#bladeborn concurrence

[atrickyzergblog]

August 16th, the Spirit Walker attempts to commune with the Raven God Anzu with his hired arms at hand. Will the shadowy god answer his call? Or will the Spirit Walker be consumed in the darkness?

[penbershield]

Plunge into Darkness

It took me forever to finish this, but here it is! A story about Loricelle finding some closure for herself, though it’s not the most uplifting story. Feedback is appreciated! I took my time with this one and I think I like the end result. Hope you guys enjoy. :)

The city of Kul’tiras was pelted with rain—hardly an unusual sight in the naval stronghold. The streets silent except for the steady sound of raindrops hitting various materials. No one was walking outside, though the moon high in the sky was bright enough to give the city an eerie look in the merciless downpour. Better in their warm beds than out in the cold, one could suppose. The imposing figure of the Death Knight, Loricelle Madeline stood impassively in the harsh pelting of rain. She had returned to the place she had once called home, only to feel the same seething contempt she always felt. There was nothing here for her anymore, and the great horned plate helm she wore held an eternal sneer, mirroring that of its wearer.

Skeletal hands curled into fists, plate armor grinding quietly as the Knight began to march forward. The thought of being caught didn’t frighten her, the heavy armor she wore left nothing exposed to any examining eyes. She was more than capable of fighting if it came to that, likely even relishing the chance to feed the whispering Saronite at her back. Silently, the Death Knight walked through the still familiar streets, the ghosts of a long-dead life following along her path. Not even the once fond memories could quell the anger that she perpetually felt. It was likely that she had been considered dead to her parents before she had even perished. That bitch, Lasette Tidemourne, had decided she had to die, and her son, Drakalys Tidemourne was the one meant to carry it out.

The way he had looked at her as he drew his dagger on the ship—as if it were an everyday thing. It may well have been for him. Still, it was all too gratifying that he had died with her on that ship, rather than over her with that dagger. That would have to be enough as far as Drakalys was concerned, at least for the time being. Oh, but she had relished it, watching that hateful bitch that birthed him die. Billmund's death had been an easy price to pay in exchange, she thought. The look on the decrepit woman's face as she realized she was going to die was worth the sacrifice easily. Even better as her own son carved her open to quench Vokrt'xil-- his then newly tempered saronite blade-- deep within her body. She had screamed, and writhed, and died an agonizing, painful death. The thought of it still brought something close to joy within Madeline.

As she reflected on the fond memory, ironically, the gate of the Tidemourne estate came into view. As a child, there were always rumors of the Tidemourne family. That if you listened on stormy nights, you could hear screaming from their manor. Parents would jokingly tell such tales to their children, likely to keep them from scaling the imposing gate around the manor. Loricelle had assumed as a child that it was to keep from angering one of the wealthy families, the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, Loricelle came to know the truth of the rumors, by chance of wandering into the cellar while her father tended to the Tidemourne's gardens. Even now, she could remember the panic she'd felt when the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate floated down to her. She'd hidden, fortunate that even then, Lasette was ancient and didn't take notice. Less fortunate to see the secret door opened, and stupid to sneak a look through that door. What she'd seen had shaken the girl she once was, but now she felt nothing. Loricelle found it difficult to even feel bitter at her death anymore, now that she was risen by the Lich King and freed, taken to service with the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas. Compared to her life as a human, what she had now made it pale in comparison.

Through her helmet, she looked past the gate. The gardens were still tended, but she doubted it was by her father anymore. The manor was silent as well, this late at night. Without much effort, Madeline twisted open the bars of the gate, unholy strength given to her by the Lich King making it little more than a twist of her hands.

Soundlessly, plate greaves trod over the damp stone leading to the estate. Now that she was closer, dim lights offered by stationary candles could be seen. There was no one left of the Tidemourne family to claim inheritance. It begged the question of who could be inside, the Lord or Lady commanding the servants. Loricelle glanced at the double doors that would lead to the foyer of the manor, before she turned to walk along the small path leading to the east side of the place instead. Soon she was at a small, less ostentatious door. She tried the servant’s entrance, unsurprised as it opened effortlessly.

 The Forsaken stepped inside and out of the rain. A sweep of her gaze showed that nothing much had changed, which caused a furrow of her brow. Lasette was dead, and she couldn't imagine the servants staying and tending to the estate of their own desire. A quick closing of the door behind her greeted the room with the muffled sounds of the storm she left outside.

A single old man sat in a chair by a candle, slouched against the wall as he snored. The knight registered he was there before she trod past him, and towards the stairs. As she walked, she looked for differences, but found few. A few moments later and she arrived at the stairs, looking up and at the stairs that split into two ways up. One to the east and one to the west. 

 Loricelle stared at the dark center of the stairway before she grabbed a nearby candle, carrying it up the stairway. She felt less surprised than she imagined she would at the sight. Before Madeline, there was a large portrait of Lasette and Drakalys Tidemourne, both with stoic expressions on their faces. Lasette was seated, her hands folded on her lap as Drakalys stood next to her, his hands tucked behind his back. It was irritating, because she could recall seeing him stand that way even after his death, drawing himself up to speak on Knightly matters. She gave the portrait a small sneer before she turned to the eastern rise of the stairway, immediately noticing the frightened young woman staring at her. She was plain, and looked to be maybe sixteen, not entirely different than Loricelle when she had been alive. It seemed the girl was mocking her with the similarities, causing skeletal hands to clench within their gauntlets once more. She looked about to scream and Loricelle silenced her with a choking grasp of Unholy energy, pulling the trembling girl closer with another tug of the same. Mercifully, the great broadsword of Saronite was plunged through the girl’s body, almost instantly killing her. The body only had a moment to go limp before Loricelle filled it with tainted magic, effectively asserting her control over it.

 Xerick'Vyn practically sang as it was pulled out of the corpse, pulsing its dark energy into its user as it was placed back on her back. The reanimated teenager hunched and placed herself at the Death Knight's heels as she moved forward. Only the faint sound of blood dripping from the new ghoul was audible as Loricelle made her way to the upper hallway, which was free of doors. The grand entrance-- the red carpet of the manor, one might think. Another curl of her fists as she stopped before the large double doors at that halls end. Without giving the moment the drama of suspense, she thrust the doors open, uncaring of the loud bang that sounded as they hit either side of the walls within the room. 

