Allan McGowan // Tideweaver // Mistweaver Traveling Monk // Follower of Chi-Ji Wyrmrest Accord Alliance RP "This itself is the whole of the journey, opening your heart to that which is lovely. Because of their feeling for the lovely, beings who are afraid of birth and death, aging and decaying, are freed from their fear. This is the way you must train yourself: I will become your friend and an intimate of the lovely. To do this I must closely observe and embrace all states of mind that are good." -Samyutta Nikaya var sc_project=11202070; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="6c5fdb28"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");
âDamian Benjamin McGowan, you have ten fingers and ten toes, my boy. You also have two lovely hazel eyes, and a perfect little button nose. I believe the Light has certainly blessed you with how handsome you are, my boy,â Allan cooed softly, speaking to the little bundle half asleep in his arms. Never in his lifetime would he have guessed he would have so much love to give such a tiny creature, and even more surprising was that he had been granted this child at all. Berenice was given a proper burial in Stormwind, and Allan tended to her grave as often as he could. He had only known the woman for a few hours, but he would carry her with him as long as he lived, for she had given him the greatest gift in the world: her son.
It was now Allanâs responsibility to show the boy what hope there was for him in this world, and it wasnât going to be easy. Sleep was no longer his as he awoke at all hours to tend to the child. Swirling mists of Chi soothed the child when he was restless, but Allan had to learn how to change diapers and how to feed the boy. Thankfully, he could turn to his brother in law. Taleyriel taught him how to properly hold the child and what to feed him in these early months, and taught him how to properly change a soiled diaper and swaddle a baby. While Zaderick had disappeared with King Wrynnâs Third Fleet and other adventurers seeking alliances in KulâTiras, Allan stayed behind. People still needed to be tended to in Stormwind, especially after the Hordeâs attack that set half of the Cathedral district ablaze-- including his brotherâs estate. Despite the war that raged between the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, Allan had found happiness.
His breezy home in Krasarang had become a refuge from the war that threatened to split the world apart once more. With Stormwind being targeted, he couldnât afford to keep the child in the crosshairs of battle. Heâd survived Teldrassil and the attack on Stormwind. Allan didnât want to risk a third incident. Even Starâs Rest Cove was in dangerous territory, being triangulated by Zandalar, KulâTiras, and the Broken Isles. Instead, the monk returned home to tend to the little boy who was now his.
As a new father, he quickly learned how susceptible long hair was to being tugged by tiny little fists. Damian was a restless, but happy baby, and grew stronger each day. The monk cut his long, fiery red hair and trimmed his beard a little closer now. His dimples were much more visible now, and he looked much younger. The monk learned to keep his prayer beads tucked beneath his tunics and shirts rather than outside where ten curious little fingers could wrap around them and yank. The babyâs laughter gave him immeasurable joy, never leaving his side as Allan went about his duties. Wherever he traveled, the baby happily came with him in a sling strapped to the manâs chest. Often, Allan would find himself attempting to meditate at the Temple of the Red Crane, only to be distracted by the Pandaren attendants who sought to catch a glimpse of the little cub with big, curious blue eyes. Benjamin was fast asleep now as Allan softly hummed the Ballad of Liu Lang. There was much for Allan still to learn, but he was taking it day by day and he thankfully had the help he needed. Although he hoped that now with the baby asleep, he too would be able to nap, if even for a few minutes.
âI keep dreaming a-about it. I re-remembered your beads, and the lotus on your arm,â Berenice said, her voice just barely above a rasp. âYou d-didnât belong there, but--â she coughed and her body shook, each breath labored as she steadied herself. â--you could have.â
Allanâs stormy gray eyes surveyed the woman as he channeled the mists, doing his best to soothe her pain. He knew the injuries were great, and there was not much that could be done at this point, but he had to try. âShh... try not to speak and get rest.â
Only hours after Zaderick teleported them from Darkshore to Dalaran, Allan was right back to healing. Once Taleyriel was stabilized, he did his best to sleep, but after four hours was right back at it. The doctors at the infirmary worked tirelessly, and once his brother in law was on the painful road to recovery, the monk was sent to Stormwind to help the refugees that had been pulled from the flaming world tree.
