Mason’s life had been a long exercise in yearning.
In his youth, it was yearning for the horizon. Westfall, although its plains were near-endless to the child’s mind, was a small place: few new ideas were born, few of his peers appreciated his desire for more, and fewer still adults cared to expand his world. And so he sheltered himself in what few books Moonbrook held, and eagerly devoured tales of the wider world.
Later, Mason yearned for hope. After the First War, after the farmlands had been forced, by slaughter, to lay fallow, after all that remained for him there was a smith’s apprenticeship, after the Defias lay claim to what was left, all he wished was to flee over that horizon of his youth, but in the hopes of a future, not adventure.
In Northrend, Mason yearned for home, as broken as it was, and for peace. After Northrend, he still yearned for home, even as he looked over the golden plains of Westfall. Home had changed, or he had changed—or both, more likely.
He yearned for purpose, and still for peace, but in finding purpose, that peace was denied.
In the years since the Scourge resurgence, he had isolated himself utterly. Even as he put up new walls, piled high the stones of his own furnace, his own smithy, the prickling yearning for something different remained. The simple rhythms of life were a soothing balm for the troubled mind, yet a void remained.
At times, he would awake in his empty bed, his empty home, a feeling of dread settling upon him, the chasm that loneliness—a curse of his own making—had opened within him.
And so, he lit the forge, hefted hammer in hand, and set to work anew each day, burying the yearning for companionship in the burning of tired muscles and the hope that, one day, the labor he did here would be enough to wash away the past.
The farmland outside Mason's home was cast in shadow, pelted and flattened by the downpour the late winter sea storm had brought to the island. A peal of thunder followed the blaze of lightning across the sky, rattling the windowpanes and even rippling in the tea steaming in the smith's cup.
The dark of night had come on earlier than usual from the storm, and not a soul stirred outside, but for Mason. Leaving behind his drink, and pulling the hood of his heavy, oiled cloak over his mane of hair, he trudged into the cold, driving onslaught and towards the lighthouse.
That last bolt of lightning seemed too direct, too unnatural, and the certainty of what—who—it was drove the man's feet onward.
At the top of the lighthouse, her radiance piercing the veil of wind-dashed rain, a second beacon in the night for all approaching by sea, clad in full golden raiment was precisely what Mason had expected.
"Sigfa," the smith said, voice booming to carry through the roar of the storm, both greeting and accusation.
"Mason Atlisson," the val'kyr responded, "You have hidden long enough!"
"Straight to business as usual, I see," he replied, moving under the eaves at the lighthouse's peak in a vain attempt to keep his already-sodden self drier.
"Surely you know now that darkness comes, child. The Valarjar—"
"Tend to Odyn's needs, yeah?" Mason interjected, "Especially after the dragons' insult."
Sigfa tensed, but nodded, "You speak truth, Atlisson."
"And you think I'm gonna drag myself out of the little life I managed to build for myself out here, away from the noise of battle, and the blood, and the horror?" Mason's volume rose as he spoke, a desperation creeping in, as if he were some skittering creature newly exposed to the sun, the safety of its rotting log torn away by a some bumbling woodsman. Shock, and fear, and indignation.
The smith motioned with a jab of his finger towards the growing village hidden in the rain, the dim glow of lamps from within window panes scarcely cutting through the blackness, "I'm not letting this one be taken! Not again!"
He'd run after Northrend, and no matter what solace he found, it always fell away, always left him with more scars on body and mind. Every step since the Broken Shore, a felguard's blade piercing the would-be hero's chest, lifeblood pooling on the fel-blasted sands, was the step of a ghost.
"I should've died, Sigfa!"
Thunder rumbled as if in response to Mason's growing rage. The val'kyr, though, remained unmoved.
"Everything I've built since then, every life I've tried to start, has gone nowhere. I—" His voice was drowned in another peal of thunder, yet he carried on, "Will not go! Not this time!"
The stones of the lighthouse shook with the next peal, the flashes of lightning seeming to grow closer and closer.
"I knew before I came what your choice would be. But at times, child, there can be no choice. And when that time comes, you will act, Valarjar. Return to your hearth, Atlisson, and know this: your strength is not the burden you believe. You need not be a weapon, but a shield."