In the dark of the room, she could see the figure of the woman in the bed sitting up, looking around with bleary eyes.

 It took a moment for the elderly woman's scarred face to stop in her direction, likely just registering the two, bright blue burning eyes that were eyeing her critically. This was not Lasette Tidemourne, but with the heavy scarring on her face and visible hands made it up to debate. The woman straightened and reached for the dresser near her bed. A wave of Loricelle's hand sent her fresh ghoul at the woman, who began to scream before her throat closed with choking energy once more. It didn't take long before her struggling stopped-- it seemed this woman was just as ancient as the one that had slept in the bed before her. The ghoul nibbled at the unconscious woman’s finger before stopping, returning to the place behind Loricelle. Beneath her helm, one of her brows arched, her hand turning the scarred face this way and that way. "An impersonator, hm?" It was amusing how quickly the living scurried to take from each other, whether the victim was dead or not. She doubted highly that this woman knew exactly whom she was impersonating, or the depths of the depravity of the manor she had taken. 

 Loricelle would show her.

 Without so much as glancing at her ghoul, she effortlessly tossed the unconscious woman over her shoulder after making sure not to impale her on the sharp spikes of her pauldrons. Just as quietly as she'd ascended the manor, she descended, all the way down into the cellar. The air was slate, and thick dust was visible. It seemed no one came down here anymore, likely because there was little stored in the first place. The casks of wine that she had hidden behind were still there, seemingly untouched. It didn't matter. The woman on her shoulder began to stir now that she had been breathing regularly for a while, blinking her eyes and looking around. She mumbled something that sounded like a question, but Loricelle ignored her as she tugged on the hidden switch that would open to allow access to the hidden room. The place Loricelle had seen the sick ritual the Tidemourne family performed.

 With an unceremonious drop, Loricelle dumped the withered woman onto the ground, scanning the room with a sweeping glance. Almost immediately she noticed a writhing mass in the center of the room-- perhaps a final rite of Lasette's, but it was still alive. Likely it was sustained by the sacrament that had been performed in creating it. It was impossible to see it for the human she had dropped, but she could hear the gutteral growling it emitted. The mass of flesh could hardly move, and it seemed to be letting out weak screams of pain between harsh, snarled intakes of air. Whatever it was, it seemed alerted by their intrusion. The Death Knight glanced down at the now trembling woman, who begged meekly for her life. Without bothering to answer, she hefted the woman up by her hair, feeling no sort of mercy. This imposter did not have the will Lasette did, nor the dignity that she faced the prospect of death with. Of course, Lasette also believed she could be risen into Forsaken form afterwards. There was no one here to offer this woman false comfort as Loricelle held her above the creature. The many grasping hands of the creature wrapped around her ankles and tugged down against Loricelle's hold. The gauntleted hands released the woman, who let out a surprisingly powerful scream as the creature wrapped itself around her and began to bite into her with its gaping mouth. The hands claws at her flesh and held her in place, offering her no mercy as the Death Knight leered at the woman through her helm.

 Loricelle took a small step back to watch the spectacle. An impressive struggle was given by the already dying woman, but it proved useless. The crunch of bone sounded through the air, and once again she found she felt nothing at the sight. A small sigh left her, a bit disappointed. Perhaps she had been expecting to feel some sort of revenge in killing Lasette's imposter. It hardly compared to the real deal. She watched the creature rip the woman's lower half away from the rest of her body, before it began to gnaw at the innards hanging from her now still upper region. After she stopped moving completely, Loricelle glanced at the creature, still wheezing out soft sounds of pain. Xerick'Vyn was once again taken into her hands before it was plunged through the creature’s body. It let out one lower screech before the blade was twisted, effectively cutting whatever kept the creature alive apart.

 The silence stretched after the creature’s final throes, and Loricelle found herself staring at the torn apart woman with apathy. The sting of disappointment slowly began to creep on her again, before she shook her head and looked about the room. Blood stains and cloudy jars were visible on a nearby table, but what was more curious than that were the heavy looking sacks in the corner of the room. The Death Knight moved toward them, half expecting to find body parts or some other terrible regent for the Tidemourne's ritual room. Without much care, she tugged one of the bags open, peering down into its contents. What she found instead was not so much surprising as it was amusing. Within these heavily weaved sacks, was gold; Drakalys' inheritance, it seemed. The leader of the Blighted Knights had only been slightly irate that he had not been able to ascertain his birth promised riches to aid the cause of the Knights. It seemed odd that he hadn't come here before her, but it didn't matter. With relative ease, she funneled the gold into one of the larger bags before hefting it over her shoulder. There was likely more to be found, but Tidemourne could make the trip himself if he wanted it.

 Before she began to make her way back up from the cellar, she let the ghoul she'd made fall limp, completing the grotesque scene she had left. She left the hidden door wide open, so that the depravity of the Tidemournes and herself would be known to Kul'tiras. She was back out into the rain in no time, though she once again slowed to a stop a short distance from the door. From where she stood, the small gardeners shack was visible, just at the edge of the carefully trimmed flowerbeds. Without much more than curiosity compelling her, she made for the dripping little cottage. 

 First setting her prize down, she opened the door.

 Only the weak illumination of a single candle offered any light, but the Death Knights necromantic powered eyes saw every detail of the room regardless. The room was small, as one could tell from a glance outside, and the roof leaked into a few half-filled buckets set to catch the invading raid. A small cot was visible, the form of a sleeping human visibly huddled beneath the wool blanket held over them. Loricelle found herself staring silently at the sleeping body, before she reached over and peeled the blanket back. Immediately she reeled back, her eyes widening beneath her helm. The last shred of her humanity slept peacefully in the form of her father, his age now visible where it was unseen before. He looked tired, the brown of his hair speckled with a generous amount of grey. A sudden loud crack was sounded as lightning flashed beneath the open edges of the door. The sleeping man jumped slightly at the sound and began to stir. Loricelle felt detached from herself as she watched him sit up, rubbing his eyes with rough hands that worked for a living. She did not move, but he still noticed her, fearfully retreating against the wall too close to his back.

