#arc: ar'canor

[altherei]

The Secret of Ar’canor - Part 1

Deep, it seemed, were the secrets of the shaldorei. A people so ancient and so hidden away, they’d almost been forgotten to the winds of time in their shielded city. A city as vast as Silvermoon and Dalaran combined, with winding streets and whose books were filled with even more winding passages.

At times, it was almost like reading another language, or so Altherei felt. These texts were old-- far older than her, older than her parents, older still than likely her grandparents. Yet either through exceptional archiving or enchantments, or both, they held up remarkably well: some had slight feathering at the edges of their worn leather covers, or minor tatters on the thick, aged parchment sheets bound in between.

It was a month or so more ago when the astromancer had first thought to seek out the Nightfallen. Rumors whispered among more practiced magi and casters than she had lead her to believe the Nightborne elves were a people gifted in astromancy and other forms of star-magic. Certainly they treasured the science of astronomy, and had a vast appreciation for the aesthetics of the sky. She’d heard of how some of the Spellblades’ weapons looked as though they housed a constellation, or how the arcane wings of their armor shimmered like a Storm Peaks aurora.

Despite the protests she knew she’d receive from the Guardians and her friends, she had gone anyway. Sneaked away from the Refuge on an off night, securing passage to Suramar in what easily could’ve been a shady, back-alley taxi gone wrong. But she lived, and oh, what she saw when they arrived.

It was so much like Eversong. The warm reds and golds and yellows of the trees, their crooking and arching branches hanging over to drape those who walked under in a curtain of foliage. And yet, there was a magic about the place, far different than the feel of her home forest. Both had an almost audible hum of magic about them, a sensation that caused the hair on the back of her neck and her arms to rise in goosebumps. Here, though, it was the arcane. Altherei swore she could practically taste it, even if it were tainted with the stench of fel the closer they drew to Shal’aran.

Making her introduction had been a bit more difficult than she had anticipated; there was a palpable distrust from the refugees in the old cave for any outlander that Altherei almost reconsidered her quest. But she had to know. She had to see if there was truth to what she’d heard.

She had not been disappointed. One of the Nightfallen, justifiably terrified of what the tyrannical Grand Magistrix might do to the beloved knowledge contained in the city’s libraries, had been pilfering books at every opportunity. Twice, he said, he’d nearly been caught, managing only to scamper away before he was noticed.

Normally, he had told the young blood elf, I would make a deal with you for this knowledge. But there is nothing you can give me that would help me... but should this knowledge prove useful to you.. you must come back. You must help us.

It still seemed like a deal, but Altherei made it gladly. These people were hurting, their own plight mirroring the plight of her own people so many years ago. He loaded her bag with books, the astromancer learning quite quickly the literal weight of the knowledge she bore, and she was sent on her way.

And now, almost a month later, she’d managed to devour.. one? One and a half, it seemed, of the tomes. Astromancy and the Magic of the Skies: An Anthology, and now she’d dived into Heralds of the Heavens: The History of Astromancy. To say she was fascinated was an understatement, and she felt she had learned more than ever expected. There were holes in the theories and histories she had read about the astromancers of Tempest Keep that were now filled with this new information. And she would be lying to herself if she tried to deny the hope that more information would lead her to Ulduar to further study the Titans and their connections.

That wish, it seemed, would be granted sooner than she expected. A slim index finger scanned along the current page of her work, rosy lips every so often dictating to an enchanted quill the notes she needed. Altherei was mid-way through such a sentence when her finger, and her mouth, both stopped moving.

Teal eyes blinked once, twice, and she skipped back a few sentences to re-read the passage as if she’d misunderstood it.

Thousands and thousands of years ago, a powerful astromancer crafted an even more powerful staff, capable of storing vast amounts of magical energy and unleashing them in ways never before seen. The staff was called Ar’canor, the Trapped Star, for the arcane core floating at the head of the staff reminded those who saw it of a gleaming star, humming and shifting with energy the way a sun gives off solar flares.

