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warcraft-lore-archives · 6 years ago

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On Nightborne: Schools of Magic

Spellblades

Chronomancy

Warpcasting

Telemancy

Ley Magic

Astromancy

Spellblades

Spellblades, as the name indicates, are those who combine both melee skill and magic into a single form of combat [Dungeon Journal: The Nighthold, Spellblade Aluriel]. Spellblade Aluriel, captain of Grand Magistrix Elisande’s guard, was the first Nightborne to take on the rank of spellblade. She is not only adept in the magical schools of fire, frost, and arcane, but she also commands great prowess with a sword, making her both expert mage and warrior [Dungeon Journal: The Nighthold, Spellblade Aluriel]. Although it was once popular to specialize exclusively in just magic or weaponry, Aluriel was the first to combine both skills and pave the way for generations of spellblades to come [Post: Azshara’s Court - Guards].

In addition to spellblades, a type of melee-based fighter called a spell-fencer also exists within the Duskwatch’s ranks. It is unclear how spell-fencers differ from spellblades, if at all, but there may be a marked difference between them since they are referred to separately. Both Thoramir and Silgryn, who previously served together under Spellblade Aluriel, are spell-fencers [Quest: Waxing Crescent, NPC: Thoramir Dialogue]. Spell-fencers, and most likely spellblades by extension, can empower their weapons with arcane magic [Spell: Arc Blade].

Aluriel may be the first Nightborne Spellblade, but high elven society developed their own version, which may or may not differ from the Nightborne’s spellblade [NPC: Sunreaver Spellblade, NPC: Silver Covenant Spellblade].

Chronomancy

Time magic, or chronomancy, holds a rather significant place in Nightborne society. In fact, Elisande’s command of temporal magic, given to her by the Eye of Aman’thul, rivals even that of the bronze dragonflight’s [Quest: Temporal Investigations, Page: Eye of Aman’thul]. With the Eye of Aman’thul, which was used to create the Nightwell, Elisande could look into the future and freeze, speed up, slow down, or even rewind time [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 104, Dungeon Journal: The Nighthold, Grand Magistrix Elisande].

Nightborne who specialize in temporal magic are known as tempomancers [NPC: Nightborne Tempomancer, Tempomancer Virinya]. Although a ‘Nightborne Chronomancer’ file exists, the NPC does not actually appear in-game [NPC: Nightborne Chronomancer]. These tempomancers can increase others’ haste and rewind time to heal themselves [Spell: Tempomancer’s Grace, Spell: Celerity Zone, Spell: Rewind Wounds]. Time magic is also used to shorten the wine fermenting period of Arcwine, allowing the Nightborne to produce the magic wine at a rate much quicker than usual [Quest: How It’s Made: Arcwine].

Some Nightborne carry chronometers on their person [Item: Flashy Chronometer].

Warpcasting

Warpcasters can warp the very space around themselves [Quest: Network Security]. Warpcaster Thwen created a warp field around herself that redirected all attacks and spells, however this warp field failed when exposed to unstable space [Spell: Warp Armor, Quest: Network Security].

Warpcasting and telemancy may be related magical arts, since they both entail the ‘warping’ of space [Quest: Survey Says…]. Chief Telemancer Oculeth, who trained Warpcaster Thwen, gives out a buff called ‘Warpwalking’ that causes each kill to increase movement speed [Quest: Network Security, Spell: Warpwalking].

Thalyssra built a device to generate a warp-field that would trap and excite mana in a ley feed conduit, causing a manastorm [Quest: Ephemeral Manastorm Projector].

Telemancy

Telemancers specialize in teleportation, a form of magic known as telemancy. Although telemancers can teleport and cast portals freely, they prefer to use a system of telemancy beacons to stabilize their portals, making them much safer to travel through [Quest: Oculeth’s Workshop, NPC: Chief Telemancer Oculeth Dialogue]. Beacons do this by supplying power for teleportation triangulations, which makes portal calculations much more exact and, consequently, safe [NPC: Oculeth Dialogue, Quest: Bring Home the Beacon, Quest: Survey the City]. Placing too many beacons, however, has the adverse effect of overloading the telemancy network [Quest: Staging Point].

Telemancy beacons also reduce teleportation time. While mage portals take some time to cast, telemancy beacons foster instant transmission [NPC: Oculeth Dialogue]. Teleport pads and telemancy orbs, in addition to beacons, are other means of transport [Quest: The Delicate Art of Telemancy, Quest: Breaching the Sanctum, Item: Entangled Telemancy Orb]. Certain things, like magical wards and manastorms, create interference that prevent teleportation [Quest: All In].

To establish a portal, one must first use the beacon to survey any given area for optimal placement. After the beacon has been placed, a connection can be anchored to it, creating a stable two-way portal [Quest: Survey Says…]. Some beacons can also be used for one-way teleportation [Quest: Grand Theft Telemancy].

According to Chief Telemancer Oculeth, who created Suramar’s telemancy network, telemancy is a delicate art [Quest: Oculeth’s Workshop].

Other Nightborne telemancers include Apprentice Telemancer Astrandis and Third Telemancer Syranel [NPC: Apprentice Telemancer Astrandis, NPC: Third Telemancer Syranel].��

Ley Lines

Ley magic is the very cornerstone of Nightborne society. According to Arcanist Valtrois, ley lines are rivers of raw arcane energy running beneath the land. Although they are at times chaotic and difficult to control, the Nightborne have become adept at drawing power from them [Quest: Feeding Shal’Aran]. The convergence of ley lines in Suramar feeds power to the Nightwell, which in turn sustains the Nightborne [Quest: A Dance With Dragons]. This unique relationship, combined with centuries of ley line research, has given the Nightborne power over the ley lines.

