She should have run while she had the time.
But she was no coward.
Even if that meant certain gruesome death.
She watched mesmerized as the warlock extended his hand and called out a spell in demonic.
Then it all went black.
As the rippling pain coursed through her body, making her unable to move, to think, to even cry, Laandra went limp and fell face down in the snow. Coldness surrounded her while she fought for control. Then the pain reached its apotheosis and exploded inside her, rendering her totally unconscious.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
A strange meeting
He was just passing through the snowy ravine, hoping the blizzard would not start until he was able to make it to some shelter.
The land was covered in ice and frozen snow, so he had dismounted his felsteed and contented himself with walking. The imp was trudging behind him, muttering curses under his breath, for being made to wander on such a terrible weather.
The little demon was the first to spot the cloaked figure perched over a stone. Picking up herbs, Eriennan thought, instantly remembering that southern Alterac Mountains were the only place in the world where Wintersbite grew.
The woman rose. She was taller than the average elf, he realized, yet very slender and agile. Her skin a light blue, her hair only slightly darker and delicate horn-like protuberances prodding from her head.
Draenei, he remembered.He had met some of her race before, mostly Vindicators coming to fight in the Plaguelands, alongside paladins of the Alliance.
Then the woman looked up and she jumped a bit, startled.She met his gaze, not scared, just determined, even if the fight would have been unequal and she knew it as well.
She stepped back, cautiously, and surrounded herself with a glowing magic shield, while still waiting for his actions.
She was one of the Alliance, Erieannan thought. Enough reason to hunt her down.
Yet, in his entire not-really-honorable career, Erieannan Saralonde had never killed an innocent.
True, there were times when the rage he felt deep within the confines of his soul was so strong that he would have slaughtered everyone that got in his way, friend or foe alike.
But he always managed to control that, knowing, at the back at his mind, that succumbing to such an urge would have been the beginning of the end for his own sanity.
The imp was now jumping, trying to catch his attention, to obtain permission to attack, yet Erieannan did not move. And neither did the younger draenei mage.She just looked fascinated at the warlock, probably to scared to retreat and as such leave her back vulnerable.
Not that she really stood a chance if he decided to strike at her.
“Master” the imp pleaded, tugging at his cloak. Curse her, master. Let’s kill her, let’s kill her!”
He brushed away the little demon, annoyed. The gesture made the mage startle. He could distinguish well her nicely carved features, in the glowing light spread by her own shield…
And then, without knowing why, he just extended his arm and called out the words...
The land was covered in ice and frozen snow, so he had dismounted his felsteed and contented himself with walking. The imp was trudging behind him, muttering curses under his breath, for being made to wander on such a terrible weather.
The little demon was the first to spot the cloaked figure perched over a stone. Picking up herbs, Eriennan thought, instantly remembering that southern Alterac Mountains were the only place in the world where Wintersbite grew.
The woman rose. She was taller than the average elf, he realized, yet very slender and agile. Her skin a light blue, her hair only slightly darker and delicate horn-like protuberances prodding from her head.
Draenei, he remembered.He had met some of her race before, mostly Vindicators coming to fight in the Plaguelands, alongside paladins of the Alliance.
Then the woman looked up and she jumped a bit, startled.She met his gaze, not scared, just determined, even if the fight would have been unequal and she knew it as well.
She stepped back, cautiously, and surrounded herself with a glowing magic shield, while still waiting for his actions.
She was one of the Alliance, Erieannan thought. Enough reason to hunt her down.
Yet, in his entire not-really-honorable career, Erieannan Saralonde had never killed an innocent.
True, there were times when the rage he felt deep within the confines of his soul was so strong that he would have slaughtered everyone that got in his way, friend or foe alike.
But he always managed to control that, knowing, at the back at his mind, that succumbing to such an urge would have been the beginning of the end for his own sanity.
The imp was now jumping, trying to catch his attention, to obtain permission to attack, yet Erieannan did not move. And neither did the younger draenei mage.She just looked fascinated at the warlock, probably to scared to retreat and as such leave her back vulnerable.
Not that she really stood a chance if he decided to strike at her.
“Master” the imp pleaded, tugging at his cloak. Curse her, master. Let’s kill her, let’s kill her!”
He brushed away the little demon, annoyed. The gesture made the mage startle. He could distinguish well her nicely carved features, in the glowing light spread by her own shield…
And then, without knowing why, he just extended his arm and called out the words...
