When Laandra woke up, the room was filled with the warm light of sunset.
She lay in a bed, covered with a soft blanket up to her chin. Forcing herself upwards, she discovered she only wore a white shirt…definitely not hers, yet its scent was strangely familiar to her nostrils. It only came half her thighs and Laandra hesitated before stepping out of the bed, in the friendly quietness of the room.
Suddenly she felt dizzy. Looking down at her chest she saw it was cleanly bandaged, wrapping over wrapping of runecloth.
She took a few steps, slumbering. Never had she felt so weakened, so utterly drained in her entire life.
“ Take it easy”…
The voice was soft, and the words were in Common, with only the faintest trace of Thalassian accent. Laandra turned, only to see Eireannan leaning against the door frame. The anger that weakness and sleep had quenched for a while, suddenly burst free at the forefront of her mind.
She lashed at him with such speed and agility that Erieannan was taken by surprise. He barely had time to avoid the ice shards that pierced the wall only milimeters from his head. A ball of flames followed the same way, and he dashed out of sight, stumbling on the stairs.
“ How dare you?” he heard Laandra yell as she appeared in the doorstep, where he had been just seconds before, her hands summoning intricate patterns of fire.
Eireannan dashed again to avoid her strike.
Stopping her without making use of any pain-causing spell was definitly not going to prove easy.
His back against the wooden wall of the cottage Eireannan listened to her rushed, unsure steps as she came down the stairs. Hell, she had all the right to be angry, he thought, disgusted by his own actions. However, the faint trace of self-preservation he still possessed warned him that being at the receiving end of her fireballs wasn't quite a pleasant option.
He heard her stagger down the stairs, then her imprecations become softer, laced with sobs.
He used the moment to close the distance between them and take hold of Laandra, pinning her against the wall with all his weight, her arms wrested away at an uncomfortable angle.
“I don’t want to hurt you” he yelled back at her. “Stop it!”
Laandra looked up, her eyes gleaming with tears, while weakness made her tether from side to side, her arms still pinned under Eireannan’s weight.
“ It was awful” she sobbed. “ I was dead, yet I could feel everything. And the pain…”
“ I know”, Eireannan whispered. He held her now close, his fingers caressing her ruffled, silken blue hair. “I know that pain.”
“ And then I dreamed again of Draenor…” Her sobs became really muffled now as she let herself slide down, by the wall. Eireannan followed her movement, so as not to break physical contact. Light knew what she would be able to do…run erratic all over the place, setting it ablaze.
Well, he had spent three days without eating, or drinking, after the first time he used a soulstone. Lying on a bunch of dirty blankets in the basement of a deserted house, back in the Plaguelands, nightmares sapping at the remnants of his strength. That much about taking it easily.
“ You’ll have to tell me about those dreams” he said, softly. “ But now you need to eat and I’ve cooked something…”. He gave her a gleeful smile. “ My cooking’s bad, I know…but it’s still better than nothing…”
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Ressurection
Laandra’s chest heaved heavily. She still lay face down in the grass, while the sounds of the fight and the screams slowly died around herself.
She couldn’t move. The world was spinning around herself, like a madman’s carousel.
Awkward how she remembered now all sorts of little things forgotten over the years. A summer day on Azuremyst Isle. The splendor of sunset on Rahnajar Isle. The color of her first mage robe, a gift from Vaalatu…deep blue, matching the tone of her skin and hair...
The sound of footsteps told her that the enemy was returning.
For a moment Laandra thought of making her personal, desperate last stand.
She pushed her hands at the cold ground, trying to sit up, but her muscles gave up and she stumbled back, this time on her side.
She thought she could even hear the undead laugh…that cavernous sound irrupting from his torn chest. Now he was just going to strike again. What would it be this time? Corrupting her body with dark magics, burning her to a pile of ashes?
“ Anyway, not a pretty death” she said to herself.
She waited the blow for what seemed an eternity. The suffering that followed.
Yet it did not came.
Her vision dimmed, Laandra could barely make out the face of the man keeling beside her. Eireannan’s hands shook with panic as he rose her in a deep, desperate embrace.
Her hair smelled like cinnamon and fresh torn grass.
He felt her slender body for the grievous wounds he was afraid he’d find, but apparently there were none others than the gash that ran across her chest, where the shadow bolt had hit in the first place.
“ How dared he?” Laandra muttered to herself, yet fury seemed to melt away in his powerful grip… She felt weak, cold while Erieannan was strong and life was thundering in his veins…Laandra pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeats, as he lifted her with almost impossible ease and carried her away…
She couldn’t move. The world was spinning around herself, like a madman’s carousel.
Awkward how she remembered now all sorts of little things forgotten over the years. A summer day on Azuremyst Isle. The splendor of sunset on Rahnajar Isle. The color of her first mage robe, a gift from Vaalatu…deep blue, matching the tone of her skin and hair...
The sound of footsteps told her that the enemy was returning.
For a moment Laandra thought of making her personal, desperate last stand.
She pushed her hands at the cold ground, trying to sit up, but her muscles gave up and she stumbled back, this time on her side.