Suramar City was constructed on top of a nexus of ley lines that extend beyond the city proper into outlying regions like northern Azsuna. The Arcway, a vast labyrinthine network of tunnels, was built thousands of years ago under the region of Suramar for the purpose of tapping into and channeling the power of those magical ley lines [Quest: Tapping the Leylines]. At some point following the sundering, the Arcway was abandoned after a disaster disrupted mana collectors operating there [Quest: The Arcway: Opening the Arcway]. This is why all ley line feeds require an infusion of mana to operate properly [Quest: Leyline Feed: Falanaar Depths].

The Nightfallen maintain Ley Stations in the Arcway using ley line feeds, large pillars that channel the ley lines. These ley line feeds are topped with leydar dishes, which collect ley energy [Quest: Leyline Feed: Ley Station Moonfall]. The circuit at Tel’Anor’s Ley Station was broken and had to be mended by recharging the chamber’s seals using a high and low potency current in tandem [Quest: Power Grid]. Oculeth owns several personal coils for tapping into the ley lines [Quest: Oculeth’s Workshop].

By placing ley line taps on key points of any given ley line, one can direct the ley line’s flow of energy [Quest: Unbeleyvable]. A ley line stream powerful enough can vaporize anything [Quest: Feeding Shal’Aran, Quest: Flow Control]. However, just as much as it can destroy, arcane energy from the ley lines can also repair physical damage [Quest: Leyline Feed: Ley Station Aethenar, Quest: Leyline Feed: Ley Station Moonfall]. A plant called Manaroot that grows underneath ley lines in Suramar possesses healing properties and can be made into a salve that heals wounds [Quest: Soothing Wounds, Quest: Salvation].

Valtrois casts a buff called ‘Leyline Mastery’ that causes the wearer to attract ley lines, triggering ley line rifts to appear [Spell: Leyline Mastery].

Shal’dorei silk has some ley energy woven right into it [Quest: Runic Catgut].

Nightborne society is full of all sorts of people dedicated to studying the ley lines, from Ley Line Channelers and Ley Line Researchers to Duskwatch Ley-Wardens [NPC: Ley Line Channeler, NPC: Ley Line Researcher, NPC: Duskwatch Ley-Warden]. There is a specific class of mage, known as Ley Walker, that specializes in ley line magic, however it is an RPG only class and cannot be considered canon [RPG: More Magic & Mayhem, pg. 20-22]. Although Arcanist Valtrois is an arcanist, she is clearly vested in the ley line arts, as she has been studying ley lines for millennia, and could be considered a ‘ley walker’ of sorts in her own right [Quest: Unbeleyvable].

Astromancy

Astromancy is undoubtedly just as important in Nightborne society as any other school of magic, however there are very few specific details about Nightborne astromancy, perhaps because it is so subtly woven into the very fabric of Nightborne culture.

The denizens of Suramar began studying the stars as early as twelve thousand years ago [Object: Highborne Astrolabe]. Even when the protective shield put up over Suramar obscured the Nightborne’s view of the sky, they continued to dedicate themselves to studying the stars in Astromancer’s Rise [Quest: The Nightborne Pact]. Suramar’s foremost astromancer, Star Augur Etraeus, uses the Nightwell to draw upon the essence of alien worlds to amplify his own powers. He, Astrologer Jarin, and a coterie of celestial acolytes and astral spell-users dedicate themselves to understanding the celestial forces from the Nighthold [Dungeon Journal: The Nighthold, Star Augur Etraeus, NPC: Astrologer Jarin Dialogue].

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verosmoonshine-blog · 6 years ago

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In Vein of Azerite

(Takes place approximately 2 months ago, three weeks prior to his promotion in the Agents of Suramar) TW: Violence

Prelude | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV (coming soon!)

(Bonus: Veros’ proposal to the Agents to ley-walk the Dead Scar)

The Nightborne’s fingers trailed lightly against his bare abdomen, tracing the still fresh scar of the sword that had impaled him weeks ago. In the mirror, Veros stares at himself, frowning at how the gash ruined his skin. His right bicep was marred as well from the messy attempt to cauterize such a deep wound, scarring in the shape of his handprint. He was lucky to have been brought to healers in time to revert some of the gruesome damage from the excursion.

He huffs, throwing on a shirt and retrieving a reinforced chestpiece. Despite it all, he ultimately got what he wanted from the mission: Azerite. Studying it and its properties alongside the Agents of Suramar was soon to begin.

Now he just needed more.

Just days earlier, he proposed a date for the Agents to ley-walk the Dead Scar. The tainted power within those ley lines crystallized held similar properties to Azerite, he discovered. Mana Shards, a crystal produced from successfully filtering a majority of unholy magic in the Scar, appeared to be forever changed by the dark corruption rooted in the land. These Mana Shards had made them into what was essentially a smaller, watered down version of Azerite. Studying these without risking the destruction of Azerite would be useful, but he needed a team to retrieve more of those Shards. The Agents would help him retrieve the Shards; Azerite he had to acquire alone.

Veros straps on his spaulders, the gems socketed within glowing as they sense his energy. The sample of Azerite he collected in Silithus was small, and not enough for him to further his more daring studies. Luckily, he had intel that veins of Azerite were sprouting up in certain regions of Feralas. The Seething Shore was an active battlefield for such a mineral, but there was less activity within the woods just east from it. As a Ley-Walker, he could find Azerite in secluded areas, undisturbed by the likes of war and greed. No one would know he had taken any at all.