 Always the religious man, he put his hands together and began to pray, still staring at her with the alertness fear granted him. She could recall even now, times he had prompted her to pray before going to bed. The memory feed the underlying anger she felt, coaxing it to the surface. With purpose, she lifted the helm off of her head to show him the monster she had become. She was no longer even remnant of the daughter he had raised-- even her face was no longer hers, bright blue eyes burning with anger and dangerous hatred. There was not even a hint of familiarity as a yell escaped the man that had once been her father, only sheer terror at her face. While the face itself was beautiful, the stitches that held it in place were not. The way her shoulders sloped with the mismatch of parts was more apparently without the large helm aiding her pauldrons in hiding it. She was grotesque, and she felt no shame or ugliness for it, only empowered. She had been risen and made strong, where she had been weak. Beauty mattered so little in comparison to the purpose she had taken in the name of the Banshee Queen. Loricelle Madeline was a Knight of the Dark Lady, the powerful and merciless leader of the Forsaken! The simple life she had led prior was a joke, but necessary to become what she was now. In death, she had become truly powerful and granted the vision to see things that her living self would have been blind to.

 With purpose, Loricelle closed the gap between the cowering gardener and herself. With her own hands rather than the dark energy she commanded, she grasped the elderly man's neck, her jaw clenched as she hissed at him. It was empowering now, that he did not recognize her. That the weak human she had once been was so thoroughly crushed and discarded, that not even the man who had raised that child could see a glimpse of her! Her hand tightened about his neck as elation rose in the Forsaken. So high on the experience she was, that when his nails scraped uselessly against the crafted saronite of her gauntlets, she did not hear it. Pleas for his life reached her ears though, through the roaring of her own victory, and she dropped him. He did not have time to look relieved before she drew the dagger that rested at her belt, and his hands immediately flew up in defense and in prayer. Loricelle bore down on him mercilessly, stabbing wildly at the fearful man. Blood and screams tainted the air, but Loricelle did not relent, eyes wide with the bloodlust that had overtaken her. She would utterly and brutally destroy this last reminder of her past life. She would make it so there was not even the slightest chance of her own redemption. With the frantic murder of the man she had once called father, Loricelle was plunging completely into darkness, and she reveled in it.

 Finally her dagger stopped, and she gazed down at the dying man beneath her, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. It never came to full fruition though, and she knelt down to better see as the human resigned himself to his fate, his struggling dying down to little more than a water wheeze as his punctured lungs began to fill with blood. It was glorious, the sight before her. Open wounds bleed from all over his body, and she found herself dipping her hands into the blood pooling rapidly over the floor of the shack. With a careful hand, she lifted it and began to stain the walls with markings. The symbol of the Forsaken and reverent worship of the Banshee Queen graced the shabby walls. It was a small offering, but it would do for now. Her hands dragged over the taut skin of her face, staining it as she gazed at what she had done. Once she was done, she looked down at the now still gardener. He had died, an agonizing death, all while bearing witness to what it was for. He was fortunate in that way, Loricelle knew, to see the fruits of his blood. It was a privilege to see offer one’s life and blood to the Banshee Queen. There was little time for her high to begin its descent before Loricelle knelt down and tore at the human’s weak flesh, biting into it as if she still felt hunger, and eating it as if to satisfy it. As she ate at the flesh, her high began to decline, and slowly she pulled away from the now mangled corpse.

 Loricelle stood and pulled her helm back on over her face, feeling invigorated by the fruitful evening she'd had. She was back out in the rain once more in no time, once again picking up the large sack of gold. Back through the sleeping city she went, but she could feel the collective stir that was beginning, and could tarry no longer. The skeletal dragon had stayed in the wooded area outside of the city's view, waiting patiently for its master. There were no affectionate pats or greetings as Loricelle found the creature. It lowered its neck for her to mount it. No, Loricelle was back to her normal state of self, though still feeling empowered by the nights' events. The Forsaken secured the sack onto the thick bones of the dragon before she willed it to fly, the heavy flapping of its wings the only sound heard as they took off and away from Kul'tiras, and back North to Lordaeron.

[penbershield]

Darkwater Calling

Written by Drakalys and myself on Piratepad. Mostly Will, tbh. I can’t write as well as he can, but it was fun to write with him! Hope to do more in the future. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO COLLAB A STORY!!

