hears the first man say, as he hits again the wooden wall, in anger."
She should be dead, like them all, she knows it well. Yet, turning her face a little, she meets the gaze that lingers worried over her face, trying to assess the damage that's been done to her body and mind alike. The green eyes. Then everything fades and she collapses into darkness.
----
The place is clean, a small scent of flowers coming through the open window.
It's the fragrance and the light she remembers, as the sun ray glitters over the floor, extending from the window to reach her.
"She's gone, Eriean, let her be!"
The voice of the woman sounds slightly annoyed, even if melodic and clear. But the hand that caresses her tangled strands of hair does not withdraw. Daria listens intently, as the other voice answers, that deep, soft tone she's grown used to.
"She'll come back, Nin. She just has to decide when..."
"Poor child...after all she's seen..."
"She'll be fine!" he snaps, then returns to Daria, as she lays down, her head in his lap, his fingers still gently stroking her dark brown hair.
----
"...I cannot..."
Laandra peers through the half-open door, to see Daria cry again, this time quietly, almost without sobs. Eireannan holds her tightly and she keeps crying. The screaming has given way to whispering and Laandra cannot hear anything anymore...it's just Daria finally uttering, in a broken, tired tone...
"I'll go..."
----
As Prophet Velen says, every step we take makes us closer to our goal, even if we are going backwards. “Not all those who wander are lost”…
Though, it certainly seems so, sometimes…
"Oh yes, you are!"
"No I ain't!"
"Yes you are!"
"You can't throw me away like that!"
"I'm not throwing you away...I'm trying to protect you!"
"I don't need to be protected..."
"...look at you!" ( dragging her to the cracked mirror, which hangs on the wall, as she put up a fight and tries to wrestle free her arm)." I said look at you! You're a bloody mess!"
"I'm fine. I'm not leaving. This is my home!"
" This is what you call fine? How many broken bones this time, huh? I lost count of the times I had to patch you up. You need to go away, at least for a while. Change your mind frame..! (exasperation)
"Look who's talking!"
"It's a quiet place. You'll like it! You'll feel much better afterwards..."
" I'm not sick and I ain't leaving nowhere!"
Laandra sighed, taking her head into her palms and massaging her temples. Light, her head ached... From the other room, the sounds had reached unbearable levels.
They had been fighting for nearly three hours now, and she wondered how they still had energy to do it. It went through the crying phase, as Daria sobbed and murmured almost incoherent words in the beginning, then to the utter amazement stage, when Eireannan had told her it would be a good idea to leave the Plaguelands for a while and then it had settled into sheer arguing. More precisely, Laandra corrected herself, screaming at each other, with what was probably short breathing pauses in between.
It was the least thing she would have expected from Eireannan, she thought, stretching her long limbs as she rolled on the improvised bed, keeping an ear to all sounds that came from outside. The place was another one of their deserted shelters, near the edge of Ghostlands, but he Scarlet Crusade had found them once and it was very probable they could do so again.
...what was she thinking? Yeah, something she wouldn't have expected from Eireannan, with his usually quiet mood, keeping himself to himself and sharing very little, even with her.
But he seemed perfectly at home yelling at Daria for more than two hours now and judging after their voices, they were both still far from being exhausted.
"...if only I could trust you that you wouldn't EVER do something like this again...Oh, but I can't...the moment you'll have the opportunity you'll rush to find another one to tear you to shreds..."
"It's my life. At least what's left of it..."
"But it is me the one that has to cope with the the bloodied mess..."
"Then don't do it anymore, she screamed,in frustration this time. Just let -me-die for once. Leave me alone!"
"I can't."
His words, breaking into a whisper, as Laandra could make out muffled sounds of movement; taking her into his arms, maybe.
" How many times do I have to say...that I care for you?"
----
And she's trembling, again the little girl she used to be, as her fingers dig into the dirt and the debris that now covers her mother. She withdraws them red with blood. So much blood, everywhere, that she dares not look...not anymore...and there are those sounds....the horrible creatures...the fouls smell...the cries...and the silence...
Why did she run? She should be dead. She should be dead like they are...she only breathes because she is a coward and ran away from the house, way from the screams, until her feet gave up under her own weight...
She should be dead.
"There's no one left alive", one of the men says, his face betraying utter exhaustion and pain as he bends down to pick the remnants of a ragged doll, then drops it and almost smashes his fist against the wooden wall of the barn.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
There's another voice.
"A child."
"Let me."
This one is soft, almost caring, and, through the tears that blind her, Daria can see him reaching out to lift her from the wreckage. She doesn't know what to do with her hands covered in blood and mud, so she keeps them clutched in front of her, afraid to touch.
" What kind of Light allows this sort of things to happen?" she hears the first man say, as he hits again the wooden wall, in anger."
She should be dead, like them all, she knows it well. Yet, turning her face a little, she meets the gaze that lingers worried over her face, trying to assess the damage that's been done to her body and mind alike. The green eyes. Then everything fades and she collapses into darkness.
----
The place is clean, a small scent of flowers coming through the open window.
It's the fragrance and the light she remembers, as the sun ray glitters over the floor, extending from the window to reach her.
"She's gone, Eriean, let her be!"
The voice of the woman sounds slightly annoyed, even if melodic and clear. But the hand that caresses her tangled strands of hair does not withdraw. Daria listens intently, as the other voice answers, that deep, soft tone she's grown used to.
"She'll come back, Nin. She just has to decide when..."
"Poor child...after all she's seen..."
"She'll be fine!" he snaps, then returns to Daria, as she lays down, her head in his lap, his fingers still gently stroking her dark brown hair.
----
"...I cannot..."
Laandra peers through the half-open door, to see Daria cry again, this time quietly, almost without sobs. Eireannan holds her tightly and she keeps crying. The screaming has given way to whispering and Laandra cannot hear anything anymore...it's just Daria finally uttering, in a broken, tired tone...
"I'll go..."
----
As Prophet Velen says, every step we take makes us closer to our goal, even if we are going backwards. “Not all those who wander are lost”…
Though, it certainly seems so, sometimes…
Stirring thoughts
He feels he'll suffocate if he spends even one more minute in the Undercity.
Eireannan hurries through the narrow passages and corridors, pushing aside everything that stays in his path, dead or alive.
Thoughts roam in his head like angry buzzards.
Of course Lothemar agreed. They were rumored to be lovers before the Plague and he was her second in command. Saw her die. Risen as a banshee.
I wonder how he gets along with the situation...
Kael’thas Sunstrider had sworn allegiance to a demon. Their people, out there, did nothing but hunt illusions. The promise of magic, freely flowing again through their beings.
Weaklings.
Addicted.
The same as the Wretched.
Bending their wills to the dominion of the Burning Legion itself, in exchange for another sip of magic energy.
Disgusting.
He bursts into the inn and only seeing them he is finally able to relax, tension withdrawing from his being as from a bowstring when the arrow has finally been released.
Laandra holds Daria, who still sleeps uneasily, making some whimpering sounds at times.
They look so fragile, both of them, and only now does he understand how much he has feared that the Dark Lady will do, after all, something reckless, to force him into submission.
Because he's vulnerable through them and he knows it and she knows it as well and he's grateful that she hasn't resorted to this yet.
Fragile. He must protect them.
But then Laandra looks up at him and Eireannan suddenly remembers her own strength of mind and will, as their eyes meet and he can breathe more easily now, for he's not alone.
Eireannan hurries through the narrow passages and corridors, pushing aside everything that stays in his path, dead or alive.
Thoughts roam in his head like angry buzzards.
Of course Lothemar agreed. They were rumored to be lovers before the Plague and he was her second in command. Saw her die. Risen as a banshee.
I wonder how he gets along with the situation...
Kael’thas Sunstrider had sworn allegiance to a demon. Their people, out there, did nothing but hunt illusions. The promise of magic, freely flowing again through their beings.
Weaklings.
Addicted.
The same as the Wretched.
Bending their wills to the dominion of the Burning Legion itself, in exchange for another sip of magic energy.
Disgusting.
He bursts into the inn and only seeing them he is finally able to relax, tension withdrawing from his being as from a bowstring when the arrow has finally been released.
Laandra holds Daria, who still sleeps uneasily, making some whimpering sounds at times.
They look so fragile, both of them, and only now does he understand how much he has feared that the Dark Lady will do, after all, something reckless, to force him into submission.
Because he's vulnerable through them and he knows it and she knows it as well and he's grateful that she hasn't resorted to this yet.
Fragile. He must protect them.
But then Laandra looks up at him and Eireannan suddenly remembers her own strength of mind and will, as their eyes meet and he can breathe more easily now, for he's not alone.
Decisions
((and the twisted continuation to the twisted part :)) )
He looked slightly better than last time. At least the deadly palour was gone and there was some life sparkling in the green eyes. And of course, there was no joy to see her. But then who would long to meet her, the walking corpse that she had become?!
“What a surprise”, she commented, bitterly. “I thought you were lost for good this time.”
“And you would have missed me, my lady?” Eireannan retorted. He was mocking her. Ten years and a death apart and this young-insolent-only-do-it-my-way man was still mocking her, Sylvanas thought, her anger boiling like steam in a covered bowl.
“You still haven’t learned respect, I notice.”
“They didn’t teach it where I went”, Eireannan managed a smile, despite the gloomy surroundings. Sometimes her older self just crept to the surface and she would be, for a few seconds again, the always ironic Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Silvermoon.
She paced around the room, as she had done during their last meeting…oh, so much time seemed to have passed since then, before he had fallen to the Scarlet Crusade.
“So where did you leave your pets now?” she asked, in such a tone that Eireannan couldn’t repress a shiver. “They’re here, in the Undercity, if I may guess?”
“At the inn”. Eireannan shrugged. If she were intent to harm them, she would have sent her Deathguards after Laandra and Daria by now and there was little he could have done to prevent it. Nothing of what was going on in the gloomy, underground city ever escaped the attention of the Dark Lady. “It was the only safe place I could think of.”
“You’ve burnt half of Hillsbrad, from what I heard.”
“Only a house or two”. Surprisingly enough, he managed to smile again and the Banshee Queen found frustration welling at the core of her tortured being. For a moment, she had nearly forgotten where and what she was. Dead. Rotten.
“I thought you’d never step back in the Undercity after our…last encounter”, the Dark Lady said, quietly. She remembered the utter satisfaction she had felt, forcing his will-less body to turn against Daria. Bathing in the human’s fear and despair. Savouring Eireannan’s helplesness, his shock and his struggle as he tried to push back her overwhelming mind control.
It had been good.
Almost as if she were still alive, forcing kisses on men that did not want her, on dark alleys after midnight.
“You need someone to remind you of the worst things you do, My Lady.” Eireannan sighed. There was no other reason. In this changing world so few were the things which one could still hold on to. Their alliance with the Forsaken was a fragile one. Sacrifices had to be made by either part to maintain equilibrium. And the elves of Ghostlands had embraced the Forsaken aid with both hands, as their research into shadow magics promised a way to stave off their own insatiable addiction.
The dead should have remained that way, Eireannan thought, bitterly. How could those fools act like brain washed towards their “new and welcome allies”, when so many of them had been, were, their own kind?
No allies. Only the half rotten bodies of people you used to know, talk to, even love.
How did one speak to the Banshee Queen when he could still grasp in her features the likelihood of Sylvanas Windrunner, the brave and once so beautiful Ranger General?
You have died for us.
You should have stayed dead. Heroes are better revered that way.
Now you are right, you’re nothing else but a monstruosity. You have no pity for the living, yet I do pity you.
But it’s not your fault. Nor ours. Now we just have to cope with it.
“I feel no longer guilt”, Sylvanas answered quickly, with an evasive move.” Why would it matter for me?”
“It’s a lie”, Eireannan said. “You have not only regained our consciousness and your will, but also the ability to feel. You long for the touch and the compassion of those that are still alive and yet you know they would step back in fear, because of what you have become.”
“Stop it!” she commanded, anger rising as a tidal wave. “Who are you to talk of such things you cannot even understand? The Dark Lady does not need…”
“ Cut the “Dark Lady” part”, Eireannan snapped, his own frustration making him ignore the signs of threat in her attitude. “Would you expect me to bow low in front of you as do all your…subjects…? I am not going to do it, not now, not ever. You may decide to be the queen of all the bloody Scourge for what I am concerned, I will never call you by any other name than that what’s rightfully yours, Sylvanas Windrunner.”
She hit him. She hit him hard, all the madness and the pain she had gathered concentrated into that single move, which made Eireannan let out a choked sound of pain, while he staggered, trying to regain equilibrium.
And she regretted it right away when his eyes met hers and there was no resentment in them, as Eireannan raised his hand to wipe the blood on his lips.
“ I need you to go back to Silvermoon.”
“No.”
For the first time in a lot, the Banshee Queen saw passion in the eyes of Eireannan. He had been more like stone in all these years, irresponsive to her threats, her cruelty, her utter, unveiled desire to hurt him, sometimes.
Simply because he was alive.
Because he could feel the pain and she did no longer.
Only anger.
“No”, he repeated, in the same stubborn tone the Banshee Queen knew so well.
“Silvermoon is but a shadow of its glory. Our people…those that have not become Wretched have been corrupted. There is a meeting place for summoners on the high street, in the middle of the city…! And you can’t make a step without bumping into one sort of demon or the other. Men and women would slaughter you for a couple of mana potions to last them another week. No mercy. No compassion. No feeling. You say you don’t pity the living? Well, the living do not have pity among themselves anymore…”
“How amusing”, the Dark Lady observed, in her high pitched tone. “A warlock with a sense of morality.”
He suddenly looked stricken, as all colour fled from his already pale face.
“You may be right, but I am still not returning to that place. To pretend I am a part of something more remote to me than the moon itself…!”
“It’s about your –our beloved prince Kael’Thas”, the dark Lady said, quietly.
“He has allied himself with the Burning Legion.”
The words fell heavy in the silence of the chamber and Eireannan found himself unable to utter even a single word.
“There is no doubt”, Sylvanas continued, sharply. “All those fools that dream of going into the Outland and drink the magic like water…that is what awaits them there. Allegiance to the Burning Legion itself, the very force that put into motion the Scourge that tore apart our world.”
“Lothemar must assume the leadership of our people and break away from that…that traitor, before he turns them all into demons. Do you think I do not see the peril?”
“But Lothemar needs help and there is only one I’ll have to be his second in command.’ She pointed a finger at him, her eyes now gleaming with an inhuman spark. “You”.
“You – are – going – back – to - Silvermoon.”
He looked slightly better than last time. At least the deadly palour was gone and there was some life sparkling in the green eyes. And of course, there was no joy to see her. But then who would long to meet her, the walking corpse that she had become?!
“What a surprise”, she commented, bitterly. “I thought you were lost for good this time.”
“And you would have missed me, my lady?” Eireannan retorted. He was mocking her. Ten years and a death apart and this young-insolent-only-do-it-my-way man was still mocking her, Sylvanas thought, her anger boiling like steam in a covered bowl.
“You still haven’t learned respect, I notice.”
“They didn’t teach it where I went”, Eireannan managed a smile, despite the gloomy surroundings. Sometimes her older self just crept to the surface and she would be, for a few seconds again, the always ironic Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Silvermoon.
She paced around the room, as she had done during their last meeting…oh, so much time seemed to have passed since then, before he had fallen to the Scarlet Crusade.
“So where did you leave your pets now?” she asked, in such a tone that Eireannan couldn’t repress a shiver. “They’re here, in the Undercity, if I may guess?”
“At the inn”. Eireannan shrugged. If she were intent to harm them, she would have sent her Deathguards after Laandra and Daria by now and there was little he could have done to prevent it. Nothing of what was going on in the gloomy, underground city ever escaped the attention of the Dark Lady. “It was the only safe place I could think of.”
“You’ve burnt half of Hillsbrad, from what I heard.”
“Only a house or two”. Surprisingly enough, he managed to smile again and the Banshee Queen found frustration welling at the core of her tortured being. For a moment, she had nearly forgotten where and what she was. Dead. Rotten.
“I thought you’d never step back in the Undercity after our…last encounter”, the Dark Lady said, quietly. She remembered the utter satisfaction she had felt, forcing his will-less body to turn against Daria. Bathing in the human’s fear and despair. Savouring Eireannan’s helplesness, his shock and his struggle as he tried to push back her overwhelming mind control.
It had been good.
Almost as if she were still alive, forcing kisses on men that did not want her, on dark alleys after midnight.
“You need someone to remind you of the worst things you do, My Lady.” Eireannan sighed. There was no other reason. In this changing world so few were the things which one could still hold on to. Their alliance with the Forsaken was a fragile one. Sacrifices had to be made by either part to maintain equilibrium. And the elves of Ghostlands had embraced the Forsaken aid with both hands, as their research into shadow magics promised a way to stave off their own insatiable addiction.
The dead should have remained that way, Eireannan thought, bitterly. How could those fools act like brain washed towards their “new and welcome allies”, when so many of them had been, were, their own kind?
No allies. Only the half rotten bodies of people you used to know, talk to, even love.
How did one speak to the Banshee Queen when he could still grasp in her features the likelihood of Sylvanas Windrunner, the brave and once so beautiful Ranger General?
You have died for us.
You should have stayed dead. Heroes are better revered that way.
Now you are right, you’re nothing else but a monstruosity. You have no pity for the living, yet I do pity you.
But it’s not your fault. Nor ours. Now we just have to cope with it.
“I feel no longer guilt”, Sylvanas answered quickly, with an evasive move.” Why would it matter for me?”
“It’s a lie”, Eireannan said. “You have not only regained our consciousness and your will, but also the ability to feel. You long for the touch and the compassion of those that are still alive and yet you know they would step back in fear, because of what you have become.”
“Stop it!” she commanded, anger rising as a tidal wave. “Who are you to talk of such things you cannot even understand? The Dark Lady does not need…”
“ Cut the “Dark Lady” part”, Eireannan snapped, his own frustration making him ignore the signs of threat in her attitude. “Would you expect me to bow low in front of you as do all your…subjects…? I am not going to do it, not now, not ever. You may decide to be the queen of all the bloody Scourge for what I am concerned, I will never call you by any other name than that what’s rightfully yours, Sylvanas Windrunner.”