The thought delights him as he finishes strapping on his armor. Dalaran held a plethora of magi armorsets, many of which he happily purchased. If he were to take these missions serious and make strides in the study of Titan blood, he could not risk being as horrendously unprepared as he was in Silithus. This time, he would emerge victorious.

Filled with determination, Veros tosses his satchel on and claps his hands together, a spark of violet magic bursting forth and enveloping him until he shimmers out of his apartment. After a long moment of floating in a rift of arcane, Veros feels his boots land in soft grass, a warm, humid breeze brushing lightly past his face. Gone were his apartment walls and closets, replaced now with the dense, murky green of the forests of Feralas. He takes a deep breath, taking in the scent of the trees and plants, soaking in the sounds of the little creatures that chirp and groan deep in the forest. Tranquil and beautiful, Veros notes, and for a moment, he ponders if he would have lived here in a life where he remained his Kaldorei self instead of living beneath the barrier.

He shakes his head. Those thoughts would have to wait. He crouches, placing a hand down into the unruly grass, palm laying flat atop the ground. His runes glow brightly, and shortly after, he feels the cool energy within the earth connect to him. The rivers of mana stream through the arcanist, his own power linked to the ley lines deep within, and he feels it travel through dozens of curves and grooves through the nerves. In deep concentration, he searches through the lines, combing and swimming through each strand of power like a harpist, until finally, he strikes a chord, a thick nerve of power swollen with an influx of arcane. He could almost hear the shrieking music through the lines, the twisted melody of Azerite singing into his very soul as he reaches for it. There, north of where he stood -- that ley line bears a cluster of Azerite, and good Stars, it calls to him so.

He rises to his feet, swelling with the power of the ley lines. His armor, socketed with enchanted gems, fills and contains the energy he had absorbed, sparking with arcane lightning. With a deep breath, Veros shimmers, bursting with power as he blinks several yards away, repeating the teleportation again and again. He rushes through the forest, sprinting and blinking forth, traveling across the very ley line that showed him the clusters of Azerite, streaks of violet and blue magic trail shortly behind him until finally, he skids to a halt, boots digging roughly into the dirt as he catches a glimpse of that citrus yellow poking out of the ground.

The strange, broken hum of Azerite fills his ears, the shrieking melody not meant for the ears of mortals echoes through the forest. As much as knowledge and discovery tempted him, Veros found he could never shake off just how deeply it disturbed him to see the lines this way. Regardless, Veros had work to do. Azerite is not going to study itself.

Veros climbs up the hill before him, mindful of the vines and little lizards that skit away from him. As he hoists himself up and looks over the land before him, he could clearly see the veins of that powerful mineral growing under the protection of the nature surrounding it. Veros grins, retrieving the large pickaxe strapped to his back and sliding down the other side of the hill. A massive cluster of Azerite, entangled in roots and vines catches his eye, and he makes haste towards it, his mind already theorizing and questioning the nature of the mineral. How quick does Azerite grow? Does it sprout out instantly? Have the plants been affected by its influence?

As he nears the mineral, the song of the hardened titan’s blood grows louder, but another set of sounds assaults his ears as he approaches. Whispers, incoherent yet many flood the air, a dark aura beginning to veil over the environment. The temperature drops, and Veros stops in his tracks, twitching his head to and fro in search of the source of the disturbance. The whispers continue, as if a thousand separate hushed conversations decided to take place at once in the forest. A shadow passes quick in his peripheral, and he whirls around, searching for the interloper, but finding none. His neck and ears begin to itch feverishly, streaks of umber and indigo painting the corners of his vision as he staggers away from the Azerite. Though Veros could see no one in the immediate area, he could not help but feel the presence of a dozen sets of eyes staring into him.

He was surrounded.

Veros clutches the pickaxe tightly, eyes darting through the thicket. He combs through the voices in his head, trying to focus on one of the many whispers. Either the voices were far too hushed to make anything out, or they spoke a different, incomprehensible language; Veros did not know which, nor did he know if he even wants to. As he takes another step back, a bright, vivid golden glow lights up in the thicket, followed shortly by a dozen more golden flames appearing, like peering eyes watching his every move. His breath catches in his throat, and before he could rationalize any of his thoughts or a plan of any sort, his legs began to move, and he sprints away, dashing through the foliage in primal fear. The whispers intensify, and behind him he could hear the thundering sounds of footsteps tailing him, the murky green of the forest illuminated now by a frightening golden glow.

A hollow command in Thalassian rings over the forest, one Veros roughly understands as a call for detainment. His brows scrunch as he leaps through the grooves of the trees. No one else should have been here, no one else should have known. What a fool he was to believe no one else would catch on! He cannot be taken prisoner, not now, not ever!

Veros whirls on his heel, turning to see three human women, dainty and fair, clothed in flowing white gowns with stripes of black and gold pursuing him, their delicate hands glowing vividly with the Light. As he locks eyes with them, they leap in the air, clouds of magic lifting them to keep them levitated over the forest floor. Priests, he realizes, and he lifts his hands just as they do, arcane lightning crackling at his fingertips until his spell bursts in the air, creating a violet dome around them that silenced their spells. The priests fell, returning to the ground, and Veros blinks away, materializing a short distance in another direction. Several more golden orbs appeared in the woods, the hymns of the Light, the broken melody of Azerite, the whispers in his head, all clashing together to the beat of his heart and uneven breaths. He feared, oh he feared, not just for his life, but for his own sanity.