Self denial
Blinking away her tears, Laandra climbed further, oblivious at the thorns that tore at her clothing and left small, bleeding wounds all over her arms. She went deeper and deeper into Moongraze Woods that towered upon Azure Watch. Desperately wishing she could just get far enough from the place that used to be her home...no, not from there, far enough from herself, her twisted, stupid emotions...
"It was only a night..."
"But it screwed up you mind, your life and now it gets to the most important thing of all. Your duty..."
" I have no feelings for that man..."
" Who are you trying to trick?"
No, the world was definitely coming to an end and the sickness inside threatened to send her vomiting into the bushes. A very proud thing to do, for an honored member of the Hand!
She stopped near the top of the hill and perched down under some branches, finding herself a good spot to seat. Hugging her knees with her arms, as if trying to protect from an invisible threat, Laandra brethead heavily, the suffering inside growing more acute with each passing second.
Truth was she hated to be made to choose.
Better said, choosing with one option open, the other ones representing such infamies that she could not even consider them. And the available, obvious choice, was in itself sort of a betrayal...to someone she owned nothing, nonetheless, yet still a betrayal.
Why wasn't she able to tell Prophet Velen that she refused the assignment?
" Sure, she muttered to herself, just go on, tell him you cannot do it 'cause you're personally involved with the enemy. Oh, a blood elf, by the way. And a warlock. A summoner of demons and a wielder of shadow magic, to make it clear...Damn it, Laandra, you have taste in men!"
Anger. Denial. Bitterness.
And the memories, flooding her like a river.
Humiliating to the very end, she started to cry.
"It was only a night..."
"But it screwed up you mind, your life and now it gets to the most important thing of all. Your duty..."
" I have no feelings for that man..."
" Who are you trying to trick?"
No, the world was definitely coming to an end and the sickness inside threatened to send her vomiting into the bushes. A very proud thing to do, for an honored member of the Hand!
She stopped near the top of the hill and perched down under some branches, finding herself a good spot to seat. Hugging her knees with her arms, as if trying to protect from an invisible threat, Laandra brethead heavily, the suffering inside growing more acute with each passing second.
Truth was she hated to be made to choose.
Better said, choosing with one option open, the other ones representing such infamies that she could not even consider them. And the available, obvious choice, was in itself sort of a betrayal...to someone she owned nothing, nonetheless, yet still a betrayal.
Why wasn't she able to tell Prophet Velen that she refused the assignment?
" Sure, she muttered to herself, just go on, tell him you cannot do it 'cause you're personally involved with the enemy. Oh, a blood elf, by the way. And a warlock. A summoner of demons and a wielder of shadow magic, to make it clear...Damn it, Laandra, you have taste in men!"
Anger. Denial. Bitterness.
And the memories, flooding her like a river.
Humiliating to the very end, she started to cry.
Introspection
Erieannan Sarálondë stood atop the peak that oversaw the ruins of Strahnbrad and his eyes wandered restlessly along the misty lines of the mountains. It snowed heavily. Despite his heavy fur-lined cloak, Erieannan felt cold.
Chilled through the bone, as one of the mindless undead creatures of the Scourge that roamed through Tirisfal Glades or Silverpine. What was the difference between him and one of those, he wondered for the hundred time in the last days. The remnants of control to which he desperately clung, always telling himself that he was stronger than the thirst for magic, than the foul energies from which he drew his very life essence.
He had learned to harness them, yes, but didn’t they control him in the same way? A puppet at the mercy of his own addiction! The blood elf clenched his fists, wishing he could hurt someone…hurt himself, prove that somehow he was still alive, still feeling, still the person he had been before the Scourge armies had carelessly marched over the walls of Silvermoon.
They called him the Deathcaller.
He heard a chuckle behind and turned in a burst of anger at the small creature. The imp smirked deviously, not at all concerned by his master’s torment. As much as he had used to loving his own desperate solitude, even the company of an imp was sometimes preferable to the endless void inside.
The most dangerous thing of all, Eireannan muttered to himself, was not loneliness, but the lack of a presence you had grown used to.
Even it had been only for a night.
Such a brief moment, yet enough to tear apart what was left of this own fragile equilibrium.
Her energy, so strong, quenching his painful addiction...her calm, and her tenderness soothing the never closing wound in his soul, the warm, soft hands brushing through his hair, driving him closer, into something like a mad kiss, before they crumbled together to the ground, in an embrace.