She thought she could even hear the undead laugh…that cavernous sound irrupting from his torn chest. Now he was just going to strike again. What would it be this time? Corrupting her body with dark magics, burning her to a pile of ashes?
“ Anyway, not a pretty death” she said to herself.
She waited the blow for what seemed an eternity. The suffering that followed.
Yet it did not came.
Her vision dimmed, Laandra could barely make out the face of the man keeling beside her. Eireannan’s hands shook with panic as he rose her in a deep, desperate embrace.
Her hair smelled like cinnamon and fresh torn grass.
He felt her slender body for the grievous wounds he was afraid he’d find, but apparently there were none others than the gash that ran across her chest, where the shadow bolt had hit in the first place.
“ How dared he?” Laandra muttered to herself, yet fury seemed to melt away in his powerful grip… She felt weak, cold while Erieannan was strong and life was thundering in his veins…Laandra pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeats, as he lifted her with almost impossible ease and carried her away…
Saturday, January 05, 2008
All that I have left
Pain struck Erieannan Sarálondë as he was just engaging the necromancer. He barely had time to call for his Voidwalker, who instantly sacrificed, offering him a temporary shield to fend off the curses of the enemy.
Erieannan knelt, hands against the blighted soil, trying to gather his strength. The shield waned in the exact moment when he sprang back to his feet. He avoided a shadow bolt and charged towards the necromancer, his sword drawn, muttering a quick succession of demonic words in the process.
As he fought, he could only concentrate on keeping his thoughts away from the source of the sudden, searing pain. He knew what it meant. Out of all things a warlock was familiar with, this still troubled him the most.
Eireannan remembered vividly the first teachings of resurrection he had received as an apprentice priest. Death did don’t completely severe the connection between the physical being and spirit. The disembodied soul would linger around for a while. A skilled priest could then communicate with it and guide the soul back to the body, if such was the will of the deceased and thus achieve what was still regarded as a miracle among commoners.
A soulstone, on the other hand, stored a part of it’s owner’s spirit while still alive, thus forcefully maintaining the connection between physical form and soul, in the event of untimely death. Upon releasing the soulstone’s power, the spirit would be drawn back into the body.
In time he had learned that a little part of his own soul was captured in each soulstone he created. It was a thing of power and corruption, slowly tearing apart the one who used it all too often. No wonder that most warlocks ended up either possessed by their own demons or as pathetic madmen wandering the land.
Eireannan shuddered. It still was against his beliefs…or what was left of them. He had used it a couple of times though, out of necessity, and the feeling of coming back…no, actually being violently shoved into his own body, after an endless fall through darkness, could easily beat the pain he had experienced when stumbling upon the pyre in Silvermoon, so long before.
Not to mention the associated nausea and headaches and the recurring nightmares…oh, well, nightmares were a constant anyway…
He dealt an fatal blow to his enemy and stepped back, as if to admire his handiwork. The undead lay in a disgusting pile of rugged bones, oozing fluids and rotten flesh. With an almost careless gesture, Eireannan incinerated the remains.
The repressed thoughts sprang into his attention at once.
The moment of weakness he had experienced was clearly linked to one of the soulstones he had created being used.
But there were only two such soulstones. The one he bore with him. And the other one, he’d made that night, in the Alterac Mountains, like a thief, without HER even knowing. The one he’d slipped to Laandra before parting, carefully wrapped in a piece of magewave, so she wouldn’t see it.
She was in danger.
"Ei'an, behind you!"
He heard Daria's warning just a second before the blow aimed at his head. Turning on the spot, he avoided it skilfully, then knocked down the undead mage in one single move. Daria was now by his side, her face blushed from all the fighting.
"What tha hell's in your head, Ei'an? Should I now guard your back too?"
"I need to go", he said quietly. "We'll pull back."
"We are SO CLOSE...We've waited years for this moment!" She pointed out towards Naxxramas, the citadel of Kel Thuzad, that hovered over the ruins of Stratholme.
"It has waited years, it can wait another three days..."
"Ei'an!" Daria protested, and, for the first time in ages he felt annoyed at the way in which she shortened his name. Her eyes burnt with anger.
" I'd given anything to this fight. Kept nothing for me", he pleaded. "I must go."
" It's about a woman, ain't it?" Daria almost spat the words and Erieannan stepped back, blood suddenly rushing to his otherwise pale face.
She shook her head, her tone now full with bitterness.
" Ya stop denying...it's all about a woman." A sigh, as she pondered her words, and Erieannan realized this was the source of her utter frustration since his return. As if she hadn't tried nearly every man to which she came close! Not that someone really minded this careless, easy-going behavior of hers. They all had scars, some shallow, others going deep, to their very souls. And dealt with them as well they could.
" Are you jealous?" he asked, trying to keep his voice reasonably low.
" For crying out loud, Ei'an, where'd ya take that out?" Daria shrugged, embarrassment obvious in her rush to avoid meeting his eyes. "As a sister may be, yes. And worried...why'd ya need to leave now?"
