Jessipalooza

He did not let that feeling linger, one hand going to pull out the short spell sword he’d brought with him while his other hand raising and flicking the green flames up from his fingers to light up the area. Right before his face was another's, twisted in pain and terror in a soundless scream. Eyes bleeding a tarry liquid and covered in a myriad of dirty green pustules. His breath was drawn in sharply and he stumbled away, nearly losing his balance as more came into view.

The figure was not alone, multiple others trapped in n green hued ivory surface, intertwined with one another and reaching desperately to climb over each other. Faces in pain or horror or fear, each countenance and limb covered in the pustules that spread like an infection along the surface.

Faervell’s heart was beating like a drum in his chest, glancing around further to get the lay of where he landed, seeing that these figures did not cover all of the landscape. To either side, it seemed more a cave, more of the pustules coating the walls between crevices of dark wet stone. Behind him was nothing but darkness, the tunnel leading out to a steep drop that he didn’t dare move to look down. Below him he saw what seemed like glass, but gave with each step he took. A black void that reflected his own image back upside down to him in a deep darkness that flickered with the green light he’d created.

He saw no demon here, even though his senses reached to find a presence. Seconds ticked by like minutes and the silence was deafening till finally there was a crack of shell breaking. Faervell’s eyes immediately snapped back to the ivory and he saw a new light forming. A line broke through and the figures had started to move with an unnatural life, turning and twisting away as the surface as there was a white green light spreading up. 

It was a door and slowly it broke open to part for him, the dark glassy ground stretching further back as he could see columns of the same ivory further back down a hall. As if that were not clear enough indication to move forward, there was a whisper against his ear, a voice he knew. 

A sharp tone spoke behind him, directing him, “Go forward.” He felt the warmth of her hand pushing in the center of his back, shoving him to take the first steps as if impatient.

Faervell’s grip on his sword tightened, knowing these were tricks, yet following the only path present to him. He relinquished his flame, stepping forward with infirm steps as he made his way through.

He wasn’t sure how long he was walking, the door long gone and the hall twisting and turning, leading him deeper into the belly of the beast. Not once did he question his path, strangely enough. More pustules lined the walls and the path was broken up only by the columns that were broken in the center to hold crystal fragments that emitted the light. It was only once he reached an arch in that same dark stone as the walls that he came into what seemed like some grand hall. Familiar, but in some twisted way.

A short set of stairs lead down into the echoing hall, a grand hearth set behind two chairs facing it that had fel flames smoking in it’s belly. The walls held dark murals, figures dancing along the planes in war, in love, in betrayal and hate. Figures he knew, figures he didn’t. None he could focus on for long, yet could feel their stares as he walked forward. He didn’t pay them as much attention.

Instead, he was looking at a man that sat in one of the high backed chairs. He was hard to see from the back, but Faer could see the long claw-like appendages that traced along a glass set on a small elegant table between the two chairs.

The man himself looked familiar, and as he stepped forward further he knew why. It was Baeraeus Mirthsorrow. An old elf with deep set eyes and a constant look of displeasure on his face. Or at least, that’s what he would normally appear, but this was not meant to be a convincing replication of the man. Faervell could feel the attention set only on him, despite the gaze turned to the flames in the hearth.

As Faervell stepped in closer to the chairs, Baeraeus’ voice spoke up, echoing along the mostly empty chambers, “Faervell Bael’nar.” He sounded pleased, “You’ve made me wait quite a long time, haven’t you?” He motioned to the chair opposite him, inviting him to sit. At first, Faervell didn’t want to move. He looked back to the door, but found the wall far closer than before. The hall was now nothing but a study room, the paintings still lining the wall, but a more intimate environment built before him. He could feel the heat of the room, smell the sour herbs and the dampness that resided there. None of the things he wanted to feel, yet drawn perfectly out of his memories.

He didn’t want to sit here, yet something possessed his body to move step by step till he was sitting down. As if this was entirely an expected meeting and not something far more threatening. He set his sword across his lap, still allowed to be at the ready even if he did not lash out immediately.