With that, the val'kyr spread her wings, mist rising from them as the black torrent washed over her, and with a heavy beat, the golden figure rose into the air, leaving Mason alone at the lighthouse's peak, his drenched hair and beard illuminated by another bolt of lightning, his very bones shaken by the violence of the thunder.
Daily Writing Challenge
February 2025
Day 7: Rage / Loyalty
A single page from Mason's notebook, a reflection from a time of grief:
Sing, spirits of fire, of rage:
How you have oft kindled it in the breast,
Thought and Memory sent aloft,
Adrift on singed wings.
Sing, spirits of earth, of devotion:
How you have oft steadied the flagging heart,
Steeled against harsh, biting tides,
Constancy of purpose.
Sing, again, spirits of fire, of rage:
How you have oft burst free, uncaged from ribs,
Boiled away the ravaging sea,
Devotion unscathed.
Sing, again, spirits of earth, of devotion:
How you have oft been steadied yourself,
Wreathed in flames of fury unthinking,
Felt in heart alone.
For what is, O spirits, rage but losing the self?
For what is, O spirits, devotion but losing the self?
How, O spirits, can one claim to love,
If unwilling to burn himself on its pyre?
Daily Writing Challenge
February 2025
Day 2: Cage / Power
A poem in alliterative verse: Mason's journey from blacksmith, to soldier of the Alliance, to Valarjar. His attempts to rebuild a home, and abandoning of his symbols of power; his reinvention as an itinerant aide to those in need, free of the burden of expectation.
Hands used to heat hardened with labor
Turned to tools of war in terror he watches
Rapt as foes rent fled. Wrath and black fog follow.
As weapon he is wielded and wishes for peace.
Lashed to lion's yoke lauded is the blade,
Bloodied and bent it brings repast to crows.
When sky is sundered and sails unfurl,
To shattered shores shriek the beasts of war.
Fel design most foul near-flensed life from flesh
Heralds of high Odyn hounded death from him.
With storm he strengthened, stood the hero firm.
The unworthy quailed in woe weeping for their doom.
Burdered with butchery, to build he resolved,
Ramparts in Redridge beset arose, a shield from the damned,
Shelter he assured should his kin be in peril,
Forced by fate ill to foreswear this charge
Driven from duty sworn a dreary path he strode.
In black fog, no blood brought he, but built.
Hands used to heat hardened with labor
Born new to bring balm to the hope bereft.
The crags of kinsman's home, cruel teeth of the earth
Locked away long-gone rage, lifted the burden,
Flame once forgotten flared forth, exalted,
The cage of power cracked and crowing a new day.
The Conjurer's Dilemma; a guild job board collaboration.
Catisa Wells looked around from beneath her cowl, the dark woods that surrounded the town certainly gave the whole place a dreary feel, she could only imagine a place called Deadwind Pass wasn’t going to be much better. With a sigh she glanced at the parchment she had jotted a few notes down about their task, the first of which being that she was to meet her partner for the duration of this mission at the town square. The fledgling mage waited patiently, the scarlet robes she wore surely a dead give away as to her career choices, though she began to find it eerie that there was no one outside and despite it being only late afternoon it seemed as though night had fallen upon the area.
Approaching from the north, on the road from Redridge, as what little light filtered through the leaves of the trees dimmed more, the light from the lanterns in town offering some welcome pools of light, a man approached. His silhouette may have been imposing, tall and broad-shouldered, nearly as tall as he was slung across his back, but as he grew closer and noticed Catisa, he raised a hand in greeting with a wide and pleasant smile, "Hey! You're down here from the Violet Bastion too, yeah? Supposed to be meeting someone!" His voice has the characteristic twang of Westfall, giving even the simple greeting a folksy quality.
She nearly yelped when she saw him, an imposing figure in the dark, before he stepped into the light of the street lanterns. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as he spoke and she lifted her hands to relieve her head of the cowl. "Hello! Yes! My name is Catisa Wells, it's certainly a pleasure. I'm new to the Bastion, but I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet." She extended a hand in an offer to shake if he took it, her touch would be warm and her accent told of a gilnean farm girl.