He rushes through the trees, branches snapping and foliage crunching beneath him, and as he looks down, he realizes the shadowy tendrils that slithered across by his feet, lurching up to seize the arcanist. Veros yelps, instinctively casting a blaze of arcane fire at his feet, propelling himself into the air and blinking ahead to another direction. A horn blows, and he turns in the direction of the sound, his blood running cold as he feels a dark presence enter the forest. Swirling in the thicket, the vague silhouette of a massive raven, void of any light and seeping with shadows at its inky wings swoops into the forest, its body forming and coming undone, held together by the nightmares of the Void strung together in an impossible physical form. The raven screeches, swooping through the forest at an immense speed, and seated atop the massive unliving creature is an elven woman clothed entirely in black. She hunches over the raven, flicking an arm back to reveal the massive scythe she wields, her spaulders lighting up with crimson magic, shaping itself into her own pair of ribbon-like wings. A thick red veil shrouds her face, and despite her own attire being drastically different from the white and gold of the other priests in pursuit, it was clear that she was one of them as well, no doubt their leader.

As the raven lets out another screech and comes closer towards Veros, he realizes that there is no chance at running from this. The Shadows that brought the raven into physical form seems to echo the nightmares of those around it, and as it and its rider approach, Veros begins to see his own fears clouded in the murky expanse of feathers. The voices in his head boom into uproarious shouts, the voices once hushed and incoherent were now loud and clear. The images of demons, his burning city, his withered family and friends begin to flood his mind, flashing with the horrible thoughts of death and destruction, even down to the Headquarters of the Agents set ablaze and stained with gore.

Veros crumples, screaming as the mental images assault his mind, fire, arcane and ice flashing through his hands frantically as he tries to pry himself away from the intrusions. He forces his eyes to open, feeling blood trickle from his nose as he lifts his head, and watches as the swirling void of the raven disperses into smoke, its rider gliding through the air at an immense speed towards him, her scythe drawn and teeming with the Shadows. Fear locks him in place, his stomach churning and veins running ice cold, and he watches, unflinching, as the woman lands in front of him hawkishly. Her prosthetic legs dig into the dirt, slicing through the grass while she slides just past him. The massive blade of the scythe swings around, the woman now standing a ways behind Veros, the curvature of the scythe wrapped close to his neck with the blade only threatening to part his flesh. Inside his head, he hears a dark, sultry, yet taunting laugh.

He did not dare to move.

He did not dare to breathe.

The air around him begins to settle, and he hears the dozens of other priests gather around the two, speckles of white robes fluttering in his peripheral. His heart pounds, his pulse felt in his throat, and he looks down at the blade, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he lays his eyes on the dark runes etched into the blade. At the joint of the blade and the staff of the scythe rests a massive, inhuman eyeball made of crystal, staring at nothing, yet somehow, staring deep into, and perhaps even beyond his soul. The laughter in his head came directly from this blade, he realizes, and he shudders as the smooth voice melts into his head again.

“My my, what a delicious specimen we have here…”

Veros gulps, taking a breath to steady himself. He knew of Xal’atath, knew of its dark origin and vaguely of its properties.

He knew also the woman who wielded such a hideous weapon.

“Lady Sunblade…” Veros says, his voice strained, but laced with a hint of humor. “Heh… F-Fancy seeing you way out here.”

The woman is silent for a long moment, but she eases slightly, allowing him more space between he and the scythe. The air is still and quiet, no one else daring to make a move or sound.

“Veros Moonshine…” The woman finally speaks, letting out a heavy sigh. She drops her scythe away from him, stepping back so she faced him. “Pray tell, my Shal’dorei friend, why do I only ever find you in places you don't belong?”

Veros chuckles, grateful to be off of the threat of death, though his hands still remained up in their surrender. “I… take it you won't be inclined to believe me if I said I were out here for an innocent stroll.”

The priest lifts her sculpted crown off her head, the veil slipping away to reveal her face. Minty eyes fell to the nightborne, a maternal, yet stern look etched into her features. Lady Neo’la Sunblade, the High Priest of the Conclave stood before him, horribly unamused. “You shouldn't be here.”

Veros shrugs slightly. “No one should be.”

“Especially not one of your kind.”

“Yes -- N-Now hold on, what ever do you mean by that?!”

Neo’la pinches the bridge of her nose irritably. “You’re a simple man, Veros, you’re a merchant. You should not be anywhere near dense places like these.”

Veros does not rise from his knees, instead crossing his arms defensively. “Contrary, Lady Sunblade. I've gone a little beyond the ‘simple' part by now. Besides, I've any right as you do to wander these woods as I please.”

Neo’la scoffs, shaking her head at him. “You are embarrassingly mistaken, Nightborne.” She spreads her arm, gesturing to the zealots that stood at the ready, awaiting her orders. “The priests of Netherlight Temple have claimed this neck of the woods for independent research. You are a trespasser here.”

Veros narrows his eyes, now turning to examine his environment. Priests and zealots had already been in the midst of the forest, and he hardly knew for how long. He rises to his feet carefully, feeling Neo’la’s eyes on him as he scans the area. The priests intended to stay and set up camp, it seems. His nose scrunches, and he turns back to face her again.

“This place has no laws or rules, my Lady,” Veros says cautiously. “I am breaking no rules, I am no trespasser.”

“So long as I and my zealots are here, my word is law.” Neo’la states simply. “There is much to be gained, much to be studied here.”

