#astheo

(Continued from here.)

[ Cue the Music ]

Naralinthe’s heart skipped a beat as she watched the memory unfold.  Trapped in the past, there was nothing she could do to alter the timeways, and so she was forced to bear witness to something that had already transpired.  Terror-stricken, she thrashed against her mental confines, screaming internally.

‘DON’T JUST STAND THERE! FOR THE LOVE OF BELORE, DO SOMETHING!!!’

Much to her frustration, her body would not comply.  Instinct told her this tale only ended in tragedy, but something deeper understood it could only ever end in tragedy, regardless of which timeline she visited.  Lukel and his twin sister Elenria were never meant to exist simultaneously.  One was fated to die in order to redeem the other.

Sadness flooded Naralinthe, an overwhelming tidal wave of sorrow to douse her rage.  It rushed in, uprooting everything she knew about her own strength, forcing her to question her initial reaction.  Knowing the outcome and choosing to refrain from intervening must have taken an immeasurable amount of mental fortitude.  Was there really nothing that could be done to save him?  Was this deep-rooted understanding of fate’s grand design the reason why her other self chose not to intervene?

Before it could play out, time spiralled yet again, propelling her into another painful memory.

Naralinthe stood with a baby on her hip, basking in the sun’s radiance in a field of wildflowers.  Dressed in black, the Widow Sha'auvrea was known to wander barefoot in nature, talking to the wind.  Some claimed she ‘lost it’ after the death of her husband but she believed he could hear her… no matter where he was.  “You once called her your ‘guiding light,’” she heard herself say.  “Her name is Giida Liu.  A fitting name, don’t you agree?”

She felt her face pinch involuntarily as a wave of mixed emotion crashed over her.  Her heart ached, and her ribs pulled inward as she took a ragged breath through trembling lips.  “I pray one day she will guide you home to me.”  Hot tears blazed a trail down her cheeks, and she hugged the child tightly to comfort herself with the last piece of him she had left.  “I miss you so much it hurts to breathe, darling.”

He promised he would always find her— in this life and the next— and she believed him.  Was this how he felt every time she died?  Unbearable grief in the form of emotional attacks that came and went without warning?  One moment she would be smiling, happy even, and the next she would erupt into a fit of wracking sobs.  “I wish you could have met her, Lukel.  She is so beautiful, and she has your unforgettable eyes.”

The world spun violently, yanking her backward through time, where she was forced to endure another memory.

Naralinthe found herself kneeling before a child-knight whose ill-fitting armor was obviously too big for him.  While she did not recognize him immediately, a quiet voice within her assured her this was the Warden Astheo, her dearest friend and ally.

“On behalf of the Bronze Flight, I wish grant you a token of our gratitude for your life of servitude... and with it, our boon.”  He wrapped his arms around her neck to close the clasp on a gold necklace in the shape of an infinity symbol before taking a step backwards.  “Rise Dragonsworn and step into the hourglass sand, so that you may discover your gift.”  He announced with a regality and commanding authority that exceeded his years.

Blissful ignorance was not her veil to wear, at least, not in this lifetime.  Naralinthe was chosen to become a Bronze Dragonsworn, an honor and a privilege that granted her an understanding of the shifting sands of time.  Not the full extent a dragon would possess, but more than any mere mortal could ever hope to comprehend.

When she emerged from the sand, she could see a web of golden threads shimmering around her in all directions.  Much in the same manner a ley-speaker could read and influence the ley lines of the land, so too could she grasp and tug on these ethereal strings.  She had been granted the gift of ‘weaving,’ allowing her the ability to assist wayward souls tangled in the web toward a fated outcome.

“As you have sworn fealty to the Bronze, I— Astheo Ar’nareth— swear to protect you in return, Lady Sha'auvrea. Until the end...”

Time heaved, the strings pulled taut, and this time she found herself standing before her daughter.

“Giida, this is Minn’da’s friend, Abby.  She is here to guide you to your Ann’da.  Are you ready to finally join him?”

