#lledwyn

Asharri grimaced as she looked up at the looming structure, a shudder running down her spine. Gripping the hilts of her blades a little tighter, she narrowed her eyes and focused upon the entryway. Halenvar drew his vrykul blade, Ragnorok Who’s True Name is Odynsblade, from his back. His eyes set on the entrance.

Lledwyn murmured, “I’m quite certain that we will encounter many foes within by the looks of the forces that have encamped out here.”  Th death knight looked over at the valarjar and said, “Let’s hope you can keep swinging that sword.”

Priscilla looked between the two men. “Okay if you two have so much built up steam why not fight it out? Starting to think it’s a male ego thing.”

Halenvar glanced to the priestess. “My rage is saved for the enemies of Aranya,” he said. “There is death to dealt.”

Lledwyn also spared a glance back at Priscilla, and then with a mirthless smile he murmured, “I’m saving myself for when I get my hands upon Mavas.”

Asharri smirked softly behind her mask, the corners of her eyes creasing a bit and giving away a slight pause of humor.

“You two can save yourself on things, keep the ego going but I am the one that will have to work to keep to hot-head males up,” retorted  Priscilla. “Even if one needs a push type of healing form the shadow so the light does not burn him.”

Aranya drew The Stars’ Design from where it rested at her side, its translucent, white-gold blade glimmering brightly in the sickening light. “Here we go…” she said softy, to which Lledwyn nodded and Halenvar shouted a Valarjar war-cry.

And in they all went.

Once inside the Cathedral, Aranya looked around, checking the surroundings, while Lledwyn looked ahead to the doorway and the corridor beyond. All seemed quiet, at first, until a wrathguard demon appeared, shouting, “You will burn!”

Battle ensued, blades flashed and streams of magic flew, and within moments all demons in the room were dispatched. Thus it continued, steadily further into the Cathedral, as the lackeys of the Burning Legion - hopeful of taking back the once-sanctified place - all but crawled from every hiding place with each new level the elves climbed. There was little incident beyond the expected battles, but at one point, a succubus held Halenvar in her thrall, which Aranya freed him from with a counterspell to the demoness’ charms. Asharri found herself bedecked in the webs of spider demons and continued to have an utterly impossible time of ridding herself of the strands sticking to her clothes and hair. At last, they reached the topmost sanctum of the cathedral, where rested - still as yet un-maligned - the Aegis of Aggrammar.

Though everything had lead to this one pivotal moment, Aranya was yet the last one to enter the room. “Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath and preparing to focus on the task at hand. “Now we begin. We may have company to fight off once they sense that power is being channeled here.

Halenvar grunted, “Then they come to die.”

“Everyone is prepared?” Lledwyn murmured.

“Depends on what you want up to prepared for,” answered Priscilla.

“We came this far,” said Asharri

Halenvar concurred, “It’s time we finish this.”

Aranya began to invoke the ambient power surrounding the aegis and coursing through the felstorm, weaving it together. It was like reaching out and pushing through water, sending her will along the strands of magic, and then beckoning them back.

Unsurprisingly, demons appeared, drawn to the magical activity within the sanctum. Asharri, Halenvar, Lledwyn, and Priscilla succeeded in fending them all off, as Aranya ended her evocations with a loud, demanding shout of the true name of the demon she sought to force manifest. “TEZZAKEL!”

The dreadlord appeared, as if nothingness rolled off of him like a silk curtain from his form. His dark armor seemed to absorb and devour all light that touched it, his massive wings flexed imposingly. A sickening smirk pulled wide on his mouth and a dark chuckle rolled from deep in his chest. “We meet again, troublesome little elf…” Tezzakel rumbled in his deep, thick voice. “How quaint that you bring allies.”

Asharri stood to the side of the other elves, sizing up the nathrezim; silently making note of any visible weak points she could find - if any.

Halenvar growled at the dreadlord, “Aranya has called for your death demon. You should make peace with what you hold dear, fel scum.”

Lledwyn simply fixed his gaze upon the demon, his hands going to the dual blades that he wore at his side and drawing them out carefully. His look shifted to Aranya when next she spoke.

"No more games, Tezzakel,” said the phoenix-mage, in a tone that was low, clear, and dagerous. “Your threats are done with.”

Tezzakel laughed loudly. “You think the game is done?” He looked quite amused for a moment. “That we FINISH this today?” His amused expression shifted, his look hardening into a glare, and he shook his head. “Little fool, you have only played yourself right to where I want you.” The demon flared his wings, his arms and clawed hands spread wide as if in invitation, his stance settling lower, as if getting ready to spring. “HAVE AT IT IF YOU THINK YOU CAN,” he goaded.

Halenvar was the first to charge, the other elves dashing into the fray, swinging his greatsword viciously. Lledwyn held Tezzakel’s attention with deadly prowess, the ebon knight was not to be ignored. Asharri was quick and light, and a blur with her blades, striking at whatever she perceived to be a weak point. Aranya stood further back, incanting fiery counters to the demon’s shadow magic, while Priscilla remained focused, keeping the group mended despite how Tezzakel thrashed, slashed, and blasted at the elves.