"Don't remember, don't remember, dont't think of this, not now..." Maybe if he said it long enough it would help to keep the memory away.
But it didn't.
He felt pitifully weak, a man even a witless imp could laugh at, and it was something to laugh at, of course, as he stood there, unable to simply let go.
" How many times do you have to lose to learn the lesson?
There is nothing for you to love in this world. Nor in the others.
Only the sharp blade that you keep at your side, and your own force, that gathers around the creatures of the nether and bends them to our will.
Nothing else.
Your are lonely and you will die lonely."
But it still ached so badly that Erieannan wished he could end it there. Get on the highest peak and just step forward, into nothingness.
Maybe the thrill of the fall as well. Then his body crushing to the rocks below, in a mess of broken bones, flesh and blood. Not a nice sight, but probably a good meal for the howling wolves of the wild.
He glared down at the imp, blushing slightly, as if the noisy creature would have been able to guess his suicidal thoughts.
That was not a good choice either. At least not until he finished his business with the Scourge.
Straightening against the chilling wind of the mountains, he wrapped himself tighter in his cloak and let out a small mocking laughter.
He was after all Erieannan Sarálondë the Deathcaller, head of the Shadow Moon and he would not fail.
Chilled through the bone, as one of the mindless undead creatures of the Scourge that roamed through Tirisfal Glades or Silverpine. What was the difference between him and one of those, he wondered for the hundred time in the last days. The remnants of control to which he desperately clung, always telling himself that he was stronger than the thirst for magic, than the foul energies from which he drew his very life essence.
He had learned to harness them, yes, but didn’t they control him in the same way? A puppet at the mercy of his own addiction! The blood elf clenched his fists, wishing he could hurt someone…hurt himself, prove that somehow he was still alive, still feeling, still the person he had been before the Scourge armies had carelessly marched over the walls of Silvermoon.
They called him the Deathcaller.
He heard a chuckle behind and turned in a burst of anger at the small creature. The imp smirked deviously, not at all concerned by his master’s torment. As much as he had used to loving his own desperate solitude, even the company of an imp was sometimes preferable to the endless void inside.
The most dangerous thing of all, Eireannan muttered to himself, was not loneliness, but the lack of a presence you had grown used to.
Even it had been only for a night.
Such a brief moment, yet enough to tear apart what was left of this own fragile equilibrium.
Her energy, so strong, quenching his painful addiction...her calm, and her tenderness soothing the never closing wound in his soul, the warm, soft hands brushing through his hair, driving him closer, into something like a mad kiss, before they crumbled together to the ground, in an embrace.
"Don't remember, don't remember, dont't think of this, not now..." Maybe if he said it long enough it would help to keep the memory away.
But it didn't.
He felt pitifully weak, a man even a witless imp could laugh at, and it was something to laugh at, of course, as he stood there, unable to simply let go.
" How many times do you have to lose to learn the lesson?
There is nothing for you to love in this world. Nor in the others.
Only the sharp blade that you keep at your side, and your own force, that gathers around the creatures of the nether and bends them to our will.
Nothing else.
Your are lonely and you will die lonely."
But it still ached so badly that Erieannan wished he could end it there. Get on the highest peak and just step forward, into nothingness.
Maybe the thrill of the fall as well. Then his body crushing to the rocks below, in a mess of broken bones, flesh and blood. Not a nice sight, but probably a good meal for the howling wolves of the wild.
He glared down at the imp, blushing slightly, as if the noisy creature would have been able to guess his suicidal thoughts.
That was not a good choice either. At least not until he finished his business with the Scourge.
Straightening against the chilling wind of the mountains, he wrapped himself tighter in his cloak and let out a small mocking laughter.
He was after all Erieannan Sarálondë the Deathcaller, head of the Shadow Moon and he would not fail.
Trapped
Blighted land.
Oh, how he hated blighted land…
Blighted land, cruel and desolated where farms and villages and lush forests once grew.
So many places of the world he had seen, some thriving, others fallen to ruin and destruction, invaded by vegetation or burnt down to ashes.
But not even the barren fields of Desolace, where he had journeyed once, long before, could make him feel that utter helplessness. In his restless dreams he always turned there, to Stratholme, hands covered in blood, as he staggered around, drained of spiritual energy, applying crude bandages to people with gruesome wounds.