He found his voice, responding with surprising sturdiness in his tone, “Not nearly long enough for my preferences.”

Baeraeus smiled, “An answer i’m quite familiar with. Yet every creature must meet this moment and I relish every second of it’s arrival. Clever as you are, you cannot escape the inevitable forever.”

“Yet you’ve failed twice over.” Faervell responded.

Baeraeus hummed with amusement, “Battles lost does not mean a war is at it’s end. You would know that quite well, after all. You’ve lost so much, yet persevered through every bit. An admirable man praised for a determination to see things through to the end even at risk of your life. Or so you let many believe.”

Faervell’s jaw clenched tight for a moment, “I’ve no intention of losing this War, Batu.”

There was a wave of Baeraeus’ clawed hand and a scoff, “Oh of course. I wouldn’t have invited you here had you any intention of less. I abhor the weak willed. There’s nothing fun to a creature that lays over to display it’s belly the moment it’s met with the insurmountable. Fodder to a machine and nothing more.”

The old elf smiled, motioning with one clawed finger to Faervell, “But there are creatures like you. The feasts of resolute indignation. These I savor, these deserve my attention.”

“You speak of deserving your attention, yet mask yourself behind your illusions still. You fear what creature you’ve created still, Batu? We’ve tales of such in our world. Tales of how creators are turned upon and die at the hands of their actions.” Faervell tossed back, his fingers tightening on the sword in his hand. Some distant voice of his wife urging him to action, yet his mind reminding him of who it was he was before.

Baeraeus cocked his head to the side, “But i’m no story, Faervell Bael’nar.”

“No, you’re not, yet you play the role of villain quite well.”

“A role you’ve played the same and managed just as well.” Baeraeus offered back, “If we are to view this in the archetypes of stories, then would this not simply put you as one meeting the consequences of his actions? The final chapters of a story told over centuries?”

“And you see yourself as the consequences come to life?” Faervell rose his brows, fingers still tracing the slow shapes along the wood.

“Do you not?” Baeraeus asked, mirroring the raise of brows.

Faervell felt the weight of the gazes from the murals again, his eyes momentarily leaving Baerus’ visage to glance about instinctively, as if assuring himself no one was about to leap upon him that he wasn’t expecting.

 “Did you not tell them time and time again that I was the consequences of your actions? Of your mistakes?” As Faer turned his gaze back to Baerus, he saw the man fully turned to him, new ‘eyes’ sprouted under the first set- fel green orbs with red lining the edges. Staring into him so deeply it unsettled him, “Do you lie to yourself now in this hour to seem stronger?”

Managing to keep his composure, Faervell replied back, “I don’t deny my words, demon. Your illusions do not need to remind me of my own beliefs. I ask only for what you believe. What does a demon as powerful as you determine itself as in these moments? Merely consequences or more?” 

Baeraeus chuckled, the sound deeper than it should and echoing in the halls, “I see myself the facets of all fears a creature has. An arbiter of their final hours.”

“And what do you find me, Batu?”

Baeraeus smiled wickedly, “I have known you since you were young, little felmancer. I have let you live not once, but twice, because you amuse me. You are like a delectable fruit, ripe and fat for the picking. But I am a cultivator of fine fruits, and I think there is more to you yet that can be drawn out. The finishing flavor to this long nurtured prize.” The words came out with drawn syllables, a hissing that made him feel like a snake was wrapping around it’s prey.

“Are you offering me a chance, Batu?”

“A challenge. Or more specifically, three challenges. Something to gamble our prolonged story to a sweet finish. Complete these three and survive, then I will let you live. No longer to be bothered or hunted, but instead to cultivate yourself into something fierce and destructive as your nature intends you to be.”

It was a lie, and Faervell knew it was a lie. Batu was merely giving him three ways to die. And even if he passed all the challenges and amused the demon, he would die anyway. But, it was more time, and time was what he needed most right now.

“And what are these challenges?” Faervell asked with a desperate tone tinting his voice, as if a man eager for a deal. A trick to deceive a deceiver.

