Death and Rebirth
Areus gasped out with a wet cough, spilling blood and spit along the uneven stones beneath him. The icy hand of death no longer gripped his body, but merely hovered over him like an indecisive card player; the uncertainty of his surroundings only furthered his desperate need to survive. Areus ran his trembling hand across his chest- soaked and sticky with what had to be his own blood. He’d survived wounds far more grievous before, stabbed deeper and closer to his heart; with a simple binding spell and a lot of liquor he could endure, but this time it was different. The Holy Light intervened for all the wrong reasons. Without the shadows bending to his will, the old wounded soldier was blind and helpless to treat his own injuries, and now time was his greatest enemy.
The crisp breeze indicated early morning, but with most of his senses dulled, he couldn’t be sure. First he tried crawling to something stable enough to force him on his feet, but his legs wouldn’t budge, and the cold weight spreading over his chest and into his limbs made any sort of movement an agonizing uphill battle. His fingertips clawed into stone and dirt and snow with all his might, nails scraping against mortar from a fallen wall, threatening to tear off with every forceful yank. Bit by bit every attempt tore at the flesh of his fingers. He needed to make it out of the Bloodsworn Vanguard ruins and onto a main road but was bleeding out far faster than he had ever imagined. The man managed to patch together what was left of his shredded arm with what little mana he had left yet even with two halfway decent extremities, it wasn’t really working out for him.
Thoughts of the past flooded his mind as he struggled to lift himself up, crawling desperately with what little strength he had left for survival.
“Ash… I’m sorry for doing what I must… I plan on being back…- -Being with you makes me smile and gives me a feeling that I c- -I really enjoyed spending time with you toda- -My heart will always be yours, as long as you want it.”
Areus managed to wrap his fingers around a rock with some weight to it; immediately he struck himself in the forehead one, two, three times, trying to keep himself conscious through the pain. His mind drifted to blissful instances of memories with his loved one. Letters he once sent her. This was a distraction allowing him to succumb to his fate- she was already dead. The thought was ever so enticing, so sweet and sickening. To be allowed to die only to be at her side again yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about those who were still alive. His son, his brother, his niece, his nephew, his sister-in-law… too many people to let down yet no matter how much he grit his teeth he couldn’t fix his predicament. Everything seemed to slow down and his movements felt so sluggish. If only he could have one more sip of his flask. If only he could have one last drag of his pipe.
“Ah… I could… really… go for a… drink…” he rasped in between breaths as the light in his dull glazed eyes dimmed like the sun drifting beneath the horizon. As he slowly closed his eyes, the distant sounds of feet pattering about barely caught his attention. The voice of a child whispered near his ears, likely no older than five or six; if a child that young was out here, their parents wouldn’t be too far behind. A surge of hope coursed through his stiffening body at the prospect of a traveler’s caravan finding him. “Who… ‘s… the-...?” his dry voice cut out. More little voices chirped and whispered amongst themselves, until it felt like he was surrounded by a small crowd. “Ge… he… hel-...” He used the last of his strength to speak, but his jaw was beginning to tighten shut as well. It felt like he was laying there for the children’s spectacle for years. Eventually he gave up trying to speak, and slowly rested his head into the grass to accept his fate. Not until heavier footsteps approached, not until the sensation of innumerable tiny hands grasping at his clothes, and not until the whisper of a foreign incantation did Areus find the resolve to open his dulled eyes again.
“Erana-dora isil,” The voice of a matured woman gently spoke. “You’re in good company.”
He felt the weight of his body wash away like the tide, his spirit rising off the ground to float suspended in the air; the agony of dying was gone, and so too were the voices. Areus felt free, liberated by the shackles of his once many burdens. He saw Azeroth again with his own eyes - a sensation he never knew he missed so badly. The splashing of vibrant colors of the trees caused the elf to choke on his own tears. The higher he rose the more he saw, until he could see the glimmering towers of Silvermoon City to the north, and the deep forests of the Hinterlands to the south. His thoughts then returned to Ashelin, and everything he would tell her when he saw her again in the afterlife; tears of joy rolled down his cheeks as he gazed at the first rays of light from the rising sun to the east.