She hit him. She hit him hard, all the madness and the pain she had gathered concentrated into that single move, which made Eireannan let out a choked sound of pain, while he staggered, trying to regain equilibrium.
And she regretted it right away when his eyes met hers and there was no resentment in them, as Eireannan raised his hand to wipe the blood on his lips.
“ I need you to go back to Silvermoon.”
“No.”
For the first time in a lot, the Banshee Queen saw passion in the eyes of Eireannan. He had been more like stone in all these years, irresponsive to her threats, her cruelty, her utter, unveiled desire to hurt him, sometimes.
Simply because he was alive.
Because he could feel the pain and she did no longer.
Only anger.
“No”, he repeated, in the same stubborn tone the Banshee Queen knew so well.
“Silvermoon is but a shadow of its glory. Our people…those that have not become Wretched have been corrupted. There is a meeting place for summoners on the high street, in the middle of the city…! And you can’t make a step without bumping into one sort of demon or the other. Men and women would slaughter you for a couple of mana potions to last them another week. No mercy. No compassion. No feeling. You say you don’t pity the living? Well, the living do not have pity among themselves anymore…”
“How amusing”, the Dark Lady observed, in her high pitched tone. “A warlock with a sense of morality.”
He suddenly looked stricken, as all colour fled from his already pale face.
“You may be right, but I am still not returning to that place. To pretend I am a part of something more remote to me than the moon itself…!”
“It’s about your –our beloved prince Kael’Thas”, the dark Lady said, quietly.
“He has allied himself with the Burning Legion.”
The words fell heavy in the silence of the chamber and Eireannan found himself unable to utter even a single word.
“There is no doubt”, Sylvanas continued, sharply. “All those fools that dream of going into the Outland and drink the magic like water…that is what awaits them there. Allegiance to the Burning Legion itself, the very force that put into motion the Scourge that tore apart our world.”
“Lothemar must assume the leadership of our people and break away from that…that traitor, before he turns them all into demons. Do you think I do not see the peril?”
“But Lothemar needs help and there is only one I’ll have to be his second in command.’ She pointed a finger at him, her eyes now gleaming with an inhuman spark. “You”.
“You – are – going – back – to - Silvermoon.”
The nights of Silvermoon
((still a twisted one, I know))
Head spinning from all the wine she’d drank during the night, Sylvanas Windrunner carefully made her way on the paved alley, guarded by stone walls that led away from the Sunwell and the music and rumour of the party.
“Easy”, Eireannan said, as her foot slipped on one of the cobblestones and she was ready to fall.
She chuckled, feeling absolutely careless and above all, filled with intense sensations, most of them derived from his simple presence by her side, as he had agreed to walk her home from the banquet.
She slid again, and this time he had to reach out and surround her waist with his arm, to prevent her from falling. Then, in a swirl, dictated by instinct more than her fading reason, she just took his head in her hands and kissed him, delicious warmth spreading inside her as he finally gave up and kissed her back.
Leaning against the wall, her hungry hands starting to untie his shirt, sneaking under the fabric to touch and caress. The kiss went deeper, leaving her breathless. She pushed harder against him, mind blackened with pleasure, her fingers digging in his back, as the craving need for his body reached apotheosis.
“No.”
A shocked gasp.
He broke the embrace, gently taking hold of her arms, to stop her frenzied movements. A second of utter confusion followed, as the thought made its way through her wine-dimmed senses.
Frustration.
She stepped back, pulling her arms from his grip, and then nervously brushed the rebel strand of silken golden hair that kept bothering her.
“My Lady…”
Tears of humiliation filled her eyes and Sylvanas was glad for the darkness. She averted her face trying to compose herself, show him no sign of the emotion that washed over her, uncontrollably.
He gently raised her chin and forced her look at him.
Oh, Light, she couldn’t! Why did she have to succumb to her passion in the first place, anyway?
“My Lady”, he whispered, “you are beautiful. You are everything a man could desire. Including myself. But my heart lies elsewhere, at least for now, and I intend to be truthful to my own pledges.”
“And that includes no sleeping with women that recklessly offer themselves to you, no?” she asked, her voice now betraying an irritation she had to make efforts to control.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re the Ranger General, not a little, whimpy woman that sheds tears over being rejected.
But it is the truth. You’re being rejected.
“It takes whatever necessary to stand by my feelings, my lady.” Eireannan shrugged, still without letting go of her hand. If he did, she would have run away.
So now I am the temptress and he’s all that better for resisting me.
What the fel was I thinking?
Just don’t cry.
But, to her complete degradation, she did.
As tears streaked down her beautiful face, she broke down and sobs soon overwhelmed her control, making her slender body shudder under their violence.
If he would have had any reason left in that head of his, Eireannan Saralonde would have walked away and leave her to her own shame.
Yet he didn’t. Her eyes tightly shut she couldn’t see his expression; she only felt his warmth as he drew her closer, until their bodies touched again, this time without passion, only a protective, caring embrace.
By the Sunwell, how her pride did hurt…
He whispered something and the meaning of the words eluded her. Probably because it was very old Thalassian, she understood, such spells and power words that the followers of the Light learned in the years of their training. And there was calmness and peace behind the veil of madness that had fallen over her…such peace that Sylvanas Windrunner relaxed, her sobs fading, while she still stood there, lost in his arms, listening to his heartbeats…
Then, as she suddenly regained control over her emotions, she wrestled herself free and pushed him back, so strongly that Eireannan staggered, nearly hitting the wall behind.
“Stay out of my mind!” she managed to breathe, through gritted teeth. “I don’t need anything of you.”
Another one would have probably found a sarcastic answer to her statement. Only minutes ago she had been wrapped around him, kissing and touching. Yet, Eireannan only gave her another shrug, as he leaned closer, once again, and wiped a tear hanging on her chin.
‘That’s so much better”, he whispered, smiling, and then he was gone, like a shadow, melting in the night that embraced Silvermoon, especially in that remote corner, far from the glowing of the Sunwell.
Damn him, Sylvanas said to herself, as she swallowed the last tears and furiously wiped her face with the sleeve of the dress.
Boiling. Anger.
With a small cry, she almost crushed her fist into the stone wall behind. Pain shot through her entire arm, like a furious swarm of arrows and Sylvanas Windrunner cursed out loudly as she withdrew her hand, wrapping the bloodied knuckles into the folds of the silken dress.
She was really in for a terrible headache.
------
Ooooh, to be alive again…
“My lady Sylvanas?”
She turned abruptly, trying to compose herself, as the Deathguards retreated, allowing in the visitor.
Head spinning from all the wine she’d drank during the night, Sylvanas Windrunner carefully made her way on the paved alley, guarded by stone walls that led away from the Sunwell and the music and rumour of the party.
“Easy”, Eireannan said, as her foot slipped on one of the cobblestones and she was ready to fall.
She chuckled, feeling absolutely careless and above all, filled with intense sensations, most of them derived from his simple presence by her side, as he had agreed to walk her home from the banquet.
She slid again, and this time he had to reach out and surround her waist with his arm, to prevent her from falling. Then, in a swirl, dictated by instinct more than her fading reason, she just took his head in her hands and kissed him, delicious warmth spreading inside her as he finally gave up and kissed her back.
Leaning against the wall, her hungry hands starting to untie his shirt, sneaking under the fabric to touch and caress. The kiss went deeper, leaving her breathless. She pushed harder against him, mind blackened with pleasure, her fingers digging in his back, as the craving need for his body reached apotheosis.
“No.”
A shocked gasp.
He broke the embrace, gently taking hold of her arms, to stop her frenzied movements. A second of utter confusion followed, as the thought made its way through her wine-dimmed senses.
Frustration.
She stepped back, pulling her arms from his grip, and then nervously brushed the rebel strand of silken golden hair that kept bothering her.
“My Lady…”
Tears of humiliation filled her eyes and Sylvanas was glad for the darkness. She averted her face trying to compose herself, show him no sign of the emotion that washed over her, uncontrollably.
He gently raised her chin and forced her look at him.
Oh, Light, she couldn’t! Why did she have to succumb to her passion in the first place, anyway?
“My Lady”, he whispered, “you are beautiful. You are everything a man could desire. Including myself. But my heart lies elsewhere, at least for now, and I intend to be truthful to my own pledges.”
“And that includes no sleeping with women that recklessly offer themselves to you, no?” she asked, her voice now betraying an irritation she had to make efforts to control.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re the Ranger General, not a little, whimpy woman that sheds tears over being rejected.
But it is the truth. You’re being rejected.
“It takes whatever necessary to stand by my feelings, my lady.” Eireannan shrugged, still without letting go of her hand. If he did, she would have run away.
So now I am the temptress and he’s all that better for resisting me.
What the fel was I thinking?
Just don’t cry.
But, to her complete degradation, she did.
As tears streaked down her beautiful face, she broke down and sobs soon overwhelmed her control, making her slender body shudder under their violence.
If he would have had any reason left in that head of his, Eireannan Saralonde would have walked away and leave her to her own shame.
Yet he didn’t. Her eyes tightly shut she couldn’t see his expression; she only felt his warmth as he drew her closer, until their bodies touched again, this time without passion, only a protective, caring embrace.
By the Sunwell, how her pride did hurt…
He whispered something and the meaning of the words eluded her. Probably because it was very old Thalassian, she understood, such spells and power words that the followers of the Light learned in the years of their training. And there was calmness and peace behind the veil of madness that had fallen over her…such peace that Sylvanas Windrunner relaxed, her sobs fading, while she still stood there, lost in his arms, listening to his heartbeats…
Then, as she suddenly regained control over her emotions, she wrestled herself free and pushed him back, so strongly that Eireannan staggered, nearly hitting the wall behind.
“Stay out of my mind!” she managed to breathe, through gritted teeth. “I don’t need anything of you.”
Another one would have probably found a sarcastic answer to her statement. Only minutes ago she had been wrapped around him, kissing and touching. Yet, Eireannan only gave her another shrug, as he leaned closer, once again, and wiped a tear hanging on her chin.
‘That’s so much better”, he whispered, smiling, and then he was gone, like a shadow, melting in the night that embraced Silvermoon, especially in that remote corner, far from the glowing of the Sunwell.
Damn him, Sylvanas said to herself, as she swallowed the last tears and furiously wiped her face with the sleeve of the dress.
Boiling. Anger.
With a small cry, she almost crushed her fist into the stone wall behind. Pain shot through her entire arm, like a furious swarm of arrows and Sylvanas Windrunner cursed out loudly as she withdrew her hand, wrapping the bloodied knuckles into the folds of the silken dress.
She was really in for a terrible headache.
------
Ooooh, to be alive again…
“My lady Sylvanas?”
She turned abruptly, trying to compose herself, as the Deathguards retreated, allowing in the visitor.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Bitterness
There is no safe place.
No haven for us.
We just have to keep on fighting.
The thought of ever losing you sickens me.
These walls seem so heavy now, after the forests of Ashenvale. Crushing me under their weight, until I feel I can not breathe any longer and I am one of them.
I keep thinking of you, though as I descend into this darkness and the only meaningful sound is the one of my steps.
Now it's time to meet with the dead.
No haven for us.
We just have to keep on fighting.
The thought of ever losing you sickens me.
These walls seem so heavy now, after the forests of Ashenvale. Crushing me under their weight, until I feel I can not breathe any longer and I am one of them.
I keep thinking of you, though as I descend into this darkness and the only meaningful sound is the one of my steps.
Now it's time to meet with the dead.
Memories of a banshee
It's just a memory.
The dead do not care of such things.
Yet she remembers the colors, and the forms, the deep sunset that engulfes Silvermoon into rich light, as the banquet has just started in the gardens of the Sunfury Spire, not far from the Sunwell.
---
She would go past the groups, smiling and nodding to the left or to the right. The music was nearly overwhelming for the senses, and the opulence of the banquet seemed nearly decadent, as Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Quel’Thalas slid graciously among the tables, greeting the people.
“ My Lady Sylvanas”...
She had turned abruptly on the spot, almost spilling the contents of the glass of wine she held, on the embroidered silk dress. Damn these people, why didn’t they understand, once and for all that sneaking from behind on a trained Ranger could result in serious damage to their own precious persons?
However, the smile Andarion Sarálondë gave her was so warm that Lady Sylvanas felt her anger melt.
“Lord Andarion”, she replied, slightly bowing in front of the elderly elf.
“I hope you are enjoying the banquet”.
“Of course”, Sylvanas smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind the ear. What she didn’t enjoy was the overly tight dress and the number of persons she had to talk to. However, he was not one of them, she thought, as she smiled again, warmly.
“I hope you do, too”.
“Definitely”. She followed his gaze over to the fountain, to the pair that stood there, almost separated from everyone else, from the rush of the party, quietly talking about their own business. The woman was slim, tall, her red hair cut short, to reveal beautifully shaped features. Niniel Ain’Ethil, Sylvanas thought, Captain of the second Ranger Unit. It took her a minute more to understand why Andarion Sarálondë looked so utterly frustrated.
“Your son”.
He acknowledged with a slight nod and Sylvanas turned again, to observe the pair; they looked so absorbed in each other and oblivious to everything else.
Well, she could easily imagine what the elderly man was thinking. Niniel Ain’Ethil was significantly older than his own son…not to mention her adventurous love life, which was well known by the entire Silvermoon. Luckily for her, her skills in combat were unmatched, or else she would have been thrown out of the Rangers corps years before, for undiscipline.
“First the priesthood”, Andarion Sarálondë muttered to her, as they moved a little to the side, to allow another group to pass by. “Then this…”
Well, Sylvanas said to herself, with a shrug, Niniel Ain’Ethil definitely had good taste in men.
“He’s stubborn and proud and he wouldn’t do anything of what I ever say. If I wanted him to become a priest, I’m sure he would have been more than delighted to join the Rangers.”
Sylvanas patted his arm, confortingly, with another meek smile.
“Luckily Niniel Ain’Ethil is not renowned for her lengthy relationships.”
“It’s been already three months now”, Andarion Sarálondë sighed. “Too much for my taste…”
Almost a record, Sylvanas had to admit.
“It will pass”, she encouraged the man. “I’m sure he’ll realize soon what is best for him.”
“I hope so, my Lady…” Andarion Sarálondë turned a bit to glace at some other woman waving towards them and saying something. The words hardly reached them, with the music and the constant sound of overlapping voices, but he nodded and placed a hand on Sylvanas arm.
“I am afraid I have to go for a minute”, he said. “It appears that I have to meet some diplomats from Lordaeron.”
“You are excused, my Lord”, she chuckled, brushing again the same rebel strand of hair behind the pointy ear. Then, as he left, she started making her way towards the fountain. There was something intriguing here, she thought, as she reached the couple and placed a hand on Niniel Ain’Ethil shoulder. The woman jumped, startled and looked at her, while Sylvanas gave an almost imperceptible nod, the other one understood very well. She rose, a small annoyed expression on her face and left, silently. She did not dare contradict the Ranger General, Sylvanas thought, as she sat down, on the edge of the fountain, arranging the folds of her uncomfortable dress.
“My Lady Sylvanas”. Eireannan Sarálondë had acknowledged her presence with a faint trace of smile on his lips, as his eyes continued to follow Niniel making her way through the guests, towards a table.
“I thought you wouldn’t recognize me anymore”. She gave him a small laugh, without even knowing what made her feel so amused. “You’ve grown up.”
Their kind were usually good looking people, Sylvanas thought, yet this one was well over the average. Certainly the contrast between the dark hair and the green eyes over the sun tanned skin, and the intoxicating air of self-confidence.
“I’ve heard this before. I guess my father sent you to bring some reason back to my clouded mind before it’s too late.”
Daring. Even better.
“Your father is naturally concerned about his only son’s welfare”, she said, her voice calm, almost ironic, as she kept studying him. “He is only worried about your choices.”
“Which are mine to make…True, I’ll be the one to endure the consequences as well. You can save your breath, my Lady, there is no thing in the world you could say and change my mind.”
Deliciously stubborn. Almost unrespectful. It almost made Sylvanas regret her own position and responsibilities, which prevented her from acting as recklessly as Niniel Ain’Ethil did, for example. Those green eyes would have definitely been worth the trouble.
“My father is not happy with any of my decisions. But I’m perfectly comfortable with all of them.”
“What about your studies?” she asked, knowing that trying to persuade him of the contrary was useless. “I hear you will be leaving again…”
“For a few months only”, Eireannan answered, absent minded, still following Niniel through the crowd. Then, suddenly, his attention shifted to her and Sylvanas had to bite her lips to retain a gasp as their eyes met, such was the intensity of his gaze. “Now, my Lady, do you want to talk about the ways of the Light, my father's useless worries or rather grant me a dance and forget them all? ”
--------
It all happened ages ago, the Dark Lady thinks, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the dagger she wears.
Only sweet bitter memories of being alive, blood flooding through her veins with every heartbeat.
It doesn’t matter now.
Yet it’s good to know he’s back, because he is a part of her plans and they must not be allowed to fail, she says to herself, as she writes a short note and seals it, before entrusting it to a courrier for imediate delivery in Silvermoon.
The dead do not care of such things.
Yet she remembers the colors, and the forms, the deep sunset that engulfes Silvermoon into rich light, as the banquet has just started in the gardens of the Sunfury Spire, not far from the Sunwell.
---
She would go past the groups, smiling and nodding to the left or to the right. The music was nearly overwhelming for the senses, and the opulence of the banquet seemed nearly decadent, as Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Quel’Thalas slid graciously among the tables, greeting the people.
“ My Lady Sylvanas”...
She had turned abruptly on the spot, almost spilling the contents of the glass of wine she held, on the embroidered silk dress. Damn these people, why didn’t they understand, once and for all that sneaking from behind on a trained Ranger could result in serious damage to their own precious persons?
However, the smile Andarion Sarálondë gave her was so warm that Lady Sylvanas felt her anger melt.
“Lord Andarion”, she replied, slightly bowing in front of the elderly elf.