“Now, now, now… That would spoil all the fun of it, wouldn’t it?” Batu laughed, waving his hand yet again and Faervell could hear the crack of wood and a groan. He turned his gaze away again, now seeing the room changed yet again. An arch had formed in the wall to his left, dark and intimidating as it opened to nothing but stark darkness. A cold wafting through it’s frame.

When Faervell looked back to the demon in his master’s skin, he was drinking at the dark black ichor that had filled the fine crystal glass. Letting the man sort through the obvious before he spoke up again, “I do hope you will amuse me well, little felmancer. Try not to make me wait as long this time.” He smirked, his gaze cast sidelong to the man. 

“I’m sure you’ll find yourself pleased no matter the outcome, Batu.” He said, knowing there was little else that he could get from the demon now nor did he want to waste more of his time here. He stood once more, sword still in hand. He let his gaze linger on the smiling old elf with too many eyes just a moment longer, then turned and went on his way.

There was another laugh, deep and just as unsettling as all things Batu did. He didn’t look back, though, going forward to whatever new trap that had been laid for him with the determination of a man with nothing more to lose at that moment.

--

He realized it was a late evening when he came back to his senses, the blue hued growth around a stone path that led around a building. He felt tired and heavy, like he was just waking up and had to blink away the sleep. In that haze, he saw a bench surrounded by lush greenery and on that bench a figure with bright sunset hair.

Esme was sitting with a book in her lap and teh stars above. Her neutral expression showed a faint smile and she looked calm and comfortable. Stuck in a moment as if patiently waiting for something to arrive. When she heard his footsteps, her head lifted and her teal eyes met his.

All at oncer, her calm demeanor twisted into confusion. Surprise. Horror. She had shut her book before saying a word, her incredulous tone, “...Faervell?!”

Faervell’s brows furrowed at the sight of her there, swallowing down a hardness in his throat as he slowly kept walking towards her. He didn’t remember getting here. He didn’t remember coming back home… but Esme was right before him. “Esme?”

She gazed over him from head to toe, slowly and cautiously walking towards him, “What--... What are you -doing- here?” She stops short when she’s close enough to get a good look at him, muttering, “Gods above and below… you are really here? You--...” She cut off and there was a twitch to her brows, “You are -here-?”

Still muddled by the haze of this dream like atmosphere, his brows furrowed. It didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t remember anything beyond the conversation that had been lingering in his mind before. Batu sitting across from him in Baerus’ skin and the laughter that cut through him. But now, he was here. This was home. It felt real and Esme was there.

“Am I?” He asked her, then assured himself further, “I am.”

“It--...” Esme looked at his chest, his arms, his waist, his legs - everything that may have an injury. Tentatively - as though she is terrified she may hurt him, she touches his chest. Her touch is cool in comparison to him, just as it always is. “I thought--.... We thought you were dead.”

Faervell frowned at her words, looking down to himself as if he needed to check. Confusion entering his voice, “I don’t remember how I got here, Esme. I remember speaking with Batu but…” He reached for the memory, but everything felt too hazy and distant. Some effect of the teleportation perhaps?

“I-- I do not know how you got here. Faervell--...” Her brows twitch and there’s a falter to her voice that unnerves him, “It…” She glances back to the bench and then to the hand on his chest. “Everyone thought you were dead. We buried you. Well--” She tilts her head to the side. “We did not have your body. So it was a piece of you from each of us.”

None of it made sense to Faervell and his expression betrayed all of that confusion. Buried him? Why would they have done that? He was right here. He’d made it back.

Esme continued on, “But-- How are you -alive-? How did you get here? … And why are you -here- of all places?”

It was as if he didn’t belong in this place- Embertree, his own home. It was not something he could linger on, rather more focused on the fact that Esme had buried him like some lost soldier never coming home.

He was right there.

Faervell looked to meet her gaze, “What do you mean you ‘buried me’? You… I’m not dead. You wouldn’t bury me, Esme.”

Esme’s voice was sharp as she replied, an edge he knew well, “I tried.”