A flash of light quickly covered the horizon and forced Areus to shield his eyes. When the blinding light dimmed he was able to lower his hand to gaze at a giant blue mushroom cloud a mile off the coast; it was the single largest mana bomb explosion he had ever seen, perhaps the largest anyone had ever seen. The sonic boom that reverberated away from ground zero ripped toward the continent and heaved blazing trees out of the ground. Within moments Quel’Thalas was engulfed in blue flames, and Areus was helpless to stop it. He screamed out in horror at the searing winds rushing over Silvermoon City, toppling its towers and searing the streets and walls black. Thoughts of his family crying out seconds before turning to nothing more than ash silhouettes against the explosion filled him with raw and absolute dread. He couldn’t hear their screams this far over the carnage, but he knew what it would sound like; a thousand voices screeching at the top of their lungs from the searing heat, then silence. He looked down to see the land reduced to ash and dirt, with the flames devouring the once beautiful Eversong Woods. Silvermoon City, the Amber Glade, the Ghostlands, all of it - gone in an instant.
A deep guttural roar caused his heart to run cold. Out from the boiling oceans a gigantic mountain of flesh, tendrils and teeth arose, seemingly uninjured yet enraged. The nameless Old God let loose its maddening wrath, coughing forth an army of faceless aberrations that clamored over the glassed shores to feast on anything or anyone that managed to survive. Even worse, it writhed and twisted its massive body, turning the very air around its mass a putrid black with noxious fumes and accursed magic. Within moments Areus watched a once beautiful land he called home for centuries completely obliterated by his own people, and further desecrated by the sleeping nightmares rising from the depths of the sea. On the other side of the scorched continent another Old God popped out of the churning waves, then another, and then another. Without a doubt, it was the end of the Sun’raels, the end of the Sin’dorei, the end of Azeroth.
Then he fell. Like a meteor reentering the atmosphere, Areus fell spiraling and twisting against the heat that seared his bones. He screamed out in agony while the blackened earth rose up to catch him, fearing what the warring Old Gods would do with his soul, and the souls of his kin, once they captured him. He wanted to rise up into paradise and walk with Ashelin for all time, but this madness would only be the start of his eternal torment. He fell into the cloud of fumes and choked on blinding spores, which filled his lungs with poison and his heart with maddening hatred; he grew swollen with malice and was bursting at the seams with a bloodlust so ripe and pure he forgot what happiness, compassion, and love felt like. Areus was ripped into a million pieces the instant he splattered against the ground, but his last thoughts were of dying over and over again, until either the Old Gods died of old age, or until the end of time.
When he opened his eyes again, a familiar darkness clouded his vision. His entire body ached like every inch of his body was impaled by needles, and when he tried to move, agony cut deep into his very bones. “Be still.” The voice from earlier spoke, causing his ears to twitch. “Recovering from the brink of death takes a toll on one’s body.” Areus opened his glazed eyes to see the face of the woman speaking, but his beloved sight was gone again; the Holy Light still lingered in his body as well, making her shadowy silhouette flicker erratically. “Let me know if you can feel this.” A sharp ache suddenly began throbbing in his wrist, flooding his head with the bitter memories of his brother.
Alucieus stabbed him. His own kin. His own brother. For the longest time they were rivals, polar opposites where one basked in the power of the Holy Light, while the other delved into the forbidden secrets of the Void; yet they were always there when they needed each other, always ready to save the other’s life, because family was more important to them than anything. Everything changed when Alucieus chopped off Areus’ hand, lifted him up by the throat, and ran his gladius into his chest. The last thing he remembered before blacking out the first time, was the hard thud from dropping onto the ground, and the heavy footsteps of his brother leaving him to bleed out and die. “Augh...nn-!” His throat was as dry as it could be.