“Oooooh yes, yes, yes!!! I have always wanted to meet a dragon!!!”  The four-year-old squealed enthusiastically while bounding toward Abby.  “Can I touch your horns?! Where do you keep your wings?!”

The Bronze Warden chuckled and bent down to grant Giida’s simple wish.  “She is so full of love and light,” Abby remarked with a smile.

“I know you miss him.  I think he misses you too!  Are you coming with us?!”  Giida asked innocently.

Naralinthe felt herself force a smile in return to mask the anguish welling within her.  “No darling, Minn’da has a very important task to carry out first, but I will be joining you both later.  I promise.”

“Is that why you look so sad?”  The liminal gold rings embedded in her bright blue eyes flickered with a hint of concern as she probed her mother further.  Not only was she perceptive, but a remarkable empath as well.  “Will it be a long time?”

“Not at all.”  At least, not for Giida.  For her, the trip through the caverns of time would take less than a day.  For Naralinthe it would be a lifetime without her baby, but she told herself she was technically not lying to the child.  She hugged her daughter tightly, reluctant to let go, but eventually the Lioness relinquished the girl’s care and custody to her Warden.  “Keep her safe,” she breathed softly, just enough for a dragon’s keen ears to hear.

With a silent nod, Abby gave her solemn vow to protect the child with her life, lest her mother’s sacrifice be in vain.

“I love you in this life…” called the Bronze Lioness.

“…and the next!” Echoed the Golden Sparrow before she stepped through the timeways, hand in hand with a dragon.

When the sands shifted, Naralinthe found herself in a familiar place and time.  She recognized this as one of the memories from her own timeline.

Standing in the shining streets of Silvermoon, the Golden Lioness watched as the Good Doctor walked toward her with a little blonde girl clinging to his arm.  She and Lukel had become entangled enough for him to finally introduce her to his daughter, Giida.

“You look just like Minn'da!”  A declaration blurted out from the mouth of an enthusiastic four-year-old.

At the time, Naralinthe dismissed it with a chuckle, assuming the girl's mother was another blonde elf, but suddenly the words took on a whole different meaning. You... look... just like... Minn'da.

The unseen hand that guides our fate is ever-present… and it is our own.

To be continued...

[ Cue the Music ]

Zathalt woke early to carry out the routine of repositioning Naralinthe in her bed.  He stumbled, half awake, into her room and spotted a young boy seated at her bedside, holding her hand.

“Hello Commander,” he said calmly. “I have been waiting for you.”

“Who… are you?” He questioned while rubbing his eyes, “…and how did you get in here without alerting the guards?!”  He marched assertively toward the bed where he came face to face with an elven boy, approximately ten years old, clad in ill-fitting armor that was obviously too big for him.

“I am the Warden Astheo,” the child-knight explained without flinching despite Zathalt looming over him menacingly.  Each eye was its own golden vortex, constantly shifting like sand in a desert breeze— yet miraculously independent of the other as he kept watch over the past, present, and future, all at once.

“According to my Lady’s account, you are supposed to be a fully-grown elf, not a child.”  He paused to study the boy, clearly confused.  “Furthermore, aren’t you dead?!  What assurance do I have to prove you are not some malignant entity looking for a body to inhabit?!”

Astheo patted Zathalt’s shoulder reassuringly, the gauntlet bouncing loosely on his adolescent arm, while chuckling dismissively.  Like a parent banishing the irrational fear of a child, he crooned softly to the hulking Guardsman.  “You have nothing to fear, ‘Uncle Zee.’  She is safely under my charge and will be until the day she dies, regardless of my physical state.”  The use of his nickname, combined with the Warden’s youthful exterior disarmed the Commander almost immediately.  “To answer your question, yes, that iteration of me is dead, and believe it or not, he was my younger, more naive self.”  He gestured to both Zathalt and the comatose Naralinthe lying motionless in her bed.  “Here, in this room, the two of you are children by comparison.  Do not be fooled by this body, as it can never age, but I have existed for several millennia.”

Zathalt stroked his beard and let out an exasperated sigh.  “I am going to need some strong coffee before we dive deep into this conversation, aren’t I?”  It was eerie to see such wisdom and calm misplaced in a child's body, but he would not deny the Bronze Warden an audience if it meant getting some much needed answers.