“I hope you are enjoying the banquet”.
“Of course”, Sylvanas smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind the ear. What she didn’t enjoy was the overly tight dress and the number of persons she had to talk to. However, he was not one of them, she thought, as she smiled again, warmly.
“I hope you do, too”.
“Definitely”. She followed his gaze over to the fountain, to the pair that stood there, almost separated from everyone else, from the rush of the party, quietly talking about their own business. The woman was slim, tall, her red hair cut short, to reveal beautifully shaped features. Niniel Ain’Ethil, Sylvanas thought, Captain of the second Ranger Unit. It took her a minute more to understand why Andarion Sarálondë looked so utterly frustrated.
“Your son”.
He acknowledged with a slight nod and Sylvanas turned again, to observe the pair; they looked so absorbed in each other and oblivious to everything else.
Well, she could easily imagine what the elderly man was thinking. Niniel Ain’Ethil was significantly older than his own son…not to mention her adventurous love life, which was well known by the entire Silvermoon. Luckily for her, her skills in combat were unmatched, or else she would have been thrown out of the Rangers corps years before, for undiscipline.
“First the priesthood”, Andarion Sarálondë muttered to her, as they moved a little to the side, to allow another group to pass by. “Then this…”
Well, Sylvanas said to herself, with a shrug, Niniel Ain’Ethil definitely had good taste in men.
“He’s stubborn and proud and he wouldn’t do anything of what I ever say. If I wanted him to become a priest, I’m sure he would have been more than delighted to join the Rangers.”
Sylvanas patted his arm, confortingly, with another meek smile.
“Luckily Niniel Ain’Ethil is not renowned for her lengthy relationships.”
“It’s been already three months now”, Andarion Sarálondë sighed. “Too much for my taste…”
Almost a record, Sylvanas had to admit.
“It will pass”, she encouraged the man. “I’m sure he’ll realize soon what is best for him.”
“I hope so, my Lady…” Andarion Sarálondë turned a bit to glace at some other woman waving towards them and saying something. The words hardly reached them, with the music and the constant sound of overlapping voices, but he nodded and placed a hand on Sylvanas arm.
“I am afraid I have to go for a minute”, he said. “It appears that I have to meet some diplomats from Lordaeron.”
“You are excused, my Lord”, she chuckled, brushing again the same rebel strand of hair behind the pointy ear. Then, as he left, she started making her way towards the fountain. There was something intriguing here, she thought, as she reached the couple and placed a hand on Niniel Ain’Ethil shoulder. The woman jumped, startled and looked at her, while Sylvanas gave an almost imperceptible nod, the other one understood very well. She rose, a small annoyed expression on her face and left, silently. She did not dare contradict the Ranger General, Sylvanas thought, as she sat down, on the edge of the fountain, arranging the folds of her uncomfortable dress.
“My Lady Sylvanas”. Eireannan Sarálondë had acknowledged her presence with a faint trace of smile on his lips, as his eyes continued to follow Niniel making her way through the guests, towards a table.
“I thought you wouldn’t recognize me anymore”. She gave him a small laugh, without even knowing what made her feel so amused. “You’ve grown up.”
Their kind were usually good looking people, Sylvanas thought, yet this one was well over the average. Certainly the contrast between the dark hair and the green eyes over the sun tanned skin, and the intoxicating air of self-confidence.
“I’ve heard this before. I guess my father sent you to bring some reason back to my clouded mind before it’s too late.”
Daring. Even better.
“Your father is naturally concerned about his only son’s welfare”, she said, her voice calm, almost ironic, as she kept studying him. “He is only worried about your choices.”
“Which are mine to make…True, I’ll be the one to endure the consequences as well. You can save your breath, my Lady, there is no thing in the world you could say and change my mind.”
Deliciously stubborn. Almost unrespectful. It almost made Sylvanas regret her own position and responsibilities, which prevented her from acting as recklessly as Niniel Ain’Ethil did, for example. Those green eyes would have definitely been worth the trouble.
“My father is not happy with any of my decisions. But I’m perfectly comfortable with all of them.”
“What about your studies?” she asked, knowing that trying to persuade him of the contrary was useless. “I hear you will be leaving again…”
“For a few months only”, Eireannan answered, absent minded, still following Niniel through the crowd. Then, suddenly, his attention shifted to her and Sylvanas had to bite her lips to retain a gasp as their eyes met, such was the intensity of his gaze. “Now, my Lady, do you want to talk about the ways of the Light, my father's useless worries or rather grant me a dance and forget them all? ”
--------
It all happened ages ago, the Dark Lady thinks, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the dagger she wears.
Only sweet bitter memories of being alive, blood flooding through her veins with every heartbeat.
It doesn’t matter now.
Yet it’s good to know he’s back, because he is a part of her plans and they must not be allowed to fail, she says to herself, as she writes a short note and seals it, before entrusting it to a courrier for imediate delivery in Silvermoon.
State of mind
May Light take mercy of our souls...
" But then, where the fel are you, Eireannan Saralonde?"
Stirring again to change her position, Laandra opened her eyes, enough to see the bruised face of Daria, only centimeters away.
The place was humid, cold, and unfriendly. But the real issue were the noises. And the sickening smell of death.
She sat upright in the bed, her back against the wall, huddling the body of the almost unconscious girl in her arms. Daria shivered and trashed at times, as if still trying to break free from some invisible bonds, and Laandra would whisper to her calming words.
It hadn’t been hard to drag her out of the house in upper Hillsbrad where they had found her. The man with whom she had been was probably still recovering after the three curses Eireannan had thrown at him. It wasn’t hard even to manage escape out of the place, with a mob of angry, armed peasants gathering in the village. Strange enough, Eireannan wanted to avoid bloodshed, so they had made their way out of the window, setting the house ablaze, in the process, to prevent being followed.
No, that wasn’t bad at all, Laandra thought. Almost fun. The worse part had started when they reached the Undercity.
It was the closest and safest place to go, Eireannan explained, his expression contorted, as they crossed the former throne room to descend into darkness.
Not for long, he had promissed.
Yet hours had passed since he left them into that horrible hole that was the inn and Laandra felt already panic and exhaustion creeping into her heart. She tried to calm herself, reciting every prayer she knew, but then she would spot some Forsaken going around on their own errands and the sight sent her chills down the spine again.
“Still here?”
It was Daria’s voice, an almost inaudible whisper.
Laandra nodded.
“I hate this place.”
“So do I.”
Daria bit her lips, turning her face away, then lifted a hand and slowly felt the bruises on her right cheek.
“I’m glad Ei’an’s fine”, she murmured. “That you didn’t leave him. He deserves…to be loved…” The tears she had been fighting back for a while threatened to choke her. “I just wish he’d let me die, for once…I’m no good to anyone…”
“Shhh”, Laandra whispered, leaning over Daria’s crumpled form to hug her tightly. “It's a lie and you know it."
But don't we all say such lies when we want to be conforted?
Shifting again her weight to ease the uncomfortable feeling that spread into her limbs after so many hours of just sitting there idle, Laandra smiled at her own thought, as she felt Daria suddenly relax in her grip.
Then she laughed. The sound was so clear, so unusual in that dark place that the Forsaken passing in the hallway stopped to listen, in awe.
" But then, where the fel are you, Eireannan Saralonde?"
Stirring again to change her position, Laandra opened her eyes, enough to see the bruised face of Daria, only centimeters away.
The place was humid, cold, and unfriendly. But the real issue were the noises. And the sickening smell of death.
She sat upright in the bed, her back against the wall, huddling the body of the almost unconscious girl in her arms. Daria shivered and trashed at times, as if still trying to break free from some invisible bonds, and Laandra would whisper to her calming words.
It hadn’t been hard to drag her out of the house in upper Hillsbrad where they had found her. The man with whom she had been was probably still recovering after the three curses Eireannan had thrown at him. It wasn’t hard even to manage escape out of the place, with a mob of angry, armed peasants gathering in the village. Strange enough, Eireannan wanted to avoid bloodshed, so they had made their way out of the window, setting the house ablaze, in the process, to prevent being followed.
No, that wasn’t bad at all, Laandra thought. Almost fun. The worse part had started when they reached the Undercity.
It was the closest and safest place to go, Eireannan explained, his expression contorted, as they crossed the former throne room to descend into darkness.
Not for long, he had promissed.
Yet hours had passed since he left them into that horrible hole that was the inn and Laandra felt already panic and exhaustion creeping into her heart. She tried to calm herself, reciting every prayer she knew, but then she would spot some Forsaken going around on their own errands and the sight sent her chills down the spine again.
“Still here?”
It was Daria’s voice, an almost inaudible whisper.
Laandra nodded.
“I hate this place.”
“So do I.”
Daria bit her lips, turning her face away, then lifted a hand and slowly felt the bruises on her right cheek.
“I’m glad Ei’an’s fine”, she murmured. “That you didn’t leave him. He deserves…to be loved…” The tears she had been fighting back for a while threatened to choke her. “I just wish he’d let me die, for once…I’m no good to anyone…”
“Shhh”, Laandra whispered, leaning over Daria’s crumpled form to hug her tightly. “It's a lie and you know it."
But don't we all say such lies when we want to be conforted?
Shifting again her weight to ease the uncomfortable feeling that spread into her limbs after so many hours of just sitting there idle, Laandra smiled at her own thought, as she felt Daria suddenly relax in her grip.
Then she laughed. The sound was so clear, so unusual in that dark place that the Forsaken passing in the hallway stopped to listen, in awe.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Out of my true heart
None of them talked about what had happened, during the following days.
As time passed, they continued their way through Duskwood and Redrige Mountains, following side roads at night and sleeping during the day, to avoid Alliance patrols. Otherwise, traveling was pleasant, almost relaxing, Eireannan thought, a luxury they were going to miss soon, as the hardest part of their journey, the Searing Gorge and the Burning Steppes lay ahead.
Then, in Lakeshire, late after midnight, when all villagers were asleep in their beds, he had picked another letter, probably sent a few days before, in anticipation of their route.
This time, it wasn’t written by Daria, but by one of his lieutenants.
“We heard that you are coming back to us and you can’t imagine how good news that is. Without you, the Shadowmoon is worthless. Take care though, as there’s a bounty on your head all across Alliance controlled territories and the S.C. are looking for you everywhere.
P.S. : D’s in Hillsbrad Fields. Again.”
It was in that last night in Redrige Mountains, close to Render’s Camp, when Laandra noticed his absent mindedness, as she was laying plans ahead for the next day.
She sat next to him, by the fire and rolled bandages, her thin fingers moving with such a speed that he could barely follow her gestures. She’d always do something in her spare time,unable to stand inactivity for too long. The night was calm, a soft, warm breeze rustling through their hair and clothing in the narrow ravine where they have found shelter.
Eireannan sighed, letting himself slide backwards, into the grass, eyes lost in the immensity of the starlit sky, as he realized that, in the past few days, his mind and soul had been filled with something he had had to make an effort to recognize. Peace.
Oooo, he hadn’t been at peace with himself ever since the massacre of Stratholme. Not even after returning to Quel’Thalas, after all was over. Images followed him. Fear did too. Fear that he may end up like a walking corpse somewhere in Scourge controlled lands. That his will may no longer be his own. How many times did Niniel hold him through the night and even then he would still wake up sweating and screaming, trying to break free from her arms?
Closing his eyes he drifted into thought. It was Laandra, he said to himself with a smile, her presence naturally reassuring and calming. No need for words, a simple glance and a nod usually enough to reach agreement as they journeyed through dangerous lands. She would tell stories about her early years in Bloodmyst Isle and Ashenvale and Eireannan had soon realized it was her way too keep a sense of purpose. One of the Blades of Argus then, still one now, despite everything that she had done. She had betrayed no one, less of all her own conscience and this was what kept her going.
He sighed again and then, eyes still closed, he heard the sound of soft movements, as Laandra put aside her bandages and lay beside him in the grass.
“Somethin’s worrying you”, she observed, again matter-of-factly. “The letter”.
“Yeah”, Eireannan acknowledged. Rolling on the side he opened his eyes and let the thoughts he had kept at bay for a while reclaim his attention. “Daria.”
“Bad news?” Laandra turned to face him.
“She’s…”. Eireannan’s voice broke, unexpectedly, as the wave of feelings rushed over him. “She’ll kill herself one day. She never really recovered after all she’d been through when…”
Another sigh. “I didn’t. And I was way better prepared for it. Daria was only twelve when the Scourge burnt down her village…”
“ For a while, after I found her, I was afraid she’ll never be sane again. I did all I could. But then Silvermoon fell and I was barely of any help for myself…”
“Oh, she’s a great warrior and someone to entrust your life to. But…she places no value upon her own being. Running around, trying all sorts of man, some worse than the rest…each time she disappears I’m sure to find her half broken and bloodied, as if there’s nothing left to feel but the pain…”
“No” he added in anguish, “she does not hide her tracks too well. She knows I’ll go for her. But one day, I won’t be there in time. Like today. And it scares me like hell to think..that this time…she may push it too far, this game…and die…”
“Maybe we should get her out of there, for a while. There are definitely better places to be in than the Plaguelands to gain back inner equilibrium.”
“Like Ashenvale”, Eireannan smiled. She had said “we”.
“Like Ashenvale”, Laandra agreed. “Meditation hasn’t hurt anyone.” She shuddered. “Maybe I need something of that myself”, she blurted out and Eireannan suddenly realized he had expected those words for days. Laandra was simply not the type of person to keep regrets and frustration inside for too long.
“ What I did, that night…”. Her features tensed. “ I lost control. I hurt you. And the worst thing of all is that I didn’t care. In that second I didn’t care about you, about anything else than having it ALL…!”
“I shouldn’t have let you try it”, Eireannan whispered, extending a hand to caress her hair. “I knew how it feels like. What it means…”
Laandra reached out to take his hand, then, unexpectedly, brought it to her lips. Her smile was a bit shaken, yet a smile, nonetheless and Eireannan felt tension dissolving, as affection melted the ice around his own heart.
“ Yet now I know…what you must face…and resist…” she said, quietly. “How high the price is…”
“Laan…”
“ What you go through and yet manage to remain yourself. I couldn’t…”. Laandra struggled with her overwhelming emotions, then gave him another small, almost painful smile. “ I love you, Eriean…”
As time passed, they continued their way through Duskwood and Redrige Mountains, following side roads at night and sleeping during the day, to avoid Alliance patrols. Otherwise, traveling was pleasant, almost relaxing, Eireannan thought, a luxury they were going to miss soon, as the hardest part of their journey, the Searing Gorge and the Burning Steppes lay ahead.
Then, in Lakeshire, late after midnight, when all villagers were asleep in their beds, he had picked another letter, probably sent a few days before, in anticipation of their route.
This time, it wasn’t written by Daria, but by one of his lieutenants.
“We heard that you are coming back to us and you can’t imagine how good news that is. Without you, the Shadowmoon is worthless. Take care though, as there’s a bounty on your head all across Alliance controlled territories and the S.C. are looking for you everywhere.
P.S. : D’s in Hillsbrad Fields. Again.”
It was in that last night in Redrige Mountains, close to Render’s Camp, when Laandra noticed his absent mindedness, as she was laying plans ahead for the next day.
She sat next to him, by the fire and rolled bandages, her thin fingers moving with such a speed that he could barely follow her gestures. She’d always do something in her spare time,unable to stand inactivity for too long. The night was calm, a soft, warm breeze rustling through their hair and clothing in the narrow ravine where they have found shelter.
Eireannan sighed, letting himself slide backwards, into the grass, eyes lost in the immensity of the starlit sky, as he realized that, in the past few days, his mind and soul had been filled with something he had had to make an effort to recognize. Peace.
Oooo, he hadn’t been at peace with himself ever since the massacre of Stratholme. Not even after returning to Quel’Thalas, after all was over. Images followed him. Fear did too. Fear that he may end up like a walking corpse somewhere in Scourge controlled lands. That his will may no longer be his own. How many times did Niniel hold him through the night and even then he would still wake up sweating and screaming, trying to break free from her arms?
Closing his eyes he drifted into thought. It was Laandra, he said to himself with a smile, her presence naturally reassuring and calming. No need for words, a simple glance and a nod usually enough to reach agreement as they journeyed through dangerous lands. She would tell stories about her early years in Bloodmyst Isle and Ashenvale and Eireannan had soon realized it was her way too keep a sense of purpose. One of the Blades of Argus then, still one now, despite everything that she had done. She had betrayed no one, less of all her own conscience and this was what kept her going.
He sighed again and then, eyes still closed, he heard the sound of soft movements, as Laandra put aside her bandages and lay beside him in the grass.
“Somethin’s worrying you”, she observed, again matter-of-factly. “The letter”.
“Yeah”, Eireannan acknowledged. Rolling on the side he opened his eyes and let the thoughts he had kept at bay for a while reclaim his attention. “Daria.”
“Bad news?” Laandra turned to face him.
“She’s…”. Eireannan’s voice broke, unexpectedly, as the wave of feelings rushed over him. “She’ll kill herself one day. She never really recovered after all she’d been through when…”
Another sigh. “I didn’t. And I was way better prepared for it. Daria was only twelve when the Scourge burnt down her village…”
“ For a while, after I found her, I was afraid she’ll never be sane again. I did all I could. But then Silvermoon fell and I was barely of any help for myself…”
“Oh, she’s a great warrior and someone to entrust your life to. But…she places no value upon her own being. Running around, trying all sorts of man, some worse than the rest…each time she disappears I’m sure to find her half broken and bloodied, as if there’s nothing left to feel but the pain…”
“No” he added in anguish, “she does not hide her tracks too well. She knows I’ll go for her. But one day, I won’t be there in time. Like today. And it scares me like hell to think..that this time…she may push it too far, this game…and die…”
“Maybe we should get her out of there, for a while. There are definitely better places to be in than the Plaguelands to gain back inner equilibrium.”
“Like Ashenvale”, Eireannan smiled. She had said “we”.