Oozing cuts, blistered burns, members chopped off, bodies defiled in ways no sane being could imagine.
All light, all hope, forever lost.
At nights, he laid in his tent, eyes wide open, staring in the dark. Listening to the rustle of voices around him that only he could hear.
Listening to the demonic chaos that lay beyond the thin weaving of the real world. Learning to understand their calls and summons.
His will extending like a tendril, to engulf and pull into existence a tiny fragment of nether.
Every night, weeks in a row, until he was able to finally do it and the demon sprang into being in front of him, his small, child-like distorted hands blazing with fire.
Every night he grew in strength as demon master, while his own spirit became less and less free.
...and with each night he fell deeper into the abyss.
Oh, how he hated blighted land…
Blighted land, cruel and desolated where farms and villages and lush forests once grew.
So many places of the world he had seen, some thriving, others fallen to ruin and destruction, invaded by vegetation or burnt down to ashes.
But not even the barren fields of Desolace, where he had journeyed once, long before, could make him feel that utter helplessness. In his restless dreams he always turned there, to Stratholme, hands covered in blood, as he staggered around, drained of spiritual energy, applying crude bandages to people with gruesome wounds.
Oozing cuts, blistered burns, members chopped off, bodies defiled in ways no sane being could imagine.
All light, all hope, forever lost.
At nights, he laid in his tent, eyes wide open, staring in the dark. Listening to the rustle of voices around him that only he could hear.
Listening to the demonic chaos that lay beyond the thin weaving of the real world. Learning to understand their calls and summons.
His will extending like a tendril, to engulf and pull into existence a tiny fragment of nether.
Every night, weeks in a row, until he was able to finally do it and the demon sprang into being in front of him, his small, child-like distorted hands blazing with fire.
Every night he grew in strength as demon master, while his own spirit became less and less free.
...and with each night he fell deeper into the abyss.
Call of fire
Laandra Seth'aran, Mage of the Hand of Argus.
It had come quite naturally, since she did not really have any inclination for the arts of pure combat. Of course, she would have liked to be a healer, a holy priest or a shaman, but her real inclination was towards the elemental powers and she could still remember the moment when Vaalatu had stopped her when passing by in the streets of Azure Watch.
“ There is something about you, little one”, Vaalatu said, in her soft tone, “that makes me think you could make a great mage. You’re now old enough to start your training…and I could help you, if you wish…”
“You’re too kind”, Laandra answered, trying not to let her surprise overwhelm her. For long had she been conscious of the magical energies flowing inside of her, at times like a wave urging for release, at others like an unending thirst which no water could quench. Yet, she had tried to suppress these as there was no time to think about anything else but survival, tending to the wounded, helping the weak, gathering useful remains from the ship wreckage or even hunting for food in the green hills of Azuremyst. Her entire life span around her purpose to help. With no family and barely any friends with which to share her loneliness and fears, Laandra clung desperately to the daily routine.
Vaalatu was studying her intently.
“So, what say you, Laandra?”
She blushed under her soft, light blue skin, lowered her eyes and barely found the courge to answer.
“ Yes” she mumbled in half voice. “ That would be wonderful, to train with you”. She liked Vaalatu, she was an outspoken, nice woman, always helpful and a seemingly unending source of potions for the wounded.
“Then it is settled, as of now you are my apprentice”, Vaalatu said. “Be warned that the way of a mage is not easy. Extensive study and even more exercise is necessary to be able to control those energies you so abundantly possess. You will have to learn how to release them without allowing them to consume yourself. The powers of the elements will be at your fingertips but forget one second of the absolute balance that the Universe is built on and you will unleash tremendous destruction…”
"Forget one moment who you truly are and you will end up in this sort of mess I am in", Laandra told to her self angrily, while crossing the Seat of the Naaru. The city was quiet around her, with few people in the halls, if any at all. The young Vindicator walked by her side, still maintaining a respectful distance. He had not try to engage her in any conversation and Laandra felt grateful for it. She needed to focus on her inner self and emotions, trying to surpress all those that could cloud her judgment. The Prophet wouldn't have called her for nothing.
The young Vindicator stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to Velen's chambers, in the Vault of Lights. Laandra nodded to him with a smile and started climbing. The confident look on her face felt like a mask, hastily applied and ready to break.
