The spellbreaker slumped to his knees, his body shaking with exertion. His breath came quickly, and beads of sweat trickled from his brow as the Void strained against the magister’s wards. Luminash had borne such pride at his craft, the result of hours of persistent spellweaving, an arcane barrier that even Silvermoon’s spellbreakers could not dispel; surely the artifacts held within, even suffused with the Void, would pose no threat.
As the spellbreaker forced himself to his feet again, one hand outstretched, palm shining so brightly with the arcane that it left a black afterimage in Luminash’s vision when he looked away, the magister realized his errors too late: first, the madness of seeking to contain that which, by its very nature, defied containment, and second, the very act that had saved the rest of the tower.
* * * * *
He and Jaskian had been in the garden, guiding new vines over trellises with the gentle coaxing of magic, when a wave of dread passed over them, followed quickly after by a sound somewhere between the distant roar of thunder and fabric tearing coming from somewhere in the north. The pair’s eyes were drawn in unison towards the sky, the threads of magic they held in delicate fingertips sputtering out as they witnessed the birth of the Voidstorm, a swirling, inky blackness spreading across the heavens over Silvermoon, over Quel’Danas, over the Sunwell itself.
Everything next happened so rapidly that Luminash would not be able to adequately describe it in the days to come: first came panicked shouts from the tower across the grounds as spellbreakers scrambled to contain a surge of wild magic. Already, brilliant flashes of purple and white burst from the tower’s front door, the pale wood broken from its hinges by an armored guard sent hurtling through it by the eruption of a mana conduit.
Luminash knelt at the man’s side while Jaskian went on ahead in silent understanding. Stabilize the leyline conduit or all will be lost. His eyes rolled back in his head as Luminash drew him to lean against the cool stone of the tower; he yet breathed, but consciousness had fled. The magister pressed his palms to the guard’s temples, and his hands flashed with a bronze light. He focused on undoing the damage done in a desperate attempt to suppress his rising panic, itself fed by the knot of gnawing anxiety that was Jaskian huddled in the back of his mind.
With a raspy gasp, the guard’s eyes shot open once more, and he doubled over, shuddering as if suppressing the urge to vomit, “Magister, it… The leyline, it…” He struggled to speak as he slumped to the ground, clutching his head.
“We know. Take a moment to recover, then rejoin the others,” Luminash cut in, placing a hand on the guard’s shoulder, “The confusion will pass. The mind can scarcely reconcile the event with the non-event; this is common with chronomancy,” he continued as he stood and slipped through the shattered door, “There’s no doubt much work to be done!”
Elven shadows danced along the walls and spiral path climbing the tower, lit by the overwhelming brilliance of overloading mana conduits. Those that had not already shattered, spilling forth tendrils of the world’s arcane lifeblood, strained under pressure, the sound of groaning metal and cracking glass echoing from stone walls. The indoor gardens that surrounded the primary leyline conduit and masked the most unsightly of the channels seemed to have grown rapidly, responding to the influx of raw energy, much as the vines he and Jaskian had so gently been tending, but on a far larger scale. Worse, a low rumbling came from below; the very leyline itself seemed to be shrieking in terror at what had torn open the sky.
Luminash found Jaskian at the base of the well in the tower’s center; he could sense the threads of the arcane tangled in her fingers, delicate movements guiding them, weaving them into a throttle for the uncontrollable flood rising from the earth. It seemed as futile as holding back Elrendar Falls with a spiderweb, and yet, Luminash felt the flow begin—even if only slightly—to weaken.
“Making progress?” Luminash asked, although he could already feel the answer. Jaskian only offered a curt nod, her face a mask of complete concentration.
Standing beside her, the magister began to pour his own power into her spell, drawing magic into him with a breath—and how easy it was here, so surrounded by the raw mana streaming from the shattering channels!—a conduit for his wife’s spellcraft.
He was dimly aware of the spellbreakers Rommath had so thoughtfully stationed here leveraging their own skills to stanch the arcane bleeding on the broken conduits, and found himself bitterly thankful for their presence. Jaskian did manage to quirk a slight smile at the pang she felt through their bond, and Luminash knew it would be a point of pleasant mockery later, a light in the oncoming night.