The staff was passed down from its creator to his mentor, and from his mentor to the next, to the next, to the next. For many, many years, the staff served as a powerful foci for the magic of the astromancers who used it, but a reminder as well of the dangerous and destructive power of the stars to those who were not yet ready to wield it.

Altherei quickly muttered clipped sentences to gather the sense of what she was reading, the quill swiftly jotting them down as she continued to read.

Ar’canor was wielded in many of the largest battles on Azeroth, however during the War of the Shifting Sands, it was shattered in the heat of battle under the strain of a reckless, improperly trained astromancer. The staff was broken into its three main components, two of which were later scattered to prevent the Qiraji from gaining access to it, and a powerful arcanist set upon the pieces three spells, and a puzzle by which . The three pieces of the staff were the Staff of Shadow, the Crest of Flame, and the Arcane Core. The pieces of the staff must be restored before the staff is functional.

Many have sought to find the pieces of Ar’canor, but have either failed in their excavations, or in the trials that were placed upon them- the spells laid down by the arcanist before their dispersal. What follows is the alleged puzzle given by the arcanist in his dying days, to an adventurer who claimed to have sought Ar’canor:

The young woman’s eyes were wide. She had considered astromancy to be a relatively underused practice, at least among her own people (and certainly less so after the destruction of most of them in Outland). She could scarcely imagine a world where the practice of star-magic was as common as the anthology claimed. She read on, the quill darting back and forth as she dictated notes.

Deep are the shadows of the earth, and deeper still the hearts of men. A wide eye watches us all, and sees the void within.

Passion drives us all, but we must be careful lest we be burned alive, as lava cuts through stone.

Race to race, we are connected in the ley lines. Infinite light in infinite dark, underneath where the Bright star shines.

They were almost riddles, and as little as Altherei sometimes liked games... these had her positively buzzing with excitement. Of course she wasn’t the first to go after this ancient relic. That was evident. But there was a feeling roiling in her gut, a tickle of instinct in the back of her mind that she would be the one to find this staff.

And then, she would make good on her promise. She would help the Nightfallen.

[altherei]

The Secret of Ar’canor - Part 2

(Brief note: this takes place on Wednesday.)

Sleep never came easily when there were puzzles to solve, and Altherei had three of them. Ever since she’d found the passages earlier in the week, her mind had been buzzing with possibilities, though each was quickly dismissed. Too simple, too complex, outright impossible.. the reasons were many.

Deep are the shadows of the earth.. deeper still the hearts of men. A wide eye watches us all… She shut her eyes tightly, crossing an arm across her face as she laid back in bed. She had spent far more time than was probably justifiable wracking her brain over these riddles. She should’ve been sleeping. The Refuge had closed at nine, and it was now… twelve? Altherei turned her face from the clock, let out a groan, and rolled over in her bed.

She had never been fond of riddles, or of puzzles she couldn’t solve easily. Much as she enjoyed a challenge every so often, this was quickly becoming tiresome. Of course, if finding this weapon were easy, someone would already have it. Nothing worth having, certainly nothing this powerful, would be so simple to locate. And even if she were able to find all the pieces, what if she was unable to properly wield it? Would she meet the same fate as the astromancer who was initially responsible for its shattering?

With an irritated hiss, the young astronomer pushed herself from her bed, toes curling against the cold wood floor of her rented room. Her brain was simply not content to sleep, and she could already hear Yrlisse’s gentle chiding in the back of her mind. But what was the point in simply laying awake frustrated? Far better, Altherei thought, to get up and at least do something until her brain was simply too tired to continue. Then she would sleep, as late into the day as she needed to.

After grabbing a thick sweater to beat back the chill of Dalaran nights, she sat with a heavy thud at her desk, lighting the nearby lamp to illuminate her otherwise dark room. Altherei reached for her moleskin notebook, brimming with notes she’d taken on her chosen path over the months and months and months of research poured into it. She’d need a new one soon..

Deep are the shadows of the earth. She thought, rereading the first puzzle. Let’s start there… perhaps a place permanently enshadowed? Her brows knit, and she pulled free a few pieces of loose parchment to begin scrawling ideas.

