It had been a week or so since the Crossdeep Clan had left Stormwind Port for Kalimdor. Not more than a day or two had passed after settling down in Darnassus before they heard that Auberdine (and much of Darkshore) had been ransacked by Deathwing. It took some doing to convince Rii-nee (and Tuan!) to stay in Darnassus with Terrothanes, Eli, and Theluin, but in the end, Rii-nee only allowed her brother to go if he took a companion with him. Aaron volunteered, wishing to learn more about the lands and the people that took in his kinsmen, and perhaps to help shed more light onto the strange case of the clan’s missing patriarch: Archdruid Pterneldan Crossdeep.
~||~
Saphrit and Aaron dismounted their Hippogryphs at Lor’danel, slowly taking in the reality they had stepped into. Survivors were still trickling in, battered and worn from fleeing up the coast through a gauntlet of enraged water elementals … and judging from the number of bodies being dragged into the outpost, some of the refugees didn’t even survive the trip north. Worried and wounded civilians packed Lor’danel’s inn, many wringing their hands or praying to the point of tears as they waited for word from missing or injured relatives, and there was heard the occasional cry of grief when bad news was delivered.
Saphrit looked around, recognizing faces among the displaced citizens, and gradually learning more of the fate of one of his An’da’s most frequent ports of call. The young dragon paladin practically grew up walking and flying along the long dock and into town. Auberdine, during the time he spent wandering the world with his adopted father, was as close to a home as he could imagine, and one of the few places that openly accepted him in spite of his draconic heritage. To hear that people that he had come to accept as extended family had perished in the wake of Deathwing’s ‘triumphant’ return – it was safe to say that it was hard for Saphrit to process, especially given his tender age. He could remember walking the beaches and documenting anomalies with Gwynneth Bly’leggonde, or learning more of Kaldorei culture from Thundris Windweaver, all while waiting for his adoptive father to finish re-provisioning for their next port-of-call or running errands for the locals. Now, people he grew up knowing as mentors and friends we gone, killed in the wake of the cataclysm his An’da had seen coming years before.
For Aaron, the grief here was more palpable than the grief shared by all Gilneans. From what he understood, these were a people that had shared life together as friends for thousands of years, and to have it all torn away in a terrifying instant was something Aaron knew he would never be able to fathom. Yes, Aaron knew that his past was tragic, but the tragedy here on these dark shores dwarfed all of the drama that was his own.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Of Light and Void, chapter 13
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It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
There is no up or down anymore, no right or left, no forwards or backwards – eddies and vortices are jolting her in every direction imaginable; a thunderstorm of raw energy sweeps her up and carries her into the darkest pits of hell.
It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
There is no sound, or at least not how one would define sound – the screaming is projected directly into her mind, a never-ending, dissonant chorus of unearthly howls, wails and roars, all competing against each other in a maddening race for supremacy where none can emerge the victor.
It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
They cannot be called voices, because voices imply a certain degree of control, a certain amount of substance.
There is none.
They tear into her in nauseating waves, one blood-curdling tsunami of unspeakable agony after another, whenever they don’t become veritable spikes of undiluted pain.
And it doesn’t stop.
And she desperately wants it to stop.
And she desperately wants it never to stop.
Because she knows that behind this mind-shattering cacophony is something else, something much vaster and far more terrifying than all the demonic clamouring in the universe.
Because she knows that as long as they keep up, they offer the only harbour for her naked soul.
Because she knows that the moment they stop, there will be nothing left between her and it.
Between her and—
-flash-
It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
There is no up or down anymore, no right or left, no forwards or backwards – eddies and vortices are jolting her in every direction imaginable; a thunderstorm of raw energy sweeps her up and carries her into the darkest pits of hell.
It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
There is no sound, or at least not how one would define sound – the screaming is projected directly into her mind, a never-ending, dissonant chorus of unearthly howls, wails and roars, all competing against each other in a maddening race for supremacy where none can emerge the victor.
It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.
They cannot be called voices, because voices imply a certain degree of control, a certain amount of substance.
There is none.
They tear into her in nauseating waves, one blood-curdling tsunami of unspeakable agony after another, whenever they don’t become veritable spikes of undiluted pain.