Ultimately, it was too much. The five elves overwhelmed the demon, and he buckled under the injury and exhaustion.

Aranya stood over Tezzakel’s battered, dying form, pitilessness on her every feature.

Halenvar looked between her and the demon. “Do it Aranya,” he urged. “End this and end him. Let it be done.”

She nodded.

Tezzakel gasped, “Not going to feed from me as I fade away this time…?” The demon chuckled, though he clutched at his aching ribs, trying to keep his gaze level with Aranya’s, as he was sprawled in a widening pool of his own blood. “You think… So sure… That you are utterly the master of yourself, that your nature can stay leashed forever.” His horned head shook slightly. “Fool,” he spat.

Lledwyn murmured, “We are only monsters if we choose to be.”  He fixed his gaze upon the demon for a moment longer before shifting to look at Aranya, his expression a thoughtful one, through his usual stoicism.

Aranya invoked the words of binding that Safrona had taught her, drawing the essence of Tezzakel to the soul gem, the necklace glowing and pulsing as the demon’s form dissolved away. “And I choose,” she murmured “to always be master of myself. Whatever my darkeness is.” The glow of the soul gem dwindled, and the necklace lay quiet, resting about the arcanist’s neck with two others that she always wore. She lifted her gaze to the others around her. “We’ll need to journey to the Netherstorm to kill him utterly. Only so far into the Nether can a demon be destroyed,” she said. “Will any of you be with me then?”

Aranya could just hear the wry smirk in Halenvar’s deep voice from behind her, as he replied, “Need you even ask such a thing of me?” She turned and gave him a broad smile.

Asharri nodded. “I’d like to see the thing I’ve come for completed to the very end,” she said.

Aranya nodded to Asharri, thanking her, and the blonde woman smiled in return.

Lledwyn murmured, “I offered you my aid in the demons destruction, Lady Aranya. You know that I would not leave my oath half-fulfilled.”

The dark-haired sorceress gave a smile and a nod to everyone, happy to be among friends, then turned to lead the way out.

But no sooner had Aranya moved half a pace, when she suddenly seized up, eyes wide in a silent, shocked gasp, and dropped to the floor in pain. A bloodcurdling scream tore from her mouth once breath found her again, as the runed necklace and soul gem began to blaze unnaturally.

Halenvar rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. “What is happening?!”

Priscilla moved quickly to Aranya’s side as well, checking her pulse and the state of her vital signs.

Lledwyn frowned at the sudden glow emanating from the necklace and the gem in its center. "It most certainly should not be doing that,“ he growled.

A deep, dark voice pulsed through the room, seemingly on the threads of energy that course through it. “THIS IS NOT FINISHED,” it boomed. “YOU HAVE NOT WON. THE GAME IS FAR FROM OVER.”

Asharri had started to follow suit and be at the mage’s side, only to halt immediately in her steps. Frozen for a moment. She quickly looked to the others, and back to the fallen arcanist, approaching carefully.

Halenvar grabbed at the necklace, attempting to crush the gem in his fist. It did not work, but it did not stop the Valarjar from trying.

Asharri eyed the woman on the floor with concern, yet couldn’t seem to keep her gaze torn from that gem for too long. “Befouled demon,” she vocalized. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t this work?”

Aranya began to go limp, her agonized contorting lessened, as it seemed her energy drained from her. The pulsing glow of the soul gem in the necklace grew brighter and brighter, appearing to draw from her essence, until it exploded.

In the flash, Tezzakel, in regained form, appeared once more in the sanctum with the elves. A thick, sinister laugh rumbled from deep within his massive chest, his eyes on Aranya. “I repay you, tenfold,” he growled. “All of you.”

With a slash of shadow at his claws, the demon tore a hole in reality, a portal into the Nether, and escaped through.

Aranya lifted her head up from the floor, watching him retreat. “No…” she choked, burning green eyes fixated on the rift that her nemesis had gone through. This couldn’t be happening. “NO!”

At the last second, she bolted after him with whatever strength she still had, running through into the Nether, the rift closing up as smoothly as water just behind her, leaving the others to watch her disappear.

She was gone.

Ilyea started to meditate upon her aura that her husband was so fond of. The whirling and electric buzz of how it felt when she conjured arcane blasts. How course it felt when she refilled her mana with a quick burst borrowed from the soul. The swirls and whirls that encompassed her that felt like a moving storm of power. One that that she could just grab a seed of and push outwards until it encompasses the tiny space she was trying to transform.

Though that could be the boring way of doing things, and the mage was never one to follow tradition. Extending her hand out as if asking for permission from an invisible partner, Ilyea closed her hand after a moment taking the silent acceptance and began to dance.

There would be no style associated with it but just steady temperament of twirling. Her foot as the axis, as her limbs extended out in whirling as she called the arcane from deep within. Ilyea watched the blue trickle down her skin, illuminating the veins of her blood with an azure paintbrush.