The magister did not know how long throttling the leyline took, but it felt as if it had been hours of constant spellwork, so drained was he by the time it was over. What came next, however, overshadowed the rest.
“It is…” Jaskian began, letting out a deep breath, an exhalation that seemed to draw much of her spirit out with it as she settled herself on the ledge of the well, “Done.”
Luminash, too, felt hollowed out. He had seen a string of goblin lights, once, flash brilliantly just before they sputtered out; the feeling he had was much the same. The spellbreakers, too, both on the ground floor and up the ramp towards the laboratory proper, settled themselves against walls, or on the floor, their breathing labored and limbs shaking.
So exhausted were all the elves present that they had only the haziest awareness of a growing darkness above.
“Magister, with me! At once!”
Luminash was snapped from his torpor by the shout. It had been the guard he had healed, now joining the others within. Unnoticed in the heat of the moment before, the crest on his helmet indicated that he was the captain of this squad—Bel’anas, first name unnecessary, if Luminash recalled correctly.
“Can you not feel it? The laboratory, now!” Captain Bel’anas repeated, breaking into a run up the ramp and past his exhausted subordinates.
Jaskian looked up at her husband, the glow of her eyes dim, and nodded. She reached up, and with a brush of her fingertips against his, said simply, “Go.”
* * * * *
And so, Luminash lent his power to the wards, joining Captain Bel’anas. It was still not enough, though, just as drawing water from a dry well cannot slake one’s thirst: the Void leaking from the artifacts—from simple pieces of tainted elementium to a fragment of an obelisk made from some indescribable material, its surface marred by a single staring eye—threatened to overwhelm what few of Luminash’s vaunted wards remained, weakened as they were by the throttling of the leyline and the destruction of the conduits that powered them.
The artifacts, in fact, were scarcely visible behind the black cloud that had formed, specks of light flickering within that seemed to watch the pair of elves. There was an interest there, a hunger, as from the cloud reached what seemed a hand, scrabbling at the ward from the inside, like an animal caged, searching for any hope of escape.
Bel’anas faltered at that, once more falling to his knees, this time clutching his head. Lost in the sound of his armor clanking around him as he dropped was a low groan. Touching his face, his metal-cased fingers came away bloodied as a presence forced itself upon his mind. Luminash felt it too, though he was not yet its focus.
He reached out to Jaskian’s presence in his mind, her usual brightness faded with utter exhaustion. There were no words, merely the impression of an embrace; he hoped his fear was not too blatant, but he could not abandon Bel’anas, could not abandon his work here, could not allow this thing to break free in Eversong. Once more, there were no words, but the impression of flight, of safety, of escape.
Luminash’s eyes flickered around the laboratory, searching for anything that could be of use as the ward began to crack, and the seething, roiling Void mass within began to seep out through the opening, creeping towards Bel’anas. The other wards, he noticed, were weakened, but not lost; fel and necromanctic relics sat, inert as ever.
With a grunt of exertion, Luminash seized the threads that bound those wards, one bundle, as it were, in each hand, and pulled, forgoing any delicacy—no gossamer webs, no gentle coaxing this time—and redirecting the power towards the failing Void ward. The cracks began to seal, leaving wisps of black Void smoke beyond, dissipating with a hiss as the beast within howled, its myriad flashing eyes glaring towards the magister as its mass—for was mass, it seemed heavy, even as it appeared only to be fog—was hurled against the barrier in a thrashing, hungry rage.
“Bel’anas?” Luminash asked, his voice raspy and forced, his throat dry and lungs weak. He repeated, “Bel’anas?” The captain did not answer, but did nod, even as droplets of blood flowing from his nose marred the white marble of the floors. He was, at least, alive.
The magister’s body burned from the stress placed upon it, the power flowing through it; his hands cramped from grasping the arcane so violently, as its wild flow sought to escape his grip. Jaskian’s presence drew nearer, not escaping, but embracing him in turn. It was enough—it would have to be enough—to keep him standing for a bit longer.