Kael'than Embershield drew his cloak close to his body. The merciless wind carried the distinct scent of death downwind towards him. His eyes watered and his tongue felt acidic. He had come at last to Venomspite. The knight and servant of Sylvanas, Drakalys Tidemourne waited as if an inanimate object against an abandoned alchemist's shed. "Victory for Sylvanas," the undead knight saluted Embershield in the Forsaken manner. Embershield gave the Forsaken a small nod, keeping his expression neutral as usual. The Blood Knight was already wary, the cold did little to improve his outlook on the trip. "Tidemourne," the Sin'dorei glanced down at Drakalys, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." "Urgency is the furthest thing from my thoughts right now, Sir Embershield." Drakalys looked down the steep path and stepped out. Embershield stepped astride the knight. "Your last meditation took you to an uncomfortable place, Embershield. You realize you must go there again." Kael'than kept the cloak tight around himself as he followed, his brow furrowing. Uncomfortable seemed a weak word for the last "meditation" he had. An absent grunt was his initial reply, still with a slight scowl on his face. "If uncomfortable is what we're trying for, the cold is an excellent way to get off on that path. Where is it we're going, exactly? Would it be quicker to go by horseback?" Drakalys casted a long gaze southward towards the suffocating mist. "Again, no need for urgency." As if walking through another room they passed into the fog, a suspicious haven from the cutting wind. The smell of salt and low tide would invade the senses. The sharp smell of salt caused the Blood Knight to come to a sudden halt, the color draining from his face. The stench in the air promised a shoreline, which in turn guaranteed the ocean. All too vividly, the dark, cold depths of Northrend's sea were around him, blocking out the Light above. He felt the oppressive lack of air just before a sharp gasp was pulled from him. A faint tremor ran through Kael'than. He found he couldn't will himself to move forward, looking at Drakalys' form with growing shame. Silhouettes and shapes of the memories of mankind passed through the thick vapor, haunting the shoreline. They seamlessly blended in with the mist as if the mist itself sought to imitate life. A Dwarf wielding a rifle passed by the two and then faded before them. The death knight began in a tone neither judgemental nor coddling. "The last time I guided you through meditation, Embershield," he paused for a moment, making sure the paladin's attention could be caught, "you stood over the graves of your brethren. Tonight you see the cemetary of ships and soldiers on a forgotten shoreline. What is troubling you, knight?" Briefly, he followed the shifting form of the Dwarf. The distraction gave him a moment to regain some of his sense, though fear was still tight in his chest as he looked back to the Death Knight. The chill in the air was stifled by the choking mists, yet he kept the cloak tightly about him as if they stood in the snow still. There was no way he could iterate to Drakalys the primal sort of fear that the thought of the ocean stirred in him. More than that, there was no way he would want to tell him anyway. The weakness was glaring, and he was angry when presented with it. There was a reason he kept busy in Draenor and in Silvermoon, away from the shorelines. When he glanced around the shrouded shoreline at Drakalys' prompting, it was warily. "It's.. not something that can be explained easily," his voice kept steady, "I don't know that I'm in the right state of mind to meditate." "Nonsense," Drakalys' voice leaked out. "You are here to overcome your weakness. You meditate to make your mind stronger. Do not become the vassal of cowardice." Drakalys placed a hard hand on Embershield's pauldron and slowly led him down towards the water. Naturally, Kael'than resisted the motion, his body was far from weak as he kept himself rooted in place. Tidemourne's words rang true though, in a way, even if he didn't want to admit it. He had come here to listen to the Knight's advice, and to try his hand at the meditation again. The thought of this irrational fear caused him to falter at a critical time. Like when he had fought Ilrethar. Fear caused him to freeze, wavering in his attacks and letting Nynaevve and Evi get hurt. Guilt tugged at him, before he begrudgingly began to move forward, his pace slow and hesitant. Kael'than would do this for the Concurrence, he had to. He just prayed that he could. Kael'Than Embershield, however, had come to that dark place where praying was not enough. This exercise offered by Tidemourne exposed him to that which haunted him. As Tidemourne had offered, that may have been the best way to confront his weakness. "Embershield, I would remind you of my service in the Kul Tiras navy," the death knight said, looking out into shipwreck after shipwreck. "The deaths made here were sacrificed for an incomprehensible ideal. The vessels themselves were made victims. A true ship can be said to have a spirit." Sir Tidemourne crossed his arms behind his back, holding his posture impeccably for one amongst the Forsaken. He continued on in an elegaic voice that complemented the atmosphere, rather than disturb the haunting, "Ships represent the strength of a society. It takes a tremendous outpouring of effort in a civilization to draw a sturdy, unique vessel together. With it, its crews will trade, explore, and even conquer in times of war." The death knight pointed out towards a large vessel, its topmast extended beyond the lazy waves. "A vessel like that could be commanded to lay siege to a fortified city. It would have housed a brave crew who put their trust in its timbers as much as they would in the bravest of captains. With this thought in mind, it is not so hard to imagine that this a graveyard not just of sailors and soldiers, but one of the symbols of civilization, of Lordaeron, cast against the rocks of fate." Embershield shivered. It could have been the frosty mist cutting through his thick cloak. Yes, that would be easy enough to explain. It could also have been the hopeless spectacle before him, bearing testament of the atrocities that men must face. It could have been the words of the tragic knight beside him. It could have been any of these things, but still a deep trembling shook Embershield down to his bones. "Embershield, the meditation must begin. Let me guide you through the places of your spirit that the Light has failed to illuminate over and over again." The paladin knelt to the ground as if in prayer. The cold sand hissed beneath his weight. "I don't think I'm ready to go back to that place," Embershield confessed spontaneously, as his eyes stared at the ground. "No," Drakalys Tidemourne began, "this is where you come to terms. This is the place from which we shall conquer your weakness. You fear this because it has power over you. Draw your fears to respect you." Kael'than found himself listening to Tidemourne and wanting to find truth in his words. It didn't matter that the Knight beside him didn't know what had happened, he spoke with that same tone he always did. As if there was no way to doubt what he was saying, as if it were fact. It was cowardice, that he couldn't face water deeper than his waist without hearing Ilrethar. There was no way he could stay as he was. Kael was the leader of the Bladeborn Concurrence, and that would mean leading his people without faltering, even if they had to sail, or find something beneath water. They'd had plenty of jobs surrounding the ocean already, and there was no doubt there would be more in the future. Another small shudder went through the Blood Knight at the thought. As he forced himself to look at the peaceful waves of the eerie shoreline, the panic that rose in him was humiliating. It's going to happen again, his body and mind screamed at him, You're going to drown and drown and drown for hours on end again if you don't get away from here. Run! But Kael'than didn't run, still with a faint trembling. "I don't know that I can do this." This time his eyes were staring at the water before them. It was beyond him to be worried about Drakalys seeing him fearful. He was already terrified openly, and he couldn't have stopped himself if he had known in advance they were coming here. "I can't focus." The Blood Knight barely managed a whisper. "Knight!" Drakalys sounded in the air, his voice striking through the haunting calm of the air so as to command all things, "Stare into the waters and let your mind take you back to thoughts of where man and elvenkind alike wash into the almighty depths." Embershield held his eyes firmly to the chilled ocean. Hard rocks, dark sand, and the lingering presence of lost spirits lingered below the shallows. The water seemed to beckon him into its body. It hungered for him. Its vision consumed his mind's eye as Drakalys began to lead him further down to the contemplation of the damned. "Let that single shadow fall over you, Sir Embershield. Let it wash you away beyond the threshold where wailing ends." Suddenly, long shadows were cast from the ancient rocks behind them, enveloping the horizon. Embershield suddenly felt his mind plunge into the umbral waters. He looked up and there was no light. He gasped for breath and felt water surge into his lungs. The salt burned his eyes and his ears rang with the song of certain hopelessness. Then, from the depths, a voice could be heard. Tidemourne's voice was a whisper, "The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows. You journey where the Sun dare not gaze." Embershield hollered for his life, but his voice went unheard. The silence devoured it. "Compel your spirit to move through the murky waters. Death is not the end. There is power within death, if you can respect it." The sound of the water muffling his movements brought his crushing fear full force. The shadows of the ocean seemed to converge on him, and he could feel a sharp, keen pain in his head. There was no hope of focus, or of self control. The same tightness in his chest he'd felt before began to form, and he clawed uselessly at the plate there. There was no familiar warmth of the Light he always carried here, only bitingly cold darkness. A yell tore from him, though it was silenced by a show of bubbles, which floated up and away from him. He thought he felt the weight of an iron about his ankle again, and looked up frantically. It was too dark to see anything, but he imagined Ilrethar standing above him, looking at the water's surface with a smirk. Kael'than would be forced to drown until he broke, until he gave into the Eredar's will. Faintly he could recall the Death Knight's words, desperate to find a meaning in them. Power within death? Perhaps for a Forsaken, but for those still living? It seemed the last chord of a song, the final bow before the curtain. New players could take the stage, but the end was just that, wasn't it? He'd seen it with his friends and his family, with all the fallen of Quel'thalas. There was nothing he could find in the words given to him. "You do not conquer the weight of the grave with life. No light can reach the depths you are chained