Stormwind was in mourning. Almost overnight, Oliviaâs pond was full of refugees in tents and makeshift housing. People who once lived among the magical boughs of Teldrassil now lay displaced and scattered throughout the city. The infirmaries were packed, and clusters of clerics and healers were making their rounds.
It wasnât long before a woman recognized him, and he recognized her after having pulled her from her home to the safety of the temple. What he hadnât realized at the time was that she was in the final stages of her pregnancy. Berenice began to cry. Her once beautiful, deep auburn hair was in patches, and bandages covered most of her body. âThere is no hope for our people. Those things will continue to hunt us wherever we go,â she lamented. âI survived... the fall of Gilneas o-only to be burned alive in Teldrassil.â
Allan took the hand that wasnât gravely injured. Mint green mist swirled from him toward her. âHope is the sun behind a stormy sky. Ever in the heart, but veiled to the eye. Someone wise once told me that,â he began. The womanâs blue eyes rose up to meet his. âDid that someone suffer as we have?â He knew there was absolutely nothing he could say to ease the pain in her heart, but he wanted to keep her distracted from the pain that wracked her body. They had to save her and the child. Berenice had begun to go into early labor.
âYes. Once, he was captured and chained. Paraded in front of his people in an attempt to break their spirits into submission and snuff out hope,â Allan spoke. There was a midwife in the tent with them. The girl couldnât have been more than eighteen years old and afraid-- it was perhaps the first birth she had assisted. Allan glanced at her and gave a reassuring nod. You are doing well. Unfortunately, not well enough.
Berenice cried out in pain, squeezing the Allanâs hand. Heavy, labored breaths shook and trailed with a scream. Her bright blue eyes locked on the monkâs once more. âTake him... or h-her. Show them that hope you s-see,â she asked, tears streaming from her face. She knew she wasnât going to make it. He had no one left and no way to provide for her child. Smoke and ash still lingered under her fingernails and clinged to her clothing.
Allan swallowed hard. He didnât want to give up on her. He was already exhausted, but continued to call upon the mists, channeling his chi to save the woman in an attempt to pull her from the brink of deathâs dark grasp. The midwife continued to instruct her on her breathing, and it wasnât long before Berenice was pushing.
Fear gripped Allanâs heart. His stormy gray eyes felt misty with tears he desperately tried to hold back. His heart was breaking into a million pieces, and for an instant, he wondered if his own faith was on trial. How could this happen to innocent people? Where was the honor, and what was the point in obliterating them without a chance to run for their lives? How could the Light, Elune, and the Celestials fail their faithful? But those questions werenât worthy. He knew that those questions didnât have satisfactory answers. There was only one question that did.
Why do we fight?
It was a question posed throughout his life, and once more it appeared at the tip of his tongue. For family. For honor. For peace. For vengeance.
The reasons bloomed in his mind like daisies in a field after rain. He felt words leaving his lips. Perhaps they were instructions, perhaps they were parables of Chi-Ji... Allan felt himself outside of his body, watching as he tried his best to save the womanâs life. Soon, a piercing wail flooded the tent as a little red, screaming baby fought his way into the world. Berenice smiled, tears still streaming from her face. The child was pulled from her, then brought to her injured arms. She sobbed and looked towards Allan. âTake him. He is yours now. S-show him--â The words fell from her lips with a final sigh and she was still.
Allan froze for a moment, tears finally tumbling down his cheeks as he stopped channeling his healing energies. He felt as though someone had gutted him. Why couldn't he save her? Why couldnât they have done more?
The midwife took the baby and cleaned him, crying and panicking. She didnât know what to do, but Allan snapped out of his grief and turned to her. âYou did all you could, Sara. Iâll take the child. Go find a priestess.â
The girl handed him the crying baby and he held it close as she ran out. What was he going to do with a newborn baby?! The reality of it wouldnât hit him until much later. For now, he held the boy and the crying subsided, if only for a moment.
âYou will endure, little one. We will endure together. I promise,â he murmured quietly.
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