Duskwood

Suramar

Deepholm

A cave?

Knowing her luck, it would be one of the thousands of cave systems across Azeroth. That alone could take any one man a lifetime to search. She sighed and moved to the next piece of the puzzle.

Deeper still the hearts of men… do they mean the shadows? That the hearts of men are dark? It was an interesting thought, and certainly a pessimistic one. It seemed almost too easy to infer such meaning from the text, but the two had to be related somehow. What area of the world was both enshrined in shadow, but also a place of deep pessimism for man?

It certainly could still be Duskwood, a place of rampant feral worgen and seemingly endless Scourge assaults.

Suramar… still remained a potential candidate, as well. She’d heard plenty of stories about the treachery and horrors committed by Elisande and those loyal to her. The things she did to her own people… a chill ran up Altherei’s spine, and she continued on.

Deepholm-- certainly the deepest shadow one could find would be in the elemental plane of Earth. She’d heard tales of how the Twilight’s Hammer had set up, working to corrupt the area. The shadows on their hearts were indeed deep.

Well this was going well so far. She had hoped to narrow her list down, and she’d only made her work harder. Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, Altherei let her head loll back a moment to heave a sigh before returning to the passage.

A wide eye watches us all, and sees the void within.

A wide eye.. a wide eye.. Altherei tapped her pen against the desk gently. Was this eye metaphorical or literal? What had eye-like qualities in the areas she had listed?

Duskwood-- there was that Emerald Dreamgate.. but when had gates ever been compared to eyes? It seemed like a stretch at best.

Suramar-- she’d heard talk that, when in Suramar, if one looked up, they would see a wide, eye-shaped space in the sky, as if the Nether had split open to reveal the stars beyond. It was certainly a candidate…

Deepholm-- The maelstrom that lead into the elemental plane.. again, seemed a stretch. She’d heard it called a wound, but never an eye.

But what if it were literal? Thus far, she’d been operating on the base of metaphor, on loose allegories and symbolism. Setting her pen down, she wracked her brain. A wide eye, a wide eye… she put two fingers to her own left eye, stretching her eyelids away to widen her own before nearly dropping her pen in the ensuing epiphany.

C’thun. A Wide Eye watches us all, and sees the void within.

Her scribbling became faster, almost frantic as she worked to keep up with her thoughts. She had sat down hoping hitting her head against the wall of these riddles would put her to sleep, yet she felt more awake than when she had started.

C’thun - Old God > Old Gods control void magic. Void within = the shadow magic called on by astromancers?

C’thun - related to word ‘cthonic’, ancient human term meaning ‘inside the earth’ or ‘of the earth’?

Altherei felt as though someone had flipped a switch in her brain. Suddenly, a new option was presented to her, an option never before considered in her metaphors and symbols: Ahn’Qiraj.

Deep are the shadows of the earth - a massive system of underground tunnels, caves, and large rooms. Prison for Old God C’thun > C’thun the root word for ‘cthonic’ in Common, deep underground?

So too the hearts of men - Qiraji bitter over loss of Shifting Sands War, long fights, drawn out, eventually beaten back. Constantly fighting to regain control of what they lost. Deep shadows, deep desire for vengeance, deep bitterness.

A wide eye watches us all - C’thun, the living eye, in heart of AQ.

And sees the void within - Many tales told from those who survived the Scarab Gate and subsequent sacking claim to have heard whispers-- ‘Your courage will fail,’ ‘Your friends will abandon you’-- the void within. Fears, secrets, darkness we try to hide?

She dropped her pen suddenly on the desk, the glass quill clattering as it rolled to a stop against the edge where desk and wall met. She stared hard at her notes, teal orbs flitting back and forth over what she’d written. She almost didn’t want it to make sense. It was too perfect, too fitting. And much as she tried to tell herself she was wrong, that instinctual feeling rose once more in her gut.

She would be going to the Temple of Ahn’Qiraj.