Velen was waiting for her. Laandra passed by th guards and went to kneel respectfuly in front of the Prophet. Not surprisingly, he helped her up. Velen the Divine did not need this sort of humility from any of his followers.
"So you are back, young one", he greeted her. " Story of your courageous deeds reached the Exodar since you left."
" I have tried, your Highness..." And failed to myself, she sadly thought.
"I had you called in such a rush because of some news I have received from our allies."
Laandra forced herself to swallow.
" I am honored, your Highness."
" Lady Thelaana will explain you the details later. But I want you to know it is an assignment of the highest importance."
" I will do my best to prove my self worthy of your trust."
Why the insidous feeling that something was utterly wrong? Even later, when the audience was over and she had left the Vault of Lights to find Master Sergeant Thelaana back in the Seat of the Naaru, the ominous premonition did not leave her for a moment.
Lady Thelaana looked at her a bit disappointed, when Laandra gave her the usual greeting used by the members of the Hand.
" So you are Laandra Seth'aran", she said briskly. " I suppose you came to learn of you new assignment. The Prophet himself chose you, since you have been of great use in the past...and because of you good connections in Stormwind..."
Despite the words, Laandra was aware that the other Draenei was not at all content with Velen's choice. A mage, instead of one of her proud Vindicators! However, she hid her disappointment well as she continued.
" Apparently there is a new faction rising in the Eastern Plaguelands and our allies are worried about it. They asked us for help to investigate its whereabouts, since we are skilled in the ways of the light and apparently less prone to succumb to the corruption of those lands."
" Your mission is to go there and see what you can find out about this Shadowmoon group... From the little we know, they are mostly blood elves, but also humans and Forsaken as well. Demon summoners and fel priests... She shrugged, slightly disgusted. Their leader is said to be a blood elf warlock..."
Cold. It felt cold. Her heart skipped a beat or two, then it rushed forward, making Laandra dizzy, knees badly shaking.
..." Erieannan Saralonde..."
The only thing Laandra could manage was a small nod, as she prayed not to faint there. Fate was really mocking her those days.
It had come quite naturally, since she did not really have any inclination for the arts of pure combat. Of course, she would have liked to be a healer, a holy priest or a shaman, but her real inclination was towards the elemental powers and she could still remember the moment when Vaalatu had stopped her when passing by in the streets of Azure Watch.
“ There is something about you, little one”, Vaalatu said, in her soft tone, “that makes me think you could make a great mage. You’re now old enough to start your training…and I could help you, if you wish…”
“You’re too kind”, Laandra answered, trying not to let her surprise overwhelm her. For long had she been conscious of the magical energies flowing inside of her, at times like a wave urging for release, at others like an unending thirst which no water could quench. Yet, she had tried to suppress these as there was no time to think about anything else but survival, tending to the wounded, helping the weak, gathering useful remains from the ship wreckage or even hunting for food in the green hills of Azuremyst. Her entire life span around her purpose to help. With no family and barely any friends with which to share her loneliness and fears, Laandra clung desperately to the daily routine.
Vaalatu was studying her intently.
“So, what say you, Laandra?”
She blushed under her soft, light blue skin, lowered her eyes and barely found the courge to answer.
“ Yes” she mumbled in half voice. “ That would be wonderful, to train with you”. She liked Vaalatu, she was an outspoken, nice woman, always helpful and a seemingly unending source of potions for the wounded.
“Then it is settled, as of now you are my apprentice”, Vaalatu said. “Be warned that the way of a mage is not easy. Extensive study and even more exercise is necessary to be able to control those energies you so abundantly possess. You will have to learn how to release them without allowing them to consume yourself. The powers of the elements will be at your fingertips but forget one second of the absolute balance that the Universe is built on and you will unleash tremendous destruction…”
"Forget one moment who you truly are and you will end up in this sort of mess I am in", Laandra told to her self angrily, while crossing the Seat of the Naaru. The city was quiet around her, with few people in the halls, if any at all. The young Vindicator walked by her side, still maintaining a respectful distance. He had not try to engage her in any conversation and Laandra felt grateful for it. She needed to focus on her inner self and emotions, trying to surpress all those that could cloud her judgment. The Prophet wouldn't have called her for nothing.
The young Vindicator stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to Velen's chambers, in the Vault of Lights. Laandra nodded to him with a smile and started climbing. The confident look on her face felt like a mask, hastily applied and ready to break.