"'Cause" he breathed, setting a hand on her shoulder. She gazed at it as if the gesture itself was totally strange, or inappropriate, then, with another shrug, she just stepped aside.
" Go. I'll clean up here and we'll fall back for tonite."
"Then you", Eireannan whispered, but Daria hadn't waited for his answer. She'd just leapt away, to engage an approaching enemy, a huge abomination, wielding chains and an axe. He watched her as she expertly dogged its blows with her sword, using the dagger in the other hand to hit, as swift as a savage cat. The mass of putrid flesh barely sewn together hesitated, turning around to find a breach in Daria's defenses. But there was none. She mastered the art of combat. With something like a sigh of relief, Eireannan summoned his felsteed and went away.
Pain and worry followed him all the way through the grayed, destroyed fields of the Plaguelands.
Erieannan knelt, hands against the blighted soil, trying to gather his strength. The shield waned in the exact moment when he sprang back to his feet. He avoided a shadow bolt and charged towards the necromancer, his sword drawn, muttering a quick succession of demonic words in the process.
As he fought, he could only concentrate on keeping his thoughts away from the source of the sudden, searing pain. He knew what it meant. Out of all things a warlock was familiar with, this still troubled him the most.
Eireannan remembered vividly the first teachings of resurrection he had received as an apprentice priest. Death did don’t completely severe the connection between the physical being and spirit. The disembodied soul would linger around for a while. A skilled priest could then communicate with it and guide the soul back to the body, if such was the will of the deceased and thus achieve what was still regarded as a miracle among commoners.
A soulstone, on the other hand, stored a part of it’s owner’s spirit while still alive, thus forcefully maintaining the connection between physical form and soul, in the event of untimely death. Upon releasing the soulstone’s power, the spirit would be drawn back into the body.
In time he had learned that a little part of his own soul was captured in each soulstone he created. It was a thing of power and corruption, slowly tearing apart the one who used it all too often. No wonder that most warlocks ended up either possessed by their own demons or as pathetic madmen wandering the land.
Eireannan shuddered. It still was against his beliefs…or what was left of them. He had used it a couple of times though, out of necessity, and the feeling of coming back…no, actually being violently shoved into his own body, after an endless fall through darkness, could easily beat the pain he had experienced when stumbling upon the pyre in Silvermoon, so long before.
Not to mention the associated nausea and headaches and the recurring nightmares…oh, well, nightmares were a constant anyway…
He dealt an fatal blow to his enemy and stepped back, as if to admire his handiwork. The undead lay in a disgusting pile of rugged bones, oozing fluids and rotten flesh. With an almost careless gesture, Eireannan incinerated the remains.
The repressed thoughts sprang into his attention at once.
The moment of weakness he had experienced was clearly linked to one of the soulstones he had created being used.
But there were only two such soulstones. The one he bore with him. And the other one, he’d made that night, in the Alterac Mountains, like a thief, without HER even knowing. The one he’d slipped to Laandra before parting, carefully wrapped in a piece of magewave, so she wouldn’t see it.
She was in danger.
"Ei'an, behind you!"
He heard Daria's warning just a second before the blow aimed at his head. Turning on the spot, he avoided it skilfully, then knocked down the undead mage in one single move. Daria was now by his side, her face blushed from all the fighting.
"What tha hell's in your head, Ei'an? Should I now guard your back too?"
"I need to go", he said quietly. "We'll pull back."
"We are SO CLOSE...We've waited years for this moment!" She pointed out towards Naxxramas, the citadel of Kel Thuzad, that hovered over the ruins of Stratholme.
"It has waited years, it can wait another three days..."
"Ei'an!" Daria protested, and, for the first time in ages he felt annoyed at the way in which she shortened his name. Her eyes burnt with anger.
" I'd given anything to this fight. Kept nothing for me", he pleaded. "I must go."
" It's about a woman, ain't it?" Daria almost spat the words and Erieannan stepped back, blood suddenly rushing to his otherwise pale face.
She shook her head, her tone now full with bitterness.
" Ya stop denying...it's all about a woman." A sigh, as she pondered her words, and Erieannan realized this was the source of her utter frustration since his return. As if she hadn't tried nearly every man to which she came close! Not that someone really minded this careless, easy-going behavior of hers. They all had scars, some shallow, others going deep, to their very souls. And dealt with them as well they could.
" Are you jealous?" he asked, trying to keep his voice reasonably low.
" For crying out loud, Ei'an, where'd ya take that out?" Daria shrugged, embarrassment obvious in her rush to avoid meeting his eyes. "As a sister may be, yes. And worried...why'd ya need to leave now?"
"'Cause" he breathed, setting a hand on her shoulder. She gazed at it as if the gesture itself was totally strange, or inappropriate, then, with another shrug, she just stepped aside.
" Go. I'll clean up here and we'll fall back for tonite."