The blonde-haired boy smiled.  “We have nothing but time, and fortunately it is on our side… for now.”

Naralinthe opened her eyes to behold a clear, blue sky overhead.  She blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and realized she was lying on a cold, marble bench.  She sat up cautiously, and discovered she was in the center of what appeared to be the keyhole of a circular hedge maze.

Where… am I?  The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her own bed.  How did I get here?  Rising from the garden bench, she studied her surroundings.  Meticulously groomed shrubbery encircled her on all sides, stretching on forever in the form of an immense, verdant labyrinth.

What is this place?  The distinct aroma of moistened earth and lush greenery was unmistakable, yet something about the hedge maze felt… off.

Naralinthe was surrounded by nature, but it felt entirely unnatural to her.  The soil was perfectly level.  Every hedge was identical.  There were no flowers, mushrooms, exposed roots, or stubborn weeds, to provide distinction between pathways. All avenues appeared the same, save for their length and winding direction.  Is this a dream… or a nightmare?

There was only one thing to do.  One thing she could do, so she started walking.

“I still don’t understand,” Zathalt declared while raking his fingers through his hair.  He was clutching a mug of coffee far too tightly as he studied Naralinthe’s face, his brows knit together in an expression of concern.  “She is doing this… to herself?”

“Yes, and also no.  It is much more complicated than that,” the Warden explained.  “When she died over a decade ago, it sent a shockwave through this timeline.  In order to right the wrongs that were committed, the Bronze Flight had no choice but to bring her back, as she had not yet fulfilled her intended purpose.”

“Yes, I remember the story,” Zathalt interrupted, “But they never mentioned any risks.  Especially nothing as serious as this.”

“The complication arose when two souls were forced to inhabit one body.”  Astheo sighed, and despite the levity of his child-like voice, he was burdened by wisdom born from hindsight.  “There was no way of knowing the second soul would awaken, let alone try to seize control.”

“Is that what is happening?  This other iteration of her is trying to take over?”

“Not quite.”  He pressed a contemplative finger to his chin before offering a metaphor to help explain.  “Imagine a caterpillar in its chrysalis stage.  In order for a significant transformation to take place, its body must first be reduced to a liquefied state before it can be formed into a butterfly.  She must shed her spiritual ‘skin’ in order to reshape it into a hardened exterior that will better suit her purpose.  Our hope is that the two iterations of the Lioness will combine to form one soul.”

“Your HOPE?!”  Zathalt roared, shattering the mug in his grasp.  Coffee rained down his elbow while broken porcelain hammered the floor like over-sized hail.  “You mean to tell me you don’t know?!” He snarled between clenched teeth.

“Your anger serves no purpose here, Commander,” the boy chided while pointing to the mess Zathalt made.  “You would do well to exercise the patience she has cultivated within you, lest your actions cause more disarray than what is already taking place.”

“What good are those damnable time-keeping lizards if they can’t influence the situation?!” He loosed an exasperated sigh before taking a deep, cleansing breath.  His eyes slipped closed, and the Commander focused his attention inward, trying to find a singular drop of ‘calm’ within himself as he drowned in an ocean of crippling doubt.

“This is beyond our control, and it is still too early to predict the outcome.  Please believe me when I say I have tried.  Unexpected changes often create deviations from original goals, as we have witnessed here today.  Time is not linear, but cyclical.  Patterns are influenced by the decisions we make, with the added element of chronological development to carry it forward.  What this means is one thing must happen before a ‘routine’ can begin.  The introduction of complexities is what shapes our experiences from one parallel timeline to the next.”

“What if…” Zathalt’s hands balled into fists to mask the trembling as he choked on the whispered words.  “What if she never wakes?”

The child-knight frowned before casting a sorrowful glance toward the Lioness.  “The only person who knows the answer to that question is Naralinthe herself— her and her second soul.”