“Then from one researcher to another, allow me to propose that I take part in your studies, High Priest,” Veros offers, placing a hand to his chest. “I have come here in the pursuit of knowledge, wanting only to further the study of--”

“I've been kind enough already to spare your sanity and let you walk freely,” Neo’la interjects, her scythe thumping against the ground. “Had you been anyone else, we would have had you imprisoned and questioned. You have your chance now to run home, and neither of us will speak anything of this. If anyone asks, we never met here.”

Veros’ brow twitches. “I am grateful, Lady Sunblade, that you have spared me so. I suppose that makes me twice in your debt. But I came here for one thing, and I do not intend on leaving without it.”

Neo’la raises a brow, not quite angry, but rather intrigued by his remark. The priests behind her make a move towards him, but she holds up a hand, commanding them wordlessly to stay in position. “Why? Why bother? What reason do you have for collecting such a powerful gem?”

“Why are your priests here bothering with it?” Veros deflects, gesturing to the robed figures. “You see worth in it, you know it's worth studying. Leaps and bounds through science and discovery can be made with Azerite -- I just need a large sample. I want to explore its properties, I want to see for myself what it can do, how far we can take it!”

“And how am I to know there is no malicious intent behind your quest?”

“I am not like the individuals who are easily distracted by power,” Veros sneers. “I have no need for it. I have power on my own to draw from. Azerite has potential I want to explore, not so I can conquer and slay like some lowborn. I just want knowledge.”

Neo’la approaches him, staring into his eyes with a hollow, almost lifeless look. Veros holds his ground, staring back, but her very presence made the hairs on his skin rise. “So noble that it’s hard for me to believe you. Azerite in the wrong hands can corrupt. You're just one man about to take on massive power -- why should I trust that?”

Veros scoffs. “You've practically an entire army right here at your disposal. How can I trust that your hands are the wrong ones for Azerite to fall into? I'm one man, I'm hardly a threat. You, however...”

“We are searching and purging this area of potential Void corruption. Priestly duties.” Neo’la tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “But I suppose you're right. I'm quite hypocritical in this case, aren't I?”

Neo’la raises her clawed hand, grabbing Veros’ jaw to turn his head and examine him. “You've changed quite a lot since the last we've met. There's a different look in your eyes… Just what have you seen?”

Veros holds her gaze, watching as that friendly minty green glow of her eyes fades, replaced with a fiery burst of amethyst, Shadows teeming in the depths of her pupils. The dark power envelopes her figure, sweeping a cold breeze across the forest, the whispers of the Shadows returning to the background noise. Veros flinches, ignoring the whispers and the calls, held in place by the gaze of the High Priest.

“I’ve seen enough to make me realize I cannot remain passive,” Veros says, his own voice calmer than he expected. He gently takes hold of her hand, moving it away from his face. “My kin have taken me in and shown me what it means to fight. I have a new purpose.”

“Do you, now?” Neo’la asks, the Shadows echoing her words. “You want to take control of your fate, of your future?”

“I want to study. I want to learn about my world.”

The priest grins wickedly, flashing a sharpened canine. “How bad do you want it?”

The pulse of the arcane within the lines beneath him begin to match his heartbeat, and Veros adjusts his stance, readying himself for action. “Bad enough. I am an Agent now, Lady Sunblade,” He grins. “I will not yield.”

“Very well...” Neo’la chuckles darkly, flicking her wrist back to extend her scythe. She sways her free hand in front of her, holding two fingers up that swirls with umber and golden magic. “Fight for it, then. Show me what you're made of.”

The two of them move in sync, the priests spectating them beginning to circle the pair as magic accumulates in the center. The arcanist fills with power, the ley lines feeding mana directly into him. Chaotic magic churns between the pair, the High Priest’s own body melding into pure shadow, dispersing into an inky cloud as Veros erupts with white hot arcane fire. A sonic blast sweeps through the forest, streaks of vivid violet and umber smoke painting the floor of the forest as they dart through. Veros launches himself into the air, his runes filled with an immense power that he had not felt in thousands of years. His glowing eyes sweep through the murky green in search of the Azerite, turning only in time to watch Neo’la emerge to her physical form, her scythe drawn and swinging brutishly down towards the arcanist.

Another booming crash echoes through the forest, her blade screeching against the arcane barrier that barely came up in time to shield the nightborne. He blinks to the ground, she slithers towards him in a cloud of shadow. Arcane lightning splurges from his arms, a barrage of missiles exploding from his fingertips towards the priest. One strikes, the others crash and shatter against a barrier of pure Light, the forest illuminated by flashes and bursts of cyan, violet and gold, brighter than the fireworks of the faire.

BOOM.

Ropes and whips of shadow solidify into the priest’s hands, sending out the magic to lash out at Veros. He blinks away from them, desperately dodging and avoiding them, only for them to become tangled wires across the mossy floor, forcing him to watch his step else he trip across the eldritch power. Veros grasps at the power deep within the lines, ripping the mana into his hands and allowing it to erupt to the surface like magma. He clenches his fists, swirling his hands to bend the mana into blades, severing the wisps of shadow that threatened to overtake him. Neo’la shoots forth, the lines between her physical form and the Void blurring, and she reaches a clawed hand towards his face, a wicked grin across her own. Fearful, Veros pulls the mana he controlled into himself, the arcane crystallizing around his body and encasing him in makeshift armor, the priest grabbing not flesh, but hardened mana. She snarls, raising her scythe, the blade glinting in the setting sun’s last glimmer of light before swinging it down, the weapon shrieking as it slices through air and crashes into the armor.

BOOM.

