vyvienne

[vyvienne]

Ottoman School - "A Moonlit Woodland Scene"

[vyvienne]

Lethe

Pt. One

TW: mention of death

Many years ago…

Lillandyr stared at the tumbled, stone door. It was thousands of pounds heavy and her candle had stopped flickering which told her that there was limited air inside the tomb. She just kept staring, eyes wide. This was the only exit. Carved into the side of a mountain, down hundreds of stairs, above and below and to the sides were miles of rock.

They were trapped.

Taking shaking steps back, she let Heathcliff rush forward and try to find a solution she knew didn’t exist. He cursed and pounded a fist on the tomb door and turned to her, scowling and demanding there simply had to be another way out.

She shook her head, unable to form the words to tell him how she had doomed them both with this fool’s errand. The book she’d been after, something she’d refused to tell him about in any great detail, hadn’t even been in the tomb. Just the dusty bones of someone lost to time with nothing left to be remembered by.

When Heathcliff tried to hold her, tried to console her as tears began to slide down her rage-reddened cheeks, she violently shoved him away.

“How can you even look at me?” She wondered in an incredulous whisper, “I’ve doomed you to a fate far worse than death.” It was true. Heathcliff was undead. The lack of air and water and food wouldn’t kill him like it was going to kill her. He would exist…in perpetuity in this tomb. Alone. Left to go mad with only her bones to keep him company.

“For what?” She demanded, teeth bared. “A book. And it wasn’t for anything except…me. I wanted to get better at my magic. The same magic I use to trick everyone.” She paused, eyes sweeping over him.

Heathcliff was calm, like he always was when something was wrong. Usually, she found this a great comfort, but not this time. She wanted him to be angry with her. For what she’d done to him. For how pointless it all was.

“Except you,” she finished in a small voice. “I’ve…never used it on you. Not even to see what you were thinking.”

Sneering, wanting to wipe the soft look off his face, she came closer. “But I would have. If you kept fucking pushing it,” she accused, eyes stinging with angry tears, “you’d have gotten your way eventually and I’d say what you want me to say and then I’d hurt you so bad. I would ruin it,” she hissed, batting at his arms and hands as he drew her to him.

Heathcliff let her fight him and cry and scream until she hung exhausted in his arms, limp and getting snot all over his shirt. He cradled the back of her head and shushed her. He told her it was all right. Not to worry about it now. That it didn’t matter.

That they’d do what they could with the time that was left.

It stole all the breath from her lungs and her features crumpled into despondent horror. With little time left, Lillandyr could look back. On each thing. On each hurt she’d inflicted. Every single cruelty she’d reveled in and for once she stopped to wonder why.

Because I’m hurt, she thought with odd clarity. I’m hurting.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “I lied,” she told him in a voice made thin with regret, “I lied to you. About who I am.”

He told her he didn’t care. Not now.

But it was important. If she was to die then she wanted someone to know her for who she was. She talked over his soothing words, voice firm but breaking on the shore of this last chance. “My name is Anya Silverbough. I’m a nobody. I’ve stolen everything I own. I’m a liar and a con and a thief.”

Anya pulled back to look up at him. “And…I want you to know me,” she whispered. “I want to tell you everything. You’ll hate me for it but I want you to love me anyway. Just as I am.” She paused because it was closer to a confession than she felt comfortable but she told herself it didn’t matter. Not now.

“I want your face to be the last thing I see,” she told him and meant it.

It was then she realized that it was too late. Really realized it. She wanted to go back to that night he told her he loved her and she’d have told him she loved him too and she’d have left ambition behind.

And maybe that was a fiction too. A story she told herself in these desperate moments where her heart seemed to beat faster and stronger than it ever had. All the devils had fled and there were none to bargain with now. She knew if she could go back she’d do no different. They were doomed from the start and she wished it didn’t hurt so much.

Now all they had was as long as the air would last in this sealed tomb they were trapped in. Held and then torn by these final hours. She knew it was just some twist of fate, some meaningless accident. It wasn’t to prove that love would save her soul after all.

Yet, she told him everything anyway. Every detail even though it ate up the air she had left to breathe. She would not go into the under a stranger to him, her true self unmourned. Anya would etch and scratch herself into Heathcliff’s heart until the light went out of her eyes. Even if he hated her. She would be the ghost to haunt his head in this prison. Until he was buried under rubble or unearthed like an ancient curse.

When all was laid bare and he knew every last, horrible thing, when her breath grew short and her head dizzy, she asked him to love her anyway. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t beg. She just asked him to love her and not in spite of.

@wraheathcliff

[vyvienne]

Crow Digital Painting by Ash Thompson

[vyvienne]

A Bloody Crest; Fallen

There Dinthoqaf stood upon the bridge leading to the ruins of a home he had once grew up within. Spent years studying books, learning the basics of the very magics that ended up making him the elf that he was today. How many elves had grown on these lands? How many of them fought the Amani to carve out this chunk? How many had died here, given birth to generations that trickled down to his eventual being? More than he cared to count and now, upon these lands, what was to become of them? Would the countryside and forest reclaim it as their own? Would some other family claim it through legality and clear away the history for progress? The future of this place, uncertain for now in the face of plated boots that move to stand beside the Defiler himself as if they were equals. The shadow that came over him was one of familial shape, which kept him from turning to address them; instead, this person received folded arms from Dinthoqaf as he looked upon the wreckage of the conflict. "We grew up here, once upon a time, Seba---..." No, the name faded from his lips; it felt alien and foreign, a blight to be spoken that did not belong. "...brother." Ammaelin too took a similar stance, being the more physically intimidating of the two, despite Dinthoqafs' recent changes after the breaking of their lineaged font.

"Does that mean we are bound to remain here, forever? Trapped by the very pot upon which we were planted? Do we owe it to these lands to return when they are part of what has shackled us both? Do we owe it to blood that has damned us both and a brother who will never know what it is to walk or be free again? This land and its former master brought about death that kept his soul from even passing over for the sake of experimentation." A hypocritical notion, yes, but a slight on Dinthoqaf and his line that made his own actions blur in the background of acknowledgement.

A long moment passes in silence as the two look at the landscape, memories playing out for each that was available only for their minds to play like old movie reels of black and white.

"Maybe you are right. Maybe we should move on..." Ammaelin pauses, the irony not being lost on him that he was here to accept the revitalization of his past so he could finally move on with himself. "My pride will not allow me to thank you, not after all this death and fighting, just as I know you would not offer me the same if it were otherwi-."