Velen was waiting for her. Laandra passed by th guards and went to kneel respectfuly in front of the Prophet. Not surprisingly, he helped her up. Velen the Divine did not need this sort of humility from any of his followers.
"So you are back, young one", he greeted her. " Story of your courageous deeds reached the Exodar since you left."
" I have tried, your Highness..." And failed to myself, she sadly thought.
"I had you called in such a rush because of some news I have received from our allies."
Laandra forced herself to swallow.
" I am honored, your Highness."
" Lady Thelaana will explain you the details later. But I want you to know it is an assignment of the highest importance."
" I will do my best to prove my self worthy of your trust."
Why the insidous feeling that something was utterly wrong? Even later, when the audience was over and she had left the Vault of Lights to find Master Sergeant Thelaana back in the Seat of the Naaru, the ominous premonition did not leave her for a moment.
Lady Thelaana looked at her a bit disappointed, when Laandra gave her the usual greeting used by the members of the Hand.
" So you are Laandra Seth'aran", she said briskly. " I suppose you came to learn of you new assignment. The Prophet himself chose you, since you have been of great use in the past...and because of you good connections in Stormwind..."
Despite the words, Laandra was aware that the other Draenei was not at all content with Velen's choice. A mage, instead of one of her proud Vindicators! However, she hid her disappointment well as she continued.
" Apparently there is a new faction rising in the Eastern Plaguelands and our allies are worried about it. They asked us for help to investigate its whereabouts, since we are skilled in the ways of the light and apparently less prone to succumb to the corruption of those lands."
" Your mission is to go there and see what you can find out about this Shadowmoon group... From the little we know, they are mostly blood elves, but also humans and Forsaken as well. Demon summoners and fel priests... She shrugged, slightly disgusted. Their leader is said to be a blood elf warlock..."
Cold. It felt cold. Her heart skipped a beat or two, then it rushed forward, making Laandra dizzy, knees badly shaking.
..." Erieannan Saralonde..."
The only thing Laandra could manage was a small nod, as she prayed not to faint there. Fate was really mocking her those days.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Call of Earth...
" My dear, dear girl" Vaalatu said, her face radiating with joy as Laandra approached her. The elder woman was bent over a basket of herbs, carefully sorting them. She wiped away her hands on her skirts, then reached out and gave Laandra an almost suffocating hug.
"You've grown up" she said afterwards, pushing Laandra away so as to be able to study her. "New haircut, fancy robes and that look on your face..." Vaalatu sighed.
No longer that innocent girl I used to know...And a good mage I suppose".
Laandra flexed her fingers before answering. She did not want to sound sad but it did. Her voice betrayed it, she knew it well. That she had not come there to pay her respects only, but to hide from the torment of her soul, like a scared child in a stormy night.
All the way to there from the Wetlands she had hoped it would be enough to step on the shores of Azuremyst to regain her inner equilibrium. To forget it all. Her sweet forbidden passion.
But it wasn't. Laandra looked around and though the place felt utterly familiar, she did not feel the calmness she had expected. Nothing was right. Hell, she had messed it up completely. Her life, her duty as one of the Hand of Argus, her faith, all...
"Laandra?"
Vaalatu reached out again to gently touch her arm, worried by her pained expression.
" Are you sick, girl?"
Yes she was. Her soul was sick, corrupted to the core with madness. Something far beyond the healing powers of Vaalatu's potions. With a sound of despair, Laandra threw herself on her knees, hiding her face in the palms. Tears would have been a blessing, but she could not cry. Nor could she share her burden with anyone. It was hers to bear and only now did she understand what it meant to long for peace and yet be allowed none.
" Laandra, you scare the hell out of me" Vaalatu said, kneeling beside hers. It was midday and passers threw inquisitive glances towards them, yet none stopped by to stare at the scene. Survivors of the Exodar, most of them could still remember what it ment to break down.
"No", Laandra managed to whisper, brushing away the protective hand Vaalatu had placed on her head. " Just tired and worried lately, that's all"...
"And you expect me to believe that?"
Their eyes locked and Laandra gave her that defiant gaze Vaalatu remembered well.
All was so screwed up she could as well break old ties and make loved ones suffer, Laandra desperately thought. Luckily, in that same moment, a voice from behind made them both jump. It was one of the young Vindicators that had probably just finished the training required to join the ranks of the Hand. An attractive man, Laandra noticed, absent mindedly. As if she cared.