And it doesn’t stop.
And she desperately wants it to stop.
And she desperately wants it never to stop.
Because she knows that behind this mind-shattering cacophony is something else, something much vaster and far more terrifying than all the demonic clamouring in the universe.
Because she knows that as long as they keep up, they offer the only harbour for her naked soul.
Because she knows that the moment they stop, there will be nothing left between her and it.
Between her and—
-flash-
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Of Light and Void, chapter 12
---
The Keep was alive with activity even before what passed as dawn came to the fortification. There was little chatter; whatever words that were exchanged were simply for basic communication and relaying orders and instructions. Supplies were distributed quickly and efficiently as the men filed out, the gravity of their impending relocation having wiped the rank-and-file clean of any distracting thoughts or merriment.
The dignitaries were the last to join the dispatch as it stood in its usual formation outside the Keep’s walls, all neat rows and columns, every soldier standing to attention. The Draenei ambassador was cool and collected, the faces of his Exarch companions set in stony expressions of stoic determination. Theluin’s complexion betrayed little else but his usual, quiet calm.
Eleazar allowed himself a brief observation of Tuan as she let Sandy pull level with Abolition. The she-rogue hadn’t said much during the necessarily brief morning meal, and now sat in her saddle with her back hunched, leaning against the pommel on her palms with her head bowed. Apparently noticing his silent scrutiny, she raised her head and shot him a faint, weary smile. At the very least, she didn’t seem nearly as much of a wreck as she had been the previous night.
The ram’s horn sounded once, twice, thrice. A single metal trumpet answered from the Keep, and that was all the farewell they got. The dispatch filed out.
When the infantry had picked up its usual marching speed, Eleazar rode close to Sandy again. Tuan looked over at him almost before he pulled level and gave another light smile.
“No need to worry, Eli,” she mumbled quietly, more out of consideration to the nearby delegates than any overt exhaustion.
Eli allowed himself a measure of relief. “Ye’re feeling better today, Miss Tuan?”
She nodded lightly and stared ahead. “I’d like to imagine it was the sleep more than anything. But yeah, I think that infusion managed to set back the migraine a whole day.” She rubbed her face discreetly. “Here’s to hoping it’ll help when …” She petered off, her hand dropping and her eyes hardening.
The Keep was alive with activity even before what passed as dawn came to the fortification. There was little chatter; whatever words that were exchanged were simply for basic communication and relaying orders and instructions. Supplies were distributed quickly and efficiently as the men filed out, the gravity of their impending relocation having wiped the rank-and-file clean of any distracting thoughts or merriment.
The dignitaries were the last to join the dispatch as it stood in its usual formation outside the Keep’s walls, all neat rows and columns, every soldier standing to attention. The Draenei ambassador was cool and collected, the faces of his Exarch companions set in stony expressions of stoic determination. Theluin’s complexion betrayed little else but his usual, quiet calm.
Eleazar allowed himself a brief observation of Tuan as she let Sandy pull level with Abolition. The she-rogue hadn’t said much during the necessarily brief morning meal, and now sat in her saddle with her back hunched, leaning against the pommel on her palms with her head bowed. Apparently noticing his silent scrutiny, she raised her head and shot him a faint, weary smile. At the very least, she didn’t seem nearly as much of a wreck as she had been the previous night.
The ram’s horn sounded once, twice, thrice. A single metal trumpet answered from the Keep, and that was all the farewell they got. The dispatch filed out.
When the infantry had picked up its usual marching speed, Eleazar rode close to Sandy again. Tuan looked over at him almost before he pulled level and gave another light smile.
“No need to worry, Eli,” she mumbled quietly, more out of consideration to the nearby delegates than any overt exhaustion.
Eli allowed himself a measure of relief. “Ye’re feeling better today, Miss Tuan?”
She nodded lightly and stared ahead. “I’d like to imagine it was the sleep more than anything. But yeah, I think that infusion managed to set back the migraine a whole day.” She rubbed her face discreetly. “Here’s to hoping it’ll help when …” She petered off, her hand dropping and her eyes hardening.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Of Light and Void, chapter 11
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It had been the worst day. Tuan’s temper kept deteriorating at about the same rate as the by now all-too-familiar migraine kept doing its number on her composure. She was aware that she was being an absolute pain, but she didn’t care one jot about it. Out of her way or suffer the consequences – that was the maxim she had lived most of her life by. Sure, she knew when to be discreet about stuff, but goodness knew she could flip a Venture Co. Shredder right over when her patience was up.
Thankfully, the resident commander did indeed recognize her – if only by description – and dealt with her incessant snarky peanut gallery commentary with remarkable patience. Though on second thought, that was probably due to Theluin’s presence. Alright, all Theluin’s presence. The old Night Elf had a way to defuse just about any powder keg about to go skyhigh; it was one of his more notable talents that she had learned to (somewhat begrudgingly) appreciate.
Luckily enough, or likely because she made such a fuss about it, she had been given a room of her own to reside in. The dispatch was to spend the night resting, reprovision the next morning and immediately set off for the Portal.
She did not relish that last prospect at all. In fact, right now she was busily trying to convince herself of exactly every single reason why this had been the stupidest thing ever to go along with. She kept twisting and tossing in her bed, biting down every so often on the bile that rose intermittently in her throat. Eventually, she simply got up, put on her usual pants and shirt and flopped back onto the thoroughly undone bed, sitting at the top end with her back against the stone wall. The ever-present chill of the thick, carefully shaped and fitted blocks was faintly comforting, but it didn’t help her trepidation.
“… I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal,” she whispered dejectedly to herself.
She turned her head sharply at a soft knock on the door, and cursed under her breath when said head replied vehemently to the sudden movement. “Yeah? Who is it?”
It had been the worst day. Tuan’s temper kept deteriorating at about the same rate as the by now all-too-familiar migraine kept doing its number on her composure. She was aware that she was being an absolute pain, but she didn’t care one jot about it. Out of her way or suffer the consequences – that was the maxim she had lived most of her life by. Sure, she knew when to be discreet about stuff, but goodness knew she could flip a Venture Co. Shredder right over when her patience was up.
Thankfully, the resident commander did indeed recognize her – if only by description – and dealt with her incessant snarky peanut gallery commentary with remarkable patience. Though on second thought, that was probably due to Theluin’s presence. Alright, all Theluin’s presence. The old Night Elf had a way to defuse just about any powder keg about to go skyhigh; it was one of his more notable talents that she had learned to (somewhat begrudgingly) appreciate.
Luckily enough, or likely because she made such a fuss about it, she had been given a room of her own to reside in. The dispatch was to spend the night resting, reprovision the next morning and immediately set off for the Portal.
She did not relish that last prospect at all. In fact, right now she was busily trying to convince herself of exactly every single reason why this had been the stupidest thing ever to go along with. She kept twisting and tossing in her bed, biting down every so often on the bile that rose intermittently in her throat. Eventually, she simply got up, put on her usual pants and shirt and flopped back onto the thoroughly undone bed, sitting at the top end with her back against the stone wall. The ever-present chill of the thick, carefully shaped and fitted blocks was faintly comforting, but it didn’t help her trepidation.
“… I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal,” she whispered dejectedly to herself.
She turned her head sharply at a soft knock on the door, and cursed under her breath when said head replied vehemently to the sudden movement. “Yeah? Who is it?”
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Of Light and Void, chapter 10
---
The column kept a reasonably brisk pace throughout the afternoon, despite or possibly because of the oppressive humidity of the swamp surrounding them. The human soldiers would ever so often glance warily to the sides as the incessant growls and cries of the native fauna filled the air unceasingly – by noticeable contrast, the Draenic cohorts maintained their stoic discipline and kept their attention fixed on their forward momentum, save for those on the flanks who kept their eyes trained on their surroundings to either side in case of an opportune ambush. The road was distinguishable only by simply being a particularly well-beaten passage through the choking trees; the Draenei ambassador remarked once to the dispatch captain the possibility of reinforcing it with cobblestones, but Theluin diplomatically intervened, pointing out the inherent difficulty with the poorly supported mud sediments pervading the marshy landscape. The topic was not brought up again.
The column picked up almost imperceptibly as the trees suddenly began to thin out, a palpable air of relief among the human ranks. The transition in terrain was no less unnaturally abrupt as that between the infamous mountain pass far to the west and the soggy swamp they had just traversed, but it was still fundamentally different. Like before, the swamp trees petered out within a few yards, the fertile soil of the swamplands yielding to barren earth and naked rock, but where the soil of Deadwind Pass had been a dreary, inert grey, this land was a dark, almost purplish red.
There was another, much less tenable but nevertheless perfectly noticeable divergence. Deadwind Pass was for all intents and purposes a dead land; nothing but thorny, resilient shrub would grow in the huge, winding ravines, and what little wildlife eked out a paltry existence in its depths kept to itself, away from the main road. There were other roads that led elsewhere, but few ever had a reason to venture along those and fewer still returned. The only thing that ever seemed to move was the wind – dead, carrying no promise but bone-chilling cold and misery, whistling and whining through petrified trees and branches turned to stone, that would never carry leaves or flowers again. It was as if the landscape itself had been slowly drained of its very life force over the years until nothing but void remained. And so it stood, an enigma to the perpetuation of life, sterile and abandoned by redemption until time would loop back to its genesis and the world would be reforged anew.
The territory that the column now entered was in some ways similar, and in others utterly opposite. Where Deadwind Pass was little more than a single, precipitous canyon stretching in an odd S-shape from north to south, this place was an open wasteland of jagged rock and scorched earth. Where the wind of Deadwind Pass only smelled of dust and eons, the atmosphere here was saturated by an altogether malevolent aura, a metallic, stinging stink only barely on the cusp of mortal senses, reminiscent of some dark mixture of blood and sulphur and a strange, otherworldly quality that could only be described by one word.
Nether.
The column kept a reasonably brisk pace throughout the afternoon, despite or possibly because of the oppressive humidity of the swamp surrounding them. The human soldiers would ever so often glance warily to the sides as the incessant growls and cries of the native fauna filled the air unceasingly – by noticeable contrast, the Draenic cohorts maintained their stoic discipline and kept their attention fixed on their forward momentum, save for those on the flanks who kept their eyes trained on their surroundings to either side in case of an opportune ambush. The road was distinguishable only by simply being a particularly well-beaten passage through the choking trees; the Draenei ambassador remarked once to the dispatch captain the possibility of reinforcing it with cobblestones, but Theluin diplomatically intervened, pointing out the inherent difficulty with the poorly supported mud sediments pervading the marshy landscape. The topic was not brought up again.
The column picked up almost imperceptibly as the trees suddenly began to thin out, a palpable air of relief among the human ranks. The transition in terrain was no less unnaturally abrupt as that between the infamous mountain pass far to the west and the soggy swamp they had just traversed, but it was still fundamentally different. Like before, the swamp trees petered out within a few yards, the fertile soil of the swamplands yielding to barren earth and naked rock, but where the soil of Deadwind Pass had been a dreary, inert grey, this land was a dark, almost purplish red.
There was another, much less tenable but nevertheless perfectly noticeable divergence. Deadwind Pass was for all intents and purposes a dead land; nothing but thorny, resilient shrub would grow in the huge, winding ravines, and what little wildlife eked out a paltry existence in its depths kept to itself, away from the main road. There were other roads that led elsewhere, but few ever had a reason to venture along those and fewer still returned. The only thing that ever seemed to move was the wind – dead, carrying no promise but bone-chilling cold and misery, whistling and whining through petrified trees and branches turned to stone, that would never carry leaves or flowers again. It was as if the landscape itself had been slowly drained of its very life force over the years until nothing but void remained. And so it stood, an enigma to the perpetuation of life, sterile and abandoned by redemption until time would loop back to its genesis and the world would be reforged anew.
The territory that the column now entered was in some ways similar, and in others utterly opposite. Where Deadwind Pass was little more than a single, precipitous canyon stretching in an odd S-shape from north to south, this place was an open wasteland of jagged rock and scorched earth. Where the wind of Deadwind Pass only smelled of dust and eons, the atmosphere here was saturated by an altogether malevolent aura, a metallic, stinging stink only barely on the cusp of mortal senses, reminiscent of some dark mixture of blood and sulphur and a strange, otherworldly quality that could only be described by one word.
Nether.
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