((The LAST Part, still taking place earlier this year because I am so terribly slow at Plot Stuff sometimes. Occurs after these, in sequence: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.))
Shadows surrounded him, and the minutes yawned and stretched with nowhere to go. He couldn’t say how long he’d spent between one consciousness and the next, only that he had, at some point, taken a turn.
“Jules...”
Was he dead? If he’d been struck as he thought he’d been, if Laures had been pushed away, then…
“Flowers…?”
Only one person had ever called him that. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. But there it was, a single point in the darkness, growing steadily and taking shape. It wasn’t much in the way of light- rather it was part of the shadow that stepped out of line. And he would know it anywhere- here or any other world-
It was Lore.
Laughter came pouring out his mouth when he tried to speak, half-mad at the thought that he really was dead. But then Lore wasn’t dead, was he? He’d only been called, to a place where Julrien couldn’t follow. And now he’d come to him in the heart of the shadows.
Light, but there was so much pain, gnawing continually in the centre of his chest and radiating down each and every limb. The greater shadows beyond urged him not to trust it. He was theirs now, after all. But when Lore spoke, he felt it like a thousand summer nights- like stars across a freckled sky, and fields upon fields of yellow.
“It’s all right, yer all right...”
Julrien could feel the world shift, until slender arms wrapped tight around him. He shuddered at the weight of them, as familiar as the armour strapped to his frame.
“It hurts so much,” he replied, perhaps dumbly, but unable to remain silent when Lore had done the impossible to meet him here.
“Nothing compared to everything else ye’ve been carrying, love. But I’ve got ye now… just this one last time.”
He was right, of course. Julrien had been holding onto his anger, his heartbreak, for so long… it had become a part of him he wasn’t proud of. And even when someone new had maybe, just maybe, come into his life… he was set to lay this at his feet.
“Shh...I know. And it’s time to say goodbye.”
“But-” After all this time, knowing but not believing he was really gone… He was right, of course. It was long since time to let him go. Let them go.
“I’m okay. But ye have to be okay too. Can ye do that for me?”
A sense of urgency flickered in the restless shadows. There was a reason Julrien couldn’t follow...and now that he had been found here, pulled from the brink of who-knows-what in the realm of the Void... it was time to go back.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t-”
“But ye can, and ye will. Take care of ‘em, Flowers. And take care of yerself.”
The air around him began to move, like gauzy curtains blowing against an open window. Julrien scarcely felt the weight shift from his shoulders- from deeper still- before he felt himself drawn towards it.
“...I will.”
In the black-stained field, Ather reared on transformed legs, his true form verdant and fierce as a child of the Dreamer, set to shock and protect them all. Only Thoridath seemed unsurprised, his grizzled druidic form leaping to the dragon’s side. Laures, on her feet once more, was with Daphra, whose magic ran through them all in their assault.
And Julrien, stepping into the relative light of the Vale, carried Lore with him one last time. A burst of shadowy energy erupted in the Faceless’ core, exploding with Light and Life as the Green Knight was expelled from its grasp. The creature shrieked in its rage, flailing its nightmare limbs before eventually bursting into pools of lifeless pitch.
The grass was wet beneath Julrien’s head, where he felt the vibrations in the earth. His friends were at his side in moments, tripping over one another to see that he was okay. And he was; whole and hale in ways he hadn’t felt in far too long. He smiled as he nonetheless felt exhaustion begin to overtake him, like strong arms lifting him to safety, and Laures’ embarrassing outpouring of thanks. He would chide her later, and be rewarded with a tiny glimpse of her usual fire and fury. But for now he would whisper his goodbyes- his thanks.
(( This story took place about a month ago now. I’ve just been that terrible about getting it out. Previous post is Verdancy: Prologue.
CW: Some graphic violence, Void Stuff, minor character death ))
“Be sure to bring this delightful trinket with you to Pandaria, gardener. I’m sure it will serve you well there.” Ather’s roughshod baritone was met seconds later by the displeasure in Julrien’s reply.