The man seemed uncomfortable with interrupting what was obviously a private conversation.
" You are Laandra Seth'aran?" he asked, politely, while maintain a respectful distance.
Laandra felt grateful that the other name under which she had started to be known, after her recent losses of temper, had not yet arrived to the Exodar. The Ashbringer. To be nicknamed after such a mythical blade was an honor of sorts, but she doubted Vaalatu would have appreciated this aspect. In her own eyes, it betrayed nothing more than a dangerous inclination towards dabbling with fire magic.
"Yes" she said, trying to compose himself, as she stood up and gave Vaalatu a faint apologetic smile.
" I have been sent to inform you that Our Prophet Velen, Light bless him, wishes to see you immediately."
Laandra was not able to suppress a slight grimace. She forced herself into calmness, but her hesitation did not, could not, obviously, escape unnoticed by Vaalatu. The elder Draenei gave Laandra a small push forward, setting her into motion.
"Well, news travel fast" she said, raising an eyebrow."You'll pass by to see me later, child...Light be you..."
"And then we'll talk" she added, and even if the words were soft and caring Laandra's heart suddenly ached, as if faced with a threat.
"You've grown up" she said afterwards, pushing Laandra away so as to be able to study her. "New haircut, fancy robes and that look on your face..." Vaalatu sighed.
No longer that innocent girl I used to know...And a good mage I suppose".
Laandra flexed her fingers before answering. She did not want to sound sad but it did. Her voice betrayed it, she knew it well. That she had not come there to pay her respects only, but to hide from the torment of her soul, like a scared child in a stormy night.
All the way to there from the Wetlands she had hoped it would be enough to step on the shores of Azuremyst to regain her inner equilibrium. To forget it all. Her sweet forbidden passion.
But it wasn't. Laandra looked around and though the place felt utterly familiar, she did not feel the calmness she had expected. Nothing was right. Hell, she had messed it up completely. Her life, her duty as one of the Hand of Argus, her faith, all...
"Laandra?"
Vaalatu reached out again to gently touch her arm, worried by her pained expression.
" Are you sick, girl?"
Yes she was. Her soul was sick, corrupted to the core with madness. Something far beyond the healing powers of Vaalatu's potions. With a sound of despair, Laandra threw herself on her knees, hiding her face in the palms. Tears would have been a blessing, but she could not cry. Nor could she share her burden with anyone. It was hers to bear and only now did she understand what it meant to long for peace and yet be allowed none.
" Laandra, you scare the hell out of me" Vaalatu said, kneeling beside hers. It was midday and passers threw inquisitive glances towards them, yet none stopped by to stare at the scene. Survivors of the Exodar, most of them could still remember what it ment to break down.
"No", Laandra managed to whisper, brushing away the protective hand Vaalatu had placed on her head. " Just tired and worried lately, that's all"...
"And you expect me to believe that?"
Their eyes locked and Laandra gave her that defiant gaze Vaalatu remembered well.
All was so screwed up she could as well break old ties and make loved ones suffer, Laandra desperately thought. Luckily, in that same moment, a voice from behind made them both jump. It was one of the young Vindicators that had probably just finished the training required to join the ranks of the Hand. An attractive man, Laandra noticed, absent mindedly. As if she cared.
The man seemed uncomfortable with interrupting what was obviously a private conversation.
" You are Laandra Seth'aran?" he asked, politely, while maintain a respectful distance.
Laandra felt grateful that the other name under which she had started to be known, after her recent losses of temper, had not yet arrived to the Exodar. The Ashbringer. To be nicknamed after such a mythical blade was an honor of sorts, but she doubted Vaalatu would have appreciated this aspect. In her own eyes, it betrayed nothing more than a dangerous inclination towards dabbling with fire magic.
"Yes" she said, trying to compose himself, as she stood up and gave Vaalatu a faint apologetic smile.
" I have been sent to inform you that Our Prophet Velen, Light bless him, wishes to see you immediately."
Laandra was not able to suppress a slight grimace. She forced herself into calmness, but her hesitation did not, could not, obviously, escape unnoticed by Vaalatu. The elder Draenei gave Laandra a small push forward, setting her into motion.
"Well, news travel fast" she said, raising an eyebrow."You'll pass by to see me later, child...Light be you..."
"And then we'll talk" she added, and even if the words were soft and caring Laandra's heart suddenly ached, as if faced with a threat.
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