"No. Pride, while one of my greatest sins, would not cause me to be unapologetic if it meant the return of Zalilirah should she be taken from me in a way that would not allow my powers or abilities to somehow return her to my side." In this moment, Dinthoqaf looks over and up to meet his brothers gaze. "That is where we differ. I have waged war against entire armies, walked through the broken smoldering gates of a capital city just to lead my cloister to put her back at my side. I walked out with her in my arms because she was worth the sacrifice." A sacrifice that in the end, The Defiler offered to so many within his Sanctum, even if the love was not the same shape but that did not dictate its depth.

"So, there is a man under that monster somewhere." The Defiler snapped, years upon years of pent up anger finally breaking the facade of patience. "You were given power, food, money! What have you done with it?! You were made in fathers image, made to lead us and so many others. Your back was made to carry those very people, and instead you turned it on them, on all of us!" Dinthoqaf's head and body jerks as he turns and points towards the lands of their family and beyond, indicating perhaps their elven people and the world beyond.

"Why, when all of those things were given to you, did you do nothing?! Such a noble steward of your time yet to squandered it all away, fighting undead like some grunt, crying alone and drinking away your pain while fucking anyone that sought your warmth."

Dinthoqafs anger grew, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. "I am as I am because people like you refuse to accept your responsibilities, and you force people like me to take up the mantle. Thousands come to me knowing this world is broken, and it's my responsibility now to put the shards of their dreams, their desires, to forge and craft something in the hopes we can save what is left from your inactivity and others just like you!"

Daggers, worse than any sword or magical spell, cut through the blessed armor that was Ammaelins' gear. His heart sinks, bleeding and cleaved at the realization that all this animosity, all this anger, was primarily rooted and his responsibility, a mantle Dinthoqaf was never meant to burden, now his to bear.

His mouth opened and closed several times over as indistinguishable syllables came forth, leading to nothing said before he finally had to look away from his younger brother. "Maybe you are right..."

"Maybe?!" Dinthoqaf's outburst grew, and he shoved the mountain of an elf. "None of this would be as it is if you had seen Father's plan, if Sanelastus and you both saw this for what it was instead of running off to play pretend! You failed yourselves and you failed me!" One more push comes after another, hit after hit before suddenly Dinthoqafs hands pass through metal and flesh alike as if it were nothing but water.

Ammaelin's eyes fly open as unimaginable pain grips him and a cry of pain rips free from his throat. He falls to his knees and a hard snarl comes ripping from Dinthoqafs lips through gritting teeth. The Paladins hand shooting up to grab his brothers wrists and The Light begins to burn his flesh. Dinthoqaf too screams out in pain as the two struggle back and forth.

"Dinthoqaf, don't do this!"

"Why when you have this power, do you squander it? Such a wise steward, you have done nothing with it and now I move to remake the world in my image!" The Light begins to fade from Ammaelins hands and the sizzling of burning flesh comes to halt as his head is thrown back, sending crimson locks to fall behind him as he roars into the sky.

"I will make sure what is right is done! I will make sure that through me, you too, help make this world better!" The Defiler jerks backwards, nearly stumbling across the bridge as something dislodged itself from Ammaelin, causing his body to suddenly feel the weight of the world and the burden of his indecisiveness... and that was when he saw it.

The Defilers hands came up, holding a crystalline orb that looked far too akin to that of the Naaru. The bright shine of The Light emitting from its every surface to the point it was nearly blinding.

The Light, stripped from Ammaelin in his moment of faltering.

"Now, brother, you can be the man you wished you had been. Unburdened by fate, free of destiny... I will carry this mantle for you, for all of us. I will make sure your legacy lives on."

In that instance, there would no longer be any conversation between the two as Dinthoqaf erupted in a plume of miasmic smoke, leaving Ammaelin there alone without his Light and the remnant of an echo.

"Be the husband and father you wished you had been."

There, in the silence of The Ghost Woods, Ammaelin sat on his knees on the bridge overlooking his childhood home, now in ruins. The man begins to weep, whether for the loss of his gifts or the unburdening of destiny; one may never know.

[vyvienne]

[vyvienne]

A Quick Return and a Hot Bath

I arrived back at the Damp, first rushing to my room before seeking anyone out to speak to them. I stripped from my clothes which seemed imbued with the dark energy floating through the Dread Wastes and moved to fill my tub with near boiling water, sinking into its soothing steam. I had always taken baths this hot, feeling the scald like a cleansing force.

My mind was a jumble, filtering through all I had seen and learned from the SFA mage. His knowledge was melding into my bones, into the tapestry of my life just like Vareth had said it would. It was also causing me no amount of stress as this process was beyond my control. I disliked anything beyond my control, naturally.

As I soaked, I thought of all the chaos in the time since Dalaran exploded. I felt the pain again but this time, it was further away. For so long it had been too close, to raw. What do you do when you’re drowning? At some point you accept it. It seems I finally had while watching myself drowning in an ocean of death. And what came from it?

I had already noticed my mind was processing things a bit faster. I had begun to suspect this was from the mage, his mind reminding me of how Drex’s mind worked. Quick, even quicker than mine, as if grasping magical theory at once and turning it back outwards. But what else, if anything, had I gained?

I laid in the water, mind floating free from constraint for once. First came the whispers, the ones every user of Shadow heard in quiet moments. They could and would drive you insane. I pushed them back into the dark recess of my mind.

Slowly, I began to sense the others around me. I had always been able to feel the power of others. Most of us who carried magic could. It marked us, made us noticeable to those who were sensitive. But it was enhanced now. I could feel the Nameless scurrying and at least a few of the others linked to the Sanguine close to my bedroom. I could feel...more than before.

As for my power, who knew if anything more than this would come from that odd merge? A bit more sensitivity and mind capacity was never a bad thing, especially for someone like me. I pulled the pins out of my hair, dropping them on the carpet before submerging in the water holding my breath for as long as possible until I came up gasping. I felt refreshed, renewed and clean from this most recent escapade.

At times I wondered what the Defiler thought of us. We were all moving to our own tune. At times those tunes merged with each other striking a chord or even a symphony before pulling apart again with a screech. But he did not seem to interfere, which I found rather refreshing for a self-styled god. The Light was forever interfering with its practitioners, Shadow made you insane and Elune demanded obedience. If one was to have a god, it wasn’t so bad to have one that knew when to keep its interference to itself.

