Drascar leans against the stone railing of the balcony, smiling as a warm breeze caresses his skin. Suramar is beautiful. Perfect. Gardens sprawl outward in explosions of color, wrapping around and complementing stone that appears to have been grown from the earth rather than shaped by hand. He could recall its construction - the beginnings of his civilization, even - and smiled all the more in pride, this time. The sorcerer that had assisted in building and shaping their world was but a child compared to the being that now stood in his place, rightfully assuming the position of one of the first Highborne. The concept did not make him feel above his kin, but gave him a sense of comfort, of belonging. He had risen above his peers, and directly influenced his own budding race.
"Drascar?" The voice is strong, but gentle; a song carried on the gentle breeze to his ears that he can't help but turn his attention to. She approaches him without hesitation, offering a smile that was no less beautiful than the lights of the city. She smiles up at him, an expression that squints her silver eyes and makes his heart ache, and he reaches a hand out to her. She places her much smaller hand in his, and presses her body against his, her face against his bare chest. He places his other hand against her body, feeling the soft fabric of her gown, and inhales, savoring the scent of lilac that accompanies her wherever she goes.
"Are you ready?" She asks.
"For what, my beloved?"
"For the coming of Sargeras, of course."
He recoils, pushing her away and pressing himself against the railing of the balcony. Her eyes are wide, madness pouring from her once-gentle features, her soft lips pulled wide in an almost comical grimace. His chest tightens and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. "The Houndmaster has made clear the path; aren't you proud?" She waves a hand past him and he turns, unable to stop himself. Suramar is burning. Even from here, he can see the bodies; males, females, children. None are spared the demons' fury. He wants to recoil in horror, to scream, to beg for forgiveness, but his body is no longer his own. He turns, and she is face-to-face with him, her nose nearly pressed against his. "YOU DID THIS!" she screams, her voice shrill and piercing. He struggles to close his eyes, to push her away, to run, his heart racing harder than he can ever remember. Her hands grab at his face, her nails digging into his cheeks and pulling and there's nothing he can do but focus all of his will into breaking free of her grasp, urging himself to do something, anything to move his body. Her mouth opens wide, revealing rows of crooked, jagged teeth. "YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED ME!"
"NO!" He cries out, finally pulling away from her with a titanic heave of his body.
And then he is awake.
He is already sitting up straight in his bed, his chest heaving and the top of his left hand sore. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, and the moisture from his eyes, and surveys his room. The door is open, and he can see Ashenvale just beyond, can hear the trees whispering in the breeze that blows into his room and caresses his skin. The table that was once near his bed has been tossed, its contents scattered. He sighs, forcing himself to stabilize his breathing and heartbeat as he rises and sets about fixing the table and replacing the things that had been tossed to the floor. Impossibly vivid only moments before, the images begin to fade; the scent of lilacs lingers.
The soft blades of grass and moss that lined the pathways through the overgrown jungle, the trees that stretched up to the sky, the vines that wove through the bushes and wrapped around, everything was a brilliant verdant hue. Alesune had held a certain fondness for the color for as long as she could remember, and even now she marveled at the intensity that flooded her field of vision. Her eyes caught on a few different colored flowers dotting the scenery, the deep brown of thorns that pierced the vines at regular intervals, and the flash of some jungle bird flying through the branches overhead, but still she could not help but stand in awe at the green life that teemed in the jungle.
Even the pools that dotted the landscape had a tinge of green. It was slightly different than the fronds of the ferns that grew around the edges of the water, and took on a more yellowish tint from the algae. Or perhaps it was the spores from the nearby plant life that gave the water the unique color; the light that filtered through the leaves above reflected off the water and made it shimmer a luminous gold - the same color of her eyes.
Not a single ripple marred the surface of the pool. At a quick glance she concluded that this little corner of the jungle had been left to its own devices, and the Spirit of the Forest had cultivated the foliage into a masterpiece framing the pond. Saying a quick prayer under her breath to Aessina for guiding the growth, she knelt on the bank of the pool to take a sip.
Her hand froze above the water. Who was she, she thought, to disrupt the stillness of the pool? As she rocked back on her heels, she wrapped her arms around her knees to drink in the view instead. The water, ever still, was clear enough to tell that nothing swam in its depth, or moved at all. A flicker through her mind told her that knowledge seemed out-of-place for such a sizable pond in the middle of a jungle so overflowing with flora, but she shrugged it off. The druid stood, but she couldn't pull her gaze away from the water; the soft breeze hadn't the faintest affect on the golden mirror.
Abruptly she noticed that the breeze she had felt was no longer blowing through the underbrush, and no birds called above the rustle of the leaves; it was as if everything in the jungle had stopped. The warmth of the jungle became She could feel her ears pull back as her eyes darted around, searching something. Once the pool was again in her view, her gaze traced the outside of the water, but stopped on the far edge. Ever so slowly she crept along the bank, as if the sound of her moving might unleash whatever had sucked the liveliness from the trees. Her heart raced, though her body continued to inch towards the underbrush on the far side of the too-still water, seemingly against her will.