The armor shatters, sending the arcanist flying across the forest, bouncing and flailing through the forest floor as momentum takes no mercy. Dirt and grass stain his attire, and as he finally skids to a halt and looks up, he hears the whispers of madness assault his mind, the inky cloud encroaching ever closer. As he peers into the cloud of smoke, the Shadows form shapes and figures, nightmares and echoes of both his past, and her own. Death, blood, insanity, the destruction of cities, the loss of a child, of a loved one, of family, the plague of fear and betrayal, all of it pierces his mind like a million daggers, searing the images into his brain and forcing him to relive the horrors. He lets out a scream, clawing feebly at his temples as the cloud of Shadow bursts into Neo’la’s physical form once more. Her hands teem with the power of the Void, and she grasps at his collar, yanking him up to his knees.

“Tell me what you see, Arcanist,” She says, her words distorted by the dark magic that clings to her. “How desperate are you to undo your own vices?”

He lets out another shout as he feels his own memories pulled from the dark corners of his mind. Kalana, his adopted daughter, floats into his vision, and he recalls her smile, her studies and her work, and how valiantly she fought against the Legion as they poured into their beautiful city. His work as an Arcanist, the other nightborne who supported him in the Terrace of Enlightenment. His work had made leaps and bounds, and the memory of his despair and fall from such a title awakens anew, the pain of failure seizing Veros tenfold in the crevices of his chest. His research melts away, Kalana’s withered features burn into his vision, and the destruction from the demons, both of present, and of the Ancients present themselves vividly. But, as the visages of demons and slaughter flood in, he realizes, these memories were some of which that had been long gone, long forgotten. His mother, his father, faces he thought he could never recall again, were suddenly fresh in his mind, painted with blood from the war, painted with fear and regret.

Yet somehow, these nightmares, these visions, they did more than just frighten and torment him.

They woke him up.

Veros snaps his eyes open, his runes flowing brilliantly with power. He yanks her hands off of him, the visages disappearing from his mind. For the first time in thousands of years, he felt he could see clearly, see beyond just his strife. The pain molded and sculpted him into the man he became, and though he had abandoned his past accomplishments, he had the opportunity now to fight for it back. To fight and prevent such violence and despair. As he plunges his hands into the floor, ripping at the burning hot mana the overflows from his body, feeling the power of not just the ley lines, but the roots of Azerite nearby pour into his fingertips, Neo’la grins, her scythe held up in anticipation.

“An’ratha an’tal!”

Magic crackles through his body, the runes on his cheeks only barely serving to hold him together enough to not outwardly explode with the spell. Shockwaves of arcane emit through the arcanist, a dome of arcane lightning forming around him before detonating into a massive array of cyan and violet. The High Priest found herself thrown backwards by the spell, sound waves crashing through the forest, the trees bending at the force of the explosion. Veros’ own armor could hardly handle the power he emitted, and had become shredded with the force. The zealots, previously passively watching the duel, swoop into the scene, rushing to the High Priest and forming barriers of pure Light around the arcanist.

Boom.

Veros collapses to his knees, his vision blurred from the use of such an excessive spell. He felt coils of Light wrap around him to restrain him, and only vaguely register’s Neo’la’s command to the zealots. The barriers drop, and she approaches him, holding onto the arm of a zealot for assistance to walk. The ends of her robes were damaged and singed, and Veros caught a glimpse of a destroyed prosthetic leg dangling underneath. Yet despite the destruction, Neo’la appeared calm, hosting no anger, hosting no resentment.

“I severely underestimated you, Veros,” Neo’la says, her voice strained and out of breath. She places a hand on her chest, and bows. “Never did I anticipate this kind of fire from someone like you.”

Veros groans, sitting back against a tree behind him. The zealots drop the chains of Light that had restrained him per Sunblade’s silent command, and as his runes begin to settle to their normal glow, he laughs wearily. “I assume that’s a compliment, my Lady?”

Neo’la snickers, waving to the zealots to help him up. “Given the complexity of my research here, Veros, I cannot allow you to extract Azerite from here,” She says, watching as Veros’ face wilts at that. “It is dangerous, and this area is unstable.”

Veros allows the priests to hoist him up, and he breathes easy as streams of Light flood into his body, rejuvenating him. “Then this ruckus was for naught and in vain. I apologize for wasting your time.”

Neo’la smirks. “I’m not leaving you empty handed, Veros. This duel… has shown me something… admirable.”

She calls out to someone behind her, and a troll, sporting a fiery red mohawk steps forth, nodding to the High Priest. He retrieves a deep maroon satchel, and she nods to Veros. The troll extends it to the nightborne, who takes it curiously into his hands.

“We have likely called attention to this area of the forest with our… scuffle…” Neo’la says, wiping blood from her split lip. “I will deal with whoever comes. You need to leave now, before they see you here. As I stated earlier, we will not speak of this encounter. We never saw each other here.”

Veros stares at her, glancing to the satchel with bewilderment. “I… Well, um… What’s -- What do I do with th--”

“That --” Neo’la points to the bag with her chin. “-- is your ticket to research. Do not open it until you’re in a secure place. Inside, you’ll find where to locate Azerite. Do not return to Feralas until we know this place has no Void influence. I will not risk anyone falling to madness here for greed.” She smiles, bowing her head. “You should practice that spell again, try to avoid nearly fainting from it. It could do you good.”

Veros blinks, at a complete loss for words, but chuckles heartily, bowing deeply and humbly to the High Priest. “I will make use of this, High Priest, you have my gratitude.”