His focus went to a glimmer at his chest, something catching the light that drew his eyes downwards. He saw a beautiful silver and gold ring with a brilliant simple diamond inlaid on it on her finger. It was a wonderful ring, but it wasn’t one he’d given her.

All at once a rage filled him, his hand snatching hold of her hand tightly and pulling it up between them. “What is this?”

The sudden grab made her jerk back, taking a step away from him and holding it closer to her. “It is my -ring-. And I think I have the right to ask -you- questions before you start asking -me-.” She set her fierce gaze on him, repeating again, “Where. Have. You. Been.”

The jerk back and refusal to answer was like they’d turned the pages back. Back to when her walls were high and resound in her stubbornness to answer anything. As if he’d get nowhere with her, no matter how much he was trying.

He took in a breath, trying to calm the irritation in his voice as he said, “I went to kill Batu. I tried-- I talked to him, but… I must have succeeded. I can’t remember… But I'm here. I’m alive, Esme. Why are you acting this way?”

Esme scoffed, looking incredulous at the question he posed, “Why--... Why am I -acting- this way? Are you seriously asking me that?” She looked around for confirmation of the sheer audacity of his words before she shook her head and looked back to him. “-You- left me.”

It was a truth that tasted bitter in his mouth.

“You. Left. Me.”

The words echoed in his ears.

“You lied to me.”

He couldn’t argue against them, because he knew he’d said the same. It was the truth. It would always be the truth that he chose to leave Esme behind, despite her wishes. Despite his promises of otherwise.

“And then you were gone for over a -century-, Faervell.”

The last words she spoke hit hardest. He didn’t even hear the response that came after that, asking some kind of question to how she should act. His mind raced to catch up with that fact. A century? That was impossible, it had barely been a few hours. In no way could a century have passed so quickly.

Faervell’s eyes widened at that fact, and words tumbled from his mouth, “A… century?”

But was it impossible? Time had moved differently for them before. Centuries had passed in the Shadowlands in mere months in Azeroth, so did something similar happen here?

But it didn’t make sense. Esme had waited longer for him. She wouldn’t have just… given up, would she have?

“What… What do you mean a century?” He finally asked, moving forward and trying to grab her. Some fear of her slipping away entirely entering his mind.

Esme stepped away from him again, but he was apparently quicker this time and got hold of her. Rather than jerk or fight her way away, she glared at him coldly. “I mean what I said. You were gone for a century. You left me, and then you did not come back. We all assumed you -died-. What did you -expect-.”

Faervell’s grip tightened on her arms, a tone of desperation entering his voice, “I didn’t die, Esme. I’m not dead. Why would you-- You would never have given up on me.” He wanted to shake her into sense. To make whatever spell had been cast over her disperse to see he was right there for her.

“And you would never have lied to me or left me. But here we are.” She said in response coldly, shaking her head in a dismissive manner. “You need to leave. You were not who I was waiting for. We can talk about this some other time. Go--.... somewhere else. I am sure you can find a place.”

Faervell didn’t want to go anywhere else.

“What do you mean? This is my home, Esme.” The hurt from her words was escaping in his tone now, still clinging onto her arms with a tight grip. “Where’s Ciaragan? What happened?”

Esme continued in her cold, cutting responses. “This has not been your home for a century. You do not belong here.” She scoffs, shaking her head, “I do not know where Ciaragan is. She likely is dead. She left here too.” Casting a look at him, she added, “Like brother, like sister, I suppose.”

Every word she spoke was like he was nothing more than a bad memory she was wiping the taste of from her mouth. He couldn’t accept this. Especially the thought of Ciaragan possibly being gone. This couldn’t be the truth of what a century would do to them all. This couldn’t be the reality of it.

“No. No… No, no…” He shook his head, frustration rising up now, “You wouldn’t give up on me. We wouldn’t have given up.”  He tried to reach for her hand to see if their spell circle was there- under that foreign disgusting ring she had on. “You swore it.”