"Then you", Eireannan whispered, but Daria hadn't waited for his answer. She'd just leapt away, to engage an approaching enemy, a huge abomination, wielding chains and an axe. He watched her as she expertly dogged its blows with her sword, using the dagger in the other hand to hit, as swift as a savage cat. The mass of putrid flesh barely sewn together hesitated, turning around to find a breach in Daria's defenses. But there was none. She mastered the art of combat. With something like a sigh of relief, Eireannan summoned his felsteed and went away.
Pain and worry followed him all the way through the grayed, destroyed fields of the Plaguelands.
On the thinnest thread
Death is strange.
Coldness that creeps into her body from the ground she lays on.
Wind softly brushing through her hair, the fresh scent of grass and rain and sunset in a long summer's day.
And the never ending screams of agony as people keep falling around.
Death is forgetfulness and deliverance.
Yet pain persists in her numb body, as if not willing to give up its pray.
Death is absence, but she can feel and hear.
Realization washes her like a frost nova. Trapped.
He must have slipped it somewhere within her things, maybe in the pouch of mageweave...she hadn't open that in weeks.
How dare he, may his corrupted soul be taken by the Burning Legion?! How dare he do this to her, one of the Hand of Argus, a follower of the Naaru, a wielder of the light?!
She's trapped.
She can not move her hand. Not a single muscle. Yet her consciousness is still there, and Laandra tenses, her will contorting and extending towards the little object lost somewhere in her back pack.
There is no pain now, just the utter helplessness as she forces herself to touch it with her mind.
And the gem breaks.
No, it explodes, shattering in a thousand little pieces.
Void sucks her in almost instantly, and there is agony again, as her body spasms on the ground…Laandra falls forever through her own twisted consciusness, desperatley trying to hang on to some memory of herself.
Coldness that creeps into her body from the ground she lays on.
Wind softly brushing through her hair, the fresh scent of grass and rain and sunset in a long summer's day.
And the never ending screams of agony as people keep falling around.
Death is forgetfulness and deliverance.
Yet pain persists in her numb body, as if not willing to give up its pray.
Death is absence, but she can feel and hear.
Realization washes her like a frost nova. Trapped.
He must have slipped it somewhere within her things, maybe in the pouch of mageweave...she hadn't open that in weeks.
How dare he, may his corrupted soul be taken by the Burning Legion?! How dare he do this to her, one of the Hand of Argus, a follower of the Naaru, a wielder of the light?!
She's trapped.
She can not move her hand. Not a single muscle. Yet her consciousness is still there, and Laandra tenses, her will contorting and extending towards the little object lost somewhere in her back pack.
There is no pain now, just the utter helplessness as she forces herself to touch it with her mind.
And the gem breaks.
No, it explodes, shattering in a thousand little pieces.
Void sucks her in almost instantly, and there is agony again, as her body spasms on the ground…Laandra falls forever through her own twisted consciusness, desperatley trying to hang on to some memory of herself.
Taste of death
you don't remember me but i remember you
i lie awake and try so hard not to think of you
but who can decide what they dream?
and dream i do...
Evanescence - 'Taking over me'
"We are under attack! We're under attack!"
The boy, scared and exhausted ran into the inn, yelling.
""They're coming!The horde...orcs and undead...they're here!"
Laandra almost jumped out of the bed, hearing the screams downstairs, in the hall of the Scarlet Tavern, where she had rented a room. It was slightly after midnight and she had barely managed to get asleep.
Rushing to the window she glanced outside briefly, to see dark forms creeping on the dimly lightened streets of Darkshire. A bell started to toll somewhere in the church.
Fumbling with her clothes, Laandra managed to slip into her battle gear and hurried downstairs, as she felt the sudden wave of adrenalin rising in her blood.
Bursting out of the inn, together with a handful of other travelers, Laandra was stricken by the devastated sight of the piazzeta, bodies lying everywhere. A handful of members of the Night Watch were still battling the enemies, without being able to drive them back. Falling one by one.
This was the end, Laandra thought, desperately trying to figure out a way of escape. But there was none, as the few men that tried to run away towards the wood
were caught and slaughtered as well, their screams for mercy raising through the sounds of the battle.
The attackers had by now gained control over the streets of Darkshire and were surrounding the inn, and Laandra found herself pushed aside from the entrance, to a wall.
"So this is where I make my last stand" she bitterly said to herself. " Funny though how I always believed it would be somewhere in the Outland, in a mighty battle against the demons..."
She hadn't had the time to panic. Not even enough to feel regret. Using the wall behind to cover her back, she threw out spell after spell at the enemies, blasting with fire and shards of ice, until her fingers went numb from summoning, leaving her drained, wasted, barely holding ground.
Then she saw him. The toughest opponent a mage could face, Laandra shivered, if only for a brief moment. A fully fledged undead warlock and his Voidwaker minion. Heading towards her, a skeletal arm raised towards the dark sky of the night. Fear. Utter, terrible fear, drawing away all sense, all reason. Laandra stumbled back, tripping on a stone, as she fought to regain control over herself. A last blast, hardly inflicting any damage upon the magic shielded creature.
That was it, Laandra thought, hands falling sidewards, as strength failed her. At least she got rid of her unwanted duty to find Erieannan Saralonde.