“You’re hilarious,” he smirked, launching a fistful of freshly revived soil at his comrade. Bits of earth bounced harmlessly off Ather’s moss-trimmed vest, just as Julrien’s reaction had, so he ventured on: “We can’t all get by on edgy pot-shots, you know. Some of us actually want--”
A larger fistful, this time with a bit of finely hewn mulch, spattered the front of Julrien’s tunic. It was met with gritted teeth that slid into an easy grin as he waved about the soil knife still loose in his grasp. A recent purchase of beautiful Dwarven craftsmanship, the ‘trinket’ had replaced many of his usual tools, and had proven invaluable in their downtime at Silithus.
“Will you two shut up already? I’m tryin’ ta pretend m’not surrounded by children,” Laures’ annoyance drifted like the desert nightfall through the mouth of their tent. She added the heavy toss of her plate boots against its stretched-hide wall for emphasis, which was of course followed by Lucan’s unmistakable laughing sigh.
“The same goes for you, ya pig-witted prat,” the half-elven woman snapped, and Julrien could feel her exasperation from there. It was not unusual for the temperamental Laures to take out her frustrations on her twin, just as it was not unusual for there to be plenty to frustrate her. Lucan, for his part, was a deep well of patience, ever gentle as he pushed back.
“You’re cross ‘cause ‘o the early summons this mornin’,” he spoke softly, his Westfall Common accenting the Darnassian they tended to use at camp. “‘Cause ‘o how you’ve been sleepin’…” Because of how they’d all been sleeping--or not, as it were, Julrien inwardly agreed. Ather grunted beside him, edging away with his back to the tent while the Sin’dorei listened on, his own weariness remembered.
“Lucan! Just let it go, will ya? I’m fine!”
Laures was in no mood for gentle talk. Of all of them, she had come closest in their trials to achieving affinity beyond the flora with which they worked; as such, she was as spirited as the nightsaber whose tattooed paw prints marked each side of her neck, and just as difficult. A heavy silence fell over them, drowning out the crackle and quiet laughter at neighbouring campfires and the distant--constant--clash of stone and steel. Every so often they could feel the swell of the Source at work, their magic welling up from the deep secrets of the earth and its Emerald counterpart in tandem. It was the nature of their work, that connection that spoke its inimitable truth and bound them all to the knowledge. Julrien felt it in that silent moment, listened to its whispers as he’d been trained to do.
It came as it always did, like sunlight flowing to the tips of his fingers, shot through with ivy tendrils sown in his veins. It used to leave him giddy, intoxicated at the sensation and long after it had passed. It still did, to an extent, though he’d grown used to the vitality of it all in his time with the others.
But there was something else to it this time, some subtle difference he couldn’t quite place. A voice, like Laures’, echoing her words… Let it go… let...go… let-... Sylvan ears perked, Julrien kept his focus inside himself, listening hard in hopes of determining what exactly he heard. It was Laures, until it wasn’t. He recognized it changing, felt his chest tighten as aching familiarity crept into its timbre. There was the ghost of grinning teeth in it- their tender pull at the dip of his hip bone, the inside of his wrist; he was sure he saw a smattering of freckles along an upturned nose… felt it pressed into his neck as he strained to listen, still...
He was scarcely able to breathe by the time Ather’s sudden movement drew him to the present. Behind them, he could at last hear the strangled cry wrenched from Laures’ throat. It took him a moment to recognize the subtle change within had somehow found its way without, falling like great shadows over the open space of their encampment. It couldn’t be… here?
But it was everywhere. Behind him, screams raised the fine hairs at his nape, his bare forearms icy in spite of the desert air. There was no wind. It was the absence of it all that moved on them. The Void. They were under attack, and yet as he and Ather tore back the leafy canopy draped over their tent, it was only Lucan they saw inside. Lucan, with his fist clamped tight about his sister’s windpipe, squeezing with an untold rage, even as he stood calmly in the act.
Laures’ eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pleading with them not to hurt him, as she made another valiant attempt to find her footing and gain some leverage. The hunting knife at her belt was well within her reach, and yet she hadn’t taken it, couldn’t, Julrien knew, bring herself to end this sudden horror at the expense of her brother’s safety. They were well past that though. Ather had already taken it upon himself to intercept, heavy-handed as ever as he grasped Lucan’s arm with a force to rival that around Laures’ neck.