The priests clean the area, sweeping away evidence of the chaos as much as they could. As Veros steps through a portal back to his home, he peaks through the bag, his eyes landing on a map that told him exactly where to go next.

Northrend.

#( for a series of azerite ) ; plot arc #( we have our chapters ) ; writing #long post #Neo'la Sunblade #( dusty pages ) ; muse info #MMMM 5K WORDS

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aeyemenethes-blog · 8 years ago

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Lathbora viran Ch. 6

For your entertainment, I have posted the next instalment of my fanfic Lathbora viran. You can also find it on AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/23506302. Ma serannas.

Clan Lavellan was different from other Dalish clans I encountered throughout my travels. They were accepting of all elves and polite – at times friendly – with humans as well as other elves. It was one aspect that drew me to them when I woke, one year prior to the explosion at the Conclave. After several millennia deep in Uthenera, I stumbled into the poisoned arrow tips of the clan’s hunters disoriented and weak, but they didn’t strike or drive me off. Instead, the clan welcomed me and my recovery began. I forced myself to leave soon afterwards so I wouldn’t grow complacent.

However, during several Fade walks I visited to check up on the clan since I left. This time was no different, though the reasoning behind it was decidedly selfish.

Ellana was Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan’s First when I was originally brought before both ladies by the elven hunters. Even from our initial introduction, Ellana’s hunger for magic and knowledge came close to matching my own. I was attracted to her curiosity as those wolf pups were, nosing after the fireflies in the meadow. Dangerously attracted. With her now a part of the Inquisition, the feelings I tried to smother now tugged me toward the Lavellan Clan, if only to inquire after their welfare.

I owed her that much though would in no way make up for what I’d done to Ellana in the past. The Herald, however, would never become aware of this.

I remembered Ellan informing Adan that her clan was in Wycome now – a place where they travelled before but not when I stayed with them – so I decided to check there. Taking a long draw from the sleeping draft I mixed together in my wooden tankard, I relaxed into my straw mattress back at Haven and waited for the herbs to take effect. My breath grew deep and slow first followed by my heart. A heaviness settled on my eyelids, and I did one final scan around the white markings arranged in varying patterns in painstaking order. Only when felt satisfied my wards were holding, did I allow my physical form to drop and my spirit to rise.

Extricating my soul to Fade walk always reminded me of shucking an ear of corn; I needed to use delicacy to collect every fibre of spirit essence and oftentimes use force at the very end. This process came natural for me now and I barely noted the soft sigh from my body as I left it.

Blinking my eyes to shift my field of vision, I located the sliver of a crack in the Veil and pressed a hand over it. With the birth of the Breach, more and more fractures – similar to this one – began to appear. This weakening of the Veil represented a double-edged sword, both a sign that I was on the correct path with my old magic shivering, weary of its burden, and yet without someone there to control the collapse, it would tear both worlds apart. How rapid these tears formed alarmed me. If I was lucky, I had five years to gather my full strength.

Stretching my fingers inside the sliver in front of me, I gasped at the prickling of snapping energy that soaked into my soul. A wave of homesickness washed over me and – using my other hand along with the first – I nudged the sliver open wide enough to slip inside.

Brilliance and fragments of a world once as breath-taking as Arlathan greeted me with sick skies and black decay. Hollow screams of a pain made so long ago, echoed in the forefront of my mind as if the rendering just happened yesterday. Dark vines of ink seeped across my translucent skin, trying to capture and keep me, but I broke the hold easily.

Passing through pockets of swampy ground, I tried not to glance at the shattered glass of old, forgotten Eluvians, dilapidated furniture pieces of many snuffed out lives, and the wisps of spirits in various states of deterioration. Voices without language spoke after me, begging for a release I could not give. My heart, even in the Fade, burned that I condemned these sorry creatures to their fate, but at that moment, it was the living who needed me more.

Any time I glanced up at the swirling green clouds thick and billowing in the torrent sky, I caught the floating pieces of Arlathan. The ruins reflected a deep malady. As I continued through the frigid mist of the Fade, I noticed pockets of shimmering rifts and areas where Thedas peaked through.

Ley lines… connections bridging the two worlds as if the Veil never existed.

In the Fade, time passed in a different dance and sensations like taste, touch and smell were muted to almost non-existence. Though suddenly homesick, I found myself drawn toward the waking world of Thedas, reminding me why I chose to leave in the first place. It felt like a gnawing void that expanded the longer I stayed, and yet I filled myself with its ugliness. This strengthened my resolve passed a trifling infatuation brought on by an elven mage, though the most beautiful I beheld in several lifetimes.

This broken place needed me to take down the Veil to bring about a permanent salvation that no amount of temporary kindness could slake.

A light tore me from my stumbling and melancholy musing drawing my attention to another area where the Veil thinned. It stared back at me like a glassless mirror and I pressed against its clear membrane with my fingertips watching the image of the forest beyond ripple at my touch. The surface felt unresponsive yet alive with a surge of electrical currents.

Closing my eyes, I pressed my forehead against the fragile barrier and sucked in a deep, smooth breath. Earth and evergreen scent ribboned around my body with hints of wild elfroot arcing up in the shadows of tall trees. A breeze curled its gentle finger on my exposed neck, head, and hands, raising bumps on my flesh. These were falsified results of the Fade’s attempt to paint what it thought I should feel and see. Though I left my body sleeping in Haven, the Fade used my former sensations to evoke memories of long days living in a forest much like this one. Demons manipulated such recreations to trap dream walkers deep in the Fade until any temptation for release would be accepted by the dreamer.