to." Tidemourne's voice crept in somehow through Embershield's mounting panic. Drakalys continued, his voice being the only anchor of clarity in the throes of chaotic meditation. "Villains of the world hide in small, dark places. They think themselves safe from my Queen in the shadow of the night. They are wrong, for the darkness is the domain of her Majesty. She rules." Embershield took in a deep breath and the wintry water flooded into his lungs. He opened his eyes and the murky, dark waters opened up into an endless umbral expanse. The death knight's voice suddenly became clear. The waters echoed his voice, "there is no price too great for overcoming weakness, Embershield. Explore where your mind takes you. Come to terms with the weight of the grave. Understand the power you hold; the power to overcome. It is your fear that must submit!" Embershield waved his arms, and the water offered no resistance. He willed himself deeper through the waters, charging towards the darkest darkness. "Explore everything that lies before you. Mix ever with the elements of this consecrated sepulcher, this tomb where despair is laid to rest," Drakalys said. Embershield stopped at the dark water's floor. The surface was smooth, slippery. He brushed his hand against its facet. An image appeared before him, just beyond clarity. The paladin opened his mind's eye further, seeking further understanding from the embraced meditation. The surface of the ocean was an endless mirror. The image Embershield saw was none other than his own reflection. In his eyes, there was no trace of it. He was completely devoid of the Light. He held his gaze on himself. He briefly felt himself looking from the other side of the reflection. Terror gripped Embershield once more. The pressure of the waters pressed at his skull. The water in his chest felt caustic. The darkness enveloped him completely as he clawed his way desperately for the surface once more. Drakalys shook Embershield violently, breaking the trance of the meditation. Embershield gasped for breath, sucking in the misty air. He clawed his hands into the air, clinging to Tidemourne's arms. The Blood Knight stayed silent at first, taking a few long moments to register where he was. He was on land, and he was breathing in air— still the sharp contrast between what was real and what he had just felt was jarring. When he fixed his gaze back on Tidemourne, his gaze was still haggard. "I vision he'd seen feel more real. Drakalys managed to show Embershield a small glance at what his 'solution' to his fear may have been, and Kael'than immediately rejected it. He was a vessel of the can't.. I can't do this again." His voice trembled, but he didn't even have the presence of mind to be ashamed. The vision itself was horrifying, but something felt amiss beyond that. He pulled away from Drakalys shook his head. While in his trance, he'd managed to work up a cold sweat, which only made the Light, and he would not forsake it. The Paladin took a moment to steady himself, before looking back over the rolling waves of the haunted shore. Despite the lingering terror he felt, in comparison to what he had experienced a moment ago, the ocean was almost calming on the surface. Still, it would be a long time before he would willingly plunge into it. "This path is not mine, Tidemourne," Embershield turned his head towards the Knight beside him once more. "Though.. I suppose I can't deny that it's given some insight." A hand waved vaguely, because he wasn't quite sure what he meant, but hoped the other did. "Thank you, Tidemourne." He offered awkwardly. "Your mind slips into the place of the grave with ease," Tidemourne said shrewdly. "Imagine where this could take you if you really learned to control it, Embershield. I feel you could benefit so much more from this." He offered his arm again to Embershield and helped him up to his feet. "You must tell me what you experienced in detail." Drakalys traced his eyes rapidly across Embershield's face. "You must." Gratefully, Kael'than pulled himself to stand with the others assistance. He listened to the Forsaken and found himself uneasy at the intense look he was given. It was easy to figure out why Tidemourne wanted to know, but just recalling the vision gave him a slight shiver. "It was.. nothing much, honestly.." He began. "This is not the time for lies and untruths, Embershield," Drakalys interrupted. "That was no ordinary meditation. You had a vision... Perhaps a prophecy." Embershield's brow furrowed. He was not unfamiliar with Tidemourne's fanatic speech, but it was still offputting, especially now. "I.. was pulled under the water.." He started again, glancing away from the Forsaken and back into the gently rolling waves, "I was drowning, but I didn't die." All too vividly, he could see himself sinking again. A deep shudder rolled through him as he heard the faint echo of the Eredar's laughter. "Then you spoke to me, telling me to explore what was before me. After that, the water was suddenly clear, and I somehow managed to reach the bottom. At first I couldn't make out what was there, reflected back at me, but after a bit of looking.." He trailed off, no longer looking scared, but instead troubled. "What did you see?" Drakalys pressed, still looking intensely at the Paladin. "I saw myself," Embershield offered, as if he were thinking as he spoke, "There was no Light within me, this twisted version staring up at me." The words were heavy, and his expression was grim. Though it had only been a vision, it had been enough to harden his resolve. He could never become that dark version of himself, ever. "If anything this might be a warning. What I saw and what I am are different, and they will remain that way." "What you saw may very well be your fate," Drakalys said. "Through the depths and darkness of your spirit, you came face to face with your fears. You were at the threshold to overcome and yet, you still succumbed to your baser fears." "There is more than one way to overcome this, Tidemourne." "That may be," Drakalys said, a tone of foreboding creeping in, "but now that you have entered the crypt of your mind, you will return. Embershield, you will return whether you want to or not." Embershield flashed desperate eyes, then tried to mask the expression. "Your fears will take you there. Your dreams will take you there. Your enemies will exploit this and your allies will fail to understand it. The grave will return to you once more, knight." Drakalys pulled at the straps on his gloves, tightening them. "When you return to that uncomfortable place where resolution awaits, you will be consumed without my guidance. Your ocean will turn violent. The currents will tear you along. Your mortality will lay bear its tender neck." Embershield felt a thin talon scratching at the back of his mind. Tidemourne may be right. His fears would haunt him once more. "As one devoted to the Light, I feel I would be betraying myself to continue this. Once I cross that threshold, there is less doubt as to what I could become." Embershield's lips tensed into a flat line. "That transformation would make me weak." Drakalys clenched his jaw listening to Embershield. "After the Light fails to breach thin walls, after the arcane offers only further mysteries, after the shaman chant and burn and bleed away, you must return to me. Maybe then we will be able to salvage what is left of your mind, Knight." Embershield fixed the Death Knight with a stern look, more to keep himself from looking weak than to express actual anger with the other. Drakalys likely truly meant to aid him, but Kael'than was uneasy nonetheless. This path was not one that he could take, he knew that... but still, it was too tempting to dip into this path offered. More than he would like to admit, the assistance was the draw. The darkness that consumed his mind lately was overwhelming, and it shook the Knight to the bone most nights in the form of nightmares. He looked back over at Tidemourne, wiping at his face with a small frown. "I'll think on your words, Tidemourne." That much was true, even if he didn't want to. It was a very real possibility that this would be his last resort. "I'm heading to the Fjord. I need to clear my mind a bit." And to get away from the ocean, he thought. "I trust you'll keep safe, Tidemourne?" "My motivation is not the chariot hauled by such self interest," Drakalys replied. "Serve another day, Knight." Drakalys pulled his body together firmly in the traditional Forsaken salute. The clamor of his armor rang out like a ghostly bell across the ocean and the high rocks. "Victory for Sylvanas." "Glory to the Sin'dorei," Embershield returned with his own salute and gestures of respect. He turned around, and put the misty shore behind him. Drakalys stayed behind and meditated for exactly one hour. He lit a lantern that wailed out an unholy green light. Its illumination cut through the mist. Long shadows from the shipwreck and jutting rocks danced and were repulsed from the center of his lamp. One shadow stood still and did not waver. "Autumnwing," Drakalys called out to it. "Tidemourne," the shadow drew itself together in the form of Trystiel Autumnwing, the Mindflayer. "Your reputation was not exaggerated," Drakalys said. "Reputation?" he laughed, "What reputation? I would never use my powers against my own kind. Not since the Sunstrider days, anyway." Drakalys narrowed his eyes. "You can speak frankly with me." Trystiel let his smile fall a little, then his arms shook and he burst into frantic revelry,"Oh, to deconstruct his mind with his defenses so low. The doors wide open! To peel back the layers and draw upon fresh fears." "You are absolutely certain that he does not suspect your hand in this?" Drakalys responded. "We played a brilliant duet, Tidemourne. I daresay you helped him even enjoy the trance. For a moment, at any rate. He was but clay in my hands. I could have convinced him that he was Taran Zhu." Trystiel puffed up his cheeks and puffed out his belly, pointing his finger around critically. Drakalys cast a cruel expression at Trystiel. "We break him down only to build him up stronger, Autumnwing." Trystiel blinked rapidly, disarmed by the sudden severity of Tidemourne's tone. "Tidemourne, Tidemourne," he said, plucking off one of his gloves. He brandished a long scar across his palm, his eyes became dark and knowing. "We have sworn an oath upon our blood, Tidemourne. Neither of us will act in defiance of those words. I am no oathbreaker." Drakalys undid his glove, revealing his own scar. It was still encrusted with the dark ichor that oozed under his skin. "His nightmares must continue. Make him seek me once more. Let mine be the hand that guides him to the shrine where true justice reigns." A few seconds of silence ached along when Trystiel at last responded, "He dreams of demons deep in the ocean." Drakalys put his glove back on, adjusting the straps carefully. Trystiel showed his teeth in a slow curious smile. "Well, he'll be exhausted after tonight's endeavors. I have road to put behind me." Trystiel looked at the knight's lamp and its flame whimpered out. The darkness fell over all and Trystiel joined once again with the shadows. The knight fell to his knee and descended into contemplation.