@talonoa @lukel-sunshadow @grumpyoldfker

{ OC Ask Game }

The illusion of the simple Red Courier so many knew alone faded to her darker magics, the monstrous scythe she carried tearing out of the Nether-fed disguise as it whirred with power. The souls it fed on were funneled through her, and fueling each curse, each seed of corruption that exploded like a ricochet of fel-powered missiles, eroding demonic skin and setting tainted souls aflame. The endless cycle of harvesting continued, her scythe echoing the addictive hunger for souls, empowering it, inspiring it.

Safrona stopped a moment to refocus, the surface thoughts of demon souls building to a crescendo of hate she tried to stifle the sound of. It was the hardest aspect of her magic, grounding herself within the corruption she called to herself. How monotonous it grew, when the battle was against an endless line of demons.

–Writing within an interaction with The Time Warden, Astheo

Warden Astheo,

A special thank you for all that you do, and all that you undoubtedly will. May your holidays be warm, and may all your wishes come true as they bring you to a new year.

~Safrona, Empyrean Imports

The scarlet courier had been staring too long on her empty glass, the gentle tenor of a familiar voice lifting her ruby-laced ear, pulling at her attention. Safrona stared a few numb moments at her visitor after he left her such questions, absinthe sights trying to place the name back to the angelic face. Once, twice, she had happened across this golden soul, and felt quite out of place… or disturbed even that she had felt herself soften so easily in his presence. Nothing in the middle of Deadwind Pass should have felt… safe.

“I… ” she had started, lost a moment in the face of that patient smile, before drawing her gaze back off to her glass with a soft breath of a chuckle. “You are a long way from the Pass, lovely boy. And… what have you seen of me, exactly? Has the Warmage been filling your head with stories?” Her eyes return in a sweep of Astheo’s sweet face, voice lilting with faint bemusement. “These are sweet questions, but I… hardly remember being acquainted, you know.”

A sigh as she began to pour from the bottle of Darkmoon Whiskey, her glass chilled against the amber heat with chips of ice. “Still. You’ve asked me to confess, haven’t you? I doubt you can do much to soothe my miseries.” A little toast was offered, before bringing the glistening glass to her murmuring lips. “That is what I have this for, yes?”

“If I may be completely honest, Commander Sunwhisper, I would have to admit I feel a deep sense of remorse for the man.”  The Lioness’ lips pursed into a thin line as she took a moment to collect her thoughts on the Warden.  “Let us start at the beginning, shall we?  As the bastard son of a Beast and a Bronze, Astheo was doomed the day he was brought into this world to never truly find his place within it.”  Those glimmering golden hues dipped into the bottom of her glass, and seeing as it was nearly empty, Naralinthe snatched the bottle of Dalaran white and poured herself a refill before continuing.  This was clearly going to be a long discussion.  “Not that he has ever been discouraged by this notion, of course.  Even as a child, Astheo somehow knew he was remarkably different from his fellow Sin’dorei, and as he grew to become a man, this understanding has only deepened.”

Suddenly uncomfortable in her seat, Naralinthe rose from one of the two wingback chairs situated near the fireside and began to pace in front of the hearth as she talked.  The Commander, suddenly intrigued by this atypical behavior, remained seated while she listened to the older woman speak.  “No soul is without its burdens, however by way of comparison, Astheo’s make the majority of our race’s seem... insignificant.  Neither a Dragon, nor a Sin’dorei, but a hybrid of both, he has taken up the mantle of Warden.  As an ambassador for the bronze dragons, who preserve the shifting sands without disturbing them in a manner that could alter the past, he has been both gifted and cursed with their sight, without the ability to change what is destined to be.”

Pausing in her stride, the Lioness turned toward the Commander and addressed her companion directly.  “Imagine the ability to see into the future, but because you are bound by oath, you are unable to intervene.  Would you break your oath to save the lives of the ones you love, or would you stand aside and watch your visions come to fruition?”  Taking a sip of her wine, the Lioness swirled the liquid in her mouth several times with her tongue before swallowing. “In circumstances such as those, which would you consider the lesser of two evils?  Is it better to know, or is ignorance truly bliss?”  With a shake of her head, Naralinthe finally decided to reclaim her chair, but it was easy to see the question left her feeling unsettled.  “Astheo is... so much more to me than a dear friend.  He is someone I can trust, a man I can confide in, and someday I hope to repay him for all that he has done for me.  Words simply cannot express the gratitude I feel toward that remarkable young man.”