There is another disturbance in the leyline, Lumi. Jaskian’s words flowed through him, and left in their wake a renewed dread. And yet, she did not seem afraid. There was, instead, a tentative sort of hope.
Then, a rumble from within the earth below, just as they had felt during the first surge, and the room erupted with the Light. The trickle in the conduits, even damaged as they were, became a shining torrent of molten gold. As it flowed into the wards, they shone with renewed vigor, the pale violet of the arcane giving way to a light like the sun itself, the threads of magic tangled in Luminash’s hands searing, snapping, and slipping away entirely.
Stunned and reeling as the power abruptly left him, the only support left to hold up his depleted frame, the magister fell, the cold stone of the floor beneath him the last sensation before his vision faded and his mind was seized by blessed sleep.
DWC November 2022 - Day 6 - Home/Unnatural - Jaskian
The whirling arcane coalesced as smoothly in front of Jaskian. Transmutation of space into portals came almost as easily as frost came to her. She stepped out of Dalaran and into Silvermoon without a shiver, not looking back as she felt the snappy aperture close behind her. Her stride didn’t even hitch.
Her parents welcomed her with cheek kisses and warm tea.
Another portal a few hours later took her to Dazar’alor. The jewelers here were the best goldsmiths in all her study and she treasured the opportunity to learn there.
The air in Suramar City hits her in the heart. Jaskian smiled as she felt her heart skip, like it always did. The rooftop garden smelled of night blooming flowers. There was the curl of pipe smoke and the perfume of arcwine heavy in the air. The glow of the sconces in the stairwell welcomed her home.
“Lumi? I’m home. I brought honey cakes from Mother AND kungaloosh from Zuldazar.” Her foot steps gathered enthusiasm. Luminash looked up from his latest manuscript, the long blonde hair pulled away from his face and his thoughts only now settling back to this mundane plane.
All magic eventually led back to home. She never got tired of it.
(( Love is in the Air Asks))
Jaskian brought Luminash a gift box wrapped with thick, shiny paper. She kissed his temple and invited him out into the garden when he got a moment free. She left the room with a fond, small smile and wondered when last he had thought about how they had met and come to know each other.
Inside the box is a beer stein that could only have been from Orgrimmar. It even still seems to carry a very subtle scent of the ale served in most of the bars there. She had tried to wash it, but then gave up. Surely it added something--scent was a powerful memory trigger after all.
Next to the mug was a small journal. Inside was a ~recent~ entry (as opposed to the journals from so long ago) -- but it was still written in her personal shorthand that she had developed to take notes in all those years ago.
The cipher would read as follows:
Happy Love is in the Air, darling.
I am glad we began as friends and time brought us more. Adventure and affection made us stronger. I will always be your drinking buddy. (I still remember the look on your face when I won that drinking contest.)
Love,
Jaskian Dawnwing
Luminash offered a fond smile in return as Jaskian departed, though he did not look up from his work. Instead, he let the warmth of his affection flood through the bond between the couple’s souls.
Once he had completed the enchantment on the quill and set it to copying another text, he savored the scent of the lingering ale; it certainly had a charm to it, and brought with it the sweltering sun of Orgrimmar, the respite the tavern provided both from the heat and from those days of consulting with the newly-formed Reliquary, and the pleasant surprise of seeing another scholar reveling far from home.
What had begun has a friendship struck up by chance had grown over years, but Jaskian ever kept Luminash grounded. He placed the mug, though plain, on a shelf among other enchanted implements and magical relics; it deserved this place of honor.
As loath as he was to deface a book, least of all his wife’s journal, he carefully removed the page with her note, a thin line of flame tracing perfectly along the page to let it drop free with minimal damage. With a whispered incantation, he wove a simple spell around the paper for preservation, and tucked it too into the mug.
Then, he turned to join her in the garden. The enchanted pen could manage without him, and any other work could wait for a while; this day would be entirely hers.