But enough of this. I stood, letting the water run in rivulets down my body before grabbing up a huge, fluffy towel to wrap myself in. I had lived poor before and I was always pleased that I no longer needed to do so. Blood money was still money, after all. I dried myself, using the towel to squeegee water from my hair then wrapping in warmth to step out of the tub. I picked up my hairpins because I wasn’t a heathen and chose some appropriately dark clothing as per my usual visage. Gone were the days I wore pastels like a little girl.

Finally dressed, I set out to find Kelan and then see where Varethuun had went. He had momentarily been fed but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Nezzok had promised a body with a soul for him and we needed to determine when that would be most helpful. Then finally I need to find Alistaer who has been quite absent from us and it was a worry. Perhaps I just needed to set my eyes on each of them to reassure myself they were fine.

Running fingers through my damp hair I let it fall in waves down to my hips, pushing the little curls back out of my face as I stepped into the hallway on my mission.

@dinthoqaf @the-warmaster @nezzokthecollector

[vyvienne]

[vyvienne]

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[vyvienne]

"The Visitor"

[vyvienne]

The Master Bedroom

It always seemed to start off here in this room, fourteen by twenty-five. A windowless, master bedroom that had seen many years of darkness. Touched only by the light of candle flame and beams down the hall. The Lord, Duraxxor, better known by those closest to him as Alphus Daevara, stood amongst the shadows in rumination. The pitter patter of three sleeping hearts and soft snoring were the only things that graced his senses to the external world. Hollowed sockets with a lack of magical light gazed up at the ceiling, recalling a memory. The sound of hammering echoed in the expanse of his mind, retelling that the boards of this entire home had been built by his hands and his hands alone. Days he toiled as a twenty-year-old Quel’dorei. Working all those odd jobs that sometimes involved some shady objectives. He had been on his own for some time, trying to make something of himself. And like most carpenters, young Alphus knew every board like it was a bone in his skeletal structure. He had stared in amazement, proud of himself. For it would only be the first of many firsts when his life began to turn around. It wouldn’t be long after that in the following late summer, he would be bringing in the house's second denizen. A black-haired bride that had waited for him for over a decade to return, and not a moment too soon. Arrydhalia Bloodsinger, the woman who had become his wife, eloped straight into his home. And they wasted no time in christening their first intimacy in this room. Limbs entangled and lips meshed. Yet, there was something cotton soft in its nature as they had given themselves to one another in a time of dire need. ” Alphus! “His heart cried out his former name, echoing as if they were in the expanse of a hallway while the memories continued. Seasons passed on from the heat of the summer to the chill of winter. Many nights they shared a lover’s embrace and spoke of their accomplishments. Alphus becoming a proper soldier and Arrydhalia becoming a scholar. It wasn’t until nearly two hundred years of gaining their footing that their mingling had finally bore the third to their household. Another first to add to this home’s collection. Ravlynn Daevara, or best known as their Raven, not only was the first babe to see the inside of his home. It would also be where she took her first steps right into their bedroom. The white-blonde daughter giggled with infantile pride. And for a long period, her growth continued along with her schooling. And while Raven had her own trials and tribulations, she could always count on her father to be there for her. There were many fatherly talks in this very room, and he continued to stand in silence. “Father! Please! “Another cry echoed from deep within, following with the sound of what was thought to be water on a wooden floor. Further, we go into the memoirs. The news had spread even to the isolated homeland of the Daevara family that the Scourge had been attacking Lordaeron and eventually, Quel’thalas. A time where the fourth soul to stand within this den would be his son, Aiden Durand Daevara. A boy who would favor his mother’s bloodline. Something that lurking predators sought for themselves. Patiently, those creatures waited for an opportunity as the denizens of the once proud high elven kingdom would call upon even Daevara in their time of need to take the fight against Arthas in Northrend. A battle that even he knew was suicidal. A phantom pain returned as he could recall the plunging of a runeblade right into his chest in the bitter, icy heart of Northrend. The man, who had built this home and family, had been taken by the Scourge and turned into a monstrous machine of war. 

But his memories didn’t end with just his own, as the flickers of crimson lighting struck in a flash. Arrydhalia had waited patiently for some news along with her children, and not long after tucking her son and wishing her daughter a goodnight, she had thought she would finally have a peace of mind. A shadowy figure walked into his usual path, and in her hope-filled jubilee, she ran outside, hoping to embrace her husband. But it had all been a ploy as the predators had sprung their trap. The hired kidnapper injected a needle into her neck, slipping a sleep-inducing drug into her veins. In doing so, they had left the two children behind. 

This is where these halls learned of confusion. An adult daughter running around the house in panic with not a single note or sign of their mother. A crying son, huddled up in the corner clutching a stuffed hawkstrider. Their bawling and cries rippled across his drums like a disturbance in the ponds. These weren’t his memories at all. No, these were the events that happened in these walls. Boards that heard sister and brother argue over the fate of their parents. One believed the rumors that mother hand left to move on to a new family while the child felt their mother would never turn her backs upon them. That something was wrong. 

“ Oh sweet Aiden, you don’t know how right you were. “ He thought, glimpses of Arrydhalia’s own memories flickered in static. Cries and screams that haunted his mind after partaking of her blood. Violations, both violent and verbal, from one of the predators. Ostindal Tindervale, a noble man who held a grudge for Alphus’ previous meddling in eloping with his promised bride. A bargaining chip that her parents would join in selling her after all this time. Why? All because he desired Arrydhalia’s beauty in his gene pool when creating an heir. 

The sickening sound of bone crunching followed. A ring finger had been plucked between teeth and spat on the floor. “... If only I had known sooner. “ 

In a flurry, his own visions returned to a time not long after where he had returned to this home. However, he was no longer himself. His identity shattered and cracked like a mirror. He had lost what was once Alphus and became Duraxxor Deathcleave. But even as his man was racked with the pain of seeking the truth, this room. The very room he stood in. The darkness that smothered out the light. The monstrous darkfallen had unknowingly found peace in these grounds. And at the time, he did not know why. 

The ability to tap into blood memories began to unravel his mind, causing him to hallucinate the oozing of black ichor. The very power he commanded inside of his flesh slowly turned on him. His mind spiral into the abyss that was his former guilt. Actions that had cost him the trust of friends, family, and even casting doubt on himself, began to overwhelm. Fingers of many souls tearing at the foundation that had stabilized his condition. But it was the reunification of the mortality of Alphus that started to claim his brain. Like boulder, the weight of his many atrocities was finally realized. And then, the creeping darkness within himself whispered as a reminder. 