“Like Ashenvale”, Laandra agreed. “Meditation hasn’t hurt anyone.” She shuddered. “Maybe I need something of that myself”, she blurted out and Eireannan suddenly realized he had expected those words for days. Laandra was simply not the type of person to keep regrets and frustration inside for too long.
“ What I did, that night…”. Her features tensed. “ I lost control. I hurt you. And the worst thing of all is that I didn’t care. In that second I didn’t care about you, about anything else than having it ALL…!”
“I shouldn’t have let you try it”, Eireannan whispered, extending a hand to caress her hair. “I knew how it feels like. What it means…”
Laandra reached out to take his hand, then, unexpectedly, brought it to her lips. Her smile was a bit shaken, yet a smile, nonetheless and Eireannan felt tension dissolving, as affection melted the ice around his own heart.
“ Yet now I know…what you must face…and resist…” she said, quietly. “How high the price is…”
“Laan…”
“ What you go through and yet manage to remain yourself. I couldn’t…”. Laandra struggled with her overwhelming emotions, then gave him another small, almost painful smile. “ I love you, Eriean…”
Awakening
Eireannan woke up unusually late, when the sun was already up in the sky. Leaning over her body, he saw Laandra was still deep asleep, her breathing steady and calm. A sudden wave of dizziness engulfed him, as he remembered the unlikely events of the night, the guilt in her eyes, her shivering, as he held her throughout the hours that followed, until she eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
He shouldn't have let her try it!
Tapping into another being's life force still managed to shake him quite badly, and he had spent years learning how to control those moments of sheer ecstasy, how to absorb the energy and channel it into his own magic.
He wondered how she had found the strength to stop. He wouldn’t have.
Oh, he was not going to tell her how close they had been on the very brink of death. His death. Nor how thrilling it had been, after all.He doubted very much the positive effects this sort of confession would have had on her already troubled conscience.
So, there was something dark and wicked in his soul after all, no need to pretend, Eireannan thought bitterness making his stomach clench. Rising from the bed, careful not to wake her up, he stared at his own reflection, into a remnant of window glass that still hung in a corner. Hell, he looked even worse than he felt, exhausted, pale, hands trembling as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.
He had to do something about it before Laandra woke up and understood how far she'd gone.
She had come to him in the purity of her heart and he had failed her.
Was he doomed to corrupt everything he laid his hands on?
No more such games, Eireannan promised to himself, as he scrambled in his own bags for a mana potion to regain some strength and get rid at least of the sickly haven't-slept-in-ages appearance.
Light help them, if something like that happened again, he’ll have to leave her. No matter that it would shatter his soul into tiny pieces. Or at least what was left of it. Hurting Laandra wasn't an option. Corrupting her to such dark ways even less so.
Because he truly loved her.
As simple as that.
Unable to find the potion he was looking for, he threw away the bag, cursing under his breath and remained seated on the dusty floor, hugging his knees. And for the first time in ten years, words came easily to his mind, like a torrent, and Eireannan Sarálondë the Deathcaller prayed and he cried as he did.
He shouldn't have let her try it!
Tapping into another being's life force still managed to shake him quite badly, and he had spent years learning how to control those moments of sheer ecstasy, how to absorb the energy and channel it into his own magic.
He wondered how she had found the strength to stop. He wouldn’t have.
Oh, he was not going to tell her how close they had been on the very brink of death. His death. Nor how thrilling it had been, after all.He doubted very much the positive effects this sort of confession would have had on her already troubled conscience.
So, there was something dark and wicked in his soul after all, no need to pretend, Eireannan thought bitterness making his stomach clench. Rising from the bed, careful not to wake her up, he stared at his own reflection, into a remnant of window glass that still hung in a corner. Hell, he looked even worse than he felt, exhausted, pale, hands trembling as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.
He had to do something about it before Laandra woke up and understood how far she'd gone.
She had come to him in the purity of her heart and he had failed her.
Was he doomed to corrupt everything he laid his hands on?
No more such games, Eireannan promised to himself, as he scrambled in his own bags for a mana potion to regain some strength and get rid at least of the sickly haven't-slept-in-ages appearance.
Light help them, if something like that happened again, he’ll have to leave her. No matter that it would shatter his soul into tiny pieces. Or at least what was left of it. Hurting Laandra wasn't an option. Corrupting her to such dark ways even less so.
Because he truly loved her.
As simple as that.
Unable to find the potion he was looking for, he threw away the bag, cursing under his breath and remained seated on the dusty floor, hugging his knees. And for the first time in ten years, words came easily to his mind, like a torrent, and Eireannan Sarálondë the Deathcaller prayed and he cried as he did.
Darkness take us all
((next 2 posts are again from the "Oh so twisted" - "creepy" category. But I just felt like writing them so...criticism is welcome and expected))
It must be a dream.
As they sit, both of them, on a blanket near the half ruined stove, in the flickering light of the candle, sharing stories and thoughts.
Duskwood forests are quiet around them, around the abandoned farm, in which they have found shelter for the night.
“They never liked my inclination towards fire..." Laandra gives a small laughter, as she remembers Vaalatu. Even here, far away from Azuremyst, the place exerts a strange fascination, calming her thoughts. “It’s far too dangerous if not controlled properly...In the end they gave up...They agreed that elemental magic was still better for me than arcane..."
She flinches, recalling some memory long buried in her past, when she was young, before even starting her training. The waves of energy welling inside her, at times. The unquenchable thirst at others.
She sits a little back, on her knees, watching him intently. Every time they touch, some fragment of that energy courses into Eireannan, even if he tries, again and again to shut it off. But there's so much inside her, waiting just to be released, that he doesn't hurt her. It's just this ugly, sinful, dark thought she has been having recently, that torments her as she lays wide awake on her blanket, at nights.
To taste him too.
And now, their eyes locked together, its exactly her look that tells him of her wish, as he leans over, to slowly caress her shoulder. He needs no explanation to understand that simple lust. Her desire.
“If you really want it, Laan..."
Words trail in the air. Were they really spoken?
“No”, she shivers, bitting her lower lip. But then, the temptation is too much, and, hesitating, Laandra reaches out to touch him.
Eireannan nearly holds his breath.
There's only the cracking and rustling of the fire in the stove.
So silent.
"Focus", he whispers,"on what you wish to take away..."
It's wrong, she thinks. So utterly wrong that her mind cries against it...yet she would not stop.
She cannot.
It burns. Her fingers on his skin burn, as she concentrates around the thought, eyes now tightly closed.
She remembers Vaalatu's words as she taught her how to tap into the elements and extract their force. How to visualize the lines of energy, while transforming herself into a simple channeling rod, never keeping the power for her own.
This feeling she has now it's unsettling, as she listens to his rasped breath. In many ways it's the same like the magic she knows and understands so well, opening her own self, expanding her consciousness and slowly allowing the flow of energy to coarse through her body. Eireannan shudders under her touch and Laandra starts, ready to withdraw.
And then, suddenly, there is pleasure, as she delves directly into his very life essence.
She wants to stop, but she no longer has the will. Head thrown back, her body arched, her fingers tighten their grip on his shoulders, violently, hurting, as ecstasy engulfs her mind and drives away all reason.
And she wants it ALL...
They fall.
They lie on the floor and she still can not let go. Eireannan's breath has turned to painful and ragged as he pulls her closer. He quivers under her touch, which is no longer sweet or gentle, only filled with the need and urgency he knows so well...How many times did he do it? yet never really knew what it feels like until this very second and there is such a bliss he cannot turn her away...even if now she's draining so greedily that she will soon take his life...
A voice in her mind, screaming for her to stop.
His pulse so erratic...
So weak...
Heartbeats starting to fail...
'You've learned control", she hears Vaalatu, smiling warmly to her favorite apprentice.
With a shocked gasp, Laandra withdraws. Hands pressed on her heaving chest, fighting for air. He lies on the floor, pale and shuddering, eyes closed, lips bitten nearly to the taste of blood to retain a cry.
“Oh, Light!"
"What have I done?" she utters and her voice is hoarse and strange. She can still feel it, the stream of his energy gushing into her own, filling her veins, her blood, every little fiber of her body.
“Eriean!"
"Shh", he whispers, "I'm fine..."
Tears rush in her eyes, and Laandra blinks to keep them at bay. Eireannan's fingers softly caress the tight line of her jaw, before pulling her down, by his side. He cradles her in his arms, brushing away her silken blue locks, until his face is nestled into her shoulder...and he holds her like that for a long, long time...
It must be a dream.
As they sit, both of them, on a blanket near the half ruined stove, in the flickering light of the candle, sharing stories and thoughts.
Duskwood forests are quiet around them, around the abandoned farm, in which they have found shelter for the night.
“They never liked my inclination towards fire..." Laandra gives a small laughter, as she remembers Vaalatu. Even here, far away from Azuremyst, the place exerts a strange fascination, calming her thoughts. “It’s far too dangerous if not controlled properly...In the end they gave up...They agreed that elemental magic was still better for me than arcane..."
She flinches, recalling some memory long buried in her past, when she was young, before even starting her training. The waves of energy welling inside her, at times. The unquenchable thirst at others.
She sits a little back, on her knees, watching him intently. Every time they touch, some fragment of that energy courses into Eireannan, even if he tries, again and again to shut it off. But there's so much inside her, waiting just to be released, that he doesn't hurt her. It's just this ugly, sinful, dark thought she has been having recently, that torments her as she lays wide awake on her blanket, at nights.
To taste him too.
And now, their eyes locked together, its exactly her look that tells him of her wish, as he leans over, to slowly caress her shoulder. He needs no explanation to understand that simple lust. Her desire.
“If you really want it, Laan..."
Words trail in the air. Were they really spoken?
“No”, she shivers, bitting her lower lip. But then, the temptation is too much, and, hesitating, Laandra reaches out to touch him.
Eireannan nearly holds his breath.
There's only the cracking and rustling of the fire in the stove.
So silent.
"Focus", he whispers,"on what you wish to take away..."
It's wrong, she thinks. So utterly wrong that her mind cries against it...yet she would not stop.
She cannot.
It burns. Her fingers on his skin burn, as she concentrates around the thought, eyes now tightly closed.
She remembers Vaalatu's words as she taught her how to tap into the elements and extract their force. How to visualize the lines of energy, while transforming herself into a simple channeling rod, never keeping the power for her own.
This feeling she has now it's unsettling, as she listens to his rasped breath. In many ways it's the same like the magic she knows and understands so well, opening her own self, expanding her consciousness and slowly allowing the flow of energy to coarse through her body. Eireannan shudders under her touch and Laandra starts, ready to withdraw.
And then, suddenly, there is pleasure, as she delves directly into his very life essence.
She wants to stop, but she no longer has the will. Head thrown back, her body arched, her fingers tighten their grip on his shoulders, violently, hurting, as ecstasy engulfs her mind and drives away all reason.
And she wants it ALL...
They fall.
They lie on the floor and she still can not let go. Eireannan's breath has turned to painful and ragged as he pulls her closer. He quivers under her touch, which is no longer sweet or gentle, only filled with the need and urgency he knows so well...How many times did he do it? yet never really knew what it feels like until this very second and there is such a bliss he cannot turn her away...even if now she's draining so greedily that she will soon take his life...
A voice in her mind, screaming for her to stop.
His pulse so erratic...
So weak...
Heartbeats starting to fail...
'You've learned control", she hears Vaalatu, smiling warmly to her favorite apprentice.
With a shocked gasp, Laandra withdraws. Hands pressed on her heaving chest, fighting for air. He lies on the floor, pale and shuddering, eyes closed, lips bitten nearly to the taste of blood to retain a cry.
“Oh, Light!"
"What have I done?" she utters and her voice is hoarse and strange. She can still feel it, the stream of his energy gushing into her own, filling her veins, her blood, every little fiber of her body.
“Eriean!"
"Shh", he whispers, "I'm fine..."
Tears rush in her eyes, and Laandra blinks to keep them at bay. Eireannan's fingers softly caress the tight line of her jaw, before pulling her down, by his side. He cradles her in his arms, brushing away her silken blue locks, until his face is nestled into her shoulder...and he holds her like that for a long, long time...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Passers by...
Salty water.
Jungle.
Trolls.
Raptors.
Murlocs.
Some more jungle.
The good part about Booty Bay is that the goblins are willing to close their eyes to one's business as long as you remember to slip them one coin or two more for their services.
The bad part is that there are so many people there, Horde and Alliance, not to mention the pirates, the rogues and all other sorts of scum - and so many dark streets that a dagger in your back is the least you can fear.
Eireannan pickes the letter up from the mail office and is delighted to see the crumpled piece of paper, carefully wrapped into an envelope and sealed with red wax. The scribbling inside is terrible, but he manages to decipher it in seconds.
" We're safe. There's a bounty on your head in STW. SC spies all around. Watch your back."
It's not necessarily what she writes, but the fact she does write and this means she's still in one piece.
None of those "good men" - he still wonders where she manages to find 'em - has yet abused her to death.
One day he will not get to her in time, and she knows it. But she keeps doing it, with a wicked sense of pleasure, which he finds utterly disturbing.
"There are other ways to remember you're alive", he thinks, as he turns on the spot,just a little, to see Laandra behind, talking intensely to the alchemy vendor. In her arms, she cradles a basket and packages...when did she had the time to pick all of that? Eireannan wonders, trying to figure up how much time he has actually spent going over Daria's short missive.
She looks beautiful, the soft breeze rustling to her hair. Even in her old robe whose colors are fading, torn on the side and hastily sewn back. Gracious despite her frame, which makes her unusually tall as compared to the human and even Sin'dorei girls...almost taller than himself, if she straightens up.
But he would still feel the same, Eireannan thinks, with a stab, if she were crippled or ugly.
Because it's her soul he craves.
What lies deep, beyond the words, beyond the apparent perfection of her features.
Her own life hasn't been that good either. She just found a mean to get over the most ugly part of it.
Which he still tries to figure out yet.
Indeed, there are other ways to remember you're still alive, Eireannan says to himself, his thoughts wandering back to Daria. Pain's just the easiest. Until it looses meaning. Until body and soul alike grow so numb that you cannot feel it anymore.
And what then? he asks , his gaze still following Laandra, as she pays for the crystal vials and proceeds to vigorously stuff them into the basket.
Jungle.
Trolls.
Raptors.
Murlocs.
Some more jungle.
The good part about Booty Bay is that the goblins are willing to close their eyes to one's business as long as you remember to slip them one coin or two more for their services.
The bad part is that there are so many people there, Horde and Alliance, not to mention the pirates, the rogues and all other sorts of scum - and so many dark streets that a dagger in your back is the least you can fear.
Eireannan pickes the letter up from the mail office and is delighted to see the crumpled piece of paper, carefully wrapped into an envelope and sealed with red wax. The scribbling inside is terrible, but he manages to decipher it in seconds.
" We're safe. There's a bounty on your head in STW. SC spies all around. Watch your back."
It's not necessarily what she writes, but the fact she does write and this means she's still in one piece.
None of those "good men" - he still wonders where she manages to find 'em - has yet abused her to death.
One day he will not get to her in time, and she knows it. But she keeps doing it, with a wicked sense of pleasure, which he finds utterly disturbing.
"There are other ways to remember you're alive", he thinks, as he turns on the spot,just a little, to see Laandra behind, talking intensely to the alchemy vendor. In her arms, she cradles a basket and packages...when did she had the time to pick all of that? Eireannan wonders, trying to figure up how much time he has actually spent going over Daria's short missive.
She looks beautiful, the soft breeze rustling to her hair. Even in her old robe whose colors are fading, torn on the side and hastily sewn back. Gracious despite her frame, which makes her unusually tall as compared to the human and even Sin'dorei girls...almost taller than himself, if she straightens up.
But he would still feel the same, Eireannan thinks, with a stab, if she were crippled or ugly.
Because it's her soul he craves.
What lies deep, beyond the words, beyond the apparent perfection of her features.
Her own life hasn't been that good either. She just found a mean to get over the most ugly part of it.
Which he still tries to figure out yet.
Indeed, there are other ways to remember you're still alive, Eireannan says to himself, his thoughts wandering back to Daria. Pain's just the easiest. Until it looses meaning. Until body and soul alike grow so numb that you cannot feel it anymore.
And what then? he asks , his gaze still following Laandra, as she pays for the crystal vials and proceeds to vigorously stuff them into the basket.
Broken
( This is a bit sadistic though...)
We're safe. There's a bounty on your head in STW. SC spies all around. Watch your back.
As she drank a second glass of wine, huddled in a dark corner of the tavern, the hood of her cloak pulled down to her eyes, Daria mentally reviewed the contents of the short message she had sent earlier to Booty Bay.
If Ei'an would have enough mind to take that route, she thought.
Well, nothing more she could do.
The wine was good and she tasted each sip as she drank, listening to the whispered conversations around herself.
Going to have a drink at the inn with a bounty placed upon your head by the Guard of Stormwind and the Scarlet Crusade at the same time was an unnecessary risk. Yet, she loved the crowd, the noise, the voices, to sit and observe the people around. Test her strength. The alternative would have been a lonely night in hiding, listening to the howling of the wind through the dead trees.
Well, Scourge or human, Daria shrugged, they would have taken equal pleasure in killing her.
She had, during the last month, been forced to escape thrice from people tracking her down.
Stabbed one to death. Injured two others. That much for being a nice girl.
Yet she enjoyed the noisy atmosphere in the inn. The excitement. The risk. The wave of adrenaline that kept her alert.
She had kind of lost her interest in man, recently, she mused to herself. Not after all that happened, after Scarlet Monastery and seeing Ei'an so...so...
Broken.
He'd always be the strong one. The shoulder to cry on, when things got too tough. The one to come searching for her in taverns and inns and dark places and pull her out, sometimes not really aware of herself.
Take her home, give her a bath, patch up her wounds, hold her tight, until pain went away.
And she kept running away and picking the worst men of all.
Call it "survivor guilt" if you wanted. But why did the Scourge spare her alone of her entire family? Death didn't want her. Neither did life though.
Maybe that made her taste so much her own suffering. Not that it brought any pleasure, it just quenched some of the other pain..to be still alive when everyone else has fallen. She would end up with men that despised her, humiliated her , even beat her into unconsciousness, until tears meddled with blood and it still wasn't enough...