Jaskian had never lived with anyone but herself or her parents, before she and Luminash moved to Suramar. It had been an adjustment. They hadn’t been married yet and she had been a little nervous about how it would go. They both had strong minds about what they liked and didn’t, and melding their tastes was going to take compromise. They didn’t usually fight, but if it was going to happen this might have been it.
In the end they had picked a lovely home, even if everything was a bit too tall in scale for a pair of blood elves, and they’d filled it carefully. They’d picked out everything together and she appreciated how involved he’d been in the process--he’d wanted it to be their home shared as much as she had. She wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Many of their neighbors agreed with Jaskian: the rooftop garden was the most spellbinding area of all . Literally and figuratively. Lingering under silvery light of the night skies, or basking under the golden sun, it hardly mattered at the central fountain: arcane glittered through waters that were perfectly chilled to cool and misted to cast diaphanous rainbows all across the central seating area. Gauzy enchanted canopies hung over a graceful pergola and retractable side panels gave them a space for lounging. Butterflies naturally flocked to the flowers, and birds to the bowers. Jaskian had even carefully brought in Thalassian trees to sculpt and grow in the tradition of Quel’thalas. Music was called from an elegantly spelled tome at the whisper of a command word. Herbs grew for their cooking and reagents for spells. She’d hung crystals and gems she’d cut and prisms were placed precisely to splash colors in a day’s march down the small path.
Jaskian lay her head on Luminash’s chest and appreciated the quiet afternoon together. It was perfect. Books and the last samples from this years’ Brewfest. No. She held no disappointment here.
Jaskian set her pen down and looked up from the historical map she had been working on.
It had felt a bit like a bubble rising up in her consciousness, then popping to release.
Luminash was thoroughly delighted by something, and through their soulbind, she could not help but be infected, too. Her smile grew wide as she felt the unfamiliar sensation bloom through her. It was distinctly not her own emotion she felt, but his, and it thrummed through her like a ripple traveling in a pond. Harmony.
They had not been wed long, but the honeymoon had certainly not worn off. Everytime she wondered about him, she could simply search inwardly and find him. It was fascinating and was a balm.
She hadn’t told anyone about her intentions when she’d been waiting to meet with Luminash in Oribos that fateful day. But, like many magistrix she suspected, Jaskian had thought long and hard about the consequences and the implications of what she was going to ask him. Marriage, and more, was not something to be taken lightly. Once, she might have worried Luminash accepted her marriage proposal from a place of charity. It would have reaching effects on both their standing in the Magistry, with the nobility of Quel’thalas, and just for their sense of selves. But binding their souls in the method of the Shadowlands was even more weighty.
She was confident, though there were pinpricks of doubt, too. Would their spirits even take the ceremony since they were still mortal? Would their spirits be as much a match as they’d thought they were in life?
She need not have worried. Their souls cozied up as easily as their fingers threaded together. It had been a discovery, for both of them, she knew, but the depths of their bonding were proving vast and pleasant.
She stood up from her desk and couldn’t help the way she rushed down the stairs to meet him at the door. Her heart skipped a beat. Their happiness at seeing the other made them chuckle as they kissed. They practically fell into the foyer, kicking the door shut behind him.
This takes place before the fall of N’Zoth, whenever individual players feel it should have taken place. Co-written with Jaskian (@kharrisdawndancer), in which Luminash and Jaskian do their part to fight the Old God!
The halls of Ny’alotha stood empty. The joint Alliance-Horde expedition of more military-minded individuals had already pushed through, clearing the great entry hall of the Waking City, their front line pushing deeper into N’Zoth’s vision. It was both a spear aimed at the Old God’s heart, and a shield against its forces. Just as this bulwark could be overwhelmed, however, so too could the defenders of Azeroth in the physical world. It was this dilemma that had led Jaskian and Luminash to this point as they stepped into N’Zoth’s dream from the sands of Uldum.
Luminash gazed around the open space, his shoulders tense and brows furrowed, "I do not know what I was expecting, but this is something else entirely."