Esme abruptly yanked her hand away and shoved him hard in his chest to reclaim her space, her volume raising as she spoke, “And YOU swore you would not lie! YOU said we would fight together! YOU left me!” She shoved him again, reclaiming yet another place.

He didn’t even fight against those shoves, his brows furrowed and pain in his expression at the accusations.

“I TRIED to go after you. And then I realized that it is time and time and TIME again that I have to go after you! Continuously! Because you are WEAK! You are WORTHLESS!” Now she had a look of anger that matched his own feelings inside- the hurt and pain enflamed.

“I waited,” She said, her voice scratching. “I waited after I tried - and failed - to go after you. Because you made damn sure I would not be able to. And when you did not come, I realized I deserved better than some faithless liar that cannot even perform a simple -summoning- spell without doubting and doubting and eventually -fucking it up-.”

He felt like a cornered animal, the words like knives stabbing in again and again. Every thread of him undone piece by piece by the person who knew him best. Knew him too well.

But he was a stubborn creature, just like her, and while his voice was weaker he still tossed back, “But I came back. I came back, Esme. I promised I would. I’m -right- here.” He put his hands to his own chest to emphasize that fact, pleading with her to just see that.

Esme scoffed, shaking her head. She had that same ruthless expression from when they first met. All that is missing is the blood smeared across her face. “I do not care. I was not going to wait any longer for a man that cannot even tell his wife from a dream. Or a siren. Or - what was her name - Aless.”

Faervell had to take a step back of his own volition now, his chest tight and his breathing strained with emotion. Painful emotion brought out by the doubts and worries.

“Go. Leave. Gabriel will be here soon and I would rather not have our evening spoiled. Leave Embertree.” She said coldly.

Something snapped in him when she said that. Some deep rooted betrayal, some disbelief that she could even think to give up on him and to go with someone else- especially him. His eyes shot around the area, blurring the scene around him for a moment as he lowly started, “No… No, no. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

He looked back at her. No, it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. “You wouldn’t leave me. You wouldn’t give up, Esme. You’re more stubborn than that.” He was justifying his own disbelief, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible while his mind raced for why this was happening. “You’re more stubborn than that. You would rather be the one to kill me with your own hands for my lies before allowing me rest.”

Again, her response was in a sharp cutting tone, “And did that make it acceptable to leave me?”

“I did it to protect you, Esme. I -had- to. There was no way for us both to get back.” Now there was anger creeping into his denial, his tone taking a sharper edge, “I -told- you, but you never listened.”

“Stop lying to me. And yourself. You abandon those you claim to love.” She stabbed again with her words, “I suppose I should be thankful that I did not end up in a tower, doomed to take my own life.”

She stepped forward then, taking his face between her hands in that same manner she did countless times before. A comfort that was lost in the moment as she looked him in the eyes and dared to ask, “Did you even love me?”

“You know I love you. You know it every damn time I say it.”

“I thought I knew. I thought you would not lie.” She tilts her head to the side.

“I didn’t lie.” He said immediately, “I never lied about loving you, Esme. I only lied this once. I should have told you, but it was just this once.”

Esme shook her head, looking away from him again as if she couldn’t manage to look him in the eye as he spoke, “It is too late.” Slowly, though, she returned her gaze back to his, “At this point, there is only one thing you can do.”

“Do not tell me to leave, Esme.” He demanded of her.

Esme shook her head again, her hair spilling along her shoulders and her gaze intense on his. “No.” Then he saw the slight curve of her lips into a small smile and her thumb brushed against his cheek.

He did not let that feeling linger, one hand going to pull out the short spell sword he’d brought with him while his other hand raising and flicking the green flames up from his fingers to light up the area. Right before his face was another's, twisted in pain and terror in a soundless scream. Eyes bleeding a tarry liquid and covered in a myriad of dirty green pustules. His breath was drawn in sharply and he stumbled away, nearly losing his balance as more came into view.

The figure was not alone, multiple others trapped in n green hued ivory surface, intertwined with one another and reaching desperately to climb over each other. Faces in pain or horror or fear, each countenance and limb covered in the pustules that spread like an infection along the surface.