The last time it had been a guy from northern Hillsbrad. She had remained with him nearly a month, period in which he had turned her into a bloody mess.
Oh, there were many such men, attracted to darkness as butterflies to a lamp. Ready to succumb to the most hidden urges of their souls, to torture and enjoy this as the most delightful pleasure. The war had brought forth a wave of corruption and sadism that nothing could stave off.
That was it, Daria thought, feeling the side of her neck from some not-properly healed scars. It always lasted until Erieannan discovered where she was. Then he would drag her back from the edge of the precipice and into the bitter fight for survival...
...and she clang to him desperately, knowing that, without him, she would be lost.
So good to know he was fine...
Daria's fingers twitched on the fragile glass she held into her hands.
Yet it was hard to live in his absence.
Hard to pretend anymore she was whole.
No, she was just a wretched-broken-shred into pieces-thing, unable to live or even to die properly...
The glass crumbled into her palm and she felt the shards digging into her flesh, as tears flowed down her face. She dropped the remains to the floor and wrapped her hand into the folds of her cloak, glad that no one around seemed yet to have noticed her behavior.
We're safe. There's a bounty on your head in STW. SC spies all around. Watch your back.
As she drank a second glass of wine, huddled in a dark corner of the tavern, the hood of her cloak pulled down to her eyes, Daria mentally reviewed the contents of the short message she had sent earlier to Booty Bay.
If Ei'an would have enough mind to take that route, she thought.
Well, nothing more she could do.
The wine was good and she tasted each sip as she drank, listening to the whispered conversations around herself.
Going to have a drink at the inn with a bounty placed upon your head by the Guard of Stormwind and the Scarlet Crusade at the same time was an unnecessary risk. Yet, she loved the crowd, the noise, the voices, to sit and observe the people around. Test her strength. The alternative would have been a lonely night in hiding, listening to the howling of the wind through the dead trees.
Well, Scourge or human, Daria shrugged, they would have taken equal pleasure in killing her.
She had, during the last month, been forced to escape thrice from people tracking her down.
Stabbed one to death. Injured two others. That much for being a nice girl.
Yet she enjoyed the noisy atmosphere in the inn. The excitement. The risk. The wave of adrenaline that kept her alert.
She had kind of lost her interest in man, recently, she mused to herself. Not after all that happened, after Scarlet Monastery and seeing Ei'an so...so...
Broken.
He'd always be the strong one. The shoulder to cry on, when things got too tough. The one to come searching for her in taverns and inns and dark places and pull her out, sometimes not really aware of herself.
Take her home, give her a bath, patch up her wounds, hold her tight, until pain went away.
And she kept running away and picking the worst men of all.
Call it "survivor guilt" if you wanted. But why did the Scourge spare her alone of her entire family? Death didn't want her. Neither did life though.
Maybe that made her taste so much her own suffering. Not that it brought any pleasure, it just quenched some of the other pain..to be still alive when everyone else has fallen. She would end up with men that despised her, humiliated her , even beat her into unconsciousness, until tears meddled with blood and it still wasn't enough...
The last time it had been a guy from northern Hillsbrad. She had remained with him nearly a month, period in which he had turned her into a bloody mess.
Oh, there were many such men, attracted to darkness as butterflies to a lamp. Ready to succumb to the most hidden urges of their souls, to torture and enjoy this as the most delightful pleasure. The war had brought forth a wave of corruption and sadism that nothing could stave off.
That was it, Daria thought, feeling the side of her neck from some not-properly healed scars. It always lasted until Erieannan discovered where she was. Then he would drag her back from the edge of the precipice and into the bitter fight for survival...
...and she clang to him desperately, knowing that, without him, she would be lost.
So good to know he was fine...
Daria's fingers twitched on the fragile glass she held into her hands.
Yet it was hard to live in his absence.
Hard to pretend anymore she was whole.
No, she was just a wretched-broken-shred into pieces-thing, unable to live or even to die properly...
The glass crumbled into her palm and she felt the shards digging into her flesh, as tears flowed down her face. She dropped the remains to the floor and wrapped her hand into the folds of her cloak, glad that no one around seemed yet to have noticed her behavior.
There is nothing else
“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.”
Kenji Miyazawa
Time passed.
In that remote corner of Ashenvale, it held no meaning anyway.
It was only the forest, arching above them, singing with a thousand voices, as they lay in the grass, side by side.
Rising her hand in front of her eyes, she dreamily looked at the shallow scar that crossed it.
There is pain in every choice we make...
"We have to go back..."
Eireannan turned his head around to catch a glimpse of her profile, the silken hair spread all around her head, in the lush grass.
He knew it as well. But it felt good to pretend, even for a little while, that they could remain hidden forever.
Oh, he had what to go back to. The Scourge was still in the Plaguelands and so was Daria, trying to keep up the seemingly endless fight. The hatred, the pain and the occasional nightmares, they were all there, and the time spent in the Scarlet Monastery had only added another collection of terrifying memories to the one he already possessed.
But that was his life and he held no regrets.
Things were different for Laandra, though.
She had turned against her friends, against her own kind and there newfound allies for the sake of him. Became an outcast.
Yet, there is no pain to last forever...
Severing the ties that linked her to Azuremyst Isle had made her heart bleed. Everything she had ever accomplished in her life stemmed out of the shared meaning of all Draenei people. Fight the Legion. Be kind to those in need. Be fair and courageous and never give up. Follow the ways of the Naaru and dedicate yourself to the Light.
Leaving had left her without any sense of purpose, other than dragging Eireannan out of the Scarlet Monastery.
Caring for him.
But he was now well enough to do it himself.
Oh, she could always go back...Forgiveness would be there, for her rash acts. And so would be the memory of betrayal.
Eireannan stretched out his hand to touch hers. And as he did he looked again in amazement at his own untouched skin. The marks were gone. But that, he sadly thought, was not to deceive anyone...he hadn't changed, and the darkness was still there, dangerously lurking inside his soul. He traced with a finger the line of the nearly healed scar. It would have been easy to remove and he knew she could do it herself, if she wished.
But its her binding. Her oath. Her own thing to remember.
" Come with me", he said, softly. " I know I have nothing to share other than endless fields of blighted land and all to frequent nightmares. You deserve better. But if it were otherwise, I'd rather have you with me than ever let you go..."
"Yeah..." Laandra sighed, closing her fingers over the scar and letting her hand drop on the side. " I thought so too..."
And I am scared.
Of loving you so much so as to want to go for you
to the very edge of the world...
I am scared that one day your path would not seem so dark anymore. Not even to me.
Because I have looked into your soul...and found it clean.
And as light and shadow blur...
all that remains
is this love I have...
you.
Kenji Miyazawa
Time passed.
In that remote corner of Ashenvale, it held no meaning anyway.
It was only the forest, arching above them, singing with a thousand voices, as they lay in the grass, side by side.
Rising her hand in front of her eyes, she dreamily looked at the shallow scar that crossed it.
There is pain in every choice we make...
"We have to go back..."
Eireannan turned his head around to catch a glimpse of her profile, the silken hair spread all around her head, in the lush grass.
He knew it as well. But it felt good to pretend, even for a little while, that they could remain hidden forever.
Oh, he had what to go back to. The Scourge was still in the Plaguelands and so was Daria, trying to keep up the seemingly endless fight. The hatred, the pain and the occasional nightmares, they were all there, and the time spent in the Scarlet Monastery had only added another collection of terrifying memories to the one he already possessed.
But that was his life and he held no regrets.
Things were different for Laandra, though.
She had turned against her friends, against her own kind and there newfound allies for the sake of him. Became an outcast.
Yet, there is no pain to last forever...
Severing the ties that linked her to Azuremyst Isle had made her heart bleed. Everything she had ever accomplished in her life stemmed out of the shared meaning of all Draenei people. Fight the Legion. Be kind to those in need. Be fair and courageous and never give up. Follow the ways of the Naaru and dedicate yourself to the Light.
Leaving had left her without any sense of purpose, other than dragging Eireannan out of the Scarlet Monastery.
Caring for him.
But he was now well enough to do it himself.
Oh, she could always go back...Forgiveness would be there, for her rash acts. And so would be the memory of betrayal.
Eireannan stretched out his hand to touch hers. And as he did he looked again in amazement at his own untouched skin. The marks were gone. But that, he sadly thought, was not to deceive anyone...he hadn't changed, and the darkness was still there, dangerously lurking inside his soul. He traced with a finger the line of the nearly healed scar. It would have been easy to remove and he knew she could do it herself, if she wished.
But its her binding. Her oath. Her own thing to remember.
" Come with me", he said, softly. " I know I have nothing to share other than endless fields of blighted land and all to frequent nightmares. You deserve better. But if it were otherwise, I'd rather have you with me than ever let you go..."
"Yeah..." Laandra sighed, closing her fingers over the scar and letting her hand drop on the side. " I thought so too..."
And I am scared.
Of loving you so much so as to want to go for you
to the very edge of the world...
I am scared that one day your path would not seem so dark anymore. Not even to me.
Because I have looked into your soul...and found it clean.
And as light and shadow blur...
all that remains
is this love I have...
you.
Monday, January 14, 2008
To be again
((continued))
Laandra blinked at him dizzily, then raised a hand to feel at the back of her head and grimaced.
"Great, now there comes the third horn", she said, matter of factly."Tell me I'm not dreamin'."
" You are not", Eireannan assured her, his voice betraying a slight trace of amusement now. She shivered.
"That thing...the demon..."
"Gone."
"Good", Laandra muttered, her body suddenly relaxing, like a bow after releasing the arrow. Only then did the enormity of the situation seemed to strike her back and she raised again a hand to drive away the tears that cluttered her vision, then softly touched his hair.
" Damn it" she sobbed, " I thought I'd lost you for good...you were here, yet so far...and to see you like that...it was killing me...killing me every day...What in the name of Sargeras did you expect, Eireannan Saralonde...did all Xavian had to find its way towards here for you to want to come back to me?!"
Anger, he recognized, as Laandra spoke. And frustration. And love.
She always made it so simple, that even he could forget about his own fears. To have and to lose again.
" I was here, Laan"... He sighed, eyes darkening under the memory of torment. But there was finally peace inside...and all those dreams quieted, after so much time...I just wasn't able to live and fight again...and then..if I came back I would hurt you even more...look what happened already..."
"So now you say that?" The violence in her voice made him shake. It was all of the sudden a torrent of words and fury, pouring of him, as Laandra tried to catch her breath, among the imprecations. " When you came for me back there in Darkshire, did you think the same? That night in Alterac? You laid your soul bare in my hands...and now you expect me just to walk away and care not? Damn you, Erian, you're not in your right mind!"
" You're bleeding" he interrupted her, and she saw worry in his face. She looked down to her side and noticed the tear in her shirt and the gush underneath, not really deep, yet promising to soon become uncomfortable...
" Funny how I don't remember this..."
" My work", Eireannan admitted, wickedly. "But you were nearly saying "yes" to that...thing...as you called it...and as far as demon contracts go, that's a binding."
Laandra shook her head, as she became even paler, he could see that, despite the blue shade of her skin. The horror of the moment before returning, once again. Trapped to the demon's will, almost giving into the temptation...
" I wanted you back", she whispered. "Would it have been to much a price to pay?"
" Much more than I deserve, Laan." He touched her cheek, then slowly traced the line of her lips, as they both sat, huddled in the doorstep. " Your life was high enough a price. But not your soul...never...never..." Eireannan shivered, only then bringing into view his left hand, fingers still clasping the dagger. The blood on the blade was starting to dry now, and he could feel the boost of energy waning away, as the demon's magic fed his own insatiable thirst. Laandra's gaze examined first the weapon, then his expression, finally stopping on the corpse that still lay inside the house.
And then, the next thing she became aware of was that she was holding him tight, her face buried in his shirt, listening to his heartbeats and all those feelings were washing again over her like a stormed sea.
" Don't go away", she whispered, fighting back the tears. " Never, never again..."
Laandra blinked at him dizzily, then raised a hand to feel at the back of her head and grimaced.
"Great, now there comes the third horn", she said, matter of factly."Tell me I'm not dreamin'."
" You are not", Eireannan assured her, his voice betraying a slight trace of amusement now. She shivered.
"That thing...the demon..."
"Gone."
"Good", Laandra muttered, her body suddenly relaxing, like a bow after releasing the arrow. Only then did the enormity of the situation seemed to strike her back and she raised again a hand to drive away the tears that cluttered her vision, then softly touched his hair.
" Damn it" she sobbed, " I thought I'd lost you for good...you were here, yet so far...and to see you like that...it was killing me...killing me every day...What in the name of Sargeras did you expect, Eireannan Saralonde...did all Xavian had to find its way towards here for you to want to come back to me?!"
Anger, he recognized, as Laandra spoke. And frustration. And love.
She always made it so simple, that even he could forget about his own fears. To have and to lose again.
" I was here, Laan"... He sighed, eyes darkening under the memory of torment. But there was finally peace inside...and all those dreams quieted, after so much time...I just wasn't able to live and fight again...and then..if I came back I would hurt you even more...look what happened already..."
"So now you say that?" The violence in her voice made him shake. It was all of the sudden a torrent of words and fury, pouring of him, as Laandra tried to catch her breath, among the imprecations. " When you came for me back there in Darkshire, did you think the same? That night in Alterac? You laid your soul bare in my hands...and now you expect me just to walk away and care not? Damn you, Erian, you're not in your right mind!"
" You're bleeding" he interrupted her, and she saw worry in his face. She looked down to her side and noticed the tear in her shirt and the gush underneath, not really deep, yet promising to soon become uncomfortable...
" Funny how I don't remember this..."
" My work", Eireannan admitted, wickedly. "But you were nearly saying "yes" to that...thing...as you called it...and as far as demon contracts go, that's a binding."
Laandra shook her head, as she became even paler, he could see that, despite the blue shade of her skin. The horror of the moment before returning, once again. Trapped to the demon's will, almost giving into the temptation...
" I wanted you back", she whispered. "Would it have been to much a price to pay?"
" Much more than I deserve, Laan." He touched her cheek, then slowly traced the line of her lips, as they both sat, huddled in the doorstep. " Your life was high enough a price. But not your soul...never...never..." Eireannan shivered, only then bringing into view his left hand, fingers still clasping the dagger. The blood on the blade was starting to dry now, and he could feel the boost of energy waning away, as the demon's magic fed his own insatiable thirst. Laandra's gaze examined first the weapon, then his expression, finally stopping on the corpse that still lay inside the house.
And then, the next thing she became aware of was that she was holding him tight, her face buried in his shirt, listening to his heartbeats and all those feelings were washing again over her like a stormed sea.
" Don't go away", she whispered, fighting back the tears. " Never, never again..."
Endless thirst...
((continued))
" Most unexpected", the satyr commented, stepping by Laandra's unconscious body and craning his neck to see better in the darkness inside the cottage. With a casual gesture, he lightened the small candle on the table near the door. "Yet what a pity...A follower of the Light...the taste of corruption slowly spreading to her soul...that would have been delightful..."
Eireannan withdrew his hand. It was all he had time to do, as Laandra's lips moved to utter the word the demon was requiring, to send a shadow bolt knock her to the ground. Weakness made him stagger. Yes, his body was almost entirely healed, even his hands, he discovered, as he raised the long, slender fingers and carefully studied them in the flickering light. But the lack of magical energy was sending painful stabs across his chest and head, as he slowly rose from the bed and faced the satyr.
" Well then" , the demon casually resumed, "since she's unconscious, maybe you will find my offer more attractive. Enough magic to feed your addiction for ever. Power beyond your wildest dream,even to drive the Scourge out of the Plaguelands and defeat Kel'Thuzad all by yourself...even the Lich King, back there, in Northrend."
Eireannan didn't answer.
" You know the taste of that power" the satyr persisted. "You've already tasted it..."
" I did", Eireannan whispered and the demon, encouraged by the quiet answer, came closer, his eyes now burning in the half-darkness of the room.
Then, suddenly, he let out a cry of pain and surprise, as Eireannan, in a whirling move, drove the dagger he tightly held in his left hand through its chest. The satyr fell to his knees, fighting to push him back, but Eireannan turned the knife into the wound and the thick, dark demonic blood splattered his hand.
" Did you mean this sort of power?" he said,in demonic, his voice low and cruel, while his other hand reached to touch the creature, in a sparkle of sickly light. The demon writhed in agony, as the warlock started to drain away its life and its energy, all of it, while the shadow enchanted dagger sent wave after wave of destruction through its body.
All of it...Eireannan thought, as the creature squirmed under his power and its magic and strength gushed through his own veins, thundering in his head.
Then, with a last spasm, the demon just died and Eireannan felt the indescribable ecstasy that always accompanied draining the very essence of a being, to its last little bit.
Breathing heavily he collapsed onto the creature's now motionless body, his fingers still clenched on the dagger, the world and the room endlessly spinning around himself.
Then he heard Laandra move.
Rising as fast as he could, he stepped over the corpse and kneeled by her side, as she stirred again, dreamily opening her eyes.
Was it all a dream?
The pain in the back of her head was real enough.
But the first thing she saw almost made her cry out in surprise. There was a slight shade of color in Eireannan's face, barely visible in the sunset light, as he tried to hide to his back the dagger and his bloodied left hand.
" Most unexpected", the satyr commented, stepping by Laandra's unconscious body and craning his neck to see better in the darkness inside the cottage. With a casual gesture, he lightened the small candle on the table near the door. "Yet what a pity...A follower of the Light...the taste of corruption slowly spreading to her soul...that would have been delightful..."
Eireannan withdrew his hand. It was all he had time to do, as Laandra's lips moved to utter the word the demon was requiring, to send a shadow bolt knock her to the ground. Weakness made him stagger. Yes, his body was almost entirely healed, even his hands, he discovered, as he raised the long, slender fingers and carefully studied them in the flickering light. But the lack of magical energy was sending painful stabs across his chest and head, as he slowly rose from the bed and faced the satyr.