There, under the broad fan of a fern lay something she overlooked when she was too busy enjoying the abundance of greenery; the shriveled remains of a body, almost unrecognizable by the way different fungi and vines grew intertwined with the corpse. What she initially took for a fallen log in the underbrush of the jungle was clearly a Kaldorei male. A wave of dread made her breath catch in her throat as she hesitantly moved the fern out of the way to get a better glimpse at the face of the fallen.
She would know that face anywhere, regardless of the moss that had covered the right side of his cheek and the large mushroom that had sprouted out of his once-amber eye. The plant growth on his remains appeared to have taken months, or even years, but she had seen him yesterday? That morning? When had he gone out to check the perimeters of the camp? How long had they been near the jungle growth known as the Everbloom? Her mind was racing too fast.
Something pricked her arm. When had she backed into that vine as thick as a healthy man's waist? Surely she had moved around the plant on the way to inspect the body, but she couldn't recall avoiding thorns that menacing. She forced herself to freeze, golden eyes wide in alarm, holding as still has she could even though her instincts were screaming to run. Sure enough, the surrounding foliage that she had so admired only minutes before grew nearer, closing in around her to claim her as one of their own.
Her eyes flickered back to where he was partially hidden beneath the fern. The vines that had previously stretched tendrils in her direction curled back to their first victim, trapping his useless plant-ridden arms to the ground. Somewhere far away in her consciousness she smells smoke, the acrid dry air almost a welcome relief from the stifling warmth of the jungle with no breeze. Then, to her horror, she watched her love's lips painstakingly slowly form three words:
"Burn. It All."
Alesune sits up with a jolt, parts of her woven bed-roll flying around the small clearing. The wind picked up since she had fallen asleep, and her flesh prickles in a cold sweat against the cool night air. Breathing in ragged gasps, the druid chokes on a mouthful of smoke that the breeze thrust in her face and she waves her hand frantically in front of her to clear her view.
"What is it?" The deep familiar voice sends her jumping again, this time in a momentary relief. Two golden eyes reflect the firelight back at her, and even in the dark she can see the worry that knits his brow.
It is all she can do to rub her hands down her cheekbones to try to stop from shaking. It hasn't been the first time she's woken up in a panic recently she recalls, and she moves to fit into his lap silently. Resting her cheekbone on his shoulder, she stares off into the night, away from the fire.
The blackened and charred dirt crunches under his metal clad boots. The remains of a smoldering building stands next to him. His robes dragging in the dirt and dust, the chains hanging from his waist leaving gouges in the ground as he walks. His scythe, with its sickly green fire licking up the blade, drags heavily at his side.
"Oh dear. You really made a mess this time haven't you?" A calm and reassuring voice whispers in his ear. "What did they do to provoke such a display of power?"
He looks up, across the once vibrant city square, towards what might have once been an inn. The acrid smell of burnt flesh and fel magic assault his nose. He takes a deep breath keeps walking.
"Look, its not like they didn't deserve it right?" The voice tugs at his memory, something from his past. A voice loving and forgiving. "You only did what you had to do. You and I both know that."
He sighs and pulls back his hood. The scar running down his face burns, but not painfully, it burns almost with expectation. As if the energy inside him wanted out, wanted to be unleashed on something else. But there was nothing left here. Nothing except the voice, and him.
"I know what you're thinking." The voice seems almost female now. Like a parent, disappointed and at the same time understanding. "They should have known better. To upset you like that. You forgive them, and so they will forgive you." He drops his scythe. It's impossibly heavy now. The weight of the chains around his torso drag him to the ground. He looks up at the figure speaking to him.
His mother looks back down at him, a loving, forgiving smile on her face. "Its OK my son. You only did what you had to do." Something dark flickers across her face. "Just listen to me, and everything will be alright" Her eyes turn purple, and a thin wisp of black smoke reaches out and coils around his throat.
"That is quite enough of that." A strong, angry male voice booms from behind him as a rope of bright green fel-fire coils around his throat as well, burning the smoke away. "He is ours now. And he will be do as we tell him."
As he chokes on the fel magic and black smoke, the two figures stand over him. Anger suddenly over takes him and he lashes out. His anger and grief made manifest in one horrific spell. The roaring torrent of magic flies toward the pair, and passes between them...hitting a little girl who had stepped out from the rubble.
Azraxil wakes up as he usually does. Sitting up in his study, the tome he was reading still open to the page he nodded off at. The scythe from his dream propped against the wall. He reaches inside his robe and grabs the book of children's drawings.