Faervell’s heart was beating like a drum in his chest, glancing around further to get the lay of where he landed, seeing that these figures did not cover all of the landscape. To either side, it seemed more a cave, more of the pustules coating the walls between crevices of dark wet stone. Behind him was nothing but darkness, the tunnel leading out to a steep drop that he didn’t dare move to look down. Below him he saw what seemed like glass, but gave with each step he took. A black void that reflected his own image back upside down to him in a deep darkness that flickered with the green light he’d created.

He saw no demon here, even though his senses reached to find a presence. Seconds ticked by like minutes and the silence was deafening till finally there was a crack of shell breaking. Faervell’s eyes immediately snapped back to the ivory and he saw a new light forming. A line broke through and the figures had started to move with an unnatural life, turning and twisting away as the surface as there was a white green light spreading up. 

It was a door and slowly it broke open to part for him, the dark glassy ground stretching further back as he could see columns of the same ivory further back down a hall. As if that were not clear enough indication to move forward, there was a whisper against his ear, a voice he knew. 

A sharp tone spoke behind him, directing him, “Go forward.” He felt the warmth of her hand pushing in the center of his back, shoving him to take the first steps as if impatient.

Faervell’s grip on his sword tightened, knowing these were tricks, yet following the only path present to him. He relinquished his flame, stepping forward with infirm steps as he made his way through.

He wasn’t sure how long he was walking, the door long gone and the hall twisting and turning, leading him deeper into the belly of the beast. Not once did he question his path, strangely enough. More pustules lined the walls and the path was broken up only by the columns that were broken in the center to hold crystal fragments that emitted the light. It was only once he reached an arch in that same dark stone as the walls that he came into what seemed like some grand hall. Familiar, but in some twisted way.

A short set of stairs lead down into the echoing hall, a grand hearth set behind two chairs facing it that had fel flames smoking in it’s belly. The walls held dark murals, figures dancing along the planes in war, in love, in betrayal and hate. Figures he knew, figures he didn’t. None he could focus on for long, yet could feel their stares as he walked forward. He didn’t pay them as much attention.

Instead, he was looking at a man that sat in one of the high backed chairs. He was hard to see from the back, but Faer could see the long claw-like appendages that traced along a glass set on a small elegant table between the two chairs.

The man himself looked familiar, and as he stepped forward further he knew why. It was Baeraeus Mirthsorrow. An old elf with deep set eyes and a constant look of displeasure on his face. Or at least, that’s what he would normally appear, but this was not meant to be a convincing replication of the man. Faervell could feel the attention set only on him, despite the gaze turned to the flames in the hearth.

As Faervell stepped in closer to the chairs, Baeraeus’ voice spoke up, echoing along the mostly empty chambers, “Faervell Bael’nar.” He sounded pleased, “You’ve made me wait quite a long time, haven’t you?” He motioned to the chair opposite him, inviting him to sit. At first, Faervell didn’t want to move. He looked back to the door, but found the wall far closer than before. The hall was now nothing but a study room, the paintings still lining the wall, but a more intimate environment built before him. He could feel the heat of the room, smell the sour herbs and the dampness that resided there. None of the things he wanted to feel, yet drawn perfectly out of his memories.

He didn’t want to sit here, yet something possessed his body to move step by step till he was sitting down. As if this was entirely an expected meeting and not something far more threatening. He set his sword across his lap, still allowed to be at the ready even if he did not lash out immediately.

He found his voice, responding with surprising sturdiness in his tone, “Not nearly long enough for my preferences.”

Baeraeus smiled, “An answer i’m quite familiar with. Yet every creature must meet this moment and I relish every second of it’s arrival. Clever as you are, you cannot escape the inevitable forever.”

“Yet you’ve failed twice over.” Faervell responded.

Baeraeus hummed with amusement, “Battles lost does not mean a war is at it’s end. You would know that quite well, after all. You’ve lost so much, yet persevered through every bit. An admirable man praised for a determination to see things through to the end even at risk of your life. Or so you let many believe.”

