Timelines
Eyes open, large and golden irises shining in the sun, pupils fixating. A moment like any other, the countless he had seen. They all started the same way, it was always like waking up from a dream. Or walking around when you and only you know the great secret about to befall everything. Time, time to gather, what was coming to mind this time. Of all the great treasures at his fingertips. Here in this village, they brewed some very fine wine. Of course that was before the scar tore it asunder. So just a couple of items, preserving this village in history. Smiles on the golden elf's features, waving to all those that passed by. It is a shame, but history is what it is, but it can be remembered. That's what a keeper of time is supposed to do.
Again and again the trips continued. Waking from the dream that was the present to a new point in time. A new place, with a new goal in mind. As his trips took him to similar locations, it became harder to discern the two. The dreamlike state became stranger, his being split into the various points in time took it's toll. And as the cataclysm shaped the world, the sacrifice of the Aspects would cause the strain to grow worse. Age and experience can only prepare one for so much, given the amount of power gifted to the flights, once fractured there was not going back together.
Eyes open, reptilian pupils fixate, a flair to his eyebrows as he cut a look about the bustling people. There was a job to do, and that was the main focus, the people merely became obstacles on the way of goals greater than their existence. After all none of them would make it very long. Grab a few items, and then who is going to notice if a few purses were lightened. And if a bank was cleaned out, it's not like the scourge or the murlocs would be using them. Let him go after his precious trinkets and relics, in the mean time why don't the both of us benefit.
The aspect is shattered and weak, so we will move to another location, a place lost to time. Something forgotten like we will be, like so many are. Our own little paradise where all of the trinkets can be displayed in their proper places. Away from the fools that don't understand our work. The ones that would try and take what we had. Mortals put such importance on their trinkets, and now I must deal with my own obsessions to it. We have become so mortal as time goes on, the future is cloudy even for us.
Disasters were easy enough to find in history, and perhaps a few that had it coming lost some of their wealth. As long as it didn't happen enough in the same place that his face became an omen for disaster. History must always forget him, the dragon was nothing if not particular. Obsessive was a better word for it, everything had it's place. Items gathered that were safe, from times that were safe. Exhibits were crafted with love and care. Each coin counted and added to the piles. Piles became mountains, and the exhibits became a museum with only one patron and guest.