Jaskian 's gaze was caught below them on the half-hidden runes and words that shimmered on the stone. "Agreed. Disconcerting to say the least." She stood back up, letting her gaze slide over the walls and the various eyes, “I didn't think it would be so.. confined. I feel like we're inside something. I thought it would be more open.”
On nearly every surface, the smooth dark stone unnatural in its slick and angular perfection, eerie glowing eyes watched, moving, pupils dilating and contracting as they took in the vast open chamber.
Luminash focused on the eyes as well, jaw tense, "I thought so, too. Perhaps we are inside something, though. A building, a temple? Either way, I believe it is...watching."
“I wonder if it can process all it sees in real time, or if it needs to sift through all the visions. How does it know where to focus?” After a pause, she continued, “I am not sure we should stay still too long.” With an incantation, her companion elemental materialized, even in this place beyond.
“We should move, then.” Luminash adds, “This antechamber should be clear, from what I've gathered, but I do not like this feeling of being watched."
“Left or right?”
Luminash looks up and around as he steps forward, looking to the forking paths, platforms of that unnatural stone suspended over an abyss below with no apparent supports, "Ah, right I suppose. It looks as if there is some sort of exit across whatever this room is." He pointed, in the distance, to a path upward, an eerie orange light at the top, flanked by two massive obelisks, their eyes burning in their intensity.
The pair began to walk in silence, keeping each other always within arms reach, unnerved by the oppressive darkness around them, pierced only by the ever-present, ever-watching eyes.
Stepping onto the path over the abyss, Jaskian broke the silence, “Do you think it changes? The way the walkway is constructed makes me wonder if it isn't a fixed path, but maybe one that can be reconfigured…”
Curiosity drawing her nearer to the edge, Jasian peered over into the darkness below. She swallowed hard as her stomach turned, “...Oh.”
Far below, writhing in the darkness were tentacles of monumental size, pathways and obelisks stretching down into a sickly fog, where shifting shadows spoke of more horrors.
Joining her at the edge, Luminash replied, “You may be right about these paths. It would not surprise me. The Void and its possibilities... Nothing is constant, and I would be surprised if this place is.” Peering over beside her, he shuddered, "What...is this place, really?"
The pair turned from the edge and forged forward, leaving the question to linger.
“This place makes me feel...oily,” Jaskian finally said once they were far from the lip of the writhing abyss below.
Luminash nodded in agreement, "That is the best way I can think of to describe how the Void felt on Argus, too. There is just something so fundamentally...wrong here. It is outside all natural order. I am not afraid to admit, I...do not like it.”
“I would be worried if you did,” Jaskian replied, shaking her head.
Managing a slight laugh, Luminash answered, "Fair enough."
As they moved deeper into the chamber, they passed a high arch, the door within it closed tightly. As they moved, Jaskian continued to watch the eyes dotting the obelisks, “It's interesting the eyes seem to be on a single plane in this atrium. None face directly on the sides.”
Luminash followed her gaze, thoughtful, “Ah, you are right. So there may be blind spots…”
Nearing the door, Luminash stepped away from their path and reached out to glide a gloved hand across its surface. It was altogether too smooth, and he recoiled, shuddering. Jaskian watched him, looking between him and the massive structure, “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere this way.”
Luminash shook his head, "It seems so. Part of me wonders if there is anything beyond this door, or if it is simply here to trap the unsuspecting." He nodded, "Yes, back to it."
“What makes you say that?” Jaskian asked as they resumed their trek.
“If this place is truly just an extension of N'Zoth's will, why would he create a closed door? The eyes watch, and he could simply...open it up, could he not? It is closed, so it is safe, until it...isn't.”
“Perhaps it's just not used at the moment,” Jaskian posited, “A different configuration.” She continued, musing as the passed by more of those ever-starting eyes, “I wonder if we inscribed our runes on the pillars holding the eyes, but on sides that the eyes aren't on?”
Luminash smiled, eager for a change of topic, "Ah, that is a good idea! The blind spots could be played to our advantage. The less of this place..." He gestured around them, "Seeps out into Azeroth, the better."
“Agreed.”