" Well then" , the demon casually resumed, "since she's unconscious, maybe you will find my offer more attractive. Enough magic to feed your addiction for ever. Power beyond your wildest dream,even to drive the Scourge out of the Plaguelands and defeat Kel'Thuzad all by yourself...even the Lich King, back there, in Northrend."
Eireannan didn't answer.
" You know the taste of that power" the satyr persisted. "You've already tasted it..."
" I did", Eireannan whispered and the demon, encouraged by the quiet answer, came closer, his eyes now burning in the half-darkness of the room.
Then, suddenly, he let out a cry of pain and surprise, as Eireannan, in a whirling move, drove the dagger he tightly held in his left hand through its chest. The satyr fell to his knees, fighting to push him back, but Eireannan turned the knife into the wound and the thick, dark demonic blood splattered his hand.
" Did you mean this sort of power?" he said,in demonic, his voice low and cruel, while his other hand reached to touch the creature, in a sparkle of sickly light. The demon writhed in agony, as the warlock started to drain away its life and its energy, all of it, while the shadow enchanted dagger sent wave after wave of destruction through its body.
All of it...Eireannan thought, as the creature squirmed under his power and its magic and strength gushed through his own veins, thundering in his head.
Then, with a last spasm, the demon just died and Eireannan felt the indescribable ecstasy that always accompanied draining the very essence of a being, to its last little bit.
Breathing heavily he collapsed onto the creature's now motionless body, his fingers still clenched on the dagger, the world and the room endlessly spinning around himself.
Then he heard Laandra move.
Rising as fast as he could, he stepped over the corpse and kneeled by her side, as she stirred again, dreamily opening her eyes.
Was it all a dream?
The pain in the back of her head was real enough.
But the first thing she saw almost made her cry out in surprise. There was a slight shade of color in Eireannan's face, barely visible in the sunset light, as he tried to hide to his back the dagger and his bloodied left hand.
Lose your soul
((continued)).
She busied herself with the plants for what seemed like hours. When she had finished sorting and arranging them, each in its proper pot, it was already darkening.
Straightening her long, slender members Laandra yawned a bit. The evenings were cold in that place,near the mountains, so she would have to make the fire, again. She was just making herself ready to leave the relative comfort of the small porch of the cottage and go to the back, where she had stored some firewood, when suddenly her attention was distracted by the sound of light steps,coming up the path.
Out of reflex, she withdrew into the shadow of the house.Behind her, Eireannan seemed asleep, or whatever was that state of his...it was so quiet that she could hear his shallow breathing, yet there was also the unmistakable sound of footsteps again...
A satyr.
She knew from her early years in Ashenvale about the settlements of Xavian and Satyrnaar. Light, she'd been there, siding with the Kaldorei against these demons!
One of them was now staying in front of her, and Laandra tensed, wishing she had set up better magical defenses around the place.
The twisted form gave her a mocking laughter.
" You are alone..."
" Go away" Laandra said, her tone firm. " I feel no remorse for burning the likes of you to ashes."
" I could go", the demon agreed, stepping closer, so that she could now see its massive, almost threatening frame and the wicked grin. " It's just that I have an offer that may interest you. I could help you bring him back..."
"No", she shivered, the thought making her sick. Yet, temptation lured somewhere inside. To be able to talk again to him. Sink in his embrace at night.
" Think it well, girl", the demon continued, casually approaching. "He would be the same as always and then...I could offer you power beyond your imagination..."
"No, no,no...! Go away" Laandra gasped. Laandra gasped. He was somehow hypnothizing her, she realized, making her feel strangely disconnected from reality, all will suddenly failing her. She tried to put out a spell, but found that she couldn't move her lips. And the demon's voice, closer and closer, as he leaned towards her and she felt its hot breath on her skin.
" So much power, as you never dreamed of... And he'll be fine, I promise. I can show you, now...Just say "yes". A single word", the demon whispered. "Say yes".
Laandra pressed her hands against her lips to resist the temptation. A part of her, still aware of the way in which he tried to manipulate her mind, fought to resist. With an almost soft gesture, he removed her hands and stared deep into her eyes.
"Say 'yes'"...
So easy, Laandra thought. So easy to fall...
And she was falling, she realized, to the ground, as the demon suddenly dissapeared from her face. Her head hit against the doorstep with a horrible sound and then it all went pitch dark.
She busied herself with the plants for what seemed like hours. When she had finished sorting and arranging them, each in its proper pot, it was already darkening.
Straightening her long, slender members Laandra yawned a bit. The evenings were cold in that place,near the mountains, so she would have to make the fire, again. She was just making herself ready to leave the relative comfort of the small porch of the cottage and go to the back, where she had stored some firewood, when suddenly her attention was distracted by the sound of light steps,coming up the path.
Out of reflex, she withdrew into the shadow of the house.Behind her, Eireannan seemed asleep, or whatever was that state of his...it was so quiet that she could hear his shallow breathing, yet there was also the unmistakable sound of footsteps again...
A satyr.
She knew from her early years in Ashenvale about the settlements of Xavian and Satyrnaar. Light, she'd been there, siding with the Kaldorei against these demons!
One of them was now staying in front of her, and Laandra tensed, wishing she had set up better magical defenses around the place.
The twisted form gave her a mocking laughter.
" You are alone..."
" Go away" Laandra said, her tone firm. " I feel no remorse for burning the likes of you to ashes."
" I could go", the demon agreed, stepping closer, so that she could now see its massive, almost threatening frame and the wicked grin. " It's just that I have an offer that may interest you. I could help you bring him back..."
"No", she shivered, the thought making her sick. Yet, temptation lured somewhere inside. To be able to talk again to him. Sink in his embrace at night.
" Think it well, girl", the demon continued, casually approaching. "He would be the same as always and then...I could offer you power beyond your imagination..."
"No, no,no...! Go away" Laandra gasped. Laandra gasped. He was somehow hypnothizing her, she realized, making her feel strangely disconnected from reality, all will suddenly failing her. She tried to put out a spell, but found that she couldn't move her lips. And the demon's voice, closer and closer, as he leaned towards her and she felt its hot breath on her skin.
" So much power, as you never dreamed of... And he'll be fine, I promise. I can show you, now...Just say "yes". A single word", the demon whispered. "Say yes".
Laandra pressed her hands against her lips to resist the temptation. A part of her, still aware of the way in which he tried to manipulate her mind, fought to resist. With an almost soft gesture, he removed her hands and stared deep into her eyes.
"Say 'yes'"...
So easy, Laandra thought. So easy to fall...
And she was falling, she realized, to the ground, as the demon suddenly dissapeared from her face. Her head hit against the doorstep with a horrible sound and then it all went pitch dark.
Absence
There is indeed no Light.
No powers that be, to guide our steps into the world and save us from the evil that lurks at every corner.
No one to listen to whispered prayers in the evening. In the end we are all alone. We live alone and die alone and temptation follows us every day.
Yet I believe in the small light that lives inside of us that puts us through the day and makes us wake up in the morning. In that small light that gives us strength in dire times and the courage to stand up for what we love.
For as long we care for each other, as long as we don't tolerate injustice and raise to help those in need...
as long as we can tell right from wrong...
in front of ourselves, day by day
as long as there is hope,
no evil can hold dominion upon our souls.
Ashenvale...
It had been easy to find the place where she had spent months in a row, after leaving Bloodmyst isle, in the second year of her training.
Decided she should test her powers into solitude, she had crossed the Veiled Sea on one of the boats that now did regular trips between Vaalar's Berth and Auberdine. Oh, she had found great friends among the Kaldorei and a place of her own, which she had fondly thought of as a second home for many years.
The cottage was still there. A bit neglected, rain had started to fall through the roof, but nothing that could not be mended. She had set herself to work, enjoying every moment of it, the calmness that spread into her being as she put things into proper order.
Around herself and inside her own head.
Breathing the fresh air of the forest, listening to the sound of the water stream that gushed through the stones not far away from the house.Making peace with herself.
Laandra sighed and bent back over the basket of plants she was carefully sorting.
It was a good place to hide.
If only...
Her throat clenched under the unwelcome rush of feelings. Anger, mostly, each time when she remembered what the Scarlet Crusade had put Eireannan through. Enough anger to want to burn something down, just to quench her own personal pain.
At first it was the fever that wouldn't let go. She had tried to stave it off making use of all her limited healing knowledge, but to no avail. In the end, afraid for his life, she had risked a trip to the nearby Splintertree post. It was an Orcish settlement...and she had grown up with stories about the atrocities committed by the demonic blood corrupted Orcs back on Draenor.
It hadn't been easy. She didn't quite feel into the 'all forgiving' mood, but if she had fallen desperately in love with a blood elf, asking for help from an Orc shaman was not that bad anymore.
They had received her with caution, even if rumors of her presence in the area had already reached the settlement. To her own astonishment, they treated her with understanding, as if somehow ashamed of their own common past and ready to provide a sign of peace.
The shaman was an elderly orc, whose wisdom had simply impressed her. He had followed her home and as his magic worked his way through Eireannan's broken body, the fever dropped. The orc came then to visit them regularly, for a couple of days, until Eireannan had recovered nearly completely...well, except for the total absence of any sign of consciousness.
She had to force him eat or drink and he would just obey her, as a lifeless thing. Pain would rush through her heart like a knife, every time he would give her that blank look.
Only once had he shown a reaction, when, after along, tiring day, she had broken up and cried for what had seemed like hours on the edge of his bed. Placing a hand on her shoulders, his fingers slightly trembling, or so it had seemed to her...yet only for a moment, then it was gone, as Eireannan had withdrawn his hand and resumed the blank, meaningless staring at the ceiling.
And every evening she would sit there with him and tell him what she'd been doing all day long. Trying to let him know how much he cared. Bring him back from the abyss.
But as days passed and he showed no sign of will, despair slowly started to crawl its way through Laandra's heart, a slithering, ever hungry worm...
----------
There is danger.
A shadow creeping over, closer and closer.
He can feel it as his consciousness fights to resurface from the depths in which he has locked himself.
There is danger.
The dead and the living
It was not easy.
Hell, she hadn't expected it to be.
Entering the Monastery was one thing. Fighting their way through it to find Eireannan was a totally different one. Daria had picked up only five or six people to join them, in an attempt to minimize the losses of lives, should they have failed.
Which was very probable and yet not an option, Laandra had thought, all the night before, while turning in her already crumpled bead sheets.
The actual fight seemed a total blur,events unfolding way too fast for her to be able to grasp their full consequences. Making decisions as they went to the dungeon-like catacombs of the Monastery. Daria and her men moved in a well organized fashion,long practiced together, Laandra realized. And yet there was an empty spot in their carefully planned organization. Eireannan's, she had thought, pain clenching her throat like a merciless claw. She had tried to fill it as well as she could, focusing only on the combat itself, the next target, no time to worry about what they would be faced with when they found Eireannan.
The Monastery itself was packed with horrors. Things she had never thought human beings in their right mind would do to other helpless people.
Then Daria let out a cry and Laandra remembered rushing forward to see, breaking the lock of the cell with a single blast of arcane energy, shattering it and sending small shreds of metal flying in all parts.
He didn't appear to be in a much worse state than the rest of the prisoners.
Oh, the wounds of torture were not something easy to look at and many would leave a scar, even if after properly healed.
But wounds went away. Broken bones mended. Flesh and skin regrew. What was terrifying was the void inside his eyes, deep, dark abyss in which one could fall and drown without chance of redemption. Was the fact that he didn't even seem aware of their presence as they helped him up an out of the confined, damp space of the cell. Not a word, not the briefest spark of recognition. Nothing.
As if Eireannan Saralonde was not there, not anymore.
Lost. Gone forever.
She had looked at Daria in horror and the human returned the same terrified expression, as they both understood.
No time to cry. No time to assess.
The soldiers of the Crusade returning, and they had to break their way through once again, as they poured on the small group in the corridor.
Running, dragging each other and the limp, will-less form of Eireannan. Out in the open air and down the path, summoning blizzards and rains of flame over the heads of their enemies, to buy some time, until she could hold ground no longer and was forced to back off as well.
A crazy,mindless ride through trees and beasts, without suceeding to gain distance from their pursuers.
And then there were the ruins and the walls seemed to close on them, as they kept running...
"We'll be overwhelmed", Laandra thought, as all power started to fail her. No place to go, at least not fast enough to escape their pursuers.
If only they could have made it into Hillsbrad, they would have stood a chance.
But there was no way to get so far, as the Crusaders came closer and closer, riding like whirlwinds on the deserted paths of Tirisfal.
Almost surrounded. Then an arrow, coming out of nowhere, piercing the throat of the one that rode in front and the man fell from the horse with a strangled shriek.
Other arrows followed, and, as Laandra felt utterly confused, Daria seemed to understand better what was going on.
" Here" she yelled, covering the sound of hooves and the cries of their enemies. " Everyone to the Undercity, now!"
The thought was creepy, yet Laandra obeyed, as she rode after the others, through the ominous looking ruins of the once so mighty Capital City of Lordaeron. They dismounted in a rush and made it almost blindly through the halls, to the stairs that descended in the foul smelling catacombs. It's like going alive to hell, but Daria kept pushing her and Laandra had no time to hesitate.
A door, opening with a cracking sound.
Then a growl, the most horrible sound Laandra'd ever heard and suddenly she found herself face to face with a three-meters tall Abomination, that dumbly stared at her.
They barely had the time to regroup, when through the same door, behind them, a group of Forsaken rushed in, weapons at the ready. Laandra stepped back, fighting hard to retain a cry as she took in those apparitions, ragged flesh and clothes and bones showing. A piercing voice, high, rising over all the sounds of the underground city.
"Close the gates, now!"
The Abominations ran to fulfill the order, shoving their bulk into the large wooden doors and slamming them close. For a second, Laandra felt lost, as if the world was closing on her, completely. She couldn't breathe through the stench of death that filled the place. In awe, she only saw the slender "thing", was it a being anymore? that came down the stairs, pushing everyone to their sides.
Her head was covered in a black scarf and she carried a long bow into her right hand. As compared to the rest of the city's denizens, she looked almost human. Yet it was the grey shade of the skin that betrayed the truth about this apparition and Laandra understood that, were her to touch her hand, she would have found it frozen.
She was dead.
" Be prepared", the Dark Lady said, her voice so high that the urge to cover one's ears was nearly crushing. She studied them, their bloodied clothes and hands as they huddled together in the center of the hallway.
" I suspected you would try something foolish".
It was Daria to whom she talked and the girl nearly stepped back, her face contorted with anger and the reminder of a moment in which the Dark Lady had had Eireannan bent over her, dagger in hand... But she had saved them now, so she swallowed her pride and her fear all together.
" My Lady Sylvanas..."
" Luckily for you, my spies brought me news of your...attempt. " She passed by her, and, reaching out with the left hand, touched Eireannan's arm, then lifted his chin, to gaze at him. But he just stayed there, numb, barely held upright by his companions, his eyes as void and dull as the stone walls of the Undercity.
A sad smile contorted, if only for a moment, the Dark Lady's features.
" Too late though, it seems. He's gone. Nothing but a shallow, empty shell that remains...His soul gone so far that there is no hope..."
"No", Daria said, tears welling in her eyes. She had been fighting the same thought for hours, but it sounded even more cruel in the Dark Lady's words. " No", she repeated, almost defiantly, " Ei'an does not go down so easily...He'll come back to us...he has to..."
"That's to be seen", Lady Sylvanas retorted. "Now, I have no time to waste. You go where you chose. You could stay here, if it pleases you. It's safe. And you..." she pointed out to Laandra, who still stood in awe, trying to compose herself. " I wonder what an Alliance servant does here."
" I am no one's servant", she managed to utter. " It's all about Eireannan that..."
" How pathetic. Stupid. Foolish. Throw away your lives...your loyalties for a man that's already gone."
The voice of the banshee,Daria thought,glancing uneasily at the Forsaken Queen. Their alliance was frail, a thing of shared hatred and common purposes. And her previous experience had shown her how changing were her Highness' moods.
Laandra however, forced herself to stand the gaze of Sylvanas Windrunner, as her own shock at the sight of the Undercity faded away. To exist forever in damnation, Eireannan had said, once. How could this be a thing of Light? Yet they were as real as she was, with their rotting flesh and their awfully vivid consciousness locked inside.
" Did you back down when the fight seemed lost, My Lady?"
It hurt.
The Dark Lady whimpered slightly, then, her expression contorted into a cruel mask, she stepped towards Laandra.
The Banshee, Daria thought, now frightened for real. Stop it, Laan...
" How dare you?"
" You haven't." Laandra strove to keep up her calm face. Her hands were shaking badly, so she clenched them on the sides of her robes, to hide it. The wound she had made to herself the other day burned, as if to remind her of what truth really was. " Even when you knew there was no hope left, you still held up you ground and fought. Paid the price for it. Why do you ask less of us?"
" I have no mood to waste listening to foolish words! Do you think I have any regrets?! The living do not trouble me at the least and I have no pity for their suffering..."
She was so close now that the others cowered, taking the most respectful attitudes possible.
" Listen", the Dark Lady suddenly said, in a different, hushed voice. " I have sent word to Warchief Thrall about this. I don't think that the air of the Undercity would do to much good to Eireannan if he's ever to come back... I hear they're after you as well...foolish wretch, to betray your own people,for the sake of an enemy! You're free to go to Kalimdor and find a place to hide. The Warchief has already issued an order that you may pass. Even though I still don't know why I did speak to him in the first place..."
Laandra stared at her, disbelievingly.
" Why?"
The Dark Lady made an evasive move towards Eireannan, before turning her back on them.
" I owe him something..." she whispered, so lightly that Laandra could hardly make up her words. Then, raising her tone again, Sylvanas Windrunner walked away, proudly.
" Now be gone, I don't wanna see you anymore, you fools!" she threw over her shoulder, as they remained stunned, watching her dissappear in the shadow of the hall.
Hell, she hadn't expected it to be.
Entering the Monastery was one thing. Fighting their way through it to find Eireannan was a totally different one. Daria had picked up only five or six people to join them, in an attempt to minimize the losses of lives, should they have failed.