[healsrus-blog]

The Light wins over darkness

[atrickyzergblog]

Serenity’s Veil

Hsuhan sat in the bottom hold of the ship, his vision switching from the entrance to the tiny room and to the drawer where he managed to hide away the orb. The salmon sandwich was settling uneasy in the pit of his stomach, but he knew it might have just been his stomach reacting to food for the first in three days. Although he was fixated on safeguarding the orb, Hsuhan felt more relief that his team succeeded and managed to escape the Isle of Thunder, with Emberglory’s ship waiting nearby. The team infiltrated various chambers, assassinated Mogu guards, dismantled a Mogu defense system and survived the insanity cast upon them by the orb’s creator Sha’Nalok. Truly, these were brave heroes. In his gut he felt the salmon begin to mix with some of Taz’jin’s frog juice, a welcome gesture, but a horrible combination with salmon. Hsuhan laid his paw against his stomach, hoping his touch would calm the irritation. It did not take long for his mind to begin to wander back to Sha’Nalok’s madness.

Why Emberglory? Why was he still unable to forgive her? Although Scridon took upon himself to lecture the Pandaren he knew well enough of his sacred oath. He felt Emberglory was still a threat to this operation. He knew how deceptive she could be, but did she really change? She provided transportation, food, sleep and even escort services. It could all be a set-up laid by the former Admiral. Perhaps she wanted to get those orphans back, or sell it back to the Mogu for their caches of legendary gold. She could seek out another warlock and trade it for demon blood.  Hsuhan tried to shake the thoughts, but they rampaged inside his mind. He wanted to believe she changed but he just could not accept it. Hsuhan closed his eyes, attempting to clear his mind and then--he heard it:

Panda fey wan jah Yah hue bong su dah Shang bay ya song hu yue kwong shong fuey Liu Lang

Su wi gu dibiyah Jah fu mah shoiyah Ni yan fong du jah fo iki Wan jah

Su wi gu gibiyah Jah fu nu hijou Biyeh deng gah niyan shikah Liu Lang

Su wi gu gibiyah Jah fu jhong neseen Biyeh deng gah ya su mong bong Liu Lang

Su wi gu gibiyah Jah fu di yasu Biyeh deng gah mi fa Panda Wan jah

Su wi hu ikwang Biyah deng gah shiji Liu Lang gu gi shume ni sha Ni sha

“Kenoshi.” Hsuhan spoke as he opened his eyes. Around him were golden leaves and trees ten feet tall with white bark. It appeared to be the beautiful Vale before its destruction at the hands of Garrosh Hellscream.