"The name's Mason!" The man's handshake was firm, yet friendly, and quite enthusiastic. Pulling his calloused hand away - one of his many qualities that made him seem more a workman than one who would be part of an organization like the Violet Bastion - he continued, "Mason Kohler, rather. Haven't made your acquaintance yet, but then again, I haven't spent all too much time at the estate out of the workshop on the grounds trying to get things set up for my specifications." Clearing his throat, he motioned with a jerk of his head towards the east, and Deadwind Pass, "The plan's to track down that elemental and the poor fellow who brought it in, yeah? Any news in town about it?"
"A pleasure, Mister Kohler." She greeted him with a kind smile, "So far it appears to be a ghost town, though I brought something along that should help." With a smirk she reached into a satchel and pulled out a small orb. "A scrying orb. We should be able to track the familiar's movements, assuming that nothing else has interfered with the trail." Catisa gestured toward the mountains to the east, "From what I understand, the guards here lost it in Deadwind Pass, so I expect we should be able to pick up traces of it if we head toward the largest mana reservoir in that direction."
He nodded matter-of-factly, and motioned to the road leading east, which began to rise as it wound through the dark woods out of town and into the rocky pass far beyond, "Lead the way then, Miss Wells. I'm afraid I'm not much use at tracking magic, though I've gotta say, it's a skill I've been hoping to pick up a little more of one of these days. I tend to hunt down, let's say...more mundane threats!" The laugh which punctuated the end of his thought was booming and mirthful, especially in such a silent, dreary location as Duskwood, "Do lead on, and I'll keep at the ready!"
A giggle escaped her, she found his company soothing in their dark and unfamiliar surroundings. "Little tricks like this are things my mother was known for." The Pyromancer began as she started to walk with one hand out, the scrying orb glowing in her palm as she continued, "She was a fortune teller. This was actually hers before she passed, though it has far more uses than that of simple parlor tricks. If applied correctly, it can lock onto the magical signature of a being or even a person and lead you to them wherever they might be."
The man peered at the orb curiously as they walked, listening with a slight tilt of his head as she explained, that broad smile returning, "Yeah? Impressive little thing to be able to carry around! Might need to look into getting one for myself. That is, if I could channel a lick of magic that'd start it up. You might've guessed that that's not where my gifts really lie." He laughed again, following her on the path out of town, "You ever been out in these parts? Been quite a few years for me."
"I'm actually fairly new to the area, so unfortunately I haven't. This is a first for me." She looked around a bit nervously at that, noticing that as they walked the trees and sky grew more grey and dead looking. "Has it always been like this here?" She found herself wondering aloud, "What caused this?" Her steps slowed more and more, the further she got the more uncertain each step became. Though the orb seemed to continue to pulsate its eerie glow as steadily as ever, but the poor girl's hands were trembling and as much as she tried to hide it, it was probably painfully obvious to her companion.
"A mystery I'm afraid I don't know the answer to. Word is something big happened here a long time ago, rumors even say there was some Burning Legion involvement, and having seen just how bleak, I can say I wouldn't doubt it." He offered a reassuring smile, though he too was clearly put on edge by the greying of the world around them, everything from the sky above to the dirt beneath their feet, "What's hard to believe is that something like this is so close to home."
"The Legion..." Catisa echoed, recalling the all too recent war and sundering of their world by a giant blade and shuddered, "I've only read about some of the things the Legion are capable of, but that seems likely." She nodded, "So close to home and yet people still squabble over the price of a loaf of bread in the streets." Another sigh escaped her, raven black locks of hair fell over her features as her brow furrowed and their voices began to echo off of the valley walls around them. It was then that the orb in her palm began to glow a bright blue, illuminating a path before them of what appeared to be residual arcane. To someone not attuned to such a sight, it might look more like blue dust that glows in the dark.
Mason's brow, too, furrowed, recalling scenes of such squabbling himself, over the price of bread in Stormwind, and over the last scraps back home in Westfall, "Folks don't like to worry about the big things too much, I find. Reckon it gives them some peace, a little bit of control over what's going on. I know back home, even when the Legion was right there, skies choked with them..." He trailed off, dropping his thoughts as he narrowed his eyes at the glowing trail before them, "Looks like we've got something!"