The path towards the opposite end of the hall continued, winding over the fogged abyss below. Luminash craned his neck to gaze up into the haze above while Jaskian focused on the structure of the antechamber itself, and the rune-carved stone tablets that lined this stretch of walkway, suspended in auras of that now-familiar orange glow.
“These paths seem like tight quarters for some of the creatures I have associated with this place,” Jaskian ventured.
“It makes one wonder how many mortals have thrown their lot in... Reports from those who are holding the line deeper in seem to indicate that this place is somehow home to a number of cultists.” Luminash said in response, stopping to examine one set of the tablets.
Jaskian shook her head a little. "There are always cultists, but I never understand how they come to think that way." Looking ahead into the vast open chamber beyond the hall, she continued, “I have to admit, I thought it would feel more ... organic. Less geometrical.”
Luminash took in the carved stones before them with a sad sigh, "An excellent question. How the madness and nothingness can be a solution to their ills I will never understand. I am glad for that." Following her gaze, he too mused on the geometry of the place, “Perhaps once we are outside this...temple? Maybe then it will have that...organic nature.”
Past the tablets, and nearing the long stairway leading to the exit, Jaskian pointed once more over the edge, “There's something pouring over there. Can you see?” She peered over, resting her hands on the ledge of the platform.
Approaching the lip, Luminash joined her and peered over as best he could, “It looks like... I want to say lava, but it is far too swift. Blood? But it emits light.” He shook his head, "Whatever it is, it is not right."
Sure enough, rushing into a torrent in the gulf below the chamber was an iridescent flow of red-orange fluid, of unknown source towards an unknown destination. Seeing it, Jaskian shivered and scrubbed a hand over her sleeve to get the feel of the stone off her hand.
When the floating walkway rejoined what seemed, at least, to be solid stone beneath the elves’ feet, they noticed a strange shrine, torches of unnatural flame set under sloping stone overhangs covered in unintelligible runes. Above it all was a massive eye, its gaze fixed on the shrine below.
Observing the arrangement, Jaskian wondered aloud, “That gaze is only scanning right below it. Do you think there's something over there?”
Luminash peered up at the eye, "If this is, in fact, a temple, there may have been before it was emptied. It makes me think of...judgment. A great gaze burning down from above."
“Mm. Maybe a station for reflections.”
Whatever it had been, both elves gave it a wide berth as they moved further into the room, passing by channels in the floor, filled with the strange red-orange fluid that had been dropping into the deep, foggy reaches of the Waking City.
“I take it back. I think I prefer the geometric to the...organic,” Jaskian grimaced as she stepped over one of the channels.
As they finally reached the far end of the temple chamber, and the foot of the stairs, Luminash pointed at an apparently inaccessible platform, complete with stairs and altar, rising from the creeping fog, "You are looking more and more right about...configuration. How many halls are there around us that we cannot see?” Swallowing hard, he added nervously, “How actually empty is this place?”
“I'm not sure. But it's eerie.” She pondered a moment, “Going along with your previous comment, could it be a trap? Luring us deeper in?”
“Or it could be both.”
Jaskian pursed her lips again, ears pinning back slightly in her discomfort, “Do you have reports on how long it's been cleared in this area?”
“It's been some time,” Luminash replied, with some hesitation, his frayed nerves showing, “The line has pushed further, out of this structure to my understanding. I only know that much, I am afraid. The details have been...hazy.” He shivered and glanced over his shoulder, "Which hardly surprises me, coming out of here."
Beginning to scale the steps, the oppressive atmosphere had begun to take its toll. Jaskian admitted in a hushed voice, “I don't like how the perspectives seem to shift. I suppose that's the point, but I will have nightmares, I'm certain.”
"I do not doubt I will, as well,” Luminash agreed, “This was not meant for us to see." He took a deep breath to calm his mind, “Ah, the sooner we are out of here, the better." He unconsciously edged closer to Jaskian as one of the spined tendrils far below made a sudden movement, shadows flickering up from below.