“Remember, we did not get the choice. This was a coffin we had to tote for ourselves… “ 

Eyes flickered in his sockets, transitioning between the moods of man and monster. His talons balled into fists of nine, total fingers. Sharpened teeth gleamed in the light as the man fired back with a deep seeded hatred amongst himself. “ … Nooo… this is not what I would have done. I was not a corpse bag for my darkness to lug around. I did -not- want this for them. “The screams and cries of his wife and children doubled over in the moment, a symphony that was trying to overtake his own musical. However, he didn’t give in to the haunted words and streaks of black blood and splashed across his canvas. 

“I hate you… “ 

Out of everyone who had returned into his life once more, there was one person that had not forgiven him. One that he had placed a barricade around himself and in the process, harmed him. The son, whose hair was black as Arrydhalia’s. A heart purer than any Light he had ever seen. He had forsaken him, betraying his trust. And instead of attempting to mend things from the day he had traumatized him as a prepubescent child with his vampiric hunger, Duraxxor had done little to soften the tension. Like a pendulum, it swung back and forth. That was, until the string finally snapped. And for the last decade, Aiden was forced to mature on his own, especially with the short-term loss of his sister in the equation. 

 Alphus extended his hand, trying to grab at nothing but the vision of his son walking away from him. “Son... wait… No… it’s me, your father. Your -actual- father. Please… “Try as he might, Aiden’s form slipped into the dark ocean, escaping him. It felt as if he were losing his son. 

And just when his paternal instincts were about to send him plunging its depths, the warmth of a hand snagged him back into reality. His body, immediately jumping in the embrace of one whom he thought was sleeping. “... Love? “The mother of his children, pressing herself firmly against his back, spoke. “... I can’t remember the last time anyone was able to sneak up on you, even when trying. “She contemplated in the pause of her gentle, weary voice. “… What is it you’re thinking about that has you deeply lost in thought? “ 

It was a foreign creature for the batty lord to feel comfort. But he could not deny that Arrydhalia’s embrace had managed to pull him from drowning himself. At long last, the eye sockets began to gleam with the oceanic hues. A crimson halo coalesced around his pupil that fixated on her features in the dark. “ I am… recollecting my thoughts on how to approach our future. There are wrongs still to be righted. That would include when my son and I finally cross paths. “ 

Her own dim lanterns of sky blue looked up at him. A weary expression that only his heightened sense of sight could see. She hesitated in asking her the following question. “ With Aiden? Did… something happen? “ 

Much like when he had already clued her in on things such as the miraculous return of their daughter Ravlynn, it was no surprise that she would expect more tidings of bad news. As it seemed he was abundant with a great amount of catch-up that was needed. “We’re not on the best of terms, as you know. And I am positive my absence that took place for a Azerothian decade would not come as a surprise if it developed spite. After all, the Shadowlands has a way of twisting time. “ 

Arry squeezed him gently, continuing to hold him in mutual comfort, but almost as if it were a hope and belief in their son too. “… Aiden has always been a loving and intelligent boy. If you apologize to him, I am positive he will -hear- you. “Even as her eyebrows furrowed with motherly worry, she couldn’t help but remain positive that their family would be whole again. 

She was right to believe in the son she knew, but Lord had seen sides of Aiden that she had not seen and felt as though there were also other points to this parallel. And despite the fact that he easily dwarfs his spouse, he felt… tiny in this moment. “Hearing is easier than seeing though. And well, I know I wouldn’t necessarily forgive me either. “ 

The black-haired bride let his sentence linger on her heart, pausing as she realized that in those fifteen years of her captive absence. She casted that doubt aside in a much quicker fashion than the pessimism her husband felt. “I have faith in him and his capacity for kindness. But even if he refuses, he’s -our- son. You can’t avoid him forever and I don’t want you to. I want our family to be whole again. “There was a spark of determination veiled by the desire that shook at her core. 

The emotions she projected seeped right into his form, like a drug that was injected right into his veins. He felt this self-doubt dissipate on the rising determination that was Duraxxor begin to envelop him. Softly, a wrinkle formed on his cheeks when he smiled. The luminescence of his eyes halving. “I should not be dwelling in dark waters. What I need to do is press forward and let my darling rest. It seems that we all have wounds that need healing. Even I. “ 

Now, Arrydahlia herself had grown tired of his spine and urged him to turn and face her so that they may embrace more. To which, he was happy to oblige as he swept her into his arms, wrapping her in his -wings-. “We will get through this. We have all weathered worse things, and we will do it again. Together. “Her voice softly spoke, gazing deeply into his eyes as the curtain of darkness closed around them, slowly returning them to the comfort of their bed. The creaking of the cracked door coming to a complete close. And now, Lord and Lady would find comfort in each others lips and...

A room fourteen by twenty-five

[[ Tagging @nyyght and @arrydhalia for some collaborative dialogue and @ravlynn and @aiden-daevara in accordance with the history they share with their father. I hope everyone enjoys this! I've been brewing on it all week.]]

[vyvienne]

A Simple Meeting

The Ruined Estate of House Bloodcrest lay strewn across the grounds ahead. The debris not caused by age of lack of maintenance, not even the Scourge had done this. The Bloodcrest Family had restored this place after several affairs and attempts to ruin it. Age, The Scourge, The Defiler... twice.

Now Megahes stood, his grizzled, near crippled frame, leaning against a walking golden cane topped with crystallize Azerite aids his leanin posture. Sadness and a bit of anger sits across his features and the more he watches, the more it begins to bleed into the rest of his frame. A sigh comes as he conjures up a bottle of pills to pop and take dry before dismissing them. He was starting to feel like he was too old for this... Maybe he should retire, be done entirely, just walk away, let Naturasu take care of him as she always offers.

"I'm surprised your wife did not come with you Master Frostbite." The voice comes from behind, cast by an Elf of flaming red locks and the build made for pictures to be painted of... Lucky Bastard.

"If she knew, she very well would have insisted and how many times do I have to insist you stop calling me that Ammaelin? I'm an engineer and a salesman, not some Magister or Board Member." The goblin offers, turning just enough to see the elf as he comes to stand next to him. "Was it...?"

His voice trails before Ammaelin cuts in. "Dinthoqaf? Yes and no. He sent forces here to retrieve his undead troll pet and in the escape the estate was destroyed entirely. I suppose a final act of retribution for getting involved in his affairs again..." There would be no mention of the other elf, their father, Krownos. That was deeper into family matters than Ammaelin knew how to even comprehend even after all this time. Betrayals up on betrayals.

"I told you when I walked away Ammaelin you should have too. I told you, we all warned you to leave this alone and to just rebuild, ta leave their remnants be..."