The aspiring sorceress grinned, her tone excited and devoid of any trace of unease she had felt only moments before. "It does! and it looks like it's arcane in nature, so it's likely this is our familiar." She looked up at him and looked as though she might start sprinting down the path before she quirked a brow, "The signs should grow stronger as we get closer. These things can be tricky so we want to corner it before we spook it. And... I can understand that, to a degree, but I have no wish to live in the dark and hide." With a shake of her head she returned her gaze to the illuminated trail before them and continued their previous pace. "I was raised better than that."
"Sounds like we've got that in common then, Miss Wells. If I'd waited around for things to happen and didn't go out and find life for myself, well..." He shrugged, making to follow the trail, "Can't say I'd be the same person I am today. It's good that there are some of us out there who'll worry about the big things so others don't need to, yeah?" He flashed back his broad, excited grin as he moved further ahead, "Shall we?"
A wide grin flashed across her features as she watched him pull ahead of her and she moved to quicken her pace, the orb pulsing a dull blue in time with the arcane dust. "Yes, lets!" She giggled, "And it is, nice that is, to know there are others out there. It seems today has been an interesting day for conversations or perhaps I am just tired and thinking too deeply as of late."
"Met some other interesting folks? Not a bad thing, not at all, I say!" Mason continued following the trail illuminated by Catisa's scrying orb, though he moved carefully, and surprisingly quietly in his place-reinforced leathers, clearly having taken the mage's advice to heart about being sure to corner the elemental before engaging, "I'm awfully sure the best conversations are when you're on the road, or doing something interesting, rather than just sitting around."
"Someone else new to the Violet Bastion, actually. I think you'd like her, a Dark Iron dwarf by the name of Dahlyah, a huntress that knows only the hunt." She giggled. A moment later she brought her hand up and pointed into the distance, "See there? Where it starts to get brighter? We're getting close." As she spoke her voice lowered and her footsteps grew softer. Upon the horizon they could start to make out the roof of a tall structure, crooked and haunted by all manner of beings was the building that towered over the basin. The closer they got the more evident it became that their trail lead straight there.
"Wait a second... Name sounds awfully familiar." He pursed his lips in thought before his eyes widened in sudden recognition, a grin splitting his face, "I remember, I ran into her a while back! Let me pick one of the bounties she was looking for and have the job myself! It'll be good to see her again, I think!" He shook his head, "Not important right now, though. Looks like..." He trailed off as his gaze followed the haphazard tower to its summit, "Trouble, really. I never wanted to get this close, but we've got work to do."
She swallowed hard as she realized where they were headed, the trail led straight down to what appeared to be crypts below. "I didn't realize you two were already acquainted!" Came her response, though she was practically whispering at this point and her free hand had begun to reach for the fabric on his arm. An instinctual reach for someone to clutch onto and his much larger form certainly made her feel more at ease than she would have been, but nothing had prepared her for what they might see down there. "I-it looks like it's down there..." Catisa looked about, spotting no other entrances or trails to follow. "Assuming our familiar is the only thing down there, it may have made our jobs a bit easier."
"I'm sure hoping so..." Mason peered down the path ahead and down the dimly-lit stairwell leading to the crypts, "Last time I found myself wandering into some underground ruin, it wasn't the most pleasant experience, lemme tell you. On the bright side, I did make it outta that alright! So I'm sure we'll be fine!" His bravado, however, was not matched by his face, his grin having fallen away and been replaced by a look of cautious resolve. Following the still-shimmering trail left by the scrying stone, he pulled the sword from his back and held it before him, traces of lightning crackling along its blade offering some very slight light in the growing darkness.
A nervous laugh escaped the girl beside him, "At least there's that..." Her eyes then fell to the blade in his hand, having taken note that he had no abilities to call upon the arcane when he stated so she caught herself thinking aloud, "Enchantments?" The scrying stone would lead them down into the depths of the caverns full of sarcophagi. "I really hope that Remy Whiteley gentleman didn't end up making this his grave too."