“Here…” The frantic silhouette of her form drew closer with a pungent stench now biting at the tip of his nose. “Drink.” Areus barely had a choice in the matter, feeling a hand clasp at his jaw while she forcefully poured the foul contents into his mouth. For a while he coughed and sputtered, but eventually he was able to get at least some of it down his throat while the rest either sat in his mouth or slipped out from the corners of his lips. It was the most wretched slime he had ever tasted.
Yet despite the sudden urge to vomit, the room around him finally began to settle down. He was able to get a clearer image of his surroundings even with the Holy Light still stinging in his chest; something about that sludge she forced down his throat also helped calm the sporadic silhouettes that surrounded him. The woman in question was clearly a Nightborne, which only brought more questions than answers. She was stitching his swollen hand back onto his wrist while humming a hauntingly melancholy tune, as foreign magic enveloped her fingers. At least twenty children watched them with varying interest, but he couldn’t tell what race they were with their handmade masks covering their faces, each depicting some sort of animal or monster likely straight out of their wild imaginations; they often whispered amongst themselves, occasionally pointing at him before their giggling picked back up again. One child stood out among the rest, however. He sat away from the other children, and closest to the older woman; he wore no mask, revealing a leathery and decrepit face that seemed half-rotten- an undead child. “Where… am I…?”
“Your new home.” The woman quickly answered, gently tugging at the thin string to tighten another stitch. Areus didn’t like the ominous sound of that; he had no intention of being this woman’s prisoner.
“I should…” Areus started, gulping dryly as images of Ashelin cuddled up against his chest interrupted his thoughts. “... I should be dead.”
“You were.” The woman turned to look at him for a moment before continuing her stitchwork. “I brought you back.”
Areus stiffened as the ache shot up his arm again. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of this stranger if possible. “Why…?” the man asked dryly.
“Why?” She indignantly repeated. “Did Lord Augustus Sun’rael teach you to give up that easily? I brought you back because your story doesn't end with such a meaningless death at the hands of your corrupted brother. To let your talents go to waste would be an affront to your family. A crime to Azeroth.”
He reluctantly laid still. Whether or not he had a choice didn’t matter- the fact that this voice invoked the name of his father meant that they knew much more about the lineage of his family than anyone else. Neither he nor his brother spoke of the patriarch of their clan, they both strived to further the Sun’rael name in their own methods yet somehow this stranger was acquainted with their father, a figure both the brothers detested.
“Your family still needs you.” The woman continued, catching his attention again. “Your sister-in-law especially. She is in a dark place right now… almost as dark as yours.”
“My brother, is he-?”
“Dead?” She pulled one last string and his hand was finally connected with his wrist. “All done. Try to move your hand for me.” Areus was at a loss of words, but he obeyed all the same; agony rocked through his arm, and he was barely able to move a single finger. “That’s what I was afraid of. It looks like it will take a long time before you can control your hand again… but it will never be as it once was.” She watched his face closely while she gently put his hand down. The children continued their private conversations, all except the undead child, who continued to stare at him in morbid silence. “I never gave you my name… I am Aodin. Aodin Umbrose.”
“Well, Aodin,” Areus spoke with labored breaths. “If you're not willing to let me die, then I must be with the rest of my family.”
“Of course.” She seemed unusually complacent. “You are free to leave once your debt to me is paid.”
Areus narrowed his blackened eyes. “I hoped my sincere gratitude was enough, heh… so how much are you blackmailing me for?”
Aodin didn't seem amused. “I don't want your coin.”
“Well you're a lovely looking woman, but I can't provide that eith-"
“I want a treasure from your special vault.” The Witch didn't let him finish that thought. “A grimoire that predates the Black Empire… the Myurkodn.”
Areus blinked at the Shal’dorei for a few moments before chuckling lightly. “I don't know what you're talking about. Anything I can't sell on the market, I toss out with my trash. Ancient books aren't exactly high on demand.”
