The Mind Expands and Contracts
( Story point aimed to be before the current raid events, as this is during The Voidspire's assault and ending. )
Dinthoqaf stood upon one of the floating Silvermoon Terrace's, looking out over the vast city towards the Voidstorm. The look upon his features was one of heavy concentration and turmoil. What was going on up there? Only so many knew that were on this side of the storm. Many could guess, many had ideas, but how do you articulate the viewpoints of hundreds of people all at once?
You could sit with a hundred scribes, each writing everything out all at once, and not come close to what The Defiler was currently screening out from the rest of his flock. The Nameless were up there along with some of his Anointed, fighting back the Storm and Devouring Host in some effort to try to escape, to pull back before the Voidstorm potentially snapped shut, or worse, erupted with an outpouring of such energy that the Devouring Host would live up to its name.
The interference from The Void and Sunwell was playing havoc with The Sanguine. His connection was going lax and then snapping tight as it'd reconnect across the differences. People would disappear and then reconnect, some of them during something only veterans of horrific wars could recount in some fueled drinking session at the bar, recounting violent episodes of PTSD driven carnage.
Monsters, Animals, Void-Amulgamations and Aberrations, Cultists, Ethereals. So many different creatures and enemies in this place coming from under the ground, from the 'Sky' (if one could call it that), and every other direction on foot. His Nameless were being slaughtered just trying to fight back the Voidstorm's mind-destroying influence and all these images rushed into The Defiler as some of them pleaded with their 'God' to save them, to make their death have meaning amongst the order to retreat.
All he could do was cradle their consciousness in their last moments, sever their abilities to feel pain, to give them some moment of bliss as he led their last thoughts to their children, their spouses, to whatever memory made their minds slow and hearts calm. A horrific trick of illusion and mental tamperance, some would say, but what can a God do for a follower beyond making their final moments as peaceful as possible?
They all knew that their children in the Academy would be tended for, and The Weaver ( @zalilirah ) was already on the path of making preparations to move those children elsewhere if it somehow became breached or under threat. The generations beyond would be protected as best they could, as was his promise made to each Nameless who swore their loyalty and faith.
The Prophet was already scouting secondary fallback positions in case Silvermoon was overrun and the elves were pushed out due to the Devouring Host or fallout if the Sunwell went supernova. The White Rose ( @vyvienne ), The Vile Shadow, Lewin, and so many others were on the other side of that portal into the Storm. People, Pieces, that could not nor would be replaceable, no matter who or what came after.
Nezzok was preparing Zul'Mashar in the event of a complete and total loss of the Region and Caer Darrow was being prepared too as a final fallback. He could not nor would not depend on the success of a group of elves who historically couldn't work together without in-fighting and he wouldn't be caught unprepared. How many people from Silvermoon would be displaced? How many would lose mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, or even children, because of everything currently going on?
Even now, amongst the calamity, opportunity was being prov-..
Dinthoqaf hisses as his hands come to press against his temples. Another wave of connections reestablished as his Nameless were torn apart. Willpower came to push it back, to release the pressure to give him his train of thought. He needed his people out of there, but could not run the risk of The Sanguine being overloaded by walking into the Storm himself.
An exhausted sigh slips free. The weight of leadership had its gravitas, and this was one of the moments where the chains hung heavy. A chuckle comes free.
Don't you remember when things like responsibility for others wasn't a concern?
"Yes, yes. I remember my days as The Seether. You ask this as if I'm as old as that scrote, Velen."
A deep chuckle rumbles up from within but never leaves.
"Responsibility comes when we earn the position and have people looking to us for answers. Guidance. I am not Deathwing, Ragnaros, or any other of the hundreds of others who led their flocks and followers to their deaths without a care on what remains if they fail, let alone what remains on if they succeed. I need the Nameless and all of my Sanctum to remain as intact as possible if we manage to accomplish what I desire and to keep our grasp upon it. We cannot afford short sighted sprints; you should know this more than most after what? How long has it been now? Two hundred years? How many host bodies have we jumped between now too? Four? Five?"
Including your son's body that you took for yourself?
"Now you try to bring ethics into this?"
Quiet came back to his mind. A stalemate made or perhaps points by each side as the two refused to budge. Dinthoqaf was not alone anymore, or rather, he was never alone, but a voice that had once been lost now returned.
You realizes you can speak to me without opening your mouth, right, or have you forgotten?
"No, I didn't forget but it makes me feel less insane to converse verbally."
It certainly doesn't help in the appearance however...
"We have other things to concentrate on; such as preparing teams for healing our Nameless once they come back, while minimizing our presence or being caught by the Army Remnants. We have to acknowledge that this may be what shows The Sanctum off to The World."