“Leave off, Lucan… this is not what you want,” he growled at their comrade, seeming in that moment to tower over them all. Julrien was quick to take advantage of the diversion, only a second or two wherein Lucan--but it wasn’t him, not really--glanced up at the demand. Laures gave a half-hearted shake of her head, hindered at once by even more pressure at her throat, until she all but hung from Lucan’s grip.
“Let her go,” Julrien hissed, face turned towards Lucan’s pointed ear as he pressed the serrated edge of his soil knife to the underside of the half-elf’s chin. Lucan, for his part, remained impassive, unblinking at the dark clouds flooding his gaze. He glanced from Ather to the Blood Elf tucked in behind him, unmoved. “Why do you resist us?” he--they--asked, making a mockery of Lucan’s gentleness. Lucan was undoubtedly viewed by many in their group, as well as the larger body of Druids, as soft, even simple. His all-too-Human appearance, and downright cherubic features aside, set him apart along with his sister, who communicated her value through clenched fists and a wicked tongue. Lucan used neither, preferring to defer to louder personalities in most matters. But those in their unit knew him to be the very best of friends: loyal, unassuming, and gifted when it came to soothing both ire and injury. Julrien’s racing heart seized, the chill wrapped around it like a fist as he watched Laures’ red face turn ashen. Lucan’s voice went on: “We are already here, as we always have been. You need only let us in…”
From there, it all happened so fast. First came the sickening crack of bone, silencing the strange sibilance spilling from Lucan’s tongue and wrenching from him an anguished, all-too-familiar cry. Next came the rush of stricken air that flooded Laures’ lungs. She spun, gasping and sputtering, away from her brother’s limply hanging limb, which Ather released as soon as she was free. From there, it was easy for Julrien to draw upon the entangling vines of their ken. The soil knife fell to the earth, shifting along with their meager bedding and few, small comforts from home as the thick verdancy split the ground beneath their feet, slithering between them to wrap Lucan in a stranglehold of their own.
Julrien’s fingers still curled into his palms, still trembled with the effort of keeping this… version of Lucan… in restraint, for long seconds afterward. He exhaled for what felt like the first time since rushing into their modest tent, slumping against the wall with a kick of a heavy, straw pillow. Ather’s steely silence in the wake of his violence had him gritting his teeth, especially set against the twins’ pained wheezes and whimpers. But one look at Laures, and he knew better than to get into it then.
“Laur…what happened-” he began instead, seeking backstory for the unlikely scene. A toss of his head swept sweat-dampened locks over his shoulder as Julrien started towards their friend. Laures, for her part, uttered a cracked, “M’fine,” alternating between gasping and gaping at the face of her twin held fast by coiled greenery- and something else entirely. It was hideous, this likeness of their half-elven comrade. His saucer eyes no longer held the golden fields of Westfall in their depths; amber irises were eclipsed by darkness as they darted from the towering Ather to the rustling door of the tent. His mouth...at first it was contorted in agony, only for a slow, seething smile to split his lips, exposing too many teeth to the dim light of their oil lamp. Everything flickered, the lamp, that grin…
The wind had returned, carrying the sounds of pitched cries and clashing weapons, and with it the unmistakable stench of… charred hides? There was only a second when Julrien could swear he heard it, a voice of warning, as familiar as the vacant spot in his mattress. It rang in his ears, urgent under the cackling of Lucan’s stolen voice:
RUN.
But he was too slow to react; they all were. An explosion sounded mere yards away, rocking the encampment as it fed on nearby azerite and blew through the neighbouring tent. The trio were flung to the far wall as the flames roared to life, flashing gold and sizzling into slick blackness beneath. Julrien choked on the scream that ripped through his chest as his hold on Lucan, his magic, burned through his tendons. The strong vines he’d summoned, brimming with Light and Life, languished in his grasp and, and in their stead, the deep well of nothing threatened to swallow them all.