“You're an adequate swordsman, but a terrible liar.” Aodin leaned back in her chair to judge him with glimmering silver eyes. “I know the Aqir took it with them when they fled north to create Azjol-Nerub. I know you and your brother found it buried under a mountain of insect corpses when you plundered their desecrated kingdom. And I know the Keepers of Shadow tossed it into the very back of their vault, fearing its power.” She paused to let Areus silently question just how much she really knew about his past. “You and Syrahn Bloodfeather are the only two Keepers of Shadow left. I can’t get anywhere near the Glade Queen, and even if I could, she wouldn’t help me. The power stored in that book should not be abandoned. It should not be forgotten.”
His newly reattached hand twitched slightly and quivered, blood slowly working its way through the veins that had been stagnated. Holy light bled into the arteries as they began the long and arduous process to mend. The man’s murky eyes settled on her, “What do you aim to do with it then?”
“Use the knowledge against the true enemies of Azeroth.” She sighed, tapping her elongated fingernails against the arms of her chair. “Surely you’ve foreseen it; the Old Gods rising from the depths to conquer the world once again.”
The small scars etched into the blind man’s eyelids lit up with a soft golden hue before turning to a deep purple tone. The were the shapes of various runes on a much smaller scale had been inscribed into his flesh. The shades of gray and charcoal became a bit more clear and he was able to distinguish forms in tones of black. “Fine. If I get you the Miur Codex, my debt is paid in full?”
“Myurkodn.” Aodin corrected, as the friendly demeanor returned to her voice. “Get me that grimoire and you’ll never owe me another favor again.”
“It sounds like you make out much better than I do in this deal. A weapon to change the fate of Azeroth? No thanks. Like you said, only I and Syrahn know where the vault left by the Keepers of Shadows lies. There’s one way for you to get what you want and I am it. I want three more conditions.”
The Witch shifted in her chair, but kept her composure. “Speak them.”
“One. I want my pipe back filled with tobacco, and the matches with them. Two. A bottle of whiskey. And three. Undo these gods-damned straps.” he gruffly responded. A cruel grin spread wide across her face while she stared through him, clearly unsure if this was some sort of strange jest or not. With a snap of her fingers the undead child hopped off the nearby chair and waddled over to his side; another snap of her fingers and the shackles vanished into smoke. The boy held his mottled grey hands aloft to reveal his pipe.
“You are a strange one,” Aodin sighed, rising from her seat. “But I am glad we could reach an agreement.” A tiny spark of shadowflame flickered off her pointed index finger, offering him a light.
Areus shifted to a seated position on the table, his legs dangling off as he leaned onto his right hand, his left cradled delicately in front of his chest. “I didn’t know you would be this agreeable.” he puffed at his pipe a couple times, “I’m going to have to change the deal to two bottles of whiskey. Or bourbon. Doesn’t matter to me.” he responded casually between puffs. Of course, the alcohol, the smokes and the shackles were inconsequential. All would have been met to his fill in time, yet he was one for immediate gratification. “I’m happy enough with this deal. I’m alive. You’ve served your purpose to the Void and I get to continue mine. And maybe even help my family a bit longer. If it’s darkness you seek, then I’m more than happy to facilitate your request. Just don’t regret it when it’s more than you bargained for.” he offered her a smirk after exhaling a large plume of smoke, “I didn’t.”
The children surrounding Areus scampered off in random directions within the strange house as Aodin continued to watch him take long steady drags of his pipe. “I know the risks and I have safeguards in place to prevent… another disaster. But, I’m afraid this won’t be so easy…” She turned to open a chest he didn’t notice before along the ground. Slowly she raised another flask - this one holding the heart so inky black it hardly looked real; it was still beating. “This belongs to you, Areus Sun’rael. When your brother stabbed you in the chest, he filled your heart with the Holy Light. If I placed it back into you as it is now, the Light would kill you from the inside out. I’ll need time to purge it before I can operate on you again… and it serves as a valuable bargaining chip to ensure you keep your word.”
“You don’t need a bargaining chip. We’ve already made the deal, have we not? I’d like to think we’re both bound to our word as we are bound to the Void. Not like those little void-kiddies running around in the Alliance playing with things they don’t understand.” He took another puff from the pipe before clearing his throat as a wince overcame his face, clearly still in pain.