Which was very probable and yet not an option, Laandra had thought, all the night before, while turning in her already crumpled bead sheets.
The actual fight seemed a total blur,events unfolding way too fast for her to be able to grasp their full consequences. Making decisions as they went to the dungeon-like catacombs of the Monastery. Daria and her men moved in a well organized fashion,long practiced together, Laandra realized. And yet there was an empty spot in their carefully planned organization. Eireannan's, she had thought, pain clenching her throat like a merciless claw. She had tried to fill it as well as she could, focusing only on the combat itself, the next target, no time to worry about what they would be faced with when they found Eireannan.
The Monastery itself was packed with horrors. Things she had never thought human beings in their right mind would do to other helpless people.
Then Daria let out a cry and Laandra remembered rushing forward to see, breaking the lock of the cell with a single blast of arcane energy, shattering it and sending small shreds of metal flying in all parts.
He didn't appear to be in a much worse state than the rest of the prisoners.
Oh, the wounds of torture were not something easy to look at and many would leave a scar, even if after properly healed.
But wounds went away. Broken bones mended. Flesh and skin regrew. What was terrifying was the void inside his eyes, deep, dark abyss in which one could fall and drown without chance of redemption. Was the fact that he didn't even seem aware of their presence as they helped him up an out of the confined, damp space of the cell. Not a word, not the briefest spark of recognition. Nothing.
As if Eireannan Saralonde was not there, not anymore.
Lost. Gone forever.
She had looked at Daria in horror and the human returned the same terrified expression, as they both understood.
No time to cry. No time to assess.
The soldiers of the Crusade returning, and they had to break their way through once again, as they poured on the small group in the corridor.
Running, dragging each other and the limp, will-less form of Eireannan. Out in the open air and down the path, summoning blizzards and rains of flame over the heads of their enemies, to buy some time, until she could hold ground no longer and was forced to back off as well.
A crazy,mindless ride through trees and beasts, without suceeding to gain distance from their pursuers.
And then there were the ruins and the walls seemed to close on them, as they kept running...
"We'll be overwhelmed", Laandra thought, as all power started to fail her. No place to go, at least not fast enough to escape their pursuers.
If only they could have made it into Hillsbrad, they would have stood a chance.
But there was no way to get so far, as the Crusaders came closer and closer, riding like whirlwinds on the deserted paths of Tirisfal.
Almost surrounded. Then an arrow, coming out of nowhere, piercing the throat of the one that rode in front and the man fell from the horse with a strangled shriek.
Other arrows followed, and, as Laandra felt utterly confused, Daria seemed to understand better what was going on.
" Here" she yelled, covering the sound of hooves and the cries of their enemies. " Everyone to the Undercity, now!"
The thought was creepy, yet Laandra obeyed, as she rode after the others, through the ominous looking ruins of the once so mighty Capital City of Lordaeron. They dismounted in a rush and made it almost blindly through the halls, to the stairs that descended in the foul smelling catacombs. It's like going alive to hell, but Daria kept pushing her and Laandra had no time to hesitate.
A door, opening with a cracking sound.
Then a growl, the most horrible sound Laandra'd ever heard and suddenly she found herself face to face with a three-meters tall Abomination, that dumbly stared at her.
They barely had the time to regroup, when through the same door, behind them, a group of Forsaken rushed in, weapons at the ready. Laandra stepped back, fighting hard to retain a cry as she took in those apparitions, ragged flesh and clothes and bones showing. A piercing voice, high, rising over all the sounds of the underground city.
"Close the gates, now!"
The Abominations ran to fulfill the order, shoving their bulk into the large wooden doors and slamming them close. For a second, Laandra felt lost, as if the world was closing on her, completely. She couldn't breathe through the stench of death that filled the place. In awe, she only saw the slender "thing", was it a being anymore? that came down the stairs, pushing everyone to their sides.
Her head was covered in a black scarf and she carried a long bow into her right hand. As compared to the rest of the city's denizens, she looked almost human. Yet it was the grey shade of the skin that betrayed the truth about this apparition and Laandra understood that, were her to touch her hand, she would have found it frozen.
She was dead.
" Be prepared", the Dark Lady said, her voice so high that the urge to cover one's ears was nearly crushing. She studied them, their bloodied clothes and hands as they huddled together in the center of the hallway.
" I suspected you would try something foolish".
It was Daria to whom she talked and the girl nearly stepped back, her face contorted with anger and the reminder of a moment in which the Dark Lady had had Eireannan bent over her, dagger in hand... But she had saved them now, so she swallowed her pride and her fear all together.
" My Lady Sylvanas..."
" Luckily for you, my spies brought me news of your...attempt. " She passed by her, and, reaching out with the left hand, touched Eireannan's arm, then lifted his chin, to gaze at him. But he just stayed there, numb, barely held upright by his companions, his eyes as void and dull as the stone walls of the Undercity.
A sad smile contorted, if only for a moment, the Dark Lady's features.
" Too late though, it seems. He's gone. Nothing but a shallow, empty shell that remains...His soul gone so far that there is no hope..."
"No", Daria said, tears welling in her eyes. She had been fighting the same thought for hours, but it sounded even more cruel in the Dark Lady's words. " No", she repeated, almost defiantly, " Ei'an does not go down so easily...He'll come back to us...he has to..."
"That's to be seen", Lady Sylvanas retorted. "Now, I have no time to waste. You go where you chose. You could stay here, if it pleases you. It's safe. And you..." she pointed out to Laandra, who still stood in awe, trying to compose herself. " I wonder what an Alliance servant does here."
" I am no one's servant", she managed to utter. " It's all about Eireannan that..."
" How pathetic. Stupid. Foolish. Throw away your lives...your loyalties for a man that's already gone."
The voice of the banshee,Daria thought,glancing uneasily at the Forsaken Queen. Their alliance was frail, a thing of shared hatred and common purposes. And her previous experience had shown her how changing were her Highness' moods.
Laandra however, forced herself to stand the gaze of Sylvanas Windrunner, as her own shock at the sight of the Undercity faded away. To exist forever in damnation, Eireannan had said, once. How could this be a thing of Light? Yet they were as real as she was, with their rotting flesh and their awfully vivid consciousness locked inside.
" Did you back down when the fight seemed lost, My Lady?"
It hurt.
The Dark Lady whimpered slightly, then, her expression contorted into a cruel mask, she stepped towards Laandra.
The Banshee, Daria thought, now frightened for real. Stop it, Laan...
" How dare you?"
" You haven't." Laandra strove to keep up her calm face. Her hands were shaking badly, so she clenched them on the sides of her robes, to hide it. The wound she had made to herself the other day burned, as if to remind her of what truth really was. " Even when you knew there was no hope left, you still held up you ground and fought. Paid the price for it. Why do you ask less of us?"
" I have no mood to waste listening to foolish words! Do you think I have any regrets?! The living do not trouble me at the least and I have no pity for their suffering..."
She was so close now that the others cowered, taking the most respectful attitudes possible.
" Listen", the Dark Lady suddenly said, in a different, hushed voice. " I have sent word to Warchief Thrall about this. I don't think that the air of the Undercity would do to much good to Eireannan if he's ever to come back... I hear they're after you as well...foolish wretch, to betray your own people,for the sake of an enemy! You're free to go to Kalimdor and find a place to hide. The Warchief has already issued an order that you may pass. Even though I still don't know why I did speak to him in the first place..."
Laandra stared at her, disbelievingly.
" Why?"
The Dark Lady made an evasive move towards Eireannan, before turning her back on them.
" I owe him something..." she whispered, so lightly that Laandra could hardly make up her words. Then, raising her tone again, Sylvanas Windrunner walked away, proudly.
" Now be gone, I don't wanna see you anymore, you fools!" she threw over her shoulder, as they remained stunned, watching her dissappear in the shadow of the hall.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Unthought alliances
The woman came out of the tavern in Southsore after midnight, her steps unsure. She carefully made her way to the road, as she staggered a bit, trying to get accustomed to the darkness.
There was suddenly a rush of movement from behind her and she swirled back, sword at the ready, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"You" she growled. " You...here...after all...you've done...!"
Laandra had to jump back to avoid a direct blow. Daria charged after her, unsheathing her dagger too, but her movements were somehow clumsy from all the drinking and Laandra found it easy to just dodge her attempts at shedding blood.
"I didn't" she yelled, so as to cover the almost unarticulated sounds the other woman let out." I had nothing to do with it. I had been spied and followed, yes...but I didn't know of it...and if I had, why would I have come back tonight here?"
" I don't believe it".
"But you can still give me five minutes to say what I have to. Kill me after, if you want."
It seemed reasonable, but Daria was not prepared to listen, not yet, so she pressed forward, forcing Laandra to dash to one side, slipping on the wet grass.
"Please", Laandra pleaded. " I don't want to fight you."
" What do ya want then?" Daria let out another frustrated cry, as she stumbled again. She was definitely too drunk to fight, but she didn't care. "Why did ya come?"
" I ...". Laandra fought with the words, too bitter to be said. "That night...They took me back, to my people. Tell them I had succumbed to corruption...That I had sided with the enemy..." She choked, willed away the tears that threatened to burst. Daria lowered her weapons and waited, as reason started to work its way through her cluttered mind. "They had a priest try to erase my memories. Invented a story about my perfect life, with a child and a husband...Kept me away from reality... Yet there were the dreams. The nightmares...And one day, it just burst free. My memories, everything...everything...So I came back.."
"Ei'an", Daria whispered, then her voice broke too. She seemed ready to cry as well, as she sheathed her blades and wiped her eyes with the sleeve.
" Why don't we find a nice place to sit an' talk?" she asked after a pause, pulling out from under her cloak a round looking bottle. "I've got supplies."
They ended up under a tree, not far from the road winding into Silverpine Forest. The night was cool and the sky cluttered with stars, as they both lay on the grass, in silence. The moon was slowly rising upon the horizon, bathing the surroundings into an eerie light.
"Wanna drink?" Daria asked, after a while.
"No". Laaandra shrugged. "I'm not used to...such things."
To her surprise, the human girl let out a small laughter.
"Neither am I. But I warms me up...and draws away the memories...and the pain..."
"You still think I'm responsible for what happened?"
It was Daria's turn to shrug.
" Times are so..that everyone can be enemy...But...I believe ya. I don't know why. Ya just don't have the feel of a traitor ya know...And I saw ya look at Ei'an...It was somethin'...Ya can't just fake that..."
"He's alive", Laandra said, briskly, nearly interrupting the other. There was again silence for a few moments, but Daria did not ask how she had obtained that information.
It hadn't been easy. Yet, she had made many connections in Stormwind during the last years, some of them in the Catheral and the Order of Light...and even if they now openly proclaimed their disagreement with the acts and methods of the Scarlet Crusaders, a fervent communication with Scarlet Monsatery and Tyr's Hand took place in secret.
" I feared so", Daria whispered, instinctively hugging her knees with her arms. " I wish...they gave him peace...he didn't..." She sobbed. " I knew they'll bring him back, to torture him. I tried...we tried..to get him out. Twice. The first time we barely made it to the gates. The second was even worse. We broke through the cemetery and got caught between cross fire. Barely managed to escape alive." Another sob, shaking her fragile shoulders. "But he has made me promise I'll keep up the fight against the Scourge. Sacrifice no one for him...And I can't break my word...can I?"
" He ain't a bad man...let aside the demons...and all the shadow thing..But he cares. HE always cared. That why he ended there, 'cause he cared too much..and couldn't just forget 'bout the fight, live his life, somewhere safe..."
"I know", Laandra said quietly. "I knew it from the first time I saw him...even when I went down under his curse...I still knew it...that nothing bad will happen to me...Light knows he deserves forgiveness. And that's why I came here. We have to get him out of there, no matter what..."
" We tried!" Daria burst again, as if Laandra's words were an accusation. " I tried...'
"Then try once more with me". Pulling out from her rather sizable bag a roll of scrolls,Laandra carefully placed them on the grass. " The Monastery plans." She held out another piece of parchment, covered in writing and sealed, as far as it could be seen in the faint glowing of the moon. " And my 'letter' to the High Inquisitor that should at least open the doors to us."
" Your're aware that if we fail...and chances for that are high, we'll pay dearly... We'll never come out of that damn place alive..."
" I figured it out", Laandra nodded. " But it's worth trying, though."
" What do ya care? " Daria softly said, crossing her fingers under her chin, evidently impressed.
Laandra eyed her carefully, acknowledging the fact that the young woman was not nearly a quarter as witless as she pretended to be. Simple yes. But her perceptions would have shamed a well trained diplomat, from what he could say.
" I care for the Light. My people spent thousand and thousand of years fleeing from the Burning Legion. Running has made us tired. Here we stand.That's why the Hand of Argus was created by Velen in the first place...because here, on this world, we are to remain and fight, no matter the costs and the outcome...We own this to ourselves...But there are many ways to fight for the Light" , Laandra finished, her tone now diminished to the sound of a whisper. " To fight for the Light is to do the right thing, even if you know others may think it's wrong..."
She pulled out from her belt a dagger and held it high, in front of her eyes, studying the weathered, yet still glowing blade.
"Kessel, the Elekk lord on Bloodmyst said to me, when I had just arrived there, a young girl, barely at the beginning of her training, that a Hand of Argus soldier is, above all, honorable. But sometimes, honorable man can not perform honorably, do to circumstances beyond their control. I guess this is one of these situations". She sighed. "This is to remind me that I am one of the Blades of Argus, no matter what. And this", Laandra added, as she traced the dagger against her palm, leaving behind a bleeding, even if shallow cut, "is to remind me that there is pain in all the choices we make..." Blood trickled down her palm, a small stream, as she put aside the dagger. " Eireannan matters for me more than being righteous...It is to do the right thing."
Daria let out a surprised exclamation, then gave up the bottle and started rumbling through her own pockets, extracting victoriously a crumpled piece of runecloth bandage. She leaned to the side, to take hold of the other one's hand and started bandaging it vigurously.
" Now, now, that was stupid", she muttered under her breath. " Don't waste that pain for nothin' 'cause if we get trapped in the Monastery it'll be cheap coin..."
Laandra's voice trembled slightly when she finally managed to utter again something intelligible.
" ...So you will help me?"
"Not you", Daria shook her head, then clumsily used both hands to restore some degree of order into her un-brushed hair. "Ei'an."
There was suddenly a rush of movement from behind her and she swirled back, sword at the ready, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"You" she growled. " You...here...after all...you've done...!"
Laandra had to jump back to avoid a direct blow. Daria charged after her, unsheathing her dagger too, but her movements were somehow clumsy from all the drinking and Laandra found it easy to just dodge her attempts at shedding blood.
"I didn't" she yelled, so as to cover the almost unarticulated sounds the other woman let out." I had nothing to do with it. I had been spied and followed, yes...but I didn't know of it...and if I had, why would I have come back tonight here?"
" I don't believe it".
"But you can still give me five minutes to say what I have to. Kill me after, if you want."
It seemed reasonable, but Daria was not prepared to listen, not yet, so she pressed forward, forcing Laandra to dash to one side, slipping on the wet grass.
"Please", Laandra pleaded. " I don't want to fight you."
" What do ya want then?" Daria let out another frustrated cry, as she stumbled again. She was definitely too drunk to fight, but she didn't care. "Why did ya come?"
" I ...". Laandra fought with the words, too bitter to be said. "That night...They took me back, to my people. Tell them I had succumbed to corruption...That I had sided with the enemy..." She choked, willed away the tears that threatened to burst. Daria lowered her weapons and waited, as reason started to work its way through her cluttered mind. "They had a priest try to erase my memories. Invented a story about my perfect life, with a child and a husband...Kept me away from reality... Yet there were the dreams. The nightmares...And one day, it just burst free. My memories, everything...everything...So I came back.."
"Ei'an", Daria whispered, then her voice broke too. She seemed ready to cry as well, as she sheathed her blades and wiped her eyes with the sleeve.
" Why don't we find a nice place to sit an' talk?" she asked after a pause, pulling out from under her cloak a round looking bottle. "I've got supplies."
They ended up under a tree, not far from the road winding into Silverpine Forest. The night was cool and the sky cluttered with stars, as they both lay on the grass, in silence. The moon was slowly rising upon the horizon, bathing the surroundings into an eerie light.
"Wanna drink?" Daria asked, after a while.
"No". Laaandra shrugged. "I'm not used to...such things."
To her surprise, the human girl let out a small laughter.
"Neither am I. But I warms me up...and draws away the memories...and the pain..."
"You still think I'm responsible for what happened?"
It was Daria's turn to shrug.
" Times are so..that everyone can be enemy...But...I believe ya. I don't know why. Ya just don't have the feel of a traitor ya know...And I saw ya look at Ei'an...It was somethin'...Ya can't just fake that..."
"He's alive", Laandra said, briskly, nearly interrupting the other. There was again silence for a few moments, but Daria did not ask how she had obtained that information.
It hadn't been easy. Yet, she had made many connections in Stormwind during the last years, some of them in the Catheral and the Order of Light...and even if they now openly proclaimed their disagreement with the acts and methods of the Scarlet Crusaders, a fervent communication with Scarlet Monsatery and Tyr's Hand took place in secret.
" I feared so", Daria whispered, instinctively hugging her knees with her arms. " I wish...they gave him peace...he didn't..." She sobbed. " I knew they'll bring him back, to torture him. I tried...we tried..to get him out. Twice. The first time we barely made it to the gates. The second was even worse. We broke through the cemetery and got caught between cross fire. Barely managed to escape alive." Another sob, shaking her fragile shoulders. "But he has made me promise I'll keep up the fight against the Scourge. Sacrifice no one for him...And I can't break my word...can I?"
" He ain't a bad man...let aside the demons...and all the shadow thing..But he cares. HE always cared. That why he ended there, 'cause he cared too much..and couldn't just forget 'bout the fight, live his life, somewhere safe..."
"I know", Laandra said quietly. "I knew it from the first time I saw him...even when I went down under his curse...I still knew it...that nothing bad will happen to me...Light knows he deserves forgiveness. And that's why I came here. We have to get him out of there, no matter what..."