Tasting the fresh dew in the air caused my ethereal body to shudder and I could take standing on this side of the Veil no longer. With my hands, palms flat on the glassless, rippling mirror, I separated the film and stepped through. It sighed and bent, fraying like gossamer between my fingers, resisting even as it gave in to allow me passage through the Veil into the world beyond.

The world of a fellow dream walker.

The grass was cold and moist on the pads of my feet – as it felt so often a few hours right after the dawn burned the chill away – but only because I expected it to feel that way. Memories reconstructed what was true to the senses of my spirit as it attempted to recreate how my soul might react. Before I tasted these truths for myself, I could only trust the fabrications. Now thanks to my experience, I saw the tiniest infractions in the infrastructure.

Staring down at the very dry, autumn grass – though still seemingly dewy underfoot – I shook my head and picked my way to where I knew the dreamer would lay. Sunlight dappled low between the trees to suggest early to mid-morning. With the familiar impression of magic crackling along the edges of this fictitious world, I knew the dream belong to Clan Lavellan’s leader.

So even in sleep the Keeper dreams about this place –

As if materialized by my thoughts alone, Keep Deshana Istimaethoriel sat atop a flat outcropping of rock surrounded by halla. One rested its great antlered head on her lap while her fingers tangled in its thick mane and beard. Its eyes closed as the beast let out a sigh of contentment. A beam of sunlight fell on the Keeper and I swore I caught the faint smell of honey-suckle and cedarwood near her.

“I wondered if I would see you soon, Wolf.” Keeper Istimaethoriel said in a soft warning tone, glancing up to meet my eyes unflinching.

Around her the halla shifted, gazing at me with anticipation and dread, but they did not move to run, choosing to remain by the elven woman’s side. Some stamped their cloven hooves and snorted in my direction. I gave a snarl, my lips curling to bare my teeth, before I heard her continuation.

“You are aware that my First is missing, no doubt.” Her glacial amber eyes narrowed at me. “You promised me you would not harm her.”

“I have not laid a finger on her.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but the times I touched Ellana was to heal her not harm. “Sending her to the Conclave, Keeper? Do you think that was wise?”

“Don’t chastise me, Dread Wolf.” The Keeper snapped. “You wouldn’t invade my dreaming if it didn’t involve my Ellana, and I daresay you owe me an explanation.” Propping my hip against a nearby tree as close as I felt comfortable near her, I crossed my arms over my chest and threw an amused look her way. “I do?”

The Keeper’s look soured, venom pooling in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but I cut in.

“Without going through actual calculations on if I truly owe you anything, I will give you the information you seek. A favour for allowing me to recover in your clan, and for you keeping up appearances.”

Keeper Istimaethoriel clenched her jaw, tucking a stray red strand of hair behind her ear. Folding her hands in her lap, she stared up at me with shards of ice reflecting from her eyes and waited.

“Ellana survived the disaster that took place at the Conclave, but the humans captured her. At the moment, she is with the Inquisition, an organization created amidst the chaos to close the Breath in the sky.” I didn’t wish to tell her everything. If she wanted more then she must go through the proper channels to figure it out for herself. I did skirt around my own involvement, however, so not to cause a repeat of what transpired the last time we spoke.

“To insist you are hiding something would lead to a pointless argument between us, Wolf, and I’ve learned where my place is… in regards to your personage.” She considered me for a moment, possibly hoping to see even a tiny crack in my mask, but I held my defenses firm. Then she gave in with a sigh. “Very well, how can I contact this Inquisition?”

My shoulders relaxed – I didn’t even feel the tension to begin with as a dreamer but my body would when I woke – and sat down at the base of the tree. I spoke to the Keeper of how she should go about reaching Leliana of the Inquisition to uncover Ellana’s welfare. When the Keeper finished with her questions – the ones I would answer – I stood to leave. The draft was wearing off as I now felt the phantom twitches of my body back in Haven. Around me, the dream world was distorting in colours, becoming more winter than autumn.

Then I felt the odd impression of the Keeper reaching out to touch my shoulder. Her invasion into my aura itched at me and a wave of nausea crashed against me with her contact. I hissed, knowing the sensation would follow me into the waking world as settled in my stomach.

“I wish you would refrain from touching me.” I growled, not turning to face her lest I might lash out and attack her for annoying me. In the dream worlds, the Wolf was closer to the surface of my mentality that I usually found its form more comforting than the Elvhen.

“Ir abelas, Solas.” Her tone stiffened when she spoke my given name before continuing. “Do you still have feelings for Ellana?”

Clenching my fists at my side, I shrugged her hold from me and melted back through the Fade without an answer to her question.

. . .

Sitting up in the straw bed, I leaned my back against the headboard and massaged the bridge of my nose, then trailed my fingers to the strain in my neck and shoulders. My stomach flipped and I swallowed the knot of bile back down. Sunlight began to invade through the shutters of the solitary window in my hut, causing me to let loose a heavy groan.

My eyes settled on the wooden tankard on my bedside table, and I picked it up to examine its contents. A frown pressed along my lips at the dregs clinging to the bottom – the remnants of my excursion – before setting it down with a loud thump in frustration. For a moment, I considered and reconsidered creating a new batch of sleeping draft just so I could somehow haunt the Keeper’s dreams or cause her to forget my one time dalliance with her apprentice. My wits quickly replace my impulsive passions, and I found my thoughts drifting instead to the tavern the Inquisition recently set up.

“Fenedhis lasa, I need tea.”

#Solas #solas romance #solas x lavellan #solavellan #solavallen #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #fanfic #writing #amwriting #writers

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