A shake of Areus’ head came before a response, “Rather than a bargaining chip or a tool for your blackmail, make sure you’ve got that ready for when I come back. I won’t be long.” Areus pointed with the pipe. “You can be sure that when I do come back, and you don’t hold up your half of the deal, you’ll die along with me and that grimoire will be in ashes the same as you as well as anyone within a mile radius.” a sigh came before he took another long drag from his pipe, letting the smoke escape with an exaggerated breath. “In the meantime, what do you have pumping my blood, anyway?” he asked, perking a brow while his right hand reached to adjust the pipe.
“Nothing. This is a forbidden incantation the Gurubashi Empire used for their most zealous warriors in wars long forgotten.” The Witch calmly started before she began to casually walk toward an empty wall of the room. “I won’t bore you with the details, but you’re essentially undead until I put your heart back into your body. The time one has before the heart dies by itself varies from days to weeks… so I wouldn’t get sidetracked if I were you.”
When she reached toward the wall with her left hand, the painted nails on each of her fingers stretched out for several inches. The wood quivered and melted by her touch like it was made of wax, until a gaping hole large enough to walk in appeared. “Once you’ve claimed my prize, go to the Scarlet Monastery. I’ll be waiting there for you.”
An angered smirk came to his visage before he raised the mask resting along his neck to cover his expression. “Fine.” he surged holy magic through his left hand abruptly. He took note of the fact that he did not feel pain from the Light, meaning that he hadn’t quite fullycrossed the bounds into undeath just yet, “You’re going to have to help me with this hand if you want me to brave the traps you won’t dare.”
Aodin perked a brow but stared at his hand for a few moments in silence. “And what exactly are you asking of me?”
“You expect me to believe you can tear someone’s heart out, keep them ‘alive’- I use the term loosely-, stitch them back together, have a gaggle of undead children about, know about hidden ancient grimoires from a long lost kingdom, know forgotten incantations from foreign empires and you can’t help me get my hand working better? If nothing else, it’s pretty fuckin’ painful. And you’re partly at fault for my prolonged misery.” He state matter-of-factly, “You threaten me with my life but who’s to say I wouldn’t have rather joined my beloved and, maybe my brother, in the afterlife? Probably not that asshole for a little while, he did cut my hand off and stab me in the chest. Give me something to work off of here, woman. And where’s that bottle of booze? Fuck, I’ll take rubbing alcohol at this point.” Areus spoke plainly, taking another drag from his pipe as he gave her a deadpanned gaze.
“My you’re a chatty one when you’re excited.” The Witch snapped her fingers, compelling the undead child to step forward with that slender vial filled with a midnight blue liquid. “But you have the details wrong. Only one child - this child - is undead. I hope arcwine will slate your thirst for the time being.”
A shrug was given in response as he winced for a moment. His condition seemed unstable and wore on him before he nodded slowly, “Whatever works. Something. Anything. The voices are coming back and my wrist is killing me.” He haphazardly reached for the bottle, sloshing the contents as he pulled it toward him, keeping his mask lowered just enough to keep the pipe in his mouth and drink straight from the bottle. After a few long gulps he took an exaggerated breath. Areus looked to the Witch before opening his mouth to speak again, paused, and then brought the bottle up to his lips again before devouring the rest of the wine.
He cleared his throat as he tossed the bottle over his shoulder for them to hear it shatter on the ground behind him. “Okay. I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get. See you at the monastery, girly.” The Shadow Priest gave her a wink, “Won’t be long. Make sure you’re there. The vault isn’t far off from it.” A few steps toward the exit and tendrils of shadow reached out to consume him into nothingness while he disappeared from sight.
Aodin stood in her home in silence for a few moments before turning to look down at the forsaken child. “What do you think? Shall we kill him once he returns with my prize?” The child glanced up at the Witch with cold yellow eyes, but said nothing.
“Fair enough.”
Collaborated with @areussunrael
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