He let out a chuckle, far from the booming laugh that had echoed off the cobblestones of Darkshire, and shook his head, "Enchantments? Something like that. Call it a gift. Not anything I'd be calling magic, but I can do a little more than just swing a sword if need be." He grimaced at the tombs lining the walls of the crypt, a sigh escaping his lips, "Gonna agree with you on that one. Whatever mistake he might've made in summoning something too big for him to control, poor man doesn't deserve to rot down here."
Catisa seemed put at ease a bit more in his presence, perhaps he was just humble about his own talents. "I'd love to know more about it when we're not, um," At this point her voice was a barely audible whisper as she practically clung to him, only poking her head out to see and her hand to illuminate the passages with the orb. "Crawling through dead people." She slammed her mouth shut, tears in her eyes as she felt a squeal rise in her throat from something cold and wet brushing across her leg briefly. It took all she could not to give away their presence, practically holding her breath as they continued forward, one step at a time.
Mason offered another reassuring smile, hoping it was visible even in the gloom of the crypt. He seemed to focus for a moment, the lightning dancing along his blade becoming brighter, more of a constant, softly crackling glow, and illuminating more than just a few steps ahead. The stones were damp, this far below the surface, but the light gave more in secure footing than they'd had a moment before, "Any way of telling how far away we are from the familiar we're after with that?" He motioned with a slight nod towards the scrying stone, "I feel like we - I hope, should say - don't have much further to go."
She nodded with a quiet noise from behind him, thankful for the additional light his blade provided. "It will start to-" As she was about to speak; the orb began to flash, slower at first, but as they proceeded the pace between pulses quickened. "Do that." She continued flatly. Up ahead of them was a divergence in the path, it split off into three other directions, but the brightest one of the three that veered off to the right appeared to be where their target lay. "Be careful," She whispered, "It's not much farther now... we want to catch it by surprise and..." With a brief pause she reached into her satchel and held out a small pale blue crystal. "Take this. Charge it like you do your blade and throw it at the familiar, it should stun it long enough for us to surround it."
Beginning to follow the light illuminating the right-hand tunnel, Mason took the crystal in hand with a nod of thanks, "Sounds like a solid plan to me. If we can keep it from coming back the way it came, we should be pretty well set." With a firm grip on the blue stone, a crackle of lightning shot down the man's arm, an inner glow springing from the crystal as it became charged with power. Stepping softly, blade at the ready as the pair approached the end of the hall, the gentle glow of magic beyond giving away the rogue familiar's location, Mason bent his arm back, and threw! The crystal arced through the door, a crackling trail in its wake, landing in the room beyond with a crash of thunder and a surge of electricity, "Now!"
Catisa followed his lead and darted into the room. It was a crypt with no exit other than the way they came, perfect for their trap. "Here!" She called out, "I'll block the exit!" At the far end of the room the familiar stood dazed, the flowing water that made up its form seized from the shock that crystal had delivered so suddenly. With a wave of her hands she began to cast a spell, flames ignited at her palms and weaved around her fingertips that moved intricately with practiced movements. Once Mason was clear of the threshold she would release the gathered energy in a burst of molten rock that filled the doorway and quickly sealed the exit.
"Good call!" Mason grinned broadly, leaping past the threshold of the dead-end crypt, brandishing his sword, now surging with lightning, against the elemental. Trapped and stunned as it was, it was left entirely defenseless, giving the man an opening. In a huge arc, he swung his weapon up over his head and brought it crashing down on one of the bracers that bound the familiar to the mortal world. Thinking himself clever, Mason did not foresee the magic feedback that erupted from the shattered bracer, and was thrown back onto the damp floor. Nevertheless, as he began to push himself back to his feet, the elemental - now aware of its surroundings once more - made for him, though it seemed to be sluggish in its movements, burdened by its new state, "May have miscalculated just a bit there..."
With one bracer shattered that left one more to go. Crimson robes whirled about as she spun on her heel and faced the beast, the room illuminated by the dull glow of the molten rock in the doorway. Flames licked at her palms before she extended her arms and unleashed a quick fireball to try and deter it from attacking Mason before he had the chance to recover, but the flames quickly sizzled out of existence in the familiar's watery form. "Uh oh," She uttered, her eyes wide as it grew enraged, cornered in what it had made its home. "Look out!"