( Image Source [1] )

Naralinthe blinked hard several times in an attempt to clear her vision. She knew he would be coming for her again at any given moment and she needed her eyes to focus if she had any chance of blocking his next assault. A cloud of dust enveloped her from all sides clinging to the perspiration moistening her skin, and the muddied beads of sweat rolling down her forehead stung her eyes. Temporarily blinded, she focused all of her attention toward her hearing in order to pinpoint his location, for she knew when it came to being agile, he was at a clear disadvantage, but that did not imply he was a fool.

Without warning, a handful of pebbles and small rocks came crashing down like hail all around her and she knew it was intended as cover for his charge. Now deafened by the downpour clattering against her armor, the Lioness was forced to guess which direction the blow would be coming from. Employing a tactic Talonoa had taught her, she began to spin in a circle, only with her shield hugged tightly to her chest instead of a weapon drawn outwards. Rather than catch her opponent with the sharp end of a blade, she would use it as a means of deflecting his blow and, if executed successfully, it would turn his colossal strength against him. 

CLAANNNGGGG!!! The weight of his two handed mace bounced off of her shield with a force so powerful, the bones in her arms buzzed like angry bees all the way to her shoulder blades.  As intended, the impromptu maneuver caused her adversary to skid to one side, as the sheer momentum of the landed blow nearly toppled him over.  With both hands, he used his weapon as a crutch to stand upright before lifting it off of the ground.

Dizzied slightly, Naralinthe turned to counter-strike with her sword, but the absence of stable footing caused its power to wither as she stumbled to right her stance. It bounced off of his armor in a manner akin to that of a rain drop dissipating as it came into contact with a broad leaf, rendering it mostly ineffective.  In that moment of falter, the hulking beast charged at the Lioness with full force, only to be met with a ruthless shield slam.

The collision brought them both down like a mighty oak crushing a perfectly sculpted topiary, pinning the Madame beneath his weight.  He was easily triple her size, but when it came to the clever Lioness, no adversary was considered to be too much for her unyielding determination.

At this proximity, she could smell the pungent odour of dusty fur and feel the heat of his breath as the warrior huffed and puffed, betraying the toll of his own exertion. He was growing tired, but so was she and they both knew it.

Nose to nose, she watched as the mighty bull snorted in her face, “You have already lost,” but Naralinthe refused to be so easily defeated.  “We shall see about that,” she snarled from beneath her winged helm before smiting him with the light’s discipline.

“ARGH!” He grunted as he suffered what could only be described as a bad sun burn before turning her own gifts against her using a spell reflection.

The growl she loosed as a result of her own divine retribution reeking havoc on her body was full of anger and spite, but it was when he crushed her under the weight of his body that she cried out in agony.  The burning sensation was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of one of her ribs breaking, and it felt as though her chest was on fire.  Every breath was sharp and arduous, and she coughed only to discover a smatter of blood coating the dusty ground.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted and she could breathe again, although every laboured breath was accompanied by the discomfort of a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest.

“I believe we are done here, Madame Emberdawn,” barked the gruff Shu’halo before lending a hand to aid her with standing.

“I thought I told you not to stop until I said the words, ‘I yield!’”  She scolded with a loaded stare.  If looks could kill, the Tauren would have dropped dead where he stood.

“It is no wonder they call you the Lioness, for your claws are as sharp as your blade and your speed is befitting of one such a feline.  It was an honor to train alongside you, Naralinthe and I pray An’she guide you on your path toward ascension.”

Sparring with Talonoa and the others was good for keeping in shape, but she knew she needed to up her game.  A Tauren Warrior was still no match for a skilled Death Knight, and today’s sparring match only proved that she needed to work harder if she was to ever be successful going head to head with Gaebral.  According to the Warden Astheo, she had been given all the strength she required, yet she couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing.... but what?

(Image Source [1] [2] [3] )