“Ah, Hsuhan. You remember this song do you not?” An elder voice spoke.

“The Song of Liu Lang. You sung it to me, the day you helped save my mother. The day my father died. I cannot see you, Kenoshi. Where are you?” Hsuhan walked around looking for his friend but there were nothing but acres of golden leaves amidst a light pink sky.

“It does not matter where I am, Hsuhan. It matters where you are. Where are you?”

“I do not know, Kenoshi. This is the Vale before its corruption, the untold beauty. The wonder.”

Hsuhan stumbled upon a table, a wooden table with teacups laid nicely about. There was a finely crafted, and warm, kettle sitting at the center.

“Come. Join me for tea.” The voice spoke. Hsuhan looked confused as he saw no one, yet he adhered to the familiar voice’s kind gesture. He sat on a wooden bench, feeling the gentle breeze of the Vale race through the treetops. The golden leaves were stirring as if they were their own pristine storm.

Hsuhan reached for the tea kettle before feeling a slap on his paw: “No, Hsuhan, Let the host pour the tea.” Hsuhan looked up to see Kenoshi before him. He greeted the elder Pandaren with a smile: “So then you will be pouring the tea?” Kenoshi looked at Hsuhan and shook his head.

“I am not the host, Hsuhan.” Kenoshi grinned, adorned in his golden robes. His gray and slim mustache was hanging like a thin upside down U from his upper lip.

Hsuhan turned as he saw a figure approach the table: “Emberglory?”

Lurlei poured tea into both of the Pandaren’s cups. Kenoshi eagerly met the rim of the porcelain cup to his lips, sipping the herbal tea in pure tranquility.

“Why are you here?” Hsuhan asked looking at the former Admiral.

“She is not here, Hsuhan. She is not her. Her is not she. This is but a manifestation.” Kenoshi continued sipping his tea, humming the song he sung earlier.

“No, I am done with manifestations. The Sha. The Madness of Sha’Nalok!”

Kenoshi laughed at Hsuhan’s ardent zeal: “Easy there cub,” Kenoshi flashed Hsuhan a grin and continued to speak: “Manifestations exist in all of us. We only see the bad because it is the only part we fight. Goodness is subtle and hard to find because we never come in conflict. The Sha, the Madness, all manifestations of conflict and strife of our inner selves. Why, you might ask, are there no Shas of Harmony, or purity? Why was Sha’Nalok’s madness released and not his zen? It is because malevolence is fleeting and darkness is cowardly. It must challenge us every day to attempt to take us over, so it has control. The light and inner hope we have must never do this because it is strong and resides in each and every one of us.” Kenoshi sighed as he continued to sip the tea.

“But why is it so hard to see?” Hsuhan asked, pulling a cup to his lips and eyeing the silent former Admiral cautiously.

“It is not. You are looking at it.” Kenoshi smiled, noticing that Hsuhan’s gaze was fixated on Emberglory. “Hsuhan, you must relinquish this grudge. It is a darkness you hold inside of you and when you harbor something like that, the more it hides from your inner light and festers. That Paladin was right, perhaps you should listen to others more often?” Kenoshi smiled at Hsuhan lifting his cup of tea snidely.

“You heard that? And you heard me mention your line about hope?” Hsuhan could not help but grin, slightly embarrassed.

“Where you go, I follow, we follow. In spirit, we are all connected to the land and to our oath. There is plenty of wisdom out there in this universe of ours, multiverse in light of recent events.” Kenoshi chuckled to himself. “The lesson is that the four winds are not the only entity that carries wisdom. Every day is a new lesson and the bravest among us will learn from each day. Hsuhan, what did you learn today?” Kenoshi asked smiling gently towards the Pandaren, knowing he would come to the right conclusion.

“That Emberglory is a friend, not an enemy. If I had forgiven her, perhaps Sha’Nalok would not have been able to take advantage of my mind. I jeopardized the group, I…”

“Slow down, Hsuhan.” Kenoshi interrupted him before he could continue his ramblings. Hsuhan held the porcelain cup nervously. Hsuhan took a deep breath and looked towards Lurlei. She stood there silently looking in the Vale of gold. Kenoshi began to hum, quietly murmuring: “Panda fey wan jah…”

“Emberglory, I forgive you. I trust you with this operation and with my life. You have been a friend to me for some time, my first since arriving on Kalimdor.”

Emberglory turned to Hsuhan: “Welcome to the Trade, Hsuhan. We take care of our own, aye?”

“Aye.” Hsuhan placed his cup down and walked away from the table, strolling through golden leaves of the Vale.

In the distance he could still hear Kenoshi: “Su wi hu ikwang…Liu Lang.”

[atrickyzergblog]

[atrickyzergblog]

Vengeance Ascending

“Anach kyree. Katra zil shukil, shaza-kiel! This power, this blessing, bestowed upon me by my Masters, will be the doom of all who resist. They could not stop me in Outland and they will not stop me here. All will serve the Legion!”

Darkness enveloped Netherus’ vision as he awoke from the fel butchery that the Mo’arg Doctor and his team committed. He stumbled to his feet, seeing nothing but blurs of green around him. A figure emerged in his vision, left field. It was walking closer to him, slowly and steadily, as the Forsaken stumbled around. As he began to follow the image with his eyes it shuffled quickly to the right. He spun around to keep his eyes on the silhouette and as he made contact with it again, it shuffled left. Upon reaching Netherus, it vanished. The Forsaken fell to his knees, trying to focus and regain what little strength he had. A sinister cackle echoed throughout the room and like a near silent whisper it faded. The voice returned swirling around the room, fading in and out, haunting his ears.

“Your service is not complete. Alterations were required to ensure better results, although you cannot be fully to blame for your failure. Ilrethar was a weak puppet master, but I am strong. Malefic, malevolent, cunning and cruel. I bestow upon you the might of the Legion, at the hands of the Mo’arg, you are one of us.”

Netherus attempted to shake the voice out of his head when suddenly the figure returned in his vision, this time far away. Suddenly, it dashed up to him and revealed its hideous pale face and monstrous fangs. The creature dugs its claws into Netherus’ shoulder and lifted him into the air.