Faervell’s jaw clenched tight for a moment, “I’ve no intention of losing this War, Batu.”

There was a wave of Baeraeus’ clawed hand and a scoff, “Oh of course. I wouldn’t have invited you here had you any intention of less. I abhor the weak willed. There’s nothing fun to a creature that lays over to display it’s belly the moment it’s met with the insurmountable. Fodder to a machine and nothing more.”

The old elf smiled, motioning with one clawed finger to Faervell, “But there are creatures like you. The feasts of resolute indignation. These I savor, these deserve my attention.”

“You speak of deserving your attention, yet mask yourself behind your illusions still. You fear what creature you’ve created still, Batu? We’ve tales of such in our world. Tales of how creators are turned upon and die at the hands of their actions.” Faervell tossed back, his fingers tightening on the sword in his hand. Some distant voice of his wife urging him to action, yet his mind reminding him of who it was he was before.

Baeraeus cocked his head to the side, “But i’m no story, Faervell Bael’nar.”

“No, you’re not, yet you play the role of villain quite well.”

“A role you’ve played the same and managed just as well.” Baeraeus offered back, “If we are to view this in the archetypes of stories, then would this not simply put you as one meeting the consequences of his actions? The final chapters of a story told over centuries?”

“And you see yourself as the consequences come to life?” Faervell rose his brows, fingers still tracing the slow shapes along the wood.

“Do you not?” Baeraeus asked, mirroring the raise of brows.

Faervell felt the weight of the gazes from the murals again, his eyes momentarily leaving Baerus’ visage to glance about instinctively, as if assuring himself no one was about to leap upon him that he wasn’t expecting.

 “Did you not tell them time and time again that I was the consequences of your actions? Of your mistakes?” As Faer turned his gaze back to Baerus, he saw the man fully turned to him, new ‘eyes’ sprouted under the first set- fel green orbs with red lining the edges. Staring into him so deeply it unsettled him, “Do you lie to yourself now in this hour to seem stronger?”

Managing to keep his composure, Faervell replied back, “I don’t deny my words, demon. Your illusions do not need to remind me of my own beliefs. I ask only for what you believe. What does a demon as powerful as you determine itself as in these moments? Merely consequences or more?” 

Baeraeus chuckled, the sound deeper than it should and echoing in the halls, “I see myself the facets of all fears a creature has. An arbiter of their final hours.”

“And what do you find me, Batu?”

Baeraeus smiled wickedly, “I have known you since you were young, little felmancer. I have let you live not once, but twice, because you amuse me. You are like a delectable fruit, ripe and fat for the picking. But I am a cultivator of fine fruits, and I think there is more to you yet that can be drawn out. The finishing flavor to this long nurtured prize.” The words came out with drawn syllables, a hissing that made him feel like a snake was wrapping around it’s prey.

“Are you offering me a chance, Batu?”

“A challenge. Or more specifically, three challenges. Something to gamble our prolonged story to a sweet finish. Complete these three and survive, then I will let you live. No longer to be bothered or hunted, but instead to cultivate yourself into something fierce and destructive as your nature intends you to be.”

It was a lie, and Faervell knew it was a lie. Batu was merely giving him three ways to die. And even if he passed all the challenges and amused the demon, he would die anyway. But, it was more time, and time was what he needed most right now.

“And what are these challenges?” Faervell asked with a desperate tone tinting his voice, as if a man eager for a deal. A trick to deceive a deceiver.

“Now, now, now… That would spoil all the fun of it, wouldn’t it?” Batu laughed, waving his hand yet again and Faervell could hear the crack of wood and a groan. He turned his gaze away again, now seeing the room changed yet again. An arch had formed in the wall to his left, dark and intimidating as it opened to nothing but stark darkness. A cold wafting through it’s frame.

When Faervell looked back to the demon in his master’s skin, he was drinking at the dark black ichor that had filled the fine crystal glass. Letting the man sort through the obvious before he spoke up again, “I do hope you will amuse me well, little felmancer. Try not to make me wait as long this time.” He smirked, his gaze cast sidelong to the man. 