"Honor dictates--" "Oh fuck your honor you stubborn ass. Look what honor and doing the right thing got me!" The Goblin jerks up his short, showing the mangled remains of what should have been his torso. "A lung destroyed, I can barely eat more than a handful at a time and I shit like a dog that got into tha blueberry patches. He nearly destroyed everything I worked for and the -only- gold damned reason I'm here is because I found out he's using my team ta make radios for some horse shit in Undermine..."

Megahes let's his clothes drop and a hand goes to his chest, he was breathing hard and he felt like his heart might rip out of his chest. "Fuck honor... But we can't leave him to his own devices again either... He's ruined us both, but we need ta work together again. You an Me... If we don't..." His words drag off as he looks back to the ruined estate before them in once more, the message being made clear.

"It makes me happy to hear you say this... I have a plan of confrontation and I need someone I can trust to deliver the final blow." Ammaelin smiles, reaching down to place a hand on the struggling Goblins shoulder and a radiant glow spreads from him to Megahes. His breathing slows and his heart begins to relax.

The Light Soothes.

A sigh comes from the Goblin. Years now since he felt that sort of warmth and a part of him missed it, never again though, a bitter sweet kiss from a lovers memory.

"Then tell me what ideas ya got."

(I'll apologize in advance for any typos or formatting issues! This was all typed up mobile from my car!)

[vyvienne]

So Lillandyr's backstory involves her stealing the identity of a noble. That's the simplified, brutally uncomplicated version. Please read her writing to see it unfold. Heathcliff has no clue.

We found the right in-game titles for this.

@lillandyrshadowglade

[vyvienne]

Spoilers and Surprises

[ Trigger Warnings. Massive Warning here. Violence, Gore, Mentions of S. Assault. Please bear in mind, some of the topics discussed were conceptualized a decade and a half ago in Ammaelins creation, and while they were background characters and NPCs that the issues represented were not actually played out. This is not a condonation of those topics, and if anything, it is a testament that bad/evil people will do whatever they can to destroy the integrity of their betters. Because of this, I'll be placing a Read More barrier right after this warning for those of you who prefer not to read harsher materials. As always, thank you all for the support and understanding. I hope you enjoy the piece. -Din ]

[ I do want to also warn that this is a much longer piece than I tend to post. So, if you do manage to make it to the end, my appreciation is doubly so. ]

It was working, this was working! Dinthoqaf's frame went sailing through the air and dust like a meteor into the cavern wall opposite the room, causing a wet crunch of meat, bone, and sinew to protest in ways bodies simply weren't meant to be treated and an eruption of blood spews out of his mouth down his front in protest. The Assailant of this heavy blow comes from the dust cloud from which it had launched the start of this operation, Ammaelin. "For all your Sanctums strengths, for all your posturing and peacocking, for all the warnings our father gave about you, I'm almost saddened brother, to find I didn't need that Font to actually return the favor's you've been so kind as to bestow upon me and our family name." Ammaelin's voice was a mix of victoriously confident and generationally smug. "Don'--" In a holy blur, Ammaelin was across the room, a hand coming to encompass all of Dinthoqaf's face, The Defiler's face, just to begin cracking his head on the stone wall, hit by hit. "No. No, you don't get the opportunity to talk. You're done this time brother and I'll be damned if you get the chance to spellcraft your work out of this!" The Paladin jerks The Defiler back, akin to a ragdoll held by an ungrateful child, just to slam him into the wall once more. The Defiler's skull makes an audible wet crackle as his cranium cracks from the repeated blows on the cavern wall. "It's a shame, really, that it came to this." Oh, the posturing! " Dinthoqaf was thrown to the side, set to roll across the stone floor before it comes to a slow rolling halt, only for him to begin coughing up blood in some effort to try to stand. "I was hoping you'd put up a much better fight than this, at least I'd feel less guilty if you made me work for this before I put you down for good and if it's any consolation, your wife won't be getting a body back this time to mourn your appearance and fall. I won't let them have an opportunity to bring you back this time. No temple, no corpse, and your ashen remains will be sealed away on holy ground, bound in lightforged iron just to keep your essence from every being found again." Dinthoqaf coughs, blood splatters sputters to the floor as he tries to bring himself to stand, only to receive a kick to the ribs, sending him up into the air to get hit into the floor in a one-two fashion. Ribs cracked. "I'll finally get to sleep peacefully knowing your sickened soul goes to the Shadowlands and The Maw." So certain that he was beyond redemption, even Revendreth would not take him; he was certain of it. Maybe the Goblin was wrong. Maybe this scenario was winnable; victory could be obtained, but it just didn't require armies and movements of greater forces to do the job. Ammaelin was winning this after all.

"You talk too much." Dinthoqaf mutters, his face bloodied and skin beginning to puff from the concussive blows delivered time after time in rapid succession that was finally catching up to the present as hands come to push him up onto his feet, teetering this way and that as his Light-bathed brother prepares the haft of his hammer to deliver another grand slam. "A trait we share from Father." A nail meant to be driven home as the black hammer swings, a stream of Light being left in its wake from the crystals on its backend that comes directly for Dinthoqaf's torso.

The hammer strikes with a holy fervor and the hit causes dust to stir and cloud. Immediately, Ammaelin knew the blow was off. No body went flying and he'd done this hundreds of times across numerous battlefields and with more enemy types than he could count. Bodies and people always tumbled or at the least, buckled; this was neither of those things and his hands could tell right off by the way the hit was absorbed. Dinthoqaf stands there, his brothers lesser in physique, to be sure, with the hammer having struck home in a picture-perfect drive to the sternum, one couldn't have asked for a more direct one than that.

"Perhaps, brother, but the similarities end there." Dinthoqaf's voice comes not through broken ribs, a fatally busted frame, not even a hint of struggle as flesh begins to mend before both of their eyes. Muscle starts to swell, and lines begin to become prominent along his neck, more akin to folds of flesh over some form of runic tattoo or magical attunement.

His shirt tears and rags fall about his waist as the elf begins to grow in size. No longer was the smaller man he'd seen on the fields and forest outside of the Sanctum of the Sun in their last fight. He was damn near Ammaelins height and his skin pulled tight as more lines, folds of flesh began to become prominent as muscle beneath grew rapidly.

What came next wasn't a look of horror on Ammaelins face, surprise, certainly, but not horror, and even that was rapidly succeeded by a boisterous laugh! "And here I was about to believe you were weaker than we all believed!"