Such a heavy burden… Soon you will see…
Ather’s fingers felt like claws dug into his shoulder as he shook him from his daze, but Julrien could no longer make out his words. He gagged, bitter ash in his mouth as he registered the colours bleeding around him. Thick, dark tendrils burst through the flames, spreading like oil over everything they’d worked for, slowly devouring the Life at his fingertips until he couldn’t hold it any more. He could no longer hear Ather, just as he could no longer see where Laures went, but Lucan--their gentle Lucan--was everywhere at once. His head tipped back...his flailing limbs, grasping and wrenching and filling Julrien’s sight. His laughter... dripping madness like ichor, down Julrien’s spine--
Our time has come… Let go and be free…
His world shook, swirling around him in fire and shadow. He couldn’t tell whose hands were on him anymore, couldn’t breathe a word of what he felt as the cackles and crackling faded into his own unsteady pulse. Run, the voice had warned. And he should have- they all should have run from this place. It was a festering wound, a sickness they were not equipped to deal with. His world shook and he shook with it, writhing as it threatened to feed on him like every one of his tangling vines…
...until the very moment his mentor’s palm struck his cheek. A moment passed, and another, and eventually he could sense the solid ground once more. Ather held him from behind, and he felt the desperate press of Laures’ nails in his forearm. Thoridath…their leader stood over him, taut brows belying the stern line of his lips.
“We are out of time,” he confirmed, taking just one step aside and jutting a calloused digit in the direction of the portal. Ahead of them, the camp was ablaze with chaos. The Earthen Ring scattered, with enraged elementals bearing down upon their numbers, and the Cenarion crew were scrambling to aid. But Thoridath could not risk their little group; what remained of them had to make it through to the other side, if they ever stood a chance at curbing the assault. “I have Lucan,” the Kaldorei added hastily, and Julrien swayed a little beneath that fervent gaze. He finally nodded, pulling free of Ather’s grasp.
One arm hooked around Laures’, dragging her forward as they all darted after the Arcane rift. As they neared its shimmering borders, and the promise of safety on the other side, he couldn’t help but pause and chance a look back. Behind them, in the charred remnants of their tent and pieces of their belongings, Julrien could still make out the slender figure of Laures’ twin. The half-elf faced the great Sword of Sargeras, his mutated body trembling with horror… with glee… or some terrible blend of the two. Ather saw quickly towards pulling a struggling and shrieking Laures through, as it suddenly became all too clear that this was the last they would see of her twin.
Julrien alone lingered, one hand poised to help his friends even as they disappeared through the portal, the other clenched hard at his side. Thoridath, true to his word, had moved towards Lucan, arms outstretched as he seemed to speak to him, the way one might speak to a frightened animal. Lucan, if he heard him at all, did not respond, instead lifting a pair of blades in malformed hands, the ‘fingers’ too long and too monstrous to be recognized. Before Julrien could call out, before his fear could bubble over into words at all, he watched as the soft soul of his friend who once held golden fields in his eyes… plunged each of those daggers into their depths.
Someone slammed into Julrien then, with an impact he felt in the centre of his chest. He didn’t see Lucan fall, didn’t catch even a glimpse of Thoridath through the violet-black murk and scorched soil. As he sank backward, there was nothing but liquid flames trickling through to iridescent light, and the scent of sunflowers tickling his nose.
Name: “Julrien Valebright- yep, that’s my mother’s family name. And no, we didn’t do middle names in our family.”
Eye Color: “Blue underneath it all, though they still look sort of greenish, depending on the light. My former Captain calls it ‘strange’, but my current mentor prefers ‘hmmm’, so I don’t know.”
Hair Style/Color: “Dark, almost black, and pretty thick. I mean, I like it- there’s just a lot, so I undercut it around the sides and back. It’s down to my shoulder-blades again, actually.”
Height: “I’m five-ten.”
Clothing Style: “Oh yeah, I’m that asshole with my ink out all the time, hahaha. But um... I guess I like being comfortable, for the most part. Slimmer-fitting pants, baggy cardigan or something. I don’t usually think too hard about it, unless it’s for a special occasion.”
LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE
Your Fears: “Mm. When you look at things from a big-picture perspective, you find out there’s a lot more to be scared of than you originally thought. That said, ah... I mean, I don’t like being alone a lot. Ending up that way is not a great thought. I guess I don’t like thinking I’ve let people down, or hurt someone I care about either. I’m really not a big fan of Doomguards either.”
Your Guilty Pleasure: “Drinking, fucking, a little weed. Check, check, check.”
Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “Ah, let’s see... hypocrites, judge-y noble types... I don’t really like being pitied...oh, or the cold. Fuck the cold.”
Your Ambition for the Future: “To see Thoridath’s Green Knight vision through, for sure. And besides that, I guess... lick my wounds, grow my business, have some fun. Keep figuring myself out.”
LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS
Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “I guess that depends. Sometimes my bed feels too empty, and other times it’s just right. Also coffee and that first cigarette of the day factor in.”
What You Think About the Most: “Dick. Haha- no but probably it’s like... home? Am I there now... what does that mean, exactly... all those ~deep thoughts~. ”
What You Think About Before Bed: “...dick? But for real, probably just whatever mundane shit happened that day- the arrangements I made or that evening’s run. It’s easy to get caught up in my head sometimes, so I try to save most of that other stuff for when I’ve got time to write it out.”
Your Best Quality Is: “I make friends pretty easy, so there’s that. I’m told I’ve got ‘quite the mouth on me’ too, so make of that what you will~.”
LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?
Single or Group Dates: “Ah... single dates if I want to actually get to know somebody, probably. Group stuff for if we’re just casual, or... you know. If it was something long term, and they’re not just my friends, but our friends.”
To be Loved or Respected: “I mean, everyone’s deserving of basic respect. But ultimately, I don’t really care if someone approves of me or not. And the truth is, we all just want to be loved. Anyone who says otherwise is probably hung up on that the most.”
Beauty or Brains: “Ah... well. I mean, everyone likes to look good, but if there’s not a lot going on in someone’s head, then it’s probably going to get boring fast. It probably depends on what you want from them.”
Dogs or Cats: “Cats, I guess? I’ve never really had a pet before.”
LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?
Lie: “Not since I was a kid, really. I’m pretty big on honesty, and... well, people can usually tell when something’s up anyway.”
Believe in Yourself: “Hah... I try.”
Believe in Love: “*lipsmack* Even when it doesn’t believe in me.”
Want Someone: “Yeah.”
LAYER SIX: EVER?
Been on Stage: “Cello recital in sixth year. I straddled that fucker in front of the whole school.”
Done Drugs: “Sure, yeah.”
Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “I’ll watch my mouth sometimes, maybe try to keep things formal, depending on who I’m with. But no fucking way am I changing who I am just to make someone else happy.”
LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES
Favorite Color: “I like greens, like the Thalassian coast in high summer. Lots of yellows and oranges too... sunset colours.”
Favorite Animal: “The rabbits that plague Eversong are pretty hilarious, especially this time of year. I love those little guys. And the frogs you see around the swampier areas- I could watch them for hours. There’s a family of deer that wanders into my yard a lot out in Rustberg that are really beautiful too”
Favorite Food: “I love apple or pumpkin-anything, honestly. And a good steak with all the trimmings too. Ohh... and Braedyn’s lemon bars are fucking magical.”
Favorite Game: “I’ve seen @kid-sparrow get hyped about his Hearthstone stuff enough that it seems pretty fun. I like races, or games involving booze though, mostly.”
LAYER EIGHT: AGE
Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “March 23”
How Old Will You Be: “Still juuuust right.”
Age You Lost Your Virginity: “Oh this is some straight fuckery right here! But ah, let’s see... I first ever went down on a guy when I was maybe 15- no, 16. He was a couple grades ahead of me, and we found ourselves in the change room after school. I did actually have sex with my best friend, Saerie, that same year, because she really wanted to ‘try it’ and I was still sort of figuring myself out, you know? It wasn’t anything to write home about, that’s for sure.”
Does Age Matter: “Sometimes? It probably depends on the situation though.It sure as hell matters in some cases.”
LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL
Best Personality: “Honest, open, playful... clever. People who care, about themselves, other people... something at least.”
Best Eye Color: “Doesn’t matter.”
Best Hair Color: “I’ve never really had a preference like this.”
Best thing to do with a Partner: “Talk. Travel. Touch. Take it hard and fast, and then take your time for round two.”
LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE
I love: “Spring.”
I feel: “Alone.”
I hide: “The things that hurt me, but not really well, I’m told.”
I miss: “This guy. Those stars. Meaning something.”