" We tried!" Daria burst again, as if Laandra's words were an accusation. " I tried...'
"Then try once more with me". Pulling out from her rather sizable bag a roll of scrolls,Laandra carefully placed them on the grass. " The Monastery plans." She held out another piece of parchment, covered in writing and sealed, as far as it could be seen in the faint glowing of the moon. " And my 'letter' to the High Inquisitor that should at least open the doors to us."
" Your're aware that if we fail...and chances for that are high, we'll pay dearly... We'll never come out of that damn place alive..."
" I figured it out", Laandra nodded. " But it's worth trying, though."
" What do ya care? " Daria softly said, crossing her fingers under her chin, evidently impressed.
Laandra eyed her carefully, acknowledging the fact that the young woman was not nearly a quarter as witless as she pretended to be. Simple yes. But her perceptions would have shamed a well trained diplomat, from what he could say.
" I care for the Light. My people spent thousand and thousand of years fleeing from the Burning Legion. Running has made us tired. Here we stand.That's why the Hand of Argus was created by Velen in the first place...because here, on this world, we are to remain and fight, no matter the costs and the outcome...We own this to ourselves...But there are many ways to fight for the Light" , Laandra finished, her tone now diminished to the sound of a whisper. " To fight for the Light is to do the right thing, even if you know others may think it's wrong..."
She pulled out from her belt a dagger and held it high, in front of her eyes, studying the weathered, yet still glowing blade.
"Kessel, the Elekk lord on Bloodmyst said to me, when I had just arrived there, a young girl, barely at the beginning of her training, that a Hand of Argus soldier is, above all, honorable. But sometimes, honorable man can not perform honorably, do to circumstances beyond their control. I guess this is one of these situations". She sighed. "This is to remind me that I am one of the Blades of Argus, no matter what. And this", Laandra added, as she traced the dagger against her palm, leaving behind a bleeding, even if shallow cut, "is to remind me that there is pain in all the choices we make..." Blood trickled down her palm, a small stream, as she put aside the dagger. " Eireannan matters for me more than being righteous...It is to do the right thing."
Daria let out a surprised exclamation, then gave up the bottle and started rumbling through her own pockets, extracting victoriously a crumpled piece of runecloth bandage. She leaned to the side, to take hold of the other one's hand and started bandaging it vigurously.
" Now, now, that was stupid", she muttered under her breath. " Don't waste that pain for nothin' 'cause if we get trapped in the Monastery it'll be cheap coin..."
Laandra's voice trembled slightly when she finally managed to utter again something intelligible.
" ...So you will help me?"
"Not you", Daria shook her head, then clumsily used both hands to restore some degree of order into her un-brushed hair. "Ei'an."
Torment
It hurts.
How can it hurt so much when his body is already numb, as he lays down, face against the cold stones of the pavement?
He keeps telling to himself she's fine. They were going to return her to her own people.
Far from the torture and the agony that never stops.
She does not suffer,and he's grateful for that to the powers that be, as he tries in vain to will his thoughts away from his prison, deep, into himself, in a place where they can not reach him anymore. Locking his consciousness in such a remote corner that there is nothing left behind, for his tormentors...
...At least, Eireannan thinks bitterly, he will not be broken...
How can it hurt so much when his body is already numb, as he lays down, face against the cold stones of the pavement?
He keeps telling to himself she's fine. They were going to return her to her own people.
Far from the torture and the agony that never stops.
She does not suffer,and he's grateful for that to the powers that be, as he tries in vain to will his thoughts away from his prison, deep, into himself, in a place where they can not reach him anymore. Locking his consciousness in such a remote corner that there is nothing left behind, for his tormentors...
...At least, Eireannan thinks bitterly, he will not be broken...
Friday, January 11, 2008
Breathless
She hears the cries from far away.
Letting packages fall from her arms, she draws the sword and starts running up the hill, her breathing fast and shallow as the ominous premonition of disaster clenches her throat.
Peering through the decayed trees to see the house.
Torches burning everywhere.
And there are so many of them, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade...
She would go closer, but she knows it's no use. Her instincts warn her to run away, yet she feels pinned to the ground, while the the thought suddenly bursts into her mind.
Ei'an.
They drag something outside the house. She cannot see what, but she can guess. She's seen bodies carried around since she were twelve. And as she slowly makes it out, a sickening feeling builds into her chest, threatening to send her to the ground, vomiting.
It cannot be.
He's the only one she has.
The only thing she can hang on to and pretend she still lives.
Not Ei'an,she prays as she knows it is real...the shredding ache in her heart is real...her own, personal worst nightmare coming true in front of her eyes.
Her fingers feel numb on the hilt of the sword.
Run in and fight them.
Knowing she'll die too.
But how can she go on without him?
It's not the fact that she's afraid.
No, he made her promise.
That, if anything ever happens to him, she'll keep up the fight against the Scourge and Kel'Thuzad...
And if she does die now, she'll break her promise and all their torment these years would have been in vain.
Tears flow down her eyes and Daria wipes them away roughly, with the back of her sleeve as rises up and staggers away...
Live to fight another day.
But there is emptiness. Darkness. The world is gone and she is alone and it is the same like it was when she was young and the monsters came and torn them all apart...her mother, her father, her little sister...like ragged dolls...
She slides back to the ground, her back against the cold trunk of a tree and takes her face in her hands, letting the sword go, as she breaks down into sobs.
Letting packages fall from her arms, she draws the sword and starts running up the hill, her breathing fast and shallow as the ominous premonition of disaster clenches her throat.
Peering through the decayed trees to see the house.
Torches burning everywhere.
And there are so many of them, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade...
She would go closer, but she knows it's no use. Her instincts warn her to run away, yet she feels pinned to the ground, while the the thought suddenly bursts into her mind.
Ei'an.
They drag something outside the house. She cannot see what, but she can guess. She's seen bodies carried around since she were twelve. And as she slowly makes it out, a sickening feeling builds into her chest, threatening to send her to the ground, vomiting.
It cannot be.
He's the only one she has.
The only thing she can hang on to and pretend she still lives.
Not Ei'an,she prays as she knows it is real...the shredding ache in her heart is real...her own, personal worst nightmare coming true in front of her eyes.
Her fingers feel numb on the hilt of the sword.
Run in and fight them.
Knowing she'll die too.
But how can she go on without him?
It's not the fact that she's afraid.
No, he made her promise.
That, if anything ever happens to him, she'll keep up the fight against the Scourge and Kel'Thuzad...
And if she does die now, she'll break her promise and all their torment these years would have been in vain.
Tears flow down her eyes and Daria wipes them away roughly, with the back of her sleeve as rises up and staggers away...
Live to fight another day.
But there is emptiness. Darkness. The world is gone and she is alone and it is the same like it was when she was young and the monsters came and torn them all apart...her mother, her father, her little sister...like ragged dolls...
She slides back to the ground, her back against the cold trunk of a tree and takes her face in her hands, letting the sword go, as she breaks down into sobs.
Fading
The hours passed by slowly, while they stayed near the fire, awaiting for Daria to return. It was warm and pleasant inside and Laandra felt so tired after the journey that, despite her efforts, she soon drifted into sleep.
Her face buried into his shirt, fingers grasping at the sleeve.
Eireannan sighed, slowly tracing with just the tips of his fingers the perfect line of her lips. He caught sight of his own poorly healed hands and shivered. It was so that the purity and the beauty of her soul were in such utter contrast with himself...
" I have strayed from the rightful way a long time", he thought." Denied the power that Light held upon my soul...but wasn't Light to forsake me in the first place?"
Heresy.
"Yet I have not betrayed anyone, I have not sought greater power for myself and I have never killed an innocent. And for that I am at peace with my soul."
The last prayers he had ever said were those he had murmured onto Niniel's broken body, as he carried her to the hastily built pyre. Lady Sylavanas was right. He did burn her and he had thrown the Book of Prayers to burn with her. What use did it have to him anymore?
A sudden noise outside made him jump. Laandra stirred sleepily as he disentangled her hands from his clothing and stood up to glance through the window.
Why hadn't he left one of his minions to guard them?
Not that it would have bettered the situation in any way, he thought, cynically, his right hand going instinctively for the hilt of the sword only to discover he didn't wear it.
Laandra had woken up completely in the meanwhile. She rose quickly, worried by the tension in his movements and by the small sounds that came from the other side of the door. Peering over his shoulder, she almost gave a startled cry.
There were at least twenty of them, Laandra discovered in horror. Priests and paladins, mostly, yet some of them looked rather like blade wielders, not Holy Light.
The door went down in seconds. They had barely managed to get back a few steps, when the room was filled with stern looking men, all of them wearing the tabard of the Scarlet Crusade.
"Eireannan Sarálondë , in the name of Light, you are to come with us..."
These men were supposed to be guardians of the Light, Laandra thought, despairingly. Why then this fear, wrapping her tighter and tighter around her neck, like a snake?
" So you finally found me!" she heard Eireannan say. The gentle expression he had displayed earlier had vanished, as if dispelled and there was coldness in his voice, as he stood there, defying the attackers.
" You are a shame for all the righteous people!" one of them spat out, words so filled with hatred that Laandra shivered instinctively.
"Righteous people like you, that would torture innocents to death and then bring them back to make them suffer some more...?"
Despair, Laandra understood. They were trapped.
There was suddenly a burst of light and she closed her eyes, almost blinded. Eireannan gasped as it hit him and she remembered in a flash what Holy Light meant to him, to corrupted body and soul alike…He staggered but did not fall, yet, she could almost physically feel his pain, as he struggled not to scream, through gritted teeth.
The priest in front of the crowd threw his hands out, ready to summon another wave of Holy Light.
This was so not as it should have been, Laandra thought, her mind stirring around the facts.
Light was good.Light was forgiveness and prayer.
Light did not hurt...
Laandra heard herself screaming “No”, as she dashed in front of Eireannan. The new blast of Holy Light surrounded her body, but left her unharmed. That was the power of faith, she thought, as the men suddenly became aware of her presence and Eireannan left out a shocked sound.
“Get away, mage”, the priest said despisingly. “You’re not one of us, not one of these lands…don’t interfere with things you do not understand! Your recklessness has served enough our interests ."
Blades unsheathed, they came closer. She did not move.
“Get back, draenei, a paladin intervened. Let us cleanse this demon! Your kind is tolerated here, for now, but punishments will be severe for those that side with the demons and the undead.”
" Laan", Eireannan whispered, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. He was now surrounded in the sickly luminescence of his demonic shield. The time she had bought had allowed him to summon his imp as well. "It's no use. Let me die with honor.It's all I have left."
She felt his suffering , his doubt. The slight hesitation in his voice.
But there was no time left. No mercy.
"No", she begged, her eyes now welling with tears. " It is all wrong! Stop it,please..."
Someone tried to pull her away, roughly grabbing her upper arm. Then everything turned into a blurry rush of sound and movement, as the men pressed forward, swords at the ready, the imp started tossing fireballs at them making a terrible noise and she heard Eireannan let out a small cry when one of the sharp blades pierced his shoulder, in one single hit.
He felt dizziness engulfing him, while they cast again their Holy Light at him, making him sink into an ocean of agony. Blood gushed freely from the wound and then he fell on one knee, strength wearing away, as he threw out a last curse.
Death would be swift, this time.
And there was nothing else in his mind that a huge void...not even the haunting images that followed him every night, as Silvermoon fell over and over an Niniel died.
There was nothing. Just him, alone, shivering, as blood spilled out of the wounds and trickled to the floor.
Expecting the final blow, which would not come anymore.
He forced himself back into awareness and understood. It was Laandra, her slender body covering his, her glimmering shield absorbing the merciless blows.
Protecting him.
Her face pale, as her own energy was drained away and the spell power was faltering.
He wanted to scream, to push her away, away from the pain that awaited now them both.
"Don't die. Just don't die for me, Laan..."
Did he actually spell the words out?
The second turned into an eternity as their eyes locked together.
" I didn't betray you", she whispered, her lips barely forming the sounds. "I don't know...how they found out...they spied on me...I was careless...but I didn't..."
A sob.
" I'd rather die with you than betray you..."
"I know."
Reaching out for her, to pull her closer, as her shield fades, swords and daggers torn their flesh apart, leaving gaping wounds, and blood spills out, mixing their life essences into one.
Then all sound dies, even the last, remote whisper of a prayer.
"Oh Light, we have sinned against you,
through our own fault,
in thought, and word, and deed,
and in what we have left undone.
But in our pain we pray for you to forgive us all our offenses;
and grant that we may serve you
in newness of life,
to the glory of your Name."
Her face buried into his shirt, fingers grasping at the sleeve.
Eireannan sighed, slowly tracing with just the tips of his fingers the perfect line of her lips. He caught sight of his own poorly healed hands and shivered. It was so that the purity and the beauty of her soul were in such utter contrast with himself...
" I have strayed from the rightful way a long time", he thought." Denied the power that Light held upon my soul...but wasn't Light to forsake me in the first place?"
Heresy.
"Yet I have not betrayed anyone, I have not sought greater power for myself and I have never killed an innocent. And for that I am at peace with my soul."
The last prayers he had ever said were those he had murmured onto Niniel's broken body, as he carried her to the hastily built pyre. Lady Sylavanas was right. He did burn her and he had thrown the Book of Prayers to burn with her. What use did it have to him anymore?
A sudden noise outside made him jump. Laandra stirred sleepily as he disentangled her hands from his clothing and stood up to glance through the window.
Why hadn't he left one of his minions to guard them?
Not that it would have bettered the situation in any way, he thought, cynically, his right hand going instinctively for the hilt of the sword only to discover he didn't wear it.
Laandra had woken up completely in the meanwhile. She rose quickly, worried by the tension in his movements and by the small sounds that came from the other side of the door. Peering over his shoulder, she almost gave a startled cry.
There were at least twenty of them, Laandra discovered in horror. Priests and paladins, mostly, yet some of them looked rather like blade wielders, not Holy Light.
The door went down in seconds. They had barely managed to get back a few steps, when the room was filled with stern looking men, all of them wearing the tabard of the Scarlet Crusade.
"Eireannan Sarálondë , in the name of Light, you are to come with us..."
These men were supposed to be guardians of the Light, Laandra thought, despairingly. Why then this fear, wrapping her tighter and tighter around her neck, like a snake?
" So you finally found me!" she heard Eireannan say. The gentle expression he had displayed earlier had vanished, as if dispelled and there was coldness in his voice, as he stood there, defying the attackers.
" You are a shame for all the righteous people!" one of them spat out, words so filled with hatred that Laandra shivered instinctively.
"Righteous people like you, that would torture innocents to death and then bring them back to make them suffer some more...?"
Despair, Laandra understood. They were trapped.
There was suddenly a burst of light and she closed her eyes, almost blinded. Eireannan gasped as it hit him and she remembered in a flash what Holy Light meant to him, to corrupted body and soul alike…He staggered but did not fall, yet, she could almost physically feel his pain, as he struggled not to scream, through gritted teeth.
The priest in front of the crowd threw his hands out, ready to summon another wave of Holy Light.
This was so not as it should have been, Laandra thought, her mind stirring around the facts.
Light was good.Light was forgiveness and prayer.
Light did not hurt...
Laandra heard herself screaming “No”, as she dashed in front of Eireannan. The new blast of Holy Light surrounded her body, but left her unharmed. That was the power of faith, she thought, as the men suddenly became aware of her presence and Eireannan left out a shocked sound.
“Get away, mage”, the priest said despisingly. “You’re not one of us, not one of these lands…don’t interfere with things you do not understand! Your recklessness has served enough our interests ."
Blades unsheathed, they came closer. She did not move.
“Get back, draenei, a paladin intervened. Let us cleanse this demon! Your kind is tolerated here, for now, but punishments will be severe for those that side with the demons and the undead.”
" Laan", Eireannan whispered, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. He was now surrounded in the sickly luminescence of his demonic shield. The time she had bought had allowed him to summon his imp as well. "It's no use. Let me die with honor.It's all I have left."
She felt his suffering , his doubt. The slight hesitation in his voice.
But there was no time left. No mercy.
"No", she begged, her eyes now welling with tears. " It is all wrong! Stop it,please..."
Someone tried to pull her away, roughly grabbing her upper arm. Then everything turned into a blurry rush of sound and movement, as the men pressed forward, swords at the ready, the imp started tossing fireballs at them making a terrible noise and she heard Eireannan let out a small cry when one of the sharp blades pierced his shoulder, in one single hit.
He felt dizziness engulfing him, while they cast again their Holy Light at him, making him sink into an ocean of agony. Blood gushed freely from the wound and then he fell on one knee, strength wearing away, as he threw out a last curse.
Death would be swift, this time.
And there was nothing else in his mind that a huge void...not even the haunting images that followed him every night, as Silvermoon fell over and over an Niniel died.
There was nothing. Just him, alone, shivering, as blood spilled out of the wounds and trickled to the floor.
Expecting the final blow, which would not come anymore.
He forced himself back into awareness and understood. It was Laandra, her slender body covering his, her glimmering shield absorbing the merciless blows.
Protecting him.
Her face pale, as her own energy was drained away and the spell power was faltering.
He wanted to scream, to push her away, away from the pain that awaited now them both.
"Don't die. Just don't die for me, Laan..."
Did he actually spell the words out?
The second turned into an eternity as their eyes locked together.
" I didn't betray you", she whispered, her lips barely forming the sounds. "I don't know...how they found out...they spied on me...I was careless...but I didn't..."
A sob.
" I'd rather die with you than betray you..."
"I know."
Reaching out for her, to pull her closer, as her shield fades, swords and daggers torn their flesh apart, leaving gaping wounds, and blood spills out, mixing their life essences into one.
Then all sound dies, even the last, remote whisper of a prayer.
"Oh Light, we have sinned against you,
through our own fault,
in thought, and word, and deed,
and in what we have left undone.
But in our pain we pray for you to forgive us all our offenses;
and grant that we may serve you
in newness of life,
to the glory of your Name."
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