That smug grin he should have had quickly disappears when Dinthoqaf's hand flexes and the metal head of the hammer cracks in a metallic ring. "Just so we're clear. You and that Goblin had the opportunity to leave things be. To leave me be. You did this... I hope you remember that." Dinthoqaf jerks the hammer's head back, causing Ammaelin to lose his balance. A quick surge forward and the haft-turned-spear jams into Ammaelin's chest and skewers through bone and flesh alike before it erupts out the back.

"Now that's the look I was hoping for when your first hit didn't do as intended." Dinthoqaf's voice reverberates from the cavern walls, not because of how loud his brother spoke, but because of how. Magic and posturing, of course, it was. Even now, so righteous in the sudden change in tempo. Ammaelin stood there, eyes wide in shock at the upheaval and surprise blow. Blood dribbles out of the wound from both ends, and his breath catches. A wet squealch comes after due to the weapon being pulled free and discarded to the floor, just to be followed by Ammaelin hitting the ground to kneel, a hand over his open chest. Dinthoqaf remains still, watching him as Light begins to manifest, to heal and mend bone, damaged organ, and flesh alike.

"You know. It's a shame really. I wanted to ask you to join me at some point after they all brought me back. Fa-- Krownos needs to be stopped, and I was hoping you'd see things as they were, but..." A book manifests into The Defiler's hand, just to be thrown to the ground in front of Ammaelin. His journal and a scattering of smaller drawings that were of his deceased wife and child. "...after reading this? I've come to realize maybe we're more alike than we thought. You really shouldn't write down secrets and intentions, after all. It's a good way of getting caught~." Ammaelin had known of Krownos' intended betrayal, or at least rather, he anticipated it, had plans in fact to shackle him with holy bindings and to drain him to add to the font on their estate to consolidate his power as The Bloodcrest Patriarch. Nothing but rumors and stained history to be rewritten by the victors was all he'd intend to leave behind.

"And you dared to call me power hungry." Tsk tsk tsk, noises creep up lightly, garnish on the moment. "I applaud your drive, though, it almost makes me wish I'd thought of it myself!" A boisterous laugh comes free as Dinthoqaf takes a couple of steps back from Ammaelin, letting his healing come to completion. Round two? Begin.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~ From elsewhere above, a set of red eyes watch the proceedings below. Megahes clings to a set of stalactites, a minor spell of camouflaging meant to keep him from being noticed or giving too much of a magical sniff away until it was his time. The two below begin their assault of blows, hits meant to shatter bones and destroy egos and personas. This fight he was watching was worse than any Gold-per-view fight he'd ever seen on the GMA (Goblin Martial Arts) broadcasts, and for once, he was glad he wasn't mixed up or involved in this. No, he had to stick to the plan, no matter what hit Ammaelin soaked. He had to bide his time, wait for the opening they knew was coming, and Ammaelin was right. Dinthoqaf wasn't going to go down easily, and just like they knew, he was going to let himself get beaten around to give that false sense of security. Years of fighting between them had taught them this. Experience was on their side, finally.

Blow for blow, the two went back and forth, and bit by bit, The Defiler's frame continued to grow in both size and strength with each hit he absorbed. At first, Megahes had sworn that it was a trick of the light, fatigue or distance maybe as he watches them but now Ammaelin was being dwarfed bit by bit and it was becoming obvious that he was trying to push an ever growing boulder up the mountain and soon, it was going to roll back over him.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The brothers continue to exchange blow after blow, hit after hit, bone crunches and mends due to their respective powers that be but fatigue begins to show. Ammaelin turns and twists, avoiding a blow meant to take him off his feet just to duck him as a light-embued uppercut finds its home into Dinthoqaf's gut. A guffaw comes as his arms go slack for a brief moment, allowing for a follow-up haymaker The hit lands, causing its target to take a forceful twist and turn downwards. Cinematic in its execution, really.

The scene ended there, though, as Dinthoqaf's expanded frame comes back up in a rebuttal of its own just to be sidestepped. Eyes widen as Ammaelin realized a mistake made as he was quickly jerked off his feet and swung through the air like a flail, only to slam into the ground on the opposite side of where he'd once been standing of Dinthoqaf. His hair. Dinthoqaf had taken hold of that long red hair of his and used it against him. It was by some miracle that his neck hadn't snapped and killed him immediately due to the force of the blow. A moment of thanking someone, anyone, wouldn't come as an opportunity as that same hair was quickly wrapped about his neck like rope and then tightened as Dinthoqaf spun to straddle his brothers chest, pulling on the red strands to the point it started to bite and his face started to turn red with the threat of popping from the pressure.

"You gave it your all, brother. In that, you should feel no shame. You simply didn't know the deck was sta--..." "DIE YOU BASTARD!"

Like a sailing meteor of goblin flesh, Megahes came in from the stalactites. Fire magic and frost work in concert to propel him downwards as a massive Ice lance begins to form on his palm and runs up the entirety of his arm. Fire magic explodes out behind him, sending him down as if he were a rocket. This was the opening they planned on, Dinthoqaf's winning moment of postulating. Bone was cleaved and broken, and the sacrifice made in a monumental moment as it went through not just Dinthoqaf, but sank through his body, causing ice to puncture into the paladin below. Ammaelin's hand flies up, grabbing hold of Dinthoqaf as the ambush is executed. Holy Fire begins to explode from the paladin. Pin Dinthoqaf into place, force him between the two, deal extensive damage with a singular blow and in the shock, burn him to ash. This was their plan, a plan that they both knew and accepted as being their swan song, the possible end to everything they'd done in the hopes of closing this chapter. Dinthoqaf erupts with a wailing scream more akin to a roar as his body is caught between freezing on the back half and burning from below.

The Defiler's body begins to crumble into ash, and as it does, Holy Fire begins to burn away at Megahes himself. The Goblin's body fought, wanting to let go of the magic keeping him in place, but he refused it. All these years of being a husk of what he should have been, now at least he'd have peace from the pain, and with The Defiler gone, he knew that Naturasu would be safe, their kids, all of them, would be safe. He would at least be able to give them that if nothing else. His teeth bare and for a moment, a smile comes as the ice fades to fire, causing the remnants of Dinthoqaf to ash before he falls, hitting Ammaelin just to bounce and roll onto the floor and into water. Water, gross. Ashy-water, even worse. Megahes's breathing struggles, hitching as his heart slows. No amount of pills or alchemy was going to stop this now, and he'd look over to Ammaelin, seeing the once proud elf staring up at the ceiling. His eyes had lost their shine, and his mouth, slightly ajar, held some semblance of a smile. "You did it, pal..." Megahes breathes. "...ya cleaned up ya family name." Megahes eyes close, and another shorter breath comes in as relief settles in. If he wasn't dying, he'd probably weep, glad for the struggle to be over.