Strange how that should be the last thing to cross her mind, she noticed, as the shadow bolt hit her straightly in the chest. Agony filled every muscle, every tissue ; she opened her mouth to scream and yet no sound escaped her lips. Locked in silence and pain, such horrible pain, her knees gave away and she fell to the ground, spasming uncontrollably.
i lie awake and try so hard not to think of you
but who can decide what they dream?
and dream i do...
Evanescence - 'Taking over me'
"We are under attack! We're under attack!"
The boy, scared and exhausted ran into the inn, yelling.
""They're coming!The horde...orcs and undead...they're here!"
Laandra almost jumped out of the bed, hearing the screams downstairs, in the hall of the Scarlet Tavern, where she had rented a room. It was slightly after midnight and she had barely managed to get asleep.
Rushing to the window she glanced outside briefly, to see dark forms creeping on the dimly lightened streets of Darkshire. A bell started to toll somewhere in the church.
Fumbling with her clothes, Laandra managed to slip into her battle gear and hurried downstairs, as she felt the sudden wave of adrenalin rising in her blood.
Bursting out of the inn, together with a handful of other travelers, Laandra was stricken by the devastated sight of the piazzeta, bodies lying everywhere. A handful of members of the Night Watch were still battling the enemies, without being able to drive them back. Falling one by one.
This was the end, Laandra thought, desperately trying to figure out a way of escape. But there was none, as the few men that tried to run away towards the wood
were caught and slaughtered as well, their screams for mercy raising through the sounds of the battle.
The attackers had by now gained control over the streets of Darkshire and were surrounding the inn, and Laandra found herself pushed aside from the entrance, to a wall.
"So this is where I make my last stand" she bitterly said to herself. " Funny though how I always believed it would be somewhere in the Outland, in a mighty battle against the demons..."
She hadn't had the time to panic. Not even enough to feel regret. Using the wall behind to cover her back, she threw out spell after spell at the enemies, blasting with fire and shards of ice, until her fingers went numb from summoning, leaving her drained, wasted, barely holding ground.
Then she saw him. The toughest opponent a mage could face, Laandra shivered, if only for a brief moment. A fully fledged undead warlock and his Voidwaker minion. Heading towards her, a skeletal arm raised towards the dark sky of the night. Fear. Utter, terrible fear, drawing away all sense, all reason. Laandra stumbled back, tripping on a stone, as she fought to regain control over herself. A last blast, hardly inflicting any damage upon the magic shielded creature.
That was it, Laandra thought, hands falling sidewards, as strength failed her. At least she got rid of her unwanted duty to find Erieannan Saralonde.
Strange how that should be the last thing to cross her mind, she noticed, as the shadow bolt hit her straightly in the chest. Agony filled every muscle, every tissue ; she opened her mouth to scream and yet no sound escaped her lips. Locked in silence and pain, such horrible pain, her knees gave away and she fell to the ground, spasming uncontrollably.
Out of fear
Strength lasted enough to make it out of the Undercity.
Not sufficiently to be able to summon his felsteed.
He just walked blindly on the road, once the main way to the Capital of Lordaeron, now decayed and covered in grass. Daria followed him closely, her knees badly shaking and ghostly pale.
It actually lasted enough to get out of sight from the ruins of the city, before sending him to vomit into the bushes. He retched violently, feeling the utter coldness of the ground under his hands, spreading further, into his being. He couldn't remember feeling so sick ever. Weakness made him stagger when he was finally able to pull himself back up.
Drained as he was, Daria's paleness scared him. He put a trembling hand on her shoulder, then pulled her closer, into something awkwardly resembling an embrace.
Only then did she start to cry.
"Shhhh..." Erieannan whispered. "It's ok. We're both ok...Pain goes away soon..."
However, she kept crying, her hands now tightly wrapped around his neck. Never had he seen her so utterly shaken, not even when she was a fifteen years old girl, whose family had just been slaughtered by abominations.
" I should have done something..." she mumbled, sobs making her words almost indistinguishable. "I'm no coward...Ei'an..you know that...I shoud've at least tried to fight ya...but I was scared, so scared...never been so scared...just laid there and waited...for ya to finish me up..."
" She just wanted to teach me a lesson. Show me how vulnerable I am. Make me taste despair so I go along with her plans, unconditionally...Daria...she couldn't have broken me so easily..."
"Yet, I was scared" she sobbed into his shirt. "I'm not afraid to die...just not you, not you, do you understand? I was really, really afraid..."
Erieannan's hand reluctantly touched her cheek, wiping away some of the tears. He was in no condition to comfort her, he thought, the void within suddenly threatening to swallow him.
"Oooh", he sighed, pulling Daria closer, and hoping his dizziness will not send them both to the ground. " I was afraid too..."
Not sufficiently to be able to summon his felsteed.
He just walked blindly on the road, once the main way to the Capital of Lordaeron, now decayed and covered in grass. Daria followed him closely, her knees badly shaking and ghostly pale.