At last approaching the grand entryway they had spotted as they entered the Waking City, Luminash and Jaskian stopped. He pointed to the two obelisks, larger than any other in the antechamber, “The blind spots here,” he said as he moved between them, out of the gaze of the piercing eyes, “These will be suitable, do you think?”
Jaskian joined him with a nod, “There is power coming from deeper inside, and many eyes here. Perhaps an arterial route into the deeper city? If we ward against the Void here, it may buy our defenders outside the time they need.”
Luminash nodded in response, “And those within can put a stop to this. We shall buy them that time. Here,” he pointed again at the obelisks, “We make our stand. This is the culmination of our work, and there can be no half measures.”
“Shall we, then? We should work fast, though.”
Luminash nodded and began to prepare the tools for the task. He dropped his satchel on the ground at his feet and, kneeling down, pulled out a box. Within are crystalline foci with cores of Azerite, the scrolls transcribed from Nazmir - he looked upon these with a special pride, the memories of all those lost hanging upon them - and another scroll with the reverse-engineered sigil of Void warding inscribed upon it, a mark of Jaskian’s brilliance.
Standing again, Luminash turned to Jaskian, “The foci should provide enough power to leave a mark on these obelisks without exhausting ourselves, and with the right sigil, we can hopefully make quick work of it.”
“Will the Azerite combust?” Jaskian asked, tracing a finger across the box, mind already working on the complications she might have.
“If too much power is channeled too quickly, there is the risk, but they should be secure.”
“All right,” she nodded, “Shall we split up to make it go faster, or would it be best to spot for each other?”
Luminash places his hand over hers, "I would feel better if we were to keep an eye on each other. I am certain it will be accomplished well, however." He smiled reassuringly.
Jaskian smiled back, squeezing his hand with a nod, "I think it would be best, too. Get to work then. I'll help." She motioned and her elemental companion silently moved to keep sentinel for them, its watery form a lonely figure in the empty hall between the mages and the heart of Ny’alotha beyond.
Luminash pulled a focus from the box, and unfurled the scroll with the Void warding sigil. Turning towards one of the obelisks, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Very well, then."
“You worked directly on this before,” Jaskian reassured, “You know what needs to be done.” As Luminash set to work, she picked up the box, unwilling to leave it unattended, even alone.
Luminash scanned the scroll, eyes following every line and flourish. He closed his eyes, then, and opened himself as a conduit of power, channeling it through the Azerite focus, a beam of blue-gold light surging towards the stone as his body became a vessel. He guided the focus as one would a pen, slowly tracing out the curves of the rune in his mind, eyes still closed in concentration, "Thank you, Jaskian." When he spoke, there was something otherworldly in his voice, an echo of power drawn from someplace beyond.
“Always, Luminash,” Jaskian replied warmly, though still wary of their surroundings.
As he neared the halfway point in forming the rune, Luminash began to falter, the Azerite focus surging and crackling with the channeled power. He gritted his teeth and continued, "Almost there. This should work..."
Jaskian glanced down to the box in her arms, feeling the thrum of the energy resonating within the other foci. She shifted on her feet, the uneasiness of the place settling on her and her own nerves taut, "You don't have to finish all at once, Luminash. Take your time if you need."
As he engraved the final element of the sigil on the obelisk, Luminash abruptly threw the now-overloaded focus to the side, where it sparked brightly and then lay depleted. He let out a heavy breath, the power flowing through him dissipating, "And one is done."
He slumped forward, resting hands on his knees and shaking his head, “I should have listened. I went too quickly, and nearly lost it. I suppose that is a lesson learned, but everything about where we are is... It is making this more difficult than it ought to be.”
“No, I understand. It is difficult to feel focused,” she murmured, glancing back to her elemental guarding the way.
Luminash took her hand again and gave it a slight squeeze, "Your patience surpasses mine most days, so you should have little trouble. We are here together, though, and ought not be anxious too much." He managed a little laugh, “Or so I say after nearly burning out the focus."
“You are sometimes excitable. It's part of why I love you.” Jaskian smiled warmly at him, not letting himself sit in his momentary brooding.