"I'm sorry..." He whispers to one who can't hear him anymore.
[ First off, I'm not sure this is WoW related. It came to mind when I saw the prompt, and wanted to share. The style is a little iffy, too. I may revisit this at some point. ]
You overheard once that those who fought in the war all have the same dream, and at the time it strikes you as unrealistic and a little funny. As years pass you only ever really dream of running ... to or from what, you can't even begin to say. That part never seems important. The important part is how you always lose, you die, and you wake up screaming.
The important part is that you always wake up with her softly glowing eyes on your face, her hand entwined with yours and you think one morning - you think, oh. Maybe this was what they meant.
It's still a long time after that before you bother to wonder why she's always awake before you.
#12266444 Apr 10, 2016 at 02:21 PM · Edited 3 years ago
Life is funny. Not in the, "Ha ha, what a great joke." kind of funny. Funny like when the inkeeper gives you the wrong room number, and you walk into what can only be described as a puddle of gnomes doing unspeakable things with a Gorgrond Frond and a squad of imps.
That kind of funny.
B had no interest in helping brave heroes face the horrors of the Hellfire Citadel for glory or honor. Her reason was an avarice of gold. Delicious, dirty gold. They employed B for her guile with knives and the shadows. To her grimace, it wasn't because of her excellent usage of puns. Pearls before swine. The leader of the Assault on the Hellfire High Council was a powerful druid. It was the druid's orders that kept the raiding party from danger through the colossal corridors of the citadel. The fel tainted fortress teemed with hellfire and danger as they skulked deeper into it.
B was nervous. She had aided their efforts in the war in the past, but they'd grown weary of her devil may cry attitude and love of gold. So had she. B yearned to impress her companions by being of the highest use possible this time.
The party was hushed. Except that one shadow priest. The leader grunted, "Elune damnit, shut up Se--" but the words would not escape her mouth. The druid realized they were in the High Council's hall of dominion. Beyond the archway where the party waited in the shadows there stood three impossibly large figures on a platform built from blood, iron, and corpses of failed raiders. The Hellfire Council. Each of the three possessed powerful artifacts the heroes would need to aid in the assault.
The druid quietly, slowly raised her hand. The room iced as everyone held their breath. A Pandaren monk whispered, "Wow." The druid shot her arm forward as the hall erupted in a battle cry. The raid had begun. They heroes swarmed towards the High council who didn't seem to notice them until a Death Knight hurled necromantic magic towards Gurtogg Bloodboil, the largest of the three council members.
That's when the fog of war set in. A frenzy of powerful mortals fighting and insuing chaos as fire, ice, fel magic, and blades littered the room. Minutes had passed until B saw her moment. Gurtogg's back was to her. The giant fel orc was busy choking the Death Knight hero who seemed to be... laughing?
B sprinted up the behemoths back and with her last step up his back she landed a might blow to the base of his skull that did... absolutely nothing. Confused, she struck again and again until she tired out. In her frenzy, she failed to notice the battle had ceased being alive. Everyone stood still, even the council, as they all gazed at the rogue. Their mouths agape. "What?" B huffed brethlessly. The leader of the raid party spoke up, "B, where the fuck are your pants?"
Life is funny sometimes.
"What? What do you me-" B peared down and was stricken with horror...
The hall echoed with the laughter of the council, the heroes, and that one fucking shadow priest. A hero marksmen cut the sound with a loud cry of, "Ha ha, Nerd!"
B sweated, cried, and fell off the giants back. This made the situation even worse for her. No one was left standing as they all doubled over with tears in their eyes from the guffawing.
"SHUT UP!" B yelled, but her shout was ignored. They grew louder with each second until their laughing deafened B.
"dad im home!" Adromada shouts as she enters her home, dropping her hunting gear by the door. "I got a couple deer today dad. wasnt much hunting today. Think something else has been hunting in our usual spots." she anounced from the couch as she plopped her self on it.