It actually lasted enough to get out of sight from the ruins of the city, before sending him to vomit into the bushes. He retched violently, feeling the utter coldness of the ground under his hands, spreading further, into his being. He couldn't remember feeling so sick ever. Weakness made him stagger when he was finally able to pull himself back up.
Drained as he was, Daria's paleness scared him. He put a trembling hand on her shoulder, then pulled her closer, into something awkwardly resembling an embrace.
Only then did she start to cry.
"Shhhh..." Erieannan whispered. "It's ok. We're both ok...Pain goes away soon..."
However, she kept crying, her hands now tightly wrapped around his neck. Never had he seen her so utterly shaken, not even when she was a fifteen years old girl, whose family had just been slaughtered by abominations.
" I should have done something..." she mumbled, sobs making her words almost indistinguishable. "I'm no coward...Ei'an..you know that...I shoud've at least tried to fight ya...but I was scared, so scared...never been so scared...just laid there and waited...for ya to finish me up..."
" She just wanted to teach me a lesson. Show me how vulnerable I am. Make me taste despair so I go along with her plans, unconditionally...Daria...she couldn't have broken me so easily..."
"Yet, I was scared" she sobbed into his shirt. "I'm not afraid to die...just not you, not you, do you understand? I was really, really afraid..."
Erieannan's hand reluctantly touched her cheek, wiping away some of the tears. He was in no condition to comfort her, he thought, the void within suddenly threatening to swallow him.
"Oooh", he sighed, pulling Daria closer, and hoping his dizziness will not send them both to the ground. " I was afraid too..."
Friday, January 04, 2008
To pity the living
Walking with the dead, Eireannan thought bitterly as he descended in the catacombs of the former Capital City, avoiding, as usual, to stare for to long at its denizens.
Most of them where his own kin. Many he had known alive. Yet he could not stop himself wishing that the dead stayed dead and buried. Their presence made the thin line he already stepped on become even thinner. Good and evil had long lost their meaning, but it was difficult even to retain a reasonable amount of sanity while dealing on a regular basis with the deceased.
Daria walked alongside him, her lips pursed and her right hand on the dagger. She had insisted to come and Eireannan found himself unable to go through the tiring process of changing her mind.
She had been only once or twice to the Undercity herself, yet she seemed not afraid, only slightly uneasy, as they climbed down the stairs, towards the city gates.
The air was foul and unpleasant, and the dim light made them walk almost blindly until their vision adjusted to it. Eireannan heard Daria struggle to breathe normally as she tried to keep up with him.
As usual, the Dark Lady was to be found in her Royal Quarters.
Eireannan didn't kneel. Only gave her half of a bow, enough to prove some degree of respect and his own proud stubbornness. Then, straightening up, he look defiantly at the Dark Lady, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and former Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, Sylvanas Windrunner.
" Look who's here" she observed in that deep, almost disturbing voice that sent chills running along his spine. " Erieannan Sarálondë himself".
"My Lady Sylvanas..."
"You look almost as good as I do" the Dark Lady continued, with a sarcasm she did not even try to hide or soften in anyway. "With the slight exception that you're supposed to be still alive."
"I'm still breathing", he retorted, his irony matching hers.
"Hardly noticeable. I heard your people are ready to move on to Stratholme. Do you really think you stand a chance against Kel'Thuzad, alone?"
He shrugged.
" We all die in the end".
"My forces will join you on this attempt. I know a lot about the damn lich...much more than you do..." She flexed her long, slender fingers, the grey skin looking sickening in the darkness of the hall. " I might even draw the bow myself in this fight."
She gave him a wicked grin, that contorted her altered features. Erieannan watched her absent minded, trying to remember how that face had once been, beautiful, serene with an expression of confidence and courage.
" I've also heard you went missing for a while..."
" I've heard about Forsaken attacks on the human villages", he snapped angrily.
The Dark Lady made a threatening move.
" We will slaughter anyone that stands in our way!"
"Including innocent women and children? You are doing nothing but to fuel the hatred for your kind and the frenzy of the Scarlet Crusade. Did you forget who your enemies are, Sylvanas?"
" What are we all if not slaves to this torment?" Her voice was now shriek, so close to the scream of the banshee within that Eireannan barely resisted the sudden urge to cover his ears with his hands. " What do those alive know about our suffering? About being trapped in this horrible nightmare, in your own, rotting flesh with nothing but your will left to set the world into movement?"
The Dark Lady rose and paced nervously in front of him. Her footsteps made almost no sound on the pavement, as she turned around to look again at the blood elf.
" Our kin turned into a handful of pathetic survivors, only able to scramble a mana potion to quench their addiction! The rest out in the Outlands, with that wanna be king of theirs, Kael'Thas, serving whom? the demon Illidan and the Burning Legion itself! Shunned by humans, our allies for so long...And us, that fought, turned into these...these monstrosities, barely managing to wrestle ourselves free from the control of that other monstrosity that is Arthas, may he burn forever in hell! Don't you see what we have all become?"