Luminash pushed himself back up and leaned over to kiss her cheek, "Only sometimes excitable? That's generous, isn't it?" He smiled more genuinely then.
“It's really quite charming and I'd never want you to be self-conscious of it. You're at your most brilliant then, too.” Jaskian leaned into the kiss, her nerves settled somewhat by the reaffirmation of their presence together.
She took a deep breath, then, and passed Luminash the second focus, “I feel more confident with you finishing them. Your fine control is better than mine and I haven't worked with Azerite nearly as thoroughly.”
Luminash took the focus and turned towards the other obelisk with a nod, "Alright. As long as you stay right here, I'll do just as you ask." He managed a last bit of playfulness before once more centering himself and beginning to form the sigil, brimming anew with arcane power.
“It's always nice when you listen to me without fighting it,” Jaskian teased back, but then let him concentrate, eyes still roving the area and alert for threats.
Although he did not open his eyes or break the formation of the rune, directing the beam of Azerite with as much precision as he could, Luminash still cracked a smile at her teasing remark. His work continued, moving more slowly this time, less power forcing itself through the focus, but still leaving blue-gold traces etched into the obelisk.
The final lines lighting up on the slick stone and the sigil humming with power, Luminash completed the carving of the rune much more neatly this time, the Azerite focus not sparking, sputtering, or otherwise failing as he eased off the flow of magic. He opened his eyes and beamed at Jaskian.
She breathed out and smiled in return. "We should tell the others what we've learned."
Luminash nodded, clearly exhausted, "And let them know that, until this whole vision comes crashing down, they might just have been bought some time."
“I think...I would like to leave now,” Jaskian replied, a smirk on her face.
Luminash laughs, a wave of relief washing over him, "Oh, I thought you'd never ask! The sooner we are home, the sooner I can scrub this...this wrongness off, after all."
Jaskian threw the bag over her back and led the way, her elemental leaving its vigil as the mages wound their way back through the empty halls of Ny’alotha. Behind them were their marks, surging with power, a dam against the torrent of the Void, a stone in the stream, carved to stem the tide, to buy Azeroth even a few moments more time, lest the walls of reality crash down too soon.
For Jaskian: 15. What’s the worst situation they’ve ended up in before, due to violence?
Though she wasn’t involved in the violence that led up to it OR after it, but when Luminash’s unit was slaughtered in Nazmir. Lumi himself did some violence to the void elf that caused the slaughter. It was the worst situation she’s had to deal with: helping Luminash pull himself out his desolation and crisis of spirit.
Luminash tapped the still-inky tip of his quill against his fingers - the source of his nearly omnipresent stained fingertips - after he finished writing. The scroll still lay unfurled before him, the desert winds drifting in from outside making its edges dance ever so slightly.
He and Jaskian had come up with a bold plan, requiring more materials and personnel than he had expected when they arrived together in Uldum. Admittedly, he had not felt this way in a long, long time - driven, truly driven, and excited for whatever came, rather than filled with dread and lingering on regrets.
Still, their plan was now in writing, marginalia on the scroll scrawled with runes Luminash half-remembered from his ill-fated expedition to Nazmir. Jaskian had identified two of interest: a Nazmani binding rune, and a Titan rune reminiscent of chronomancy sigils. Both could be used for their purposes with more time and preparation. And people to aid them.
It was truly bold, a stroke of Jaskian’s brilliance and courage: study the remaining runes to seek out Luminash’s theoretical Titan containment sigil, and so he hoped, a key to neutralizing Void entities entirely. March right into Ny’alotha and carve it into the stones of that place. Weaken its hold on the physical world enough to buy the defenders in Uldum and the Vale even a bit more time, a few breaths not dogged by N’Zoth’s minions.
In the meantime, they needed supplies. Azerite for spell amplification, a sample of one of the Black Empire’s anchoring obelisks - Luminash could handle that one himself they had decided, and an Illidari - or other expert in runecrafting - willing to use their skills against N’Zoth.
Putting his quill back into the inkwell, Luminash let out a laugh. This would be a challenge to savor.