Sword in hand, Mason had made it to his feet! The elemental's fists, swirling and frothing white like river rapids, pounded down on him, the blows parried with deft and surprisingly swift movements of such a large sword. The blade itself simply slid through the watery creature's form, just enough to deflect the blow as if diverting the flow of a river. Without a chance to regain the momentum, Mason found himself backed into the crypt's wall. Feeling the cold stone on his back, he braced himself against it, threw his sword to the side, clattering to the ground with a shrill echo, then lunged forward, passing through the wall of water that had backed him into the corner, and emerged from the other side soaked and sputtering. Whirling around, he raised his hands before him, and with a shout, a crackling burst of lightning shot forth, a bright flash in the dark with a sound like thunder, stunning the elemental anew, "The bracer, finish it off!"
A gasp had escaped the young mage as he pushed his way through the elemental, she had never considered that maneuver. Wouldn't you drown from doing that? And was equally surprised when he made it through and stunned the familiar. She quickly regained her composure when he shouted and nodded her understanding, flames licked at her palms once more and danced around her fingertips as she gathered more energy than she had for her prior blast and extended her left arm to let forth a plume of flame that engulfed the elemental and converged upon the remaining bracer. Her brow furrowed from the strain and focus, a bead of sweat dripped down her cheek as the room temperature suddenly made a drastic change and not only did the elemental begin to evaporate, the bracer itself started to melt. The creature threw its arms back and a watery scream filled the room just as the bracer shattered from the forces colliding. Catisa gasped for breath as the flow of water finally began to disrupt and fell to her knees, the flames from her arm ceased and left a trail of smoke in its wake.
Seeing all that remained of the elemental - slick traces of moisture on the stone floor, steam swirling about from its sudden dispersal, and the two mangled bracers that had bound it - Mason let out a booming, triumphant laugh, "It is done, and done well! Beautiful work!" He turned to Catisa, still wearing a huge grin, and stepping over to her extended a hand to help her up, though he himself was still bedraggled and breathing heavily.
She winced as he grabbed her hand and with her tiny frame she compared to his she was practically hoisted up. Though in somewhat of a daze, she offered him a weak smile. "Indeed." Came her agreement between ragged breaths and waved a hand at the doorway, the molten rock that had prevented escape melted away to leave only scorch marks where it had once been. "Thank you, Mason. I don't think I could have done this without your help." Though the admission was true, she still seemed preoccupied as she now finally took the time to familiarize herself with the room.
"Hey, don't mention it! It's what I'm here for, after all. That said, not sure how well I'd have managed either, if we're being entirely honest here. I'm better at dealing with things that are, let's say, solid, yeah?" He chuckled to himself as he picked up his fallen weapon and slung it across his back once more. Finally taking the chance to look around the gloomy chamber himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and grimaced at simply how sodden his leathers still were, "Lovely little hole it found for itself. Any reason you can think of? I'm no expert, but elementals don't seem the sort to like creepy tombs."
With the adrenaline passing she found her sense of humor once more and giggled at his comments about solid objects, though that quickly faded and a frown found its way to her lips. "At first I thought it was because of the ley lines beneath Karazhan, though I should be so foolish as to think they were for reasons related to a passage in a book I had just read. It seems there was an ulterior motive." As she finished speaking she gestured with her right hand toward the far end of the chamber where a corpse lay crumpled in the fetal position, bloated from taking on too much water and likely drowned, though the stench was well masked by the surrounding musk of the tomb.
Mason wrinkled his nose and, shaking his head, knelt down beside the poor, drowned conjurer, "Must be our summoner, fled from Duskwood and led his rebellious familiar on a chase. Shame we didn't get here quicker, but looks like he's been here for a little while anyway." He reached out a plated hand to close the bloated body's eyes, still gaping in the throes of drowning, "We'll have to send someone out this way to take him home, if he's got a family." Pushing himself back up from his knees, he raked a hand back through his soaked hair, pushing it from his face, "I'm about ready to get outta here, I think."
Catisa Wells nodded eagerly at his final remark, her voice shaky as she spoke. "That makes two of us." Came her agreement and took one last look at the corpse, the frown on her features deepened and she shook her head as she slipped back through the threshold and started down the path that had led them there. She folded her arms across her chest, tucking herself in as though she were attempting to console herself.