He didn't answer. This only seem to anger Sylvanas more. Then, suddenly, her attention shifted to Daria, as if she had just then noticed her presence. The human girl had retreated to one of the doors, leaning against it, obviously trying to cover her back in the eventuality of an attack. She avoided to look at the Dark Lady. Instead, her eyes were fixed upon Erieannan, with what seemed to be, at the same time, a mixture of worry and confidence.
Sylvanas Windrunner smiled again, in such a cruel way that Erieannan nearly stepped back. The voice of the Banshee Queen was now low, a whisper full of menace.
"You have no idea it meant to be a slave to the Lich King! Maybe you need a taste of that..."
Pain. Excruciating, awful pain, once again. He wanted to scream out and he couldn't. With terrifying clarity, Erieannan understood the abominable thing that what was going on. Possession.
He could still see as her body sagged and fell backwards, as if in slow motion. Her pressure against his mind increased, threatening to crush, making him surrender control. He could just watch in terror as his hand went to the dagger that clang at his side, unsheathing it in one single move. Then, he turned, facing Daria, who still leaned against the door, her eyes now wide with fear. A single gesture to cast a a curse, making her fall to her knees. He heard the thud as she hit the pavement, writhing in agony. And then he stepped closer, the dagger raised in his hand.
" What about this? How does it feel to have no control at all... To watch impotently as someone you care for...even for a little, dies...at your own hand...?"
Sylvanas' words now just a whisper in his head, as she pushed him further. Daria screamed, over and over again, but Eireannan could do nothing but watch, a captive in his own body, as his hand rose the dagger, prepared to deliver a fatal blow.
" No." Maybe it was something in his training as a priest...something he had long before forgotten and now surfaced, driven out by panic. He struggled with her overwhelming presence, putting up walls between them, securing a corner of his own, from which to strike back. Daria squirmed under his grasp, the dagger now centimeters away from her chest.
" You cannot stop it", Sylvanas whispered again. " You can only watch yourself kill her..."
" You bitch...!"
He lashed out at her so brutally that he managed to throw her out completely. Sylvanas had not expected resistance. The shock left Eireannan bent over Daria's body, the tip of the dagger nearly tearing her shirt. He quickly withdrew his hand, breathing heavily, then scrambled to his feet, sensing movement behind him.
Lady Sylvanas gave him a half mocking, half admiring look.
" I forgot they used to teach you priests how to resist mind control, didn't they?"
" Try that again..." he started, his tone now as low and threatening as hers had been. But the Dark Lady waved his words away, with a gesture.
" Don't challenge me, Eireannan, you cannot win. Now you know what it feels like. To be taken against your OWN will...What I've been through...all of us...even that lover of yours...what was her name?" She frowned upon the memory, as if the name was bizarrely eluding her. " Ranger Niniel Ain'Ethil, wasn't it?"
Eireannan froze at first, then, with a rushed gesture, picked up Daria's hand and set her up to her feet.
" She, at least, is at peace for long" he said clearly and slowly, his face nothing but an expressionless mask. " I took care of that."
"Yes you did...burned her to ashes, didn't you?" Lady Sylvanas close the distance between them and locked eyes with Erieannan. There were few those who could stand her lifeless gaze for long, but he did not try to avoid it.
" I feel no pity for the living", she said, her voice again sharp and disturbing"
"My point exactly", Eireannan muttered, then, turning around and dragging Daria, still dizzy and trembling, he left the throne room and slammed the door close behind.
Most of them where his own kin. Many he had known alive. Yet he could not stop himself wishing that the dead stayed dead and buried. Their presence made the thin line he already stepped on become even thinner. Good and evil had long lost their meaning, but it was difficult even to retain a reasonable amount of sanity while dealing on a regular basis with the deceased.
Daria walked alongside him, her lips pursed and her right hand on the dagger. She had insisted to come and Eireannan found himself unable to go through the tiring process of changing her mind.
She had been only once or twice to the Undercity herself, yet she seemed not afraid, only slightly uneasy, as they climbed down the stairs, towards the city gates.
The air was foul and unpleasant, and the dim light made them walk almost blindly until their vision adjusted to it. Eireannan heard Daria struggle to breathe normally as she tried to keep up with him.
As usual, the Dark Lady was to be found in her Royal Quarters.
Eireannan didn't kneel. Only gave her half of a bow, enough to prove some degree of respect and his own proud stubbornness. Then, straightening up, he look defiantly at the Dark Lady, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and former Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, Sylvanas Windrunner.
" Look who's here" she observed in that deep, almost disturbing voice that sent chills running along his spine. " Erieannan Sarálondë himself".
"My Lady Sylvanas..."
"You look almost as good as I do" the Dark Lady continued, with a sarcasm she did not even try to hide or soften in anyway. "With the slight exception that you're supposed to be still alive."
"I'm still breathing", he retorted, his irony matching hers.
"Hardly noticeable. I heard your people are ready to move on to Stratholme. Do you really think you stand a chance against Kel'Thuzad, alone?"
He shrugged.
" We all die in the end".
