The Meeting of Fendithas and Claragosa
After slaying Altrethir, Fendithas fled aimlessly into Azsuna in grief. He needed to get away. He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d done. Having found a spot to sit and mope, an hour passes before a rather unhappy dragon of the Blue Dragonflight discovers a shal’dorei a little too close to the pond of Senegos. Her lack of trust for his kind presents conflict, but then slowly takes a turn.
She’d heard the cries from the innocent whelplings, how they pleaded and screamed for aid. The once-noble and sophisticated elves of Suramar went beyond mad with an overwhelming lust for magic when cut off from their font of power; they would result to feeding on the young dragons, ones who couldn’t put up a fight. They were weak and they were cowards for doing so.
Still, it was rare to see one of those elves who wasn’t completely withered, or in the beginning phase of withering at all, within Azsuna. It would be a mere matter of time before his mind began descending into madness, though. She had to eliminate the threat before it was too late.
The dragon swooped down from the sky with a solid thud, marching straight up to the elf with her wings up and outstretched. Her voice practically boomed at him in anger. "Give me a reason not to incinerate you where you pathetically sit."
The man weakly stood up; having heard of the events within Azsuna, he replied sternly, "I've no interest in you nor your whelplings, dragon. My state of mind is not lost, unlike my withered brethren." Though as he spoke, the arcanist could feel the Nightwell's power slowly draining from his being. Certainly, it was the combination of his intense grief mixed with the cut-off from the font of power that caused him to tremble. A strong puff of air left the dragon’s nostrils as she scoffed, “I do not trust you or your any of kind. Blood stains your robes and your sword.”
Fendithas would tentatively reply, “The blood that soaks my clothing is of my kin. That which stains my blade is from shal’dorei who wish to see Suramar burn.”
She felt just the slightest tug at her heart strings, yet her expression hardly shifted. The dragon opened her mouth to speak again but the man spoke before she could; “My hand was forced. In self-defense, I killed my own brother. The man who had been at my side since childhood, the only person to never abandon me. I killed him. If that puts me at the same level as the whelp-slaying withered in your eyes, then I await your judgement, great dragon.”
The dragon heard the strain of his voice, noticing the darker purple tint around his eyes. Even now, in his state of grief, the man seemed to have given up. Oh, but those pesky nightborne were always scheming. Beings that lived for thousands of years were crafty and manipulative. It could all be a mere act.
She let out another huff before taking a few slow steps closer, leaning down to get rather close to him with her head, before taking a couple of deep sniffs. Fendithas shut his eyes, tensing, as if preparing for the worst. But the blood... smelled of fel. Corruption. It was unlike the blood of a blue dragon, let alone a whelpling. She backed away, eyes narrowed still in suspicion. “Elisande has brought destruction and devastation upon her people, and her city.” She stated. Fendithas shook his head, “The Legion is wholly at fault.”
“You express sympathy for your queen of poor choices?”
“I express my sympathy for my former queen who did not have a choice.”
The dragon let out a quiet growl. “... Then instead of giving up, you should make your brother’s death mean something, by putting in some effort to drive the Legion back.” She grumbled, “Save your city.” The arcanist was a bit surprised at the reply, swallowing dryly before responding. “The Rebellion will not take me. I have-”
“How do you know?” The dragon interrupted, her wings drooping to relax against her back. “I know, because they’ve sent assassins to kill me.” He paused. “Well, to try to kill me.” The dragon hummed lowly in thought. “Prove to them that you have had a change of heart.”
“That is much easier said than done, I fear.”
“So you will do nothing, then? Will you sit and sulk, wishing to change someone’s actions of the past? Will you become one of the withered who will eventually feast upon my siblings? Or will you go to the First Arcanist with the body of your brother, proving to her that you are serious about your change?” She paused. “What do you have to lose at this point, elf?”
Fendithas’ jaw clenched as his whole body tensed as she spoke. Her words held truth, yet in this state, it was beyond difficult to muster the courage and motivation to do as she said. His gaze had fallen to the lush grass below, slowly backing away and against the tree behind him. Gradually he would sink to the ground against it, burying his face in one of his gloved hands. As he sobbed quietly, the dragon adjusted into a more crouched position, shifting into a smaller elven form. Despite her size, she would still manage to pack a punch, should the stranger try to double-cross her.
“If he was an individual who wanted to see Suramar burned, as you claimed, then you did the right thing. That’s one less threat to your city, and to your people.” Her voice was softer, higher-pitched, but gentle. “Carry on with that. Save your city. There’s no sense in stopping, now that you’ve started.” She knelt to his level, slowly reaching to touch the back of his hand with her fingers. Her fingertips glowed a soft blue as she channeled mana into the elf, restoring some of his lost energy. He blinked a few times as the dim glow of his eyes slowly brightened.
“None of the assassins succeeded in taking you out. You mustered the courage to eliminate the threat that was your own family.” She withdrew her hand, figuring that was enough before she herself would be drained. “You’re strong.” The dragon then stood, brushing off the front of her robes. Fendithas would follow suit, staggering just a little as he stood and smoothed his hair.
“What is your name?” She asked, her tone a bit more demanding and less gentle than before. The man collected his sword, “Fendithas.”
“Your full name, elf.”
He swallowed dryly again, sheathing his blade at his hip; “Arcanist Fendithas Valran, firstborn of Falaern Valran.”
The dragon gave a small smirk, “Good. That’s how you’re going to introduce yourself to the First Arcanist.” She said with a wink, canting her head lightly to the side. “I am Claragosa. I shall remember you, as I’m certain this won’t be the last time we meet.” She took a good few steps back before beginning to crouch; her body glowed and she shifted into the larger form of the blue dragon from before. Not another word was spoken between the two as she took off in flight, heading in the direction of Senegos’ pond.
Fendithas watched quietly. Part of him couldn’t believe he was still alive after the encounter; the Blue Dragonflight had every right to be angry with the shal’dorei. The desperation for mana and magic that the withered starved for was found within those dragons. Needless to say that, in their craze and drive to madness, they’d stop at nothing to satisfy that hunger, even if it meant feeding on helpless whelplings. It was a tragic fate, but one brought upon the shal’dorei by the Legion.
He wondered if the Blue Dragonflight would ever help the Rebellion drive demons out from his city.