Except... death didn't come. Applause did, and a look of irritated horror began to take place instead. Ammaelin coughs and his hands shoot to his stomach where a massive icicle had once fucked his guts.

The cavern walls shimmer and fade and what came to pass was somewhere else entirely, somewhere between the Hinterlands and the Plaguelands, as the smell of sweet forest and fetid corpses tried to mingle. The two find the strength to roll themselves over, looking over and onward to find a desk sitting amid an open field. A violin floating nearby as no tune was played with a procrastinating bow.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Dinthoqaf sits at the desk, the look of pride adorning his features like a cat who finally caught the canary. He lays the quill he'd been writing with down as he looks across the way at the two of them. "I've written a lot of stories, wrote in characters, wrote them out, left plot holes and hooks, and I must say, even writing the end of this makes my eyes a bit misty."

Confusion wouldn't even be the word to cover the look on both Elf and Goblin's faces.

"Right, right. I suppose when the fourth wall comes down, some explanations are due, aren't they?" Dinthoqaf moves from his seat and starts to approach the two. "We'll have to go back quite a ways."

Dinthoqaf offers, keeping some distance between them now as illusions start to build. The scenario that comes into play was one Ammaelin could never forget, a mark of horrible shame on his past. Two women, known to have used their bodies and fathers position to try to garner favor in the ranks. His position of promotion amongst the Blood Knights taken by them, the undeserving and in a fit of rage, he'd stripped them bare and threw them to the recruits. He let them have their way with them time and time again and for it, it he had been ejected from the Order, and for good reason. A mark of shame, surely, as it was something he'd never even considered and still couldn't fathom why he'd done it. How could he have stooped so low?

"A shame really, but if its any consolation, while you did what you did, it wasn't entirely your fault... I mean, look what they did to you? Embarassed you, took all those hard years of work and threw it away... almost as if... someone planned it, really." The illusion splashes and falls to the soil as wet, black ink before it reshuffles and creates not just one goblin, but three.

Megahes' parents and Sister, and these split so there was a copy of both. "And you, oh my dear boy." Dinthoqaf's voice, insincere in its condolences. "On one hand, you killed your parents, your sister, for the slavery they basically shackled you to when they discovered your magical abilities and if it wasn't for one bad spark blowing up your home and sending you into the sea to get picked up by that fishing boat, you never would have made it to Orgrimmar, would you..." One of the families shimmers and suddenly shows up dead, frozen with multiple stab wounds, with the wreckage of a home burning. "Or... was it you came from a loving home and a sister that cared? Family survived the volcano's eruption in Kezan just to move to Northrend..."

"I'll admit, I had a tough time deciding your origin story, but, I think I liked the slavery and murder more myself, it gives off that pang of survivor's guilt and connection..." "Tha fuck are you talking about?!" Megahes interrupts. "Oh, right. I'm leaving out important details." Dinthoqaf was quicker on his feet this time, moving to put a knee into the goblin's back just to pull him up by his hair. "You exist because I wrote you into existence..." His whisper was one in Mega's right ear so it'd be loud enough that Ammaelin would hear it too.

The explosion that rocked the century.

Megahes' mind blanks out, unable to comprehend what he meant, his lips move, but nothing comes out. What the hell did he mean?!

"Your life exists purely because I wrote it into being. Your successes, your failures..." Dinthoqaf turns, a wicked smile forming on his face as he catches eyes with Ammaelin. "I couldn't rewrite things I was not present for, obviously. I'm no Bronze Dragon, but, I do do what I can with the materials I have on hand..."

"Did you never think to wonder why no one came looking for answers? Either of you? No guards, no investigation, no crimes to be reported. It wasn't my best work, obviously, I was just starting out... Didn't either of you find it odd that the people you affected, how so many of them have simply... disappeared entirely as if they were written out? Forgotten like characters left behind between one novel and the next in a series. No records beyond the memory, the story, to torment you with, to encourage or inspire?" "Then why go through all of this?! Why not just write it how you want it?!" Ammaelin shouts, screams really, his voice crackling with the force of it all.

"Because then, where's the character growth? The tension, the heart-pounding suspense of turning the next page? Come now, you act like you've never read a book in your life."

"But what about your people?! The pain you've caused them? All those servants you massacred to attack our forces, to destroy his business? What of them?!"

"You meant my Nameless? Again, you seem to fail to realize the point. They exist because I have written them in! Many of them real people, real lives, sure. But what does a writer do when they need story and plot to move along and the current cast fails to provide? They write someone else in, even if it's just for a moment and their pain? Character growth. No, they may not understand it -now-, but later? Whether their stories take them elsewhere or not, they'll be all the better for it."

And there it was... Dinthoqaf's desire for Godhood, his push, it wasn't some fanciful dream that'd never occur. What he was doing now was pulling the strings of fate for so many people, whether they knew it or not, and to what degree? What he was just introducing them to a new plot like ink to a well, or was he orchestrating every detail down to the most minute.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not controlling them, not really. I introduce the possibility of a new character to join our saga, and they... How do authors like to put it? Their character is a person of their own will and desires. I merely write into existence challenges for them, to allow them to grow. Sometimes I'm more involved, sometimes I just introduce the possibility of growth, and like any author, I let them handle the situation that they'd prefer. An author can't always hamfist someone into something, it removes the credibility..."

Dinthoqaf moves to stand so he can move back to his desk, turning to lean against its edge as his arms cross before his chest. Ammaelin and Mega's wounds begin to mend rapidly as the ink from the stories begins to move to their bodies. Horror and an attempt to comprehend what they were both being told. Megahes speaks up first.

"And our war? Our fighting. What was it all for?!"

"Entertainment value. I wanted to see just what sort of character I'd created when he was left to his own devices... I like to think our squabble was akin to an off-page endeavor held between two books left to be explained later in some quick summary at the beginning of the next. Of course, I didn't anticipate you doing as well as you did, so it was a bitter-sweet surprise to find the character rebelling so well against the author to the point the book ended with me being buried. Thankfully, Zalilirah and Nezzok are a tenacious set, and they made sure to bring me back... I didn't even have to write that in either!" Dinthoqaf begins to laugh at that truth. "Krownos is a mistake I aim to rectify and unfortunately, that problem started before I became... whatever it is I am now. A god? Small 'g', mind. No, maybe not quite that yet, still more work to do."