Each twirl, each sweep of her arms and she felt the runes resonate with Ilyea’s movements steadied herself against the flow of magic as the movement slowly coaxed it open. And within a quick blink of her eyes, it expanded and encompassed everything in a thick miasma of power that the runes seemed to hold onto like a toy. Her partner had become real, as her soul danced before her eyes.

If one could say they were within Terrokar forest, one would scoff at the picturesque blues and purples that seemed to dot the ritual site. It would make one think they were in the middle of netherstorm with the way the magics flowed over the runes, creating waves of power that seemed to center on her and propel outward like a leisurely breeze.

Ilyea breathed in as deep as her lungs could hold air until they started to burn before exhaling in a quick dizzying breath.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

 The flowing cloud of colors seemed to delight and confuse as the mage continued to breath. Ilyea dimly knew something was going to happen but what exactly was going to happen, and what exactly did it mean to confront the well?

Or at least prepare herself for it.

 Love?

The voice came so unbidden it caused the unifying mantra to be caught in her throat. Her blue arcane collected eyes observed the swirling storm she created to peer to where the voice possibly could have come from.

Curiosity dotted Ilyea’s face as she peered around the enclosure. It couldn’t be him, could it?

Her hand reached to her the tattoo which was burned into her flesh that herself and Aurora made for each other many moons past, but she did not feel the tug of its magic upon her own.

Love?

The voice asked again, this time more persistent and desperate. Within the illusion winds, Ilyea watched as the tempest grow dark as what seemed to be millions of milky dark black drops seem to spread and cover the outer layer of the runes like inky puddles. The well would not send its champion so easily but someone whom she’d call her husband first, Ilyea bitterly thought.

The inky puddles slowly turned into some small skittering spiders of illusionary void that piled high upon each other until Aurora was re-created in perfect detail. The black hair that usually hung in a tight fox tail swayed a bit to the winds as he was dressed in his favorite set of yellows and blacks, the tabard that adorned his outfit cut which was fashioned into a loose bracelet around her wrist.

Aurora’s stalwart features gazed upon her but she saw him as he was a few moons ago. Covered in gore and wistful staring at her as she existed within the sanctity of the inner circle. Slowly he outstretched his blood-soaked gauntlet to her belaying the illusion as some of the spiders moved as his arm flowed to keep the creation intact.

“Why don’t you call on me, why do you push me away?”

 His question was a fair one and Ilyea wished more than anything to keep him close to her. Ilyea wasn’t sure how long she’d have to be away from Aurora for the voices to collect in his mind, push him closer to the void but their bond was still intact?

 Was that enough?

 The Aurora creation slumped forward, the yellows staining through with the blood, each drop that fell on the ground breaking the illusion as a spider skittered away.

 “You know what Andy said to us about our connection to each other?” Aurora spoke pitifully as more gore soaked words fell from his lips. His hands reached out to pierce the inner circle but stopped from the invisible barrier that separated the two, his green eyes searching out her own as he rested his palms on the divide.

 Is her best option of beating this menace by isolating herself? Keeping still to the inner ring, and giving herself her best chance by keeping herself pure or trusting others to give the same decision?

 The mage was starting to doubt as she thought of her promise, and then again to the ritual she was currently engaged in.

 “Why don’t you let me be your everything?” Aurora once more croaked, his features as soaked with blood as the sadness that surrounded his eyes. His voice faltered as his form started to melt from the ragged movements.

 Ilyea felt her heart bleed along with him as her words pierced her heart more than any dagger could. As she watched his form dissolve, the mage knew that she had won but it didn’t feel like winning to her. It felt like a cautionary tale of how they could break apart if she continued to act carelessly. Was it more to be cautionary tale, or a distraction?

 Outstretching her hand, Ilyea started to dance again focusing on the mantra as she moved.

 Breathe.

Just Breathe.

The winds continued to shift and swell, the flow rippling her clothes and burning against her dried blood but Ilyea felt at peace. Numbly at peace. As Ilyea turned around in a smooth twirl, the subtle scentof menthol and spearmint alerted her at the next champion the well would call. Their true one this time.

Ilyea turned just in time to watch the inky arachnids dissolve into a perfection of Lledwyn. Or what was supposed to be him, bitterly cold and somber with icy blues eyes that belayed the abomination he became. He was dressed in polished saronite armor, his arms holding onto a large axe that seemed to twirl with souls as much as the netherstorm she had created. The death knight truly looked to be the embodiment of death.

“You are too reckless for your own good.” The man sneered, her iciness perfected despite the shadowy legs that poked out from the sheet of ice. Ilyea could practically feel the disdain dripping from his lips.

To say that his form didn’t strike fear in her heart would be a lie, but it had been ages since they had talked like this; even if it was an illusion. Ilyea felt detached and sad as she looked onto the man.

“You throw yourself against the current without looking at where it leads. You are a disgrace to this house, to my name. I wish you weren’t my sister. I wish the trolls would have killed you.”

The last few sentences they spoke burst into her thoughts mimicking the brightness of the arcane the flowed in-between. The last few words seriