A Speculative Treatise on the Arium

As presented by Vincente Calbury of Tarland, Ethnician, 2^nd Scholasty of Novemere with assistance of Loremaster Yrys Thann

     Though it is common knowledge that our present vernacular hails from a more ancestral dialect, its roots are far reaching with traces of evidence pointing to a shared vocabulary between two distinct species.  If such extraordinary evidence could be substantiated, it would not only shed greater light on our surreptitious neighbors but offer a glimpse into our own murky past as well.  It is on this evidence that I would present my study.  

     It is not entirely clear when man first encountered the Elfin but it can be surmised to have been close to a century ago, as evidenced by northern folk tales with strong identifying connotations such as “wood-folk” or “whispering in the wealds” (See Northern Folk Legends by Tybor Symund).  It was in 1168 of course when the Elfin appeared to man at Tarland and made formal introductions.  Though they initially introduced themselves as the Denari, they also referred to themselves as the Arium.  It can be deduced that at this point, the two terms were misunderstood to mean one and the same; thus the need for this dissertation to exist- to not only remedy the ignorance of man but foster future relations with a neighboring people.

     Arium is another word for Elfin, or more simply Elf.  It is not an archaic term but one that denotes type, like Eiron is to Man.  Though we commonly refer to ourselves as man or mankind, our species is known as the Eiron.  Although unconfirmed, it is interesting to mention the writings of one Robeart Lamberge, an officer with the formal delegation that met with the Denari.  Sir Robeart claimed that one of the Elves made mention that this was not their first encounter with the Eiron and showed great concern at their presence.  A number of questions emerge from this claim however.  If such mention was made, why was there no other known record of it? If it was a claim made from one Elf to another, would it not be in their tongue and thus, incomprehensible to Sir Robeart? Perhaps they were simply speaking the obvious- of having encountered the Eiron before during our advance into the north.  The last question is of course the most exciting one; what if our two races had met one another before in the great long past?

     The Elves as we refer to them have revealed little to us about themselves or their culture. Despite the great interest in understanding each other, there is an unpredictable curiosity between our two peoples.  What little we know has come from those few willing to speak and untraceable texts that herald from beyond the Ember Era. The term “Elf” initially thought to simply be common slang from the northern folk legends is in truth quite old and heralds from age-old mythologies when lands hung in the sky alongside the moons and wars were fought upon them.  Though there are many iterations of these tales, a significant portion mention the Elifar, a fierce adversary.  Some tales instead speak of a single renowned warrior- Elif, who is still mentioned to this day to young misbehaving children.

     As it is theorized, there was one significant divide within the Arium that eventually led to numerous schisms that bring us to the “ethnic strains” discussed today, all of which result in much confusion and misunderstanding when and how the term Arium is and should be used.  For the purposes of remedying this perplexity, I will cease using the term “Elf” or “Elfin” and regard their race of people as the Arium.  The Arium, like the Eiron, are a species; however unlike the Eiron who call themselves Men or a variation attributed to certain conditions such as ‘islander’, ‘northerner’, ‘southerner’, or so on, the Arium classify themselves on a completely different scale.

     For the common man from the south, a northerner may have different beliefs and customs, but that individual is still inherently a man that shares the same blood and bones.  When we look upon a fellow man, we look back at ourselves, for we are no different. (Edit note: Additional work to be done here before publication, on the Oneiron theory, if permissible by the Conclave- though probably not) The Arium however are split into particular ethnicities that are a mix of faction and breed.  For us, it is difficult to imagine these different ethnicities as almost an entirely different race but for the Arium, it is considered to be a most sensitive issue of utmost importance. 

     (Edit note: Much of this is still personal theory. This will never get past editing…) Since the Denari are not native to the lands of Travil, it can be surmised that the Arium Divide occurred ages ago in an undetermined location. It is not known why, how, or when; simply that there was once only the Arium of the Sea- the Salari.  Afterwards, the Adiri appeared.  From the Adiri came the Faldari- the Arium Most High.  It is said that their empire was vast and timeless, until eventual strife created another schism, that which led to the Denari, the Arium of the Earth and their eventual arrival to Travil. 

     It is curious to note, in this brief but important history, the omission of who or what the Adiri were.  It can be implied that the Salari were an ocean faring people and the Denari- that of land. The Faldari, I will address momentarily for they are another matter.  The Adiri are a mystery in all but their name which may be a clue in itself. As with the Salari and Denari, their designations end in “-ari” which quite obviously leads to Arium, thus perhaps a more articulate appellation for these people would be the Denarium, or Salarium.  Is it puzzling that the Adiri are not known as the Adari? Whether veracity or a lapse in ancient history, I cannot say.  I can however, offer a deduction.

     A moon is pronounced as “Irum” in the Arium tongue and spelled just as simply, according to credible translators. Now apply the same logic as with Denarium and Salarium. Does the sounding of Adirium sound very much like “Irum”, and if so, represent a connection with the moons?  Before this notion is dismissed, I’ve a final supporting argument to make. (Edit note: This is beginning to sound more like a 1^st scholarly theoretical debate than a credible dissertation…) 

     In regards to the Faldari- they are not an Arium of any conventional element but that which is “Most High”.  It is uncertain as to what that means but it may be a reflection of their great empire.  According to Loremaster Yrys Thann, the first of the Most High referred to themselves as the Faldiri as per ancient texts.  Conceivably, the Most High considered themselves such in a literal sense- as natives of a moon itself, higher in the sky than all else!

     Without much further speculation into the outlandish possibility, it is important to note that there would be two separate bodies- the Arium and the Irium.  If the Faldiri were to have become dwellers of the earth, it would be enough reason for an internal schism that would lead to further divides within their own peoples and societies.   

     For now, the Arium we know- the Denari are a people bereft of their own heritage.  Perhaps through further discoveries of our ancestry can we hope to uncover fragments of their past, for if my theory rings true, our two fates are intertwined, as they have been in the past.

Rooftops

 
    The rooftops were connected to one other like a beaten path.  In fact, it was widely known that thieves and nimble couriers prefered this highway to the one below, for obvious reasons.  Though multiple laws were proposed to patrol the rooftops, city guard manpower always forced the propositions to fall through.  They had enough to worry about, inside the city let alone keep watch overhead. 

    The only watch Azurio ever encountered were those patrolling the city walls which kept each district separate.  The more experienced climbers found ways to bypass the typical district gates, whether by leaping over the walls to the next district, or by carving manholes underneath the parapets, below the sentries' watchful eyes.  Though the latter required some skill and manpower, and were subject of being found from time to time, they guaranteed ever increasing supplies of contraband, forcing the city watch to offer rewards for any unrevealed locations.

    Behind him, Yllithia grunted as she leapt down from a balcony.  He could hear her mutter a curse, which amused him to no end, as the priestess would never admit to doing such a thing with a face full of innocence.

    “We can always turn back if you prefer.”  He offered a hand, not at all attempting to hide the smirk on his face.  “We can just ask the guards nicely.”

    “You can ask the guards all you want.”  She huffed proudly and proceeded past him, ignoring his assistance.  “I said I wanted to see your favorite spot, away from the city lights.  Will you keep jabbing me with insults or lead on?”

    “Oh, I wouldn't want you to tear that pretty dress of yours.”

    “I can always buy another.”

    “But not that one.”

    “You do realize I am a tailor.  I try to fix holes in just about everything.  Including you.”

    Tserai chuckled as he looked at his footing and timed a careful jump from a narrow ledge to land atop another rooftop.  He offered his hand again, waiting for her to follow suit.

    She ignored it and nimbly leapt across, making sure to nudge the man in the ribs as she passed by.

   “I've probably done more jumping in my lifetime than you, Tserai Azurio.”

    “Was that an age joke?”  He grinned and followed her across a series of narrow alleys and climbs.

    “We have plenty of treetops in the north, Tserai.  I was implying about the scarcity of foliage within your desert plains.”  She replied snidely.  He couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic or trying to rile him.  Perhaps both.

    “Athanor is hardly a desert, despite the entire western coast being burned to hell.  Thanks for bringing that up by the way.”  He tried to sound upset.  She stopped and turned, a hint of dismay on her face.

    “Tserai, you weren't even born when that happened let alone in Athan-,”  Seeing his grin, she quickly turned red and scowled.  “Dog.  Now who is making jests about tragedies?”

    He laughed and pointed left, to another series of rooftops.  Ahead loomed the central tower, only a few jumps away.  A single silhouette with a dim lantern slowly paced the entire section, obviously more tired than alert.  The moon was blanketed by thick clouds, allowing the stars to shine brightly overhead.  It would be a good night.

    “Looks like old Barthas is keeping watch again tonight.  Once the bell rings, he'll be standing guard in his dreams until the next shift arrives.”

    “And how exactly do you know that?”  She asked inquisitively.

    “He does it every shift.  I can hear him snoring from the top.” 

    They laughed together, waiting for the distant ring.  As they prepared for their final jump from the edge of the rooftop to the wall, Tserai could see a hint of concern on the priestess' face as she glanced down at the street below, watching as the occasional figure walked down the cobble street.

    “Nothing you haven't done in the north.”  He reminded her with a smile, watching the worry quickly wash away as she realized that he'd spotted it.  She was always quick to hide any sort of concern.  She was not one for public worry.

    The bell rung in the distance, signaling their final jump.  As always, Tserai went first.  It was over a yard in width, nothing too large.  However, the wall on the other end was more elevated and required careful footing.  The fall would most certainly be fatal.

    Yllithia nibbled on her lip and took a deep breath, studying the various measurements.  It was nothing to Tserai; he'd done this a hundred times before.  Either he was skilled or just didn't fear falling to his death.  Undoubtedly both.

    She could feel him watching her, studying her tautness.  Scowling at herself, she tossed away the tense thoughts and jumped, landing into Tserai, his arms quickly catching her.

    “Not a word.”  She said, annoyed more at herself than anything else.  He smiled to himself, saying nothing and moved on, towards the tower.  Approaching the closed door that led inside, he pointed up to the top of it.

    “Now we climb.”

    “Climb?  You never said anything about that!”  She hissed, careful to keep her voice down.

    “Relax Ylli.  It's just a few bricks sticking out.”

     She scowled and followed his hand to where a series of thick bricks protruded upwards in a spiral pattern around the tower's edge.

    “You are mad, do you know that?  Absolutely insane.”

    He laughed and took hold of the lowest mortar stone, leaping up and grabbing another.  “You're probably right.  Still... rewards and risks remember?”

    “If I fall, you're going to follow me down.”  She threatened, following his actions with unease.

    “And if I fall?”

    “Simple.  I can give up this fools quest and return to the ground in peace.”

    “Live a little, Ylli.”  He said with a grunt, pulling himself to the top.  With feet on solid ground, he lowered his arm to her.  She accepted it without hesitation.  Pulling her up, Tserai gently helped her to the top.

    “I live well enough, thank you.”  She snapped back, crossing her arms and staring out toward Tyreen's Hammer.  He was right of course and she was too stubborn to admit it.  The view from here was astonishing.  The moon had already lifted itself from the clouds and now shone brightly above, its image reflecting clearly in Athora's bay.  Every district could be seen from this point, distant roads with tiny figures traversing upon them, and empty rooftops, illuminated by the waxing moon.  The city was built on a hill, she realized.  The central tower had been built at the very top of it, a perfect vantage point for any onlooker.

    Tserai sat down against the rampart and stretched.  The bulwarks were just high enough to where one could sit and enjoy the sights around them without having to stand.  Yllithia knelt down besides him and looked over towards the royal district, where the cemetary was located.

    “I am curious, Tserai Azurio.  Why do your people prefer to bury each other in the ground?”

    “As opposed to what?”

    She raised her eyebrow, surprised at his ignorance.

    “Opposed to letting them lay underneath the sky.  Are you not aware of our customs?”

    “I am now, I suppose.  You have fields of bodies rotting in the sun?”

    She nudged him with a scowl.  “We do not rot, Tserai.  We eventually become like the world around us- a part of nature.”

    “If given the choice, I'm sure we'd all prefer to become trees.”  He grinned and gently caught her hand as she tried to jab him again.  “Though, there is more legend to our ways than there is logic.  When we die, our bodies are said to meet Syl'Zaron the Waker who waits for us on the other side of this earth.  It was he who first awoke the Eiron from the eternal darkness of the elder gods.  Our ancestors of the Ember were the first.  It is said that they now serve the Waker as his most devoted subjects.  When we die, we simply rise again once more.  To be buried is to be closer to the Waker when he comes to wake us from our sleep.”

    “You sound skeptical, Tserai.”

    “I don't like being woken up.” He snorted.  “If I die, I'd prefer not to bothered anymore, thank you.”

    “What do you know of your elder gods?  We have no such thing in our teachings.”

    “Just that.  I'm afraid you won't find references to them in our libraries.  There may have been more back in the time of Ember but that's all dust and shadow now.  If you prefer, you can visit my study and look at our myths yourself, Loreweaver.”

    “I would like that.”  Yllithia smiled and pulled his hand closer to her, embracing it with her spare one.  “Though it still surprises me that one such as you tends to know so much.”

    “Knowledge makes not a man weak but rather a stronger opponent”

    “Always the soldier.  Is that Kierke?”

    “Soren actually.  It was mandatory officer reading.”  Tserai grinned again, amused by her answer.  “His original term was debater, not opponent.  Some general probably insisted it be edited to better fit the soldier's lifestyle.  I never bothered with Kierke.”

    “You were ordered to read Denari philosophy over that of your own man?  You continue to surprise me, Tserai Azurio.”  She replied sardonically, studying his smile with interest.  It were these moments that mattered most to her, to see him open and relaxed, without a weapon at the ready.  His walls were still thick with ice and she attempted to scrape at the surface, identifying cold remarks as his  unique sense of sarcasm.  It was a clear defensive mechanism, often employed in order to retain that barrier.  The more she fought fire with fire, the further she managed to delve in.

    “What surprises me is that you didn't recognize your own philosopher's quote.  I suppose they don't teach that in... what sort of schooling did you have anyways?” 

    “It was a temple.”  She replied quickly, eying him confidently.  “We are taught everything at the temple.”

    “Must be large.”

    She nodded.  “It housed the greatest minds of our society.  Our writings were ancient, from the days before.”

    “Before what?”

    “Before we arrived in Travil.  When we were of different heritage.”

    “Your people seem to dislike sharing knowledge.  Our borders are open yet yours remain closed.  Why is that?”

    “We have a history of distrust, Tserai.  Tardale remains an open rend between our people.”
    Yllithia did not mean the remark to mean anything, especially an insult, but it seemed to annoy Tserai.  Was it her lack of openness that bothered him?

    “Ember's entire army was annihilated, Ylli.  Whatever happened, it wasn't our ancestors who did it.  Would we destroy our own men and leave your people standing just for show?  Whatever happened, it destroyed that entire land and rendered Voranor lifeless.  And let us not forget about the maelstrom that continues to eat away at both our lands.”

    “I believe you Tserai, but my people have different ideas.  They see your kind as foolhardy and pervasive.  The Eiron are in our ancient texts as well you know.  I suppose your ancestors once tried to sail across the seas as we did, to create new kingdoms.  Their conflict with our olden ways lead to our birth.  We escaped that war torn world to found a new one, in Arkhalon's light.”

    “Arkhalon.  That sounds familiar.”

    Ylli grimaced.  The memories though ancient, were still fresh in her mind.  As a Loreweaver, it was her duty to keep memories to the exact detail.  Arkhalon's fall, though seemingly taboo to even mention, was her obligation to remember.

    “It was our first holy city, built before the corruption took hold within our lands.  You must understand Tserai- the corruption began at the same time as the burning at Tardale.  My people saw it as an attack from your people- an attempt to invade.  We believed that Tardale's fire was meant for us, but had been miscalculated.  You have no idea how close we were to invading your lands with our entire might.  Had it not been for the spreading rot and the collapse of Arkhalon, you and I may not be having this conversation, let alone be in this tower.”

    She realized how much she had said.  The plague that gripped her lands was of little matter to the Eiron and thus, the Denari spoke little of it to them.  It could be taken as a sign of weakness and enmity could spread between the two races.  Yllithia could not blame her peoples' paranoia.  They'd been hunted since before their landing upon the northern shores.  At their strongest moment did her people collapse once more, fleeing to separate sides, with separate plans. 

    Looking up, she realized Tserai had been quietly watching her, waiting to see whether she would say more.  He wasn't like the rest of this city, eager to engage in intrigue and conspiracy.  No he was just a soldier, but his concern for her was a binding light.  She hesitated to recall the continuation of her bitter history but decided that Tserai deserved to know.

    “Our borders are closed to even our own, now.  The path to Oruvar is clear to Denari and Eiron alike, but no more.  The rest is poisoned.  Each year, our bindings continue to fail and we are forced to fall back.  We are losing our lands, Tserai.  Our holy city lies at the heart of the rot, bereft and corrupt.”

    “This poison, what does it do?”

    “It strikes at the mind and induces madness within anyone who it touches.  We have had to slay our own brothers and sisters, Tserai.  We're losing more of our lands and people each day.  There is a reason why we've been slowly allowing your people to our lands.”

    He was quiet, dreading the affirmation that she'd been hinting at, yet even Yllithia doubted the facts that presented themselves.  She clenched his hand tighter, concerned that this accusal would end the evening.

    “The madness does not affect the Eiron, Tserai.  They are immune to it.”

    So that was it, he thought.  The Denari clearly thought his people to be responsible for their downfall yet they refused to look at the events that betook Tardale and greater yet, the kindom of Ember itself.  This wasn't an attack on just her people, it was an attack on all people alike.  All of their lands were victim to something beyond natures choosing.  Fire, plague, and ice.  It could not simply strike at once all across the world unless a greater power was involved.

    “Ylli, what do your people want with us?  Why do you let us intrude into your lands?”

    “We hope to find a cure at the heart of it all.  Eiron mercenaries can venture deep into the rot and identify the source of the corruption.  Though not all of my people agree.  Our kind has since split into another sect, returning towards our ancient heritage.  They are quite content at reclaiming the old ways in order to battle this evil as well as any intruders that tread upon their claimed soil.”

    She sighed, looking back at the years when the ancient document was signed by two of their greatest leaders, two adamant groups standing behind each ones back.  As the concord was signed, each leader took hold of the papyrus and ripped it in half, taking the opposite ends back to their own people in absolute silence.  No words were needed to understand the split that had just occurred.  Every Denari and now Faldiri, understood the consequences and could offer no celebration- only mourning.  She was young then, barely into her womanhood and standing at her father's side.  She remembered looking up and seeing a river of tears upon his face.  He, like her, was their people's Loreweaver.  He would recall this tragedy for all of eternity. 

    “You know of the Faldiri, Tserai.  They are reclusive and sorcereous.  They fight not only to repel the poison, but to control it.  We do not know how successful they are, for the accord forbids us from speaking to one another until Arkhalon is once more free of evil.  They regard your kind as intruders and foes, and will not hesitate to kill any who encroach towards Anovar, their claimed capital.”

    “Ylli...”

    “Yours is not the only kingdom that has fallen.  It seems we are a pair of insects in this great world, each with only half a wing upon our backs.  Can you fly with just one wing, Tserai Azurio?  I wonder.”

    He chuckled suddenly, breaking her concentration.  His sudden mood swing was a quick comfort as she realized that the conversation had been dreadfully black.

    “We were supposed to look up towards the stars tonight Ylli, not down at the ground.”

    She smiled and shuffled closer to him, suddenly bothered by the cool winds.

    “I am sorry, Tserai.  You're right.  It isn't for me to talk about-,”

    “It's the first time you told me something of yourself, Ylli.  I promise not to exploit this sudden realization.”

    She laughed.  “Soren would be disappointed.”

    “It was Kierke all along actually.”  He grinned devilishly.  “You really think they'd let us read Denari philosophy?”

    She looked dismayed for a brief moment before laughing once more and jabbing Tserai with her elbow.  “You're a beast, Tserai.  You made me doubt myself that entire time.”

    They remained quiet then.  Yllithia leaned on his shoulder and listened to his steady breathing as she studied the stars with him.  The moon slowly crawled across the sky, ready to disappear once more into the veil until the coming morning had passed.  She wondered what he could be thinking right now, and if it would be wise to ask but the moment felt rare and peaceful.  The dawn would come and the world would once again be full of noise and distraction.  Yllithia dared turn her head toward him, to see if his eyes were still following the moon.  She laughed to herself, seeing that they were closed and the man had been asleep for some time.  Asleep.  He had never been so relaxed around her before, always on the guard or patrol.  He was at peace for once.  Smiling, she curled up closer to him and watched the stars above, unable to close her own eyes.  Tonight, she would be on watch.

---

Commentary:

This is the piece that finally broke the indecision on whether to have the character be Kieran Reiyn or Tserai Azurio.  Written first for Kieran, it just didn't seem natural enough.  The name simply doesn't fit the person.  In the end, Azurio triumphs and begins his fourth evolution as a character.  This piece gives plenty of information about the world and surrounding lands.  Eventually, I will upload the map after I am satisfied with it but I am quite content with the current landmarks and history.  This shard has gone a long way since its inception as hardly anything more than an afterthought.  It's becoming more delightful to construct.  My one negative quip however is that I don't like the spaced out format for each paragraph, but that's as neat as I'll get with this site.  Not too big of a deal though.

Annals of Time: Patric Diaphan's Codex III

    We try to understand the darkness surrounding us, yet we stand to ignore the incomprehensible void within our being.  

     Sleeplessly I stare at the sanguine star which lights my path of dreams.  It emanates a dying glow and fades as I draw closer to its diminishing warmth.  The darkness everlasting melds together with the deepening red and within its amalgamation of bleeding black do I see a single orb of grey.  It lies there, cold and forgotten within that solemn emptiness, wrapped in a shroud of twilight.  

There it is! Our treasure that we have long searched for within the ebon sea! It is revealed to me at last!

     We have long forgotten the way and have since lit inside our wandering bastion, a new flame.  Forged in starry solitude by way of dreams, our path lies through interpretation of ancient texts, left behind by the starfathers who came before the first dawn of our time.  

 We have come claiming the birthright that is to become ascendent-being in all the glory that is deemed ours.

This is Eonara.

Dyr'Dvannon, Patric Diaphan, Navigator, Eonar

He the Dream

     The corridor was bare of adornment or detail, silently reflecting the true nature of Korvantuntari. It was a soulless place, dismal in its existence and foreign to the earth itself.  This fortress was never meant to be here, Kieran's thoughts whispered as he advanced forward, his plated boots reverberating noisily with each heavy step.  He dared to touch the walls with his uncovered hand, hoping to feel anything- even the slightest tingle of energy which coursed throughout the entire fortress like wind.  Nothing but smooth glass replied to his touch. Without a hint of emotion he pressed on and hurried onward toward his destination- the gateway at the end of this eternal hall. 

     He'd never seen the Ebon Lord- no image or projection even.  He'd been called to the master's service without ever seeing what he looked like.  What sort of man blindly pledges his life to the shadows?  Clearly Kieran Reiyn was such a man.  He'd been given the freedom of will where others had it taken from them.  Those creatures were nothing more than decrepit husks of their former selves, alive only to serve a god who reigned far upon the highest peaks of the Gray.  To see the Ebon Lord was to be given substance, Valranar had told him.  It was the greatest possible honor- to personally share in the Ebon Lord's vision... or be cast down from Korvantuntari in judgment.

     A colossal gate of midnight hue no different than the walls around him, now blocked Kieran from the one who’d summoned him.  There were no inscriptions to read or handles to push, it was a slab of pure darkness that barred him from seeking his answers.  That was the trick wasn't it?  He was as hollow as anyone else within this dark mountain- there was nothing that should separate him from the Ebon Lord.  He'd been chosen to serve and obey.  Kieran's purpose lay here, within the confines of the dreaming dead.  The former knight was meant to function as a weapon- a tool for use by others.  Beyond this gate, Kieran would meet the one who would wield him.

     He raised his hand once more, pressing it into the darkness and was surprised to feel a surge of heat course through him. It felt like a reminder of what he had abandoned in life.  Memories of spring and summer invaded his thoughts like ashes scattering in the wind. He remembered warm walks through the merchant streets of Vesper as the lingering fragrance of freshly made incense invaded his nostrils. He remembered cool nights atop the rooftops of Athora, watching the stars flicker in the great beyond as the moons traversed across the lit sky. Despite all these glimpses, the warmth felt foreign to Kieran. He longed for another taste but the feeling had come and gone.  The portal faded around his hand and buckled into the walls, giving him entrance to the Ebon Lord's chamber. The tingling sensation of heat was immediately replaced by an encompassing wave of utter cold.

     This was not a natural cold.  It was his cold.  A true reminder of what the hollow soldier had become.  Kieran couldn't help but admire the Ebon Lord's sense of admonition. To give his chosen subjects a quick indication of the life they all once held, only to drown them in the darkness of the present.  An effective strategy to instill fear before the encounter, he mused as he stepped through into the final chamber in uneasy trepidation.

     It was an unusually large court, entirely empty and bereft of any sort of application.  The darkened walls were completely bare, save for four sets of buttresses which rose upward into the domed ceiling overhead.  The unnatural light of Korvantuntari was strongest up top.  It lit the chamber like a bright blue flame, allowing full view of the room... and him.

     At the far end of the chamber stood the Ebon Lord, unmoving and facing him.  Kieran's froze in apprehension as he stared at the apparition in front of him.  The man was at least two heads taller, a giant by Eiron standards.  His arms lay completely limp at his sides, as still as the rest of his body. As Kieran slowly approached, he could feel the chamber pulse with immense energy. This was Korvantuntari’s heart of darkness. 

     “Stop.”

     The word came from his mind in a calm and soothing tone. Kieran halted his slow advance and studied the dark figure with a cautious glance. The Ebon Lord’s eyes were crimson and burning, staring into the one who had entered his most secluded sanctum. Kieran quickly realized that the man’s skin wasn’t dark- it was burnt. His entire body was charred and cracked, with scars as red as his eyes, running throughout his body. His hair was black and stood up like frozen smoke. He wore a frayed gray kilt that hung loosely below the waist.  He seemed completely unaware of his haggard visage. The contradiction of the Ebon Lord’s appearance shocked Kieran. Here was a man- a creature of such power and control and yet completely ignorant of man’s basic appeal. 

     “Speak.”

     Kieran didn’t know where to begin. His questions were suddenly extinguished amidst this man’s presence. None of them seemed to matter. He stood frozen in place, attempting to comprehend the situation at hand. He was suddenly afraid of death- afraid of what this man could do to him. He controlled legions of sleepers with the power of this mountain. He could raise the fallen and heal those whose wounds meant death. He existed for ages in these timeless halls as the world outside changed with the passing of each moon. The Ebon Lord was deathless and Kieran was simply a mortal man given unlife.

     Responding to the silence, the Ebon Lord slowly shifted toward the man, almost motionless. He did not sway his arms nor his body, but remained rigid and still as he moved closer. Kieran dared not move nor look away, he simply remained at attention and waited.

     ”Do not allow your heart to fear me, Eidolin,” the lord uttered at last in a hushed tone, his lips almost unmoving. “I have frozen its beatings after all, and made of you a machine for me.” His pervasive voice did not echo within the hollow chamber that housed but puppet and master; it shot straight through the man. It was perplexing, calm and gentle, Kieran thought uncomfortably. 

     “I am the salvation that is to be. Though I think not yours. No. Yours lies elsewhere, away from my palm. That is what I see. Or do I feel it? The current sways beyond my control sometimes. You are a rather curious selection.” The Ebon Lord stopped at the center of the chamber and cast a terrifying gaze at the man, his eyes dancing like candle fire. He raised his arms theatrically toward Kieran, with blackened fingers pointing upward.

     “I am Dir-Dawaan of betrayal being.  I am he who is of memory and abandon. I am borne of the sky beneath your shadow, waited till the setting of the moon to become the now.  I have been to where others have forgotten- to realms of shadow and of night, cast eternal by echoes of those we tried to follow.  I am not the dreamer but the dream in which you are within.”

     The words felt benign to Kieran, each syllable seemingly meticulously manipulated as it emerged into reality, producing instantaneous fervor within the man. His mind raced with correlation and analysis, scrambling through the comforting understanding of these sounds, and pacing to realize the happenings of this entire situation. The Ebon Lord manipulated the unseen fabrics of diction, as each individual sound became split intonation. The words broke apart in their meaning and coalesced into multiple suggestions, each one making complete sense to the man and yet remaining entirely nonsensical. He was the personification of pure madness, innocent in form and yet unwelcome to a world of logic and structure. He had a name and face now, Kieran contemplated, yet he was neither Eiron nor any other being recorded in this realm’s chronicles. 

     The Ebon Lord, Dir-Dawaan, lowered his arms and passed by the silent man, turning to stand at one of the blank walls that blanketed the room. Kieran felt compelled to follow him- to stand at his side and watch as the barrier dissipated into nothingness with a slight hum, revealing the outside world. The sudden luminosity of the gray sky greeted him as Kieran looked at the world from the highest peak in Abdulan. He could taste the fresh clear air and yet somehow, the heavy wind shear that hurled snow down below dared not intrude upon the two, as if nature itself feared the one that stood besides Kieran. He looked down and could see the peaks of other mountains struggling to remain in formidable sight of Korvantuntari. 

     “This is your world but it is not my own. I and mine hail from below the wasted deep, beyond the ebon sea on which we rode. Yet you cannot even fathom this false existence- how could you dare see mine?” Dir-Dawaan’s visage turned towards Kieran, his gaze unflinching. A pulse of anger seemed to emanate from him, aimed towards the lesser man with critical assumption. ”Many a man dared question him, Eidolin. Their bodies lay broken atop the peaks below our gaze.” Kieran remembered Valranar’s words at this point. He had to speak or he would quite possibly fly.

     “There is much that I do not understand… my lord.” He replied with what seemed a whisper. My lord. Kieran hated those words. He recalled his former masters with hatred and disgust. No matter his road, he was bound to serve. “You called for me, and I dared answer.”

     “So I did, but you are not yet ready for my choosing, recollector. Your thoughts are desolate and weak.” Could Dir-Dawaan see his thoughts and memories? Kieran clenched his fist as anger poured over him. He’d betrayed himself with the very thoughts that brought him here.

     “Yes, you are audacious, Eidolin, to have dared bring this emotion to Silmacunor… but do not fear. It is but the miscalculation of ignorance and illusion.  Let me enlighten your emptied heart and show you of my world, the blighten future that is to be.” Dir-Dawaan raised his hand toward Kieran as he turned back toward the open sky. “I am endless dream and darkest night.  I am inheritance of torpor and visioned reverie. Take my hand, child of the wakened world.  Let your sight see mine.”

     Kieran hesitated for a mere moment as he considered the offer. What would he see? Would it break his mind as well? This was why he was here, after all. It was time to see. He took hold of Dir-Dawaan's open hand like a mystified child.

     His sight instantly burst with colorful explosion and he flinched back, yet Dir-Dawaan's iron grip held him in place.

     Everything changed. The sky was on fire, its typical blue and gray ocean replaced with chromatic hues that painted the world red. Countless floating structures blotted the distant horizon- like the levitating mountains at Dun'Daro. This seemed an exact reflection of what Kieran had seen there. Fiery skies and dark silhouettes floating calmly in the air above. Had the entire land been identical to those ancient ruins?  Down below, each mountain peak had been flattened as if purposefully carved by countless hands. The tops housed what looked to be soldiers standing in formation- there must have been tens of thousands of such figures adorning the tops of each mountain peak. This would not have been the past, these ancient mountains could not have taken back their crowns. He turned to his master, his mind full of questions but besides him was someone else now.

     The charred aberration was gone and in its place stood a pale man, wrapped in golden silk and silver plating. The suit of armor was unlike anything Kieran had ever seen- tight layers of golden fabric clung to the man's body, fitted with snug silver plating which seemed as thin as the very clothing it was attached to. The metals had been meticulously applied to the man's body to retain any and all necessary motion without any impairment. No single piece seemed to attach to one another- they were fixed in place by force alone.

     The man's face was regal and young with black hair nearly flowing down to his shoulders. His eyes however retained that striking red hue which clearly marked him as the same man. This was still his master. 

     The red eyes turned towards the frightened man, his grip hardening upon Kieran's hand. “My world is one of ash and flame. My body is its reflection in your time.” Dir-Dawaan spoke quietly, his eyes locked with Kieran's. “You do not belong here in my world, Eidolin.”

     “What... is your time, my lord?” He dared ask back. Dir-Dawaan smiled solemnly, his face portraying a reposed sorrow that Kieran could not see before this moment.

     “My time is beyond the flow that is. It is not the before or the after. It is the now. My now. I shape it to embody everything that has and will occur. You are in my dream, Eidolin. This is my vision of all that was once not yet.”

     “I don't understand, my lord. Are we in a different time?”

     “Do not concern yourself with time, child. It does not service my dream. This is what must become, it is that simple. You have not the privilege to see my dream in full, for you are chosen to be one of the waken. I pity you, Eidolin for your arrogance will destroy you here. You do not belong in my time. You seek to find your own dream but there will be no sleep for you in mine. You will remain greyminded, bound to my service- to my dream.”

     “My dreams are gone, my lord.” Kieran spoke forcefully, daring to retort at the living god that clenched his hand with a mighty grip. “They were once my greatest desire but now I know what I cannot have.”

     Dir-Dawaan laughed coldly, his face twisting into arrogant pity as his laughter echoed beyond the chamber and through the open world as if it was but another hollow chamber. “You still desire the dream, Eidolin. You still desire her. Only true death will end that- is that what you wish from me? You see my dream- you may have it for eternity as the sleeping do. Ask and it shall be yours.”

     Kieran shook his head, wishing nothing more than to leave the hallucination and the being that created it. “I do not desire death. It will come for me in time.”

     “Time, Eidolin...” The world dimmed suddenly as Dir-Dawaan's hard grip disappeared. The cold dark skies of reality returned to Kieran. Familiar as they were, he felt a sudden longing to see the Ebon Lord's vision again, despite the earlier desire to escape it. The charred being once again stood impassively beside him, his flaming eyes facing the open skies once more- a sky that to him was not dark but as bright as the setting sun. “I will destroy time, just as I have destroyed your dream. You cling to your humanity like a wretched worm, seeking solace in misguided emotion. I will allow you your time, Eidolin. I will allow you her presence... but not without a price.”

     “That is not what I desire!” Kieran stated adamantly, forgetting his place once more. The Ebon Lord suddenly sprang to life, a deafening roar escaping his lips as he swung his arm towards the man, throwing him back across the room with a thunderous clash.

     “IT IS,” came the shout from all sides, enveloping the fallen man in a cloak of terror. “I SEE HER AS CLEARLY AS I SEE YOU. THE THREAD IS NOT YET SEVERED, EIDOLIN. YOU BETRAY MY GIFT WITH YOUR PRIDE”

     “I don't know how to!” Kieran pleaded, crawling backwards towards the wall as Dir-Dawaan proceed towards him, fuming in terrible rage. As he reached the center, the Ebon Lord stopped mid pace and stared upward into the dim light within the dome. His anger seemed to subside as the room's reverberations began to fade.

     “You have been given your time, Eidolin. Waste it no longer within my presence. You will not return to Silmacunor ever again or true death will greet you. Become my side and do as I command, or I will make you sleep. Do you understand?”

     “Yes... yes my lord. I understand.” Kieran replied, stumbling to his feet. His body ached in pain from the mighty blow, accompanied by the harsh landing. The Ebon Lord looked back at the man, once more as frozen as the moment they met.

     “Do not lie to me again, Eidolin. You may be shrouded to my vision but I can still feel your true thoughts. I will break you yet.”

     Kieran silently bowed his head and backed away as he heard the wall behind him open. He dared not turn around until the gate had once more been shut, his last sight being that of Dir-Dawaan's red glare.

---

Commentary:

This took awhile for me to compose and I still don't feel pleased with it.  While most of my other posts are vague and 'out there', I wanted to actually delve deeper into my work and create an environment as well as solid one-sided dialogue between a man and his master.  Dir-Dawaan is a challenging character to write.  He is an enigma yet every one of his sentences is practically a riddle in terms of who he is and where he is from.  Though he appears quite mad, there is truth to everything he says.  Thankfully, I've been able to sculpt the world a bit more with this piece while giving the main protagonist a severe weakness due to the decisions that he's made in serving the dream.  I look forward to refining this piece and add on to it- I really like where things are headed.  Of course I don't expect anyone else to really comprehend what is going on- it is my madness afterall, no one elses.

 

Annals of Time: Patric Elder's Codex I

The Fifth Echo

      We are within the Fifth Echo of time and space eternal.  Our existence is one of six totalities.  This is known to us.  All else is shadow to us.  These are our annals of time as we have come to know it.

Ar'Gganis Anosar, Patric Elder, Prime Keeper, Eonar

The Coming of the Grand Aegon Illuminate

     The Verse was chaosborne.  There is no balance to it- only insanity.  The truth of the Verse cannot be known to us for it would undo our very essence.  What is known however is the arrival of the Grand Aegon Illuminate, the beings of chaos which would shape the world to come.  As each Echo began as nothing, the Illuminate shaped the entirety of darkness into a state of being.  Naught of this is known to us, but the shaping of the Fifth Echo and those of the Illuminate who were involved.

The Mind of Four: The Starfathers

     There was no first.  There was no last.  There were simply four pillars of light, bearing seeds of creation unto the solace of night.  There were the Aegon Starfathers.

La'ridah of Twilight Being

Insha'hir of Midnight Being

Jahan'gir of Destruction Being

Nurru'daan of Creation Being

The Shaping of the Worlds

     From the depths of the great beyond, came four slivers of silver, spanning great and distant lengths.  These were the pillars of the Aegon and from them, emerged their tools of creation.  La'ridah gathered swarms of spectral dust and wove the stars into the tapestry of shadow.  Jahan'gir wrapped each burning sphere in a void of utter hunger and thirst, their desire pulling anything within the twilight into their swallowing midst.  Nurru'daan shaped spheres of living earth that would circle the ever-hungry stars, out of reach of the devouring flames that brought warmth and light to their celestial kin.  Covering the land in lush skins of green and blue, the brightness of the stars shone down and brought forth light.  Insha'hir slowly turned each living world away from the hunger of the high flames, allowing a blanket of cold and steady darkness to cover half of each world.

     Thus, the Verse was no longer barren.  The Aegon had formed it to their desires, to contain their touch where nothing once was.  Though their task was to be complete and allow chaos to flourish, the Mind of Four were bothered about the lack of life on their creations.  Against the missives of the Aegon Illuminate, the Mind of Four chose to create their own touch of life and stray from their ostentatious delegation.

Eonarii: The Starchildren

     As the Verse is chaosborne, so is life itself.  To alter the course of life is to alter destiny itself.  The Aegon chose to follow this path and allow the ripples of evolution to echo throughout the Verse.  The Mind of Four challenged this idea and proposed a new constant of thought.  Whether the Illuminate allowed such action, it is not known.  The Eonar were born from the dissonance of introducing fragments of order into the chaos that was life.  As quickly as they appeared, did the Aegon vanish from the Eonarii.

     From within the confines of the Third Echo did they emerge and shape their own fate.  Although barred from interfering with their natural evolution, the Mind of Four left behind fragments of infrastructure and technology that would allow the Eonarii to evolve as the Aegon willed it.  This subtle manipulation however, could not prevent the eventual collapse of an entire species.  The Eonarii, too reliant on knowledge not of their own making, destroyed one another in pursuit of the stars above.  Only with the emergence of the Presence, did the Eonarii rise together- but it was too late.

     Were it not for the discovery of the Shard Ship, the Eonar would have been consumed along with the entirety of the Third Echo.  The Shard Ship, designated Kalid Valirus- The Black Eternal, could only take but a handful of the Eonar.  Kalid Valirus was the largest and most functional of all Aegon artifacts.  Escaping from impending extinction, the black shard pierced through the fade of the Third Echo and began the Great Transformation.

The Presence

     The Presence is shadow to us.  It is ancient, beyond the time of the Third Echo.  We do not know its purpose or desire.  It simply invades.  The Third Echo has been lost to the Eonar.  The Verse shall fall into a state beyond chaos and control- one of utter displacement of existence.  All calculations left within Kalid Valirus confirm the inevitability.  We will all perish.

The Warrior of Nightmare

 I

He leans himself against a ruin, his vision cast in sunder

Yet heavy laid with soul-a-shatter, a bitterness for blunder

To split apart a heart from mind, to eyes that will not see

A jaded splinter of his being, gone from memory

Of life no longer rapt to roam, in earth from whence he'd been

A shallow grave untouched in sand, absolved by human sin

II

And shadow falls within these halls and dawn doth break upon the walls

He answers not her faithless cry, but lies alone and waits to die

A hollow face carved into stone; burned in the flesh, engraved through bone

I shall be thine, as you are mine, forged by our thoughts to be divine

The silent singer in your ears, the unborn shade of all your fears

To be the dancer in your dreams- the frozen faith of all that seems

We are forever, you and I; a pair of insects damned to fly

But you and me, not I and thee; alas it cannot ever be

For we are doomed to always see, the facets of eternity

III

Though darkness dwells through endless night - of ashen dawn and blackened dusk

I wander through these sunken ruins, trapped not by time but mortal husk

And life no more seeps down these halls, I crawl through world broken

Bound not by life or mind unquelled, but by a word of token

In hand the die is naught but crumble, mirrored by the tears of weeping

But he who knows my fate within- the dreaming city, I lay sleeping

To live no longer in the flesh, a nightmare of the wrong

A shattering of steel and soul, infused in form of song

So know you me as I have you, a single thought in gray

Engraved in lucid memory, to die and fade away

The Grand Design

   You do not seem to realize my intent, Eiron.  I come not to threaten or destroy, but to make you understand that which is.  Your mind has already grasped the Partial Truth.  It is time for you to comprehend the other half.  The hidden half.  The Axiom.

   Our entire species is a lie.  A genetic flaw, repeatedly doomed to fail, like countless others that undoubtedly came before us.  What your kind refer to as gods are merely like you- strains to serve a greater purpose.  But unlike us, you were a mistake.  Uncalculated.  You were an unpredicted variance born out of chance and fate.  Pure unprecedented chaos.

   We thought you weak and primitive.  Truly, we had manipulated your kind to this state of savagery, never once realizing the hidden potential that lay dormant within you.  We had taken advantage of your mundane state.  We entrusted ourselves to the mantle of the Starfathers before us and became the twilight gods that you have worshiped for countless millennia.  You must understand, we relished you serving to our every whim and pleasure.  The circle was bound to repeat eventually, this time in our favor.  We came to be the masters of ascendency after once being just like you.

   Oh yes.  We too, were once a primordial species.  Afraid.  Confused.  Easily manipulated.  But we eventually learned the truth of our kind.  We had the potential for more.  Ours was meant to exist beyond the boundaries of the earth.  We drifted beyond the darkness and toward this eventual truth.  We realized what we were meant to become, and in this metamorphosis, we reforged ourselves as the forecoming hands of destiny itself.

   The Starfathers are a mystery to us all, Eiron.  We- no... Some of us are different, however.  There are those who have cast away the veil of divinity to pursue the ancient truth.  It is all part of the Grand Design and you... you are the one great wave amongst the bleak and continuous ripples of progress.  You will turn the tide of this perpetual experiment which has doomed all of existence to the whims of a civilization long gone.

   What you wield, bladebearer, is a dark and terrible secret.  It is a darkness to us all.  Your blade, and the entity it bears within, is not of this world- perhaps not even of this verse in which we reside; yet it is shadow enough to engulf even the Starfathers and their animus.  Do not let it compel you into transfiguration as it did its previous host.  Its function is mystery and architecture no different.  You will find the maxim of it all eventually, but be ready to sacrifice everything for such a truth, if one truly exists within our limited understanding.

   The truth of my words will destroy you, Eiron. You are centuries unprepared for any of this.  But you of all possible people- of all possible races, must understand this conception.  Our role in this grand play is forfeit.  We have been the catalysts to our own destruction and your ascendency into the unimaginable.  Though immortal, we have lost ourselves to the miserable demise of greed and folly.  We shall diminish into the fade, akin to those who are ever eternal in age but ephemeral in design.

  But you will continue.  You must continue.  You are Eiron.

   

Oneiros

***
This piece is part of a short series of tales about Tserai from my time in WoW. I don't intend to show every single one nor place the ones that I do, in any order. More details after the piece.

***

The air had calmed and the light was quick to dim. There was no noise in the streets below. All was as silent as Tserai’s very mind. He’d returned to Stormwind, barely conscious of his surroundings. He’d clung to her tightly, never letting go, not even in his sleep. She was his anchor- his only doorway to life. The trip was harsh and long, but his grip never faltered. Through storm and ice, he survived with her hand in his. She had not left his side except for the briefest of moments, when his slumber was deep and rapt.

Boats, caravans, horses; whatever means brought them closer to Stormwind- she took them. His wounds continued to open. His fever would not break. The only thing keeping him to this world was her hand, holding his life upon the limb of a few fingers. It comforted her to know that he was alive, but that very fact continued to terrify her. She recalled their most recent meetings- his sudden lunacy and her disparaging reproach towards him.

And yet here they were again, together with clasped hands, as if the very fates grinned their sardonic smiles at them. He would not awaken- only mutter and whimper in his sleep as Stormwind continued to draw nearer each day. The healers there would cure him, she had desperately hoped when she found his fallen body in the midst of an empty road, battered and broken by forces unknown. Her first urge was to flee- to escape the growing pain that tugged at her soul. He was a curse- a blight to her future. That darkness- it continued to surround him- more strongly now. She could not help but blame herself for such a tragedy. She had failed him, and now she would do so again, by letting him die?

Her mind spoke against her. Every fiber in her being struggled against her to leave him to his death, to let this man disappear from her life. And yet she ignored those calls and reached out for him. As her hand touched him, his eyes unexpectedly opened. He could only manage to whisper her name before falling back to the ground unconsciously, seemingly lifeless if not for his breathing- so slow and deathly hollow.

She could not discern his dreams, nor his troubled state. She could only watch over him and comfort her own bothered mind over yet another burden she thought lost. Stormwind. Why Stormwind, of all places? It was not for the healing. It was for the bitter memories that could never be. Where they met. Where they laughed. Where he changed. For her. Always for her. And that bothered her- yet she never told him.

* * * * *

The city seemed to recognize him more and more, as they drew further in. Commander of the Dawn, they whispered. Hero over the Black Citadel. They knew of his exploits and yet knew nothing of his methods, Ylli thought bitterly. They were not aware of his schism with the Argent Dawn. Or perhaps they simply did not care. This was Tserai Azurio, a man who ventured into death itself, and emerged victorious. A man who could lead the very fleets of the Alliance to Northrend itself in the coming days.

She brought him to the cathedral and watched them open his wounds. She would listen to his cries as they removed the poisons within his flesh. She was his sentinel. It was her duty as a priestess, she reminded herself. Her duty. 

 

When the priests were finally done, she promised to care for him under her roof. His sweat continued to soak the sheets, and she would change them regularly, almost as often as the damp cloth upon his forehead. Slowly- very slowly, his hand would stop trembling- a sign of recovery on his part. The fever broke. His skin began to regain color. He would open his eyes at last and see her again, like an eternal dream, dancing at the tip of his mind.

“You’re awake finally.” She spoke softly with a faint tremble. “You’ve been asleep for weeks.”

It all began to fall together for him, as it had many times before. She was here, as real as anything else in the world. His mind however, continued to blind his senses, leaving his emotions dull and weak. He did not know how to feel- how to react. He could only watch faintly, her face shining down at him with what seemed to be a smile.

“You’re in Stormwind, Tserai. The… priests- they healed you. You nearly died, you know.”

She didn’t know what to say really. It all seemed so pointless, these words of hers. The tears- they wanted to slip through, but she could not allow it. She would not allow it.

He only stared at her, his face blank of any emotion or meaning. Was his mind whole, or had he emerged scathed and senseless from the terrors within Naxxramas?

Or was it her? Was she his bane, or he hers? Her stomach twisted as questions continued to torment her psyche. 

 

His eyes closed without a word and he fell into a slumber once more. She allowed her restraints to fail and tears began to form. As one slid down her face, it fell upon his cheek. She was quick to wipe it off before letting go of his hand and leaving him to his silent repose.

* * * * *

A week had passed and the city had grown silent to his arrival. He was but a leaf, quick to blow through the streets. Quick to be forgotten. He would sit in a chair and stare out a window, without saying a word to her. He hardly ate, but it comforted her to see him eat anything at all instead of nothing. She would leave her home frequently, to further the distance between them. Nights would be spent alone, wandering the streets and occasionally glancing at the stars. And yet as she passed by her home, she would look at the window and see him stare at the sullen earth and not the stars above.

Once, she had heard him humming an unfamiliar tune to himself. She silently crept to an adjacent wall and sat against it, listening to him for hours before falling asleep. Waking up the next morning, she discovered his blanket covering her tightly. Walking to his room, she found an empty chair facing out to a bright day.

He did not return, no matter how long she waited. It was an empty feeling, her being alone within her own home. She felt anxious. Afraid even. Stepping into the warm streets, she began to wander the roads of the city, hoping to find him somewhere- anywhere, safe and unharmed. It was not like the days of the past. She tired easily. She could not travel the same distances without brief rest. Sitting down at a bench, she closed her eyes and sighed.

Where did this compulsion come from? Why did she want to find him? He was no child in need of a mother. He needed no caretaker. He was a man of his own, who had survived for years. He was reckless. Dangerous. Careless even. And yet, he continued to live where others had died.

But was it truly a life, that he was living? Or was it an empty shell of one- just like himself? Did she truly want to help him or was it simply the priestess within? Perhaps he didn’t even need help. Perhaps all he needed was her.

She sensed another nearby. Her eyes opened and saw the man of her thoughts, leaning sideways against a dim light post, clutching at himself as if frozen in the cold. She stood up, watching him carefully as he stared back and shuddered.

“Its… its cold here.” He whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I… don’t remember it- it being so cold here.”

“Tserai…” She stepped forward.

He stepped back.

“You… don’t understand. You- you don’t know.”

“Tserai..” She said again, edging closer with a outstretched hand.

“They… they did things to me. To them.”

Things. Horrific things no doubt. Things she could not imagine. It was all possible. And their result was this broken man, afraid of even her.

“I never wanted them to die, Ylli.” Tserai said quietly, his back hitting against a wall. She continued to step closer.

Was he speaking of his past, or his experiences within the Citadel? It all seemed so similar. And yet it made little sense, these ramblings. What could they have done to drive him to such a summit? Or was it ultimately her, who had broken the last of his defenses?

“I’m sorry.” He said with a near-whisper, his legs buckling as he fell towards the ground.

She rushed towards him, catching him in his fall. She embraced him tightly, refusing to let go. Releasing him slowly, she looked at him and smiled.

“Lets go home, Tserai.”

“Home…”

“Yes. Home.”

* * * * *

They returned to her dwelling, with her whispering comforts with every step. He would respond now and then, hinting at a familiar return that brought a smile to her face. As they entered her room, he gently sat at the side of the bed, watching as she sat next to him, her hand still clasped with his.

Tserai finally looked up at her after long minutes of dead silence, his expression trapped between a look of guilt and one of relief. There was a difference in him however, Yllithia noted. She continued scanning his face, searching for the change within him until she found it, a warm sense of happiness flooding within her. It were his eyes. As ashen grey as they had once been, they hinted at change as a sliver of cerulean stared back at her.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He said softly, stroking her hand with his fingers, his voice relaxed and calm. This was the man she knew once. He was quiet- almost inaudible. But his composure did not change. That dark pride however- it seemed to be gone. He seemed to understand his limits and his very mortality now. 

 

"I love you, Ylli."

“I know, Tserai.” She replied with a smile, pushing away unrestrained hair with her other hand. The response was almost immediate and she pondered whether it was honest or instinctual. 

 

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked, almost pleadingly, his grip tightening slightly.

“You know I will.” Came the reply, as gentle as ever before.

He sat there with her for eternal minutes, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder before slowly laying down on the bed, her body lightly lowering with him. She embraced him tightly and looked at his face, smiling as she recognized the tranquil quintessence within his eyes. Her hand remained with his while the other slid down his cheek, towards his heart. Their faces drew nearer and he smiled back, his eyes lowering to her lips. They continued to fall, past her neck and to her swollen abdomen.

His eyes suddenly changed, that serenity being quickly replaced with an expression or fright and terror. Whatever lifelike change grew in his eyes quickly disappeared and the familiar gloom returned, his eyes becoming as grey as the shadows surrounding them. His heart seemed to stopped and Yllithia’s every thought rushed to her child- the only valid reason for such a change.

Before she could push away, an unexpected warmth covered her hand and she drew back in slight surprise. 

 

“Y-Ylli..” He stammered, his eyes falling from her lips, to her hand. 

 

Her own gaze fell and eyes widened as she looked at her own hand, covered entirely in blood.

“Tserai- what’s happening?”

His body collapsed upon the bed and a stifled gasp escaped his lips. She released his trembling hand with regret and pulled at his shirt, crying out in dismay as gaping holes poured out blood through his chest. 

 

“Tserai!” She screamed, trying desperately to cover the cavernous wounds with her hands. His eyes stopped stirring and all movement quickly faded. She continued to scream for him, unable to do anything as a thick stream of blood trickled from his open mouth.

His vision faded. He could feel her cries become faint and empty as everything darkened. Wet tears splattered upon his cheek and her very touch began to fade. Her face disappeared from his mind and the only a faint whisper remained. It grew louder and louder- until he recognized it, not as a whisper but as a laugh.

“And now you see what you cannot have, Azurio. Now you have felt your own heart. How it beats. How it thinks. Let it die, Azurio! Let it die and never beat again. Let her own thoughts die along with it, for it will never be. Realize this, and be closer to your… ambition!”

His eyes opened to the screams of nightmares surrounding him. Deathly horrors enclosed around him as he lay upon a slab of frozen ice, chained and bound. A path parted within his view and he could see a shadow of a being standing over him with a blade in hand.

“Now, let us see how much you’ve truly decided to give, Azurio. Let us witness the change that you have decided to accept. After all, this was your own decision.”

---

Commentary: 

 This is perhaps one of the more important moments in Tserai's story, recalled through Yllithia's point of view.  Though it is probably difficult to discern without knowledge of the context, all of this is actually a dream.  I would call it more of a nightmare though, or perhaps even a vision.  This scene describes events that could not have possibly happened, following the previous events of the story.  Here, it describes Tserai as the hero of the battle, not the fallen victim that he had become in reality.  If this story ever becomes more than one book, I would love to have this section placed at the very beginning of the sequel, in order to confuse the reader into thinking that all of this has actually taken place in some unfathomable way.  

So if this was all false, why did I call it a vision?  Well, in my revising, I've decided to use this section as an unforeseeable future.  In one way or another, something that happened in this vision will most definitely occur in reality.  This vision has three versions.  Tserai and Yllithia have different experiences.  This vision comes from the mysterious Dir-Dawaan and he attempts to ensure that it occurs properly.  I'll leave things at that.

Of course, being a work of WoW fanfiction, I've already changed the majority of names and environments.  With this being original content, I will obviously continue to revise, improve, and edit the piece sometime to better fit the proper story in the world that it belongs in.