“I’m sure you’ll find yourself pleased no matter the outcome, Batu.” He said, knowing there was little else that he could get from the demon now nor did he want to waste more of his time here. He stood once more, sword still in hand. He let his gaze linger on the smiling old elf with too many eyes just a moment longer, then turned and went on his way.

There was another laugh, deep and just as unsettling as all things Batu did. He didn’t look back, though, going forward to whatever new trap that had been laid for him with the determination of a man with nothing more to lose at that moment.

--

Esme Sunshard 's brows pinch at the odd statement, but before she can ask any questions, the pair of elves are teleporting. It was only after her feet felt solid ground again that she said aloud: "Sorry for what--"

But Faervell is nowhere to be found. Furthermore, she smells the familiar scent of orange blossoms, feels the familiar cool mountain-top breeze, sees the familar surroundings.

"--Faervell?"

For a moment, she wonders if it is a trick by Batu. He is in her head, surely. He is making her see this. Can demons even do that? Some can, she is certain. But Faervell's parting words cause her blood to run cold.

"No. No. No no no." She opens the door to step outside, looking around at Pandaria. She turns back inside. "Faervell! FAERVELL!!"

There is an uncharacteristic panic that starts to scratch at her voice and rise in her throat. She feels sick. She feels small again. For a moment, she smells the earthy muck of tobacco in Karsteth's quarters amidst the sulfur of fel magic. It is when she sees there are new additions to the home and registers it as new that she grounds herself to the here and now.

Fresh oranges are in the basket on the table top and two books set out. The titles didn't matter at the time, but a note was held down atop them with a singular orange. Addressed only to her.

She sees the books. She sees the letter. Taking it up in her hands, she starts to read and with every paragraph that passes, her hands start to shake.

Anger. Fear. Sadness. Confusion. Everything.

My Dearest,

I know the anger you must feel at this moment and I understand that I will likely pay for the pain i’m causing you when I return. I do mean this when I say I am sorry for deceiving you like this, however I won’t leave you without an explanation.

We spoke of the dangers that would be encountered and what your presence included in the summons would have done. You are smart and you are correct, there were ways for you to come with me, however there was no way to get you back. I tried to warn you of this, but your lovable stubbornness wouldn’t see it any other way. Looking back, if I had more time, then perhaps I could have found a solution, but time is not something that I had in excess and I will not send you to hell with me with no absolute way for you to return.

Then there is the issue with the demon itself. I know how he works and what he would do to you if he encountered you. Even with precautions to shield the mind, if he had crept in, I considered all that could have happened. What he would have shown you or planted in your head, just as he once did to me. You already have lived through your worst nightmare and I won’t see him utilize those times against you again. I can’t have you stuck in horror in your last moments before he kills you before my eyes.

I know what you would say to this. That you’re stronger than this, and I know that you are. There has never been a woman I know that has been as resilient and strong as you are, no matter what has happened to you. No one quite as perceptive and sharp witted as you. Someone who always finds her way, even in the darkest of waters. You have no idea the depths of my admiration for those traits in you. 

But I am a selfish man, Esme. I can’t see the woman I adore so much be brought with me to what feels like certain death. I can’t steal away your future from you because of my consequences. I love you, and that’s why I needed to save you from this fate.

None of this will truly gain me forgiveness, and I understand what it means. Know that I intend to accept any punishment or barrage of words you might have on my return, but rest easy in the knowledge that I will return. This is not our end, as you reminded me many times over. We’ve faced worse in our lives and likely this will not be the last. We are survivors.

Your words will guide my actions and your confidence will become my strength. You will be in my thoughts through all of this, as I likely will be in yours. All I ask is that you wait for me just for a while till I return again to your side back home.

I love you, Esme Sunshard. I will see you soon again.

Yours forever,

Faervell

As she finishes the letter, her arms drop to her side. The paper floats down, coming to its rest under the table. She stares. And she has never felt more alone.