“You answer to me now.” The creature dropped Netherus to the ground, fel blood pouring from his shoulder.

“They will stop you, Hal’Nazris. Whether it be Bladeborn or some other band of champions, they will end my servitude, end my slavery.” Netherus spit on the floor at Hal’Nazris’ hooves.

“Ungrateful insect!” Hal’Nazris thrusted forth his right hoof, kicking Netherus in the head. The Forsaken felt his skull crack against the hoof and his face buried down into a pool of his own blood. Hal’Nazris chuckled as the Forsaken came to. Netherus looked into the blood pool, hoping for some sort of reflection. When his gaze became clear he saw what had been done. Large and thick veins filled with fel enveloped his bare head. His eyes simmered with fel fire and his teeth were growing into fangs. His hands were larger, with crooked joints and sharper nails. He looked to his abdomen, where he found countless stitches and old gashes that were not bothered to be repaired. His body was ripe with fel veins, infesting his body like a thorn bush.

“What have you done!?” Netherus scrambled to his feet in horror.

“As I said, you are one of us. The good doctor suggested you go under some surgical procedures at my behest. They tore you apart and rebuilt you with the Legion’s vengeance. Our wrath combined will be unstoppable.” The Nathrezim cackled as Netherus began to tear at his own flesh.

“Take it out of me!” Netherus screamed in pain as he fell to floor, cradling like a child before Hal’Nazris.

“Do not despair. You will change your mind set in time. When you are more sound of mind the felguards will escort you to my chambers. Until we meet again.” Hal’Nazris grinned at Netherus, showing his monstrous fangs before he dissipated into a cloud of bats and vanished. The felguards were large and carried intimidating axes made of fel iron. they were so large that they required both of their hands. The head of the axe was filled with fel fire, so much so that vents were carved into the iron to allow them to fumigate. Netherus thought of combating his jailors, but he knew it would be futile. The ever-burning fel energy, searing through his entire body and mind, was wearing him down. He felt himself withering away every second, so far away from who he intended to be.

His last images in his mind were that of the Forsaken in the Shadows of Lordaeron: Never, Aglaica Moriston, Nikadermus Punct, Maggotspine, and most of all, Posie Darrow.

“Tell your Masters, that even the Forsaken can love!” Netherus charged the jailors as one of the Felguards delivered a fist to his face. Netherus lay dazed on the floor, writhing around in pain.

After hours of attempting failed escape attempts and enduring more injuries, Netherus’ torment soon became amusement. His pain ceased, and his groans of agony became cackles of triumph. He arose to lock eyes with the two felguards.

“Take me to your Master.”

The felguards escorted Netherus to a large portal, stepping in, he glared back at the two mighty felguards: “For the Legion.”

Upon walking through the portal, Netherus arrived in an open throne room. The court was made of black stone, highlighted by pyres of fire adorning the surround. Lava pools, acting as a moat, circled the platform. Crackles of flame and screams of torment and agnoy were all that could be heard.

“You arrived as planned, I knew you would come around in time.” Hal’Nazris spoke as he sat on his obsidian throne, pale chin resting on his palm.

On the left side of his throne were Orcish cultists channeling energy into a fel crystal. On his right were more Mo’arg forging away at something with their hammers.

“I answer the Master’s call. I serve the Legion.” Netherus replied, crossing his arms into an X-shape across his chest in salute.

“As you do, Fel Lord. Ah, Fel Lord, that is what you were, but no longer who you are. You have ascended into true power, no longer a mortal possessed by a demon, but a hybrid of Demon and Forsaken. To commemorate your servitude I offer you these gifts, Ascendant Lord, in hopes that you may recruit more to our Burning Crusade.” Hal’Nazris waved his hand, the cultists on his left shattered the mighty fel crystal.

Netherus eyed them carefully and saw that they took a large shard of the crystal and fastened it to a golden staff. On his right he saw the Mo’arg pull out a freshly crafted golden crown that they then poured fel blood into from a bucket. Both a Mo’arg and a cultist approached Netherus, holding the crown and armament respectively.

“Take my crown and staff as testament to our eternal pact. Claim Azeroth and Draenor for the Legion.” Hal’Nazris cackled as Netherus took the staff from the cultist who knelt before him. The Mo’arg held the golden crown and pointed behind him. Netherus turned to see the cultist summon an obsidian case from the ground; behind the glass it held robes, gold and green and an amice of golden skulls and chains, containing fel fire. He approached the dark case and placed his hands on the glass. In a flash of green, the robes appeared on him, the amice adorning his shoulders. He turned to the Mo’arg who fastened the golden crown upon his head.

“What must I do. Master? Where do I strike?” Netherus approached Hal’Nazris and knelt to his superior.

“The demonic catastrophes committed by Gul’dan and his Shadow Council in this alternate Draenor offer us the perfect opportunity to strike. The skies of Tanaan Jungle stir with chaos. Upon the Throne of Kil’jaeden we will return to this mortal world.” Hal’Nazris shuffled in his throne, laying his forearms against the throne’s armrests and clawing at the stone.

“What will be our first move, Master?” Netherus asked, bowing his head.

“This Bladeborn seems like a petty annoyance, they are but a gnat that needs to be swatted away, but Ilrethar underestimated them. We need a following, and then, only then can we strike at their pious band. You will work from the shadows and report to me on the Throne of Kil’jaeden. There will be no mistakes this time.”

Netherus arose before his master, nodding and grasping his staff. Hal’Nazris waved his hand once more: “You are dismissed, Ascendant Lord.”

The cultists gathered and summoned a portal, causing the obsidian to rumble beneath them.

He looked back at Hal’Nazris, bowing before stepping into the portal: “Belanora mordanos nenaar ila mornu farlos kada. Let the echoes of doom resound across this wretched world, that all who live may hear them and despair. For Lord Archimonde. For the Legion!”

[atrickyzergblog]

DnD Fight Music

((Here I decided to list the tracks that go with each encounter. As always, listen with headphones. Enjoy!))

Madness of Sha’nalok (Sha of Pride): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn2yCQXEmos

Heart of Thunder (Ancient Mogu): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIao1MLgo_U

The Keeper’s Sanctum (Legendary): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gj2BMUss2RY