Ammaelin rushed forward, a light-embued fist ready to strike his brother down, only for a hand to come up as if it were instructing him to wait. "So impatient." Dinthoqaf gestures towards the goblin, his once withered and wrecked body was beginning to fully heal. Wounds that handicapped him, forced his retirement, disappeared. Bones mended, organs were regrowing, and for the first time in years, he was able to take a deep breath without it feeling like sandpaper in his chest.

"This is the end of the story between us..." Dinthoqaf lifts his hands and turns Ammaelin around similar to a model toy on a spinning pedestal, to look from where he had once came. His fallen wife and child, "They were real, by the way. The scourge did take them, and what you did to them after was just as true. This is something I can fix." While the ink worked upon the ground, bodies were reformed, and while neither became conscious, Ammaelin's breath hitched. Was he...

"Leave me be to deal with our father, relinquish The Bloodcrest Name to me, and you can go back home to The Black Forest or wherever the hell you choose to live out the lives you should have had. They'll awaken in Silvermoon under the impression that you've just been off fighting in the wars and squabbles, understanding, but yours to build a life with again and you..."

Dinthoqaf looks to the Goblin once again. "What I have gained in knowledge with all of this is reward enough to offer your life back. To heal your body so you can be with your wife as you were supposed to be, as the erotic romance it was meant to be."

The two of them look at one another and then back at Dinthoqaf. Anger was there, frustration too, manipulated beyond even normal means, what were they to do, and how much of it was scripted?

"Can we have time to think about it?"

'That's the beauty of it all... Yes, yes, you can. Three days. If you come back here, then we start a new, far less forgiving story... if you don't, then I'll take that as any good author and know when to let a character move 'off screen', so to speak and before either of you worry, I won't tamper or influence anything. You are both real, despite my work."

"And we can trust that, how?"

"You can't, but if I were going to write the story here, how I wanted to anyway, why would I offer the option?" A fair point, one might suppose."

The three stand still for a moment. Time freezes as one waits for the decision of the other two. No grand clash, no fight to the death, no shouting match as two of them had had their minds completely and utterly blown to the realization that everything that had occurred to them in the past two decades plus might have been fabricated by a single man with a god-damned pen.

[vyvienne]

Naralinthe Emberdawn

Commission completed for the lovely @themadamelioness! Thank you again!

Ko-Fi Commissions || Full Commission Info

[vyvienne]

dont tell any of my friends or mutuals but....their ocs are really cool.................

[vyvienne]

Never settle for what you have, if it does not bring you peace and happiness. There can be confusion on what it means to be satisfied, for we often mistake comfort and familiarity for happiness. They are confusing tales, the lives we live, for none of our stories are exactly the same. At some point, a new chapter MUST begin, or we risk the author and readers alike, losing interest. Tread carefully though, don’t change for the sake of change, and do it for no one else than yourself. Conformity is the enemy of creativity..walk tall my friends, allies are around you!

JOURNAL ENTRY #16

We find our Warmaster back at the damp, having given way in his hunt for Kelaniron. An all-to-familiar story in his life, and he acted upon sheer instinct when his decision was made to purge the corruption. It would have been a bandage solution at best, in hindsight.

“Creatures of passion, we all are. I am no exception to acting upon gut instinct, but I have recently found the value in wisdom. Sure, it is fun to behave chaotically, but there are times and places for such things. The battlefield must be kept separate from our homes, so to speak, and I let this endeavor tread too closely.”

“Others sense it, but only a couple are brave enough, or perhaps true enough, to bring my actions to the forefront of my attention. I know myself well enough, it’s true, but oftentimes I found it valuable to have a third party assess our views.”

“I see the humor in me, speaking on stubborn attributes, but alas here we are. STUBBORN AS AN ORC, that is a common phrase, and there is no doubt there. What the others do not seem to realize, is that the only thing more deadly, more terrifying, than an Orc bent in chaos and war, is one that has newfound intelligence. Sharp wit and sharper blades, vast wisdom engraved upon vast hammers, that’s is the way now.”

“There is also the matter of what just transpired. Another clue, or key to the locked door that is my past. It turns out, that the weapon I have turned myself into, is far deadlier than I anticipated.”

“Elements, family, power, clan, Mok'nathal, all these words are suddenly thrust upon me, and I must continue to seek answers.”

“Side note, I must start exercising, now that dear Vyvienne insists on practicing her baking prowess. I feel a bit on the sluggish side. It’s not my fault..”

[vyvienne]

When you are almost out, almost free, the very things you try and escape lash out one last time, in an effort to subdue you. If you show strength, you will be free of that bondage in a final act of triumph, but if you should falter, your fall will be deeper than that of the pit you crawled from, and your ascent will be less forgiving.

Voices will crawl from the deep recesses of your mind, dragging thoughts of fleeting happiness and joy, while at the same time attempting to blind you of the pain it caused. These are not prophetic ramblings, these are the battles ,even the most fierce of will, will endure.

_______________________________________________

A crack of thunder wakens Skormosh within his room at The Damp. Breathing heavily, beaded with sweat, and brandishing a blade he stored beneath his pillow to an unseen enemy. He looked around and saw nothing but barely lit embers within his hearth, and he took a slow, deep breath, and sheathed the blade back where he claimed it. Rubbing the brief sleep from his eyes, he sat up and moved his feet to the floor.

“Steel yourself..” he murmured. He stood heavily, groaning slightly, and moved to the window. It was barely dawn, and the morning sun was cloaked in dread. A few days had passed since Vyvienne attempted to reach out, but he ignored her request, for at the time he was of singular purpose. His eyes dropped, not focusing on anything in particular as his inner monologue began.

“What are you doing Skormosh? You are once again letting your mind get distracted. Focus..” he moved from the window to the hearth, and tossed another log onto the fire. As he prodded the coals beneath, he thought deeply.

“You are confusing obligation with hatred. You are corrupting your purpose with your own definition of protection.” He stood as the log caught fire and sat into his large, throne-like chair. “Are you stuck? Are you trying to protect those under your care, are you attempting to save them from an unworthy death? Or, are you attempting to seek vengeance on the very thing that happened to you not long ago?”

At this point, the large Orc rested his elbows on his knees and sighed. In truth, he was captive of an Old God sliver when he first came to the sanctum, but he was not shunned because of it. He was welcomed, and allowed to fight his war within on his own terms. “I have been an impatient fool..” he said to the flames.

He stood at once and donned a simple vested shirt and pants, and made his way from his room, letting the flames talk to themselves, as he always did. Where he was heading, he did not know, but he had to find answers. With his weapons left behind, his mind was now his greatest tool, and he had to fulfill his purpose.