"How big were they Adro?" her father finally replied from the kitchen just as adromada closed her eyes. reluctantly adromada sat up and stretched for a moment, heaved herself up, and drug her grimy muddy boats across the old wooden floor to the kitchen. Poking her dirty face around the corner "not to shabby" she said with a smile for her father was turned around for the moment "big enough that me and Night fang had a little trouble getting it home" "well" her father said as he started to turn " guess i better come...." Agus paused as he saw what had become of his daughters apperance. "What in the name of azeroth did you do to yourself young lady! Did you wrestle the deer to th' ground?!" Adromada slowly came around the corner to reveal the rest of her apperance. From head to toe she was covered in a green slimey stinky mud. parts of her pants had ripped around her knees. Now ashamed of herself she started to cry. remembering that her daughter was almost 12 and still a child he let out a sigh " What happened Adro?" he asked calmly. After several mins of explaining how she and Night fang were playing and how they rolled down a hill into a mud pool. Agus stood, rubbing his eyes he said "well we best get a bath goin for ya. Hurry up and go hang todays kill. Ill get the water warm for ya" adromada got up and quickly started walking out the door "get nightfang to help you as well" her father added as the front door shut. "nightfang" adromada called "come here boy!" night fang came bolting around the corner. sitting at her feet with such enthusiasm he was ready for what his master wanted him to do. "grab the bigger stag and lets go hang these in the barn". With a bark *arf* he got up and wrapped his mouth around the stags next and drug it to the barn. Adromada quickly hang the deer and ran to the house relieved that her day was coming to a end. As she entered she saw the tub was ready out of the corner of her eye, but saw no sign of her father "must have went out to his shop" she said to herself. she quickly stripped down and jumped in. The water was so warm and so inviting she practically passed out in it. with a jolt she rembered that nightfang still needed a bath. She quickly got herself clean got out rushed to her room grabbed the first thing she saw and put it on. Briskly walking through the house she still saw no sign of her father. Adromada thought nothing of it and continued outside to fetch nightfang. "Night fang!" she yelled "time for a bath" adromada waited and looked around no sign of him. "hmm i wonder if they are both in the shop" she thought to herself. walking around the house to the shop she notice no candle was lit in it. "Odd" she said "dad never works in the dark." shiver had rolled down her spine now. quickly she ran to the barn "Dad! Night fang! where are you guys" adromada said worriedly. No answer as she turned she saw a knife on the barn door and grabbed it, arming herself for the unexpected. she slowly started walking around to the front door. As she did she notice a small furry silhouette laying on the ground. "its not breathing" she said aloud. Now she was worried. Slowly approching the creature she began to make out familiar features. "NO!" she screamed. she ran to the lifeless body of her wolf Night fang. "please no. Oh no no no no no. Night fang wake up please!!!!!!! Please dont leave me" adromada was now unable to control herself. A fountain of tears came rushing out of her eyes. Crying hysterically for a few moments; adromada now realized her father might be in trouble. Knife in hand she ran into the house "FATHER!!" she screamed as she entered the now darkened house "Father please answer me!!" she shouted. no reply had came. Then suddenly Adromada Had been engulfed in pitch black darkness. She heard soft whispers in the distance. "wh-wh-who's there" she stammered "show yourself" she said trying to sound brave. something quickly flew by her face making her jump "alone" it said hastily. falling to her knees Adro was now in fear. another one flew behind her head "alone" it said again. than another one "alone" "Alone" "Alone!ALONE!ALONE!ALONE!" the voice came more rapidly and forcefully. Adromada clasped her hands around her ears at an attempt to make it stop. "Go away!!" she said sternly. the voice grew louder and shouted faster. more and more things kept brushing by her all saying the same thing. "ALONE!ALONE!ALONE!" Adromada screamed as loud as she could. bolting out of her bed. covered in sweat, heart was racing, she quickly got up and started looking for night fang. She found him At the foot of her bed startled and at the ready for he knew not why his master had screamed. adromada instantly fell to the floor grabbing him and hugging him relieved that it had only been a dream.
I guess this is to fill both. Sorry for posting so late.
One winter night when Kalinja was still very young, an eclipse snuffed out the moon to an empty black eye. She took to her bed and when someone came in to examine her, she was shivering under the weight of the discomfort that had taken hold. As her mother spooned hot soup into her mouth, she told Kalinja that their people had a strong connection to the Moon. When the Moon hid...
How could she explain the hum she'd felt in her flesh, like hundreds of tiny sharp-nailed fingers scratching at her skin from the inside?
She woke up just before dawn and opened her eyes to morning-damp grass and gently swaying trees and scrambled to her feet. Just ahead, the water in the pond sloshed softly like the beat of a tiny heart, and her muscles felt sore as though she'd been running all night long.
“Do you ever feel like you are not alone?” Kalinja was just shy fourteen years, and she asked her father. She could not ask her sister, she could not ask the students of the Priestesses, and she certainly could not ask any of the teachers. Her father's gaze drifted to the scrolls and texts of study on the table. “When there is no one else.”
“You worry you are being assessed?” A corner of his mouth curled up. “Children always are.” The reply was lost on her, and after that she didn't ask again.
It wasn't at all like being watched. Sometimes she remembered things that had never happened to her, and places she'd never been to, like the debris of some other person's life. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of herself in the canal water, or on a polished wall, and for a second she'd be sure she saw a stranger looking back through her eyes bright and hard as stars, and a ghost's bone-white skin and hair. Sometimes she dreamed of nothing but night skies, empty and beautiful and wonderfully, terribly cold.
Sometimes, in the fold of deepest sleep, her blood still speaks in a tongue before words and it pleads with her to remember.
I like this blue but can we consider purple :^)