"My forces will join you on this attempt. I know a lot about the damn lich...much more than you do..." She flexed her long, slender fingers, the grey skin looking sickening in the darkness of the hall. " I might even draw the bow myself in this fight."
She gave him a wicked grin, that contorted her altered features. Erieannan watched her absent minded, trying to remember how that face had once been, beautiful, serene with an expression of confidence and courage.
" I've also heard you went missing for a while..."
" I've heard about Forsaken attacks on the human villages", he snapped angrily.
The Dark Lady made a threatening move.
" We will slaughter anyone that stands in our way!"
"Including innocent women and children? You are doing nothing but to fuel the hatred for your kind and the frenzy of the Scarlet Crusade. Did you forget who your enemies are, Sylvanas?"
" What are we all if not slaves to this torment?" Her voice was now shriek, so close to the scream of the banshee within that Eireannan barely resisted the sudden urge to cover his ears with his hands. " What do those alive know about our suffering? About being trapped in this horrible nightmare, in your own, rotting flesh with nothing but your will left to set the world into movement?"
The Dark Lady rose and paced nervously in front of him. Her footsteps made almost no sound on the pavement, as she turned around to look again at the blood elf.
" Our kin turned into a handful of pathetic survivors, only able to scramble a mana potion to quench their addiction! The rest out in the Outlands, with that wanna be king of theirs, Kael'Thas, serving whom? the demon Illidan and the Burning Legion itself! Shunned by humans, our allies for so long...And us, that fought, turned into these...these monstrosities, barely managing to wrestle ourselves free from the control of that other monstrosity that is Arthas, may he burn forever in hell! Don't you see what we have all become?"
He didn't answer. This only seem to anger Sylvanas more. Then, suddenly, her attention shifted to Daria, as if she had just then noticed her presence. The human girl had retreated to one of the doors, leaning against it, obviously trying to cover her back in the eventuality of an attack. She avoided to look at the Dark Lady. Instead, her eyes were fixed upon Erieannan, with what seemed to be, at the same time, a mixture of worry and confidence.
Sylvanas Windrunner smiled again, in such a cruel way that Erieannan nearly stepped back. The voice of the Banshee Queen was now low, a whisper full of menace.
"You have no idea it meant to be a slave to the Lich King! Maybe you need a taste of that..."
Pain. Excruciating, awful pain, once again. He wanted to scream out and he couldn't. With terrifying clarity, Erieannan understood the abominable thing that what was going on. Possession.
He could still see as her body sagged and fell backwards, as if in slow motion. Her pressure against his mind increased, threatening to crush, making him surrender control. He could just watch in terror as his hand went to the dagger that clang at his side, unsheathing it in one single move. Then, he turned, facing Daria, who still leaned against the door, her eyes now wide with fear. A single gesture to cast a a curse, making her fall to her knees. He heard the thud as she hit the pavement, writhing in agony. And then he stepped closer, the dagger raised in his hand.
" What about this? How does it feel to have no control at all... To watch impotently as someone you care for...even for a little, dies...at your own hand...?"
Sylvanas' words now just a whisper in his head, as she pushed him further. Daria screamed, over and over again, but Eireannan could do nothing but watch, a captive in his own body, as his hand rose the dagger, prepared to deliver a fatal blow.
" No." Maybe it was something in his training as a priest...something he had long before forgotten and now surfaced, driven out by panic. He struggled with her overwhelming presence, putting up walls between them, securing a corner of his own, from which to strike back. Daria squirmed under his grasp, the dagger now centimeters away from her chest.
" You cannot stop it", Sylvanas whispered again. " You can only watch yourself kill her..."
" You bitch...!"
He lashed out at her so brutally that he managed to throw her out completely. Sylvanas had not expected resistance. The shock left Eireannan bent over Daria's body, the tip of the dagger nearly tearing her shirt. He quickly withdrew his hand, breathing heavily, then scrambled to his feet, sensing movement behind him.
Lady Sylvanas gave him a half mocking, half admiring look.
" I forgot they used to teach you priests how to resist mind control, didn't they?"
" Try that again..." he started, his tone now as low and threatening as hers had been. But the Dark Lady waved his words away, with a gesture.
" Don't challenge me, Eireannan, you cannot win. Now you know what it feels like. To be taken against your OWN will...What I've been through...all of us...even that lover of yours...what was her name?" She frowned upon the memory, as if the name was bizarrely eluding her. " Ranger Niniel Ain'Ethil, wasn't it?"
Eireannan froze at first, then, with a rushed gesture, picked up Daria's hand and set her up to her feet.
" She, at least, is at peace for long" he said clearly and slowly, his face nothing but an expressionless mask. " I took care of that."
"Yes you did...burned her to ashes, didn't you?" Lady Sylvanas close the distance between them and locked eyes with Erieannan. There were few those who could stand her lifeless gaze for long, but he did not try to avoid it.
" I feel no pity for the living", she said, her voice again sharp and disturbing"
"My point exactly", Eireannan muttered, then, turning around and dragging Daria, still dizzy and trembling, he left the throne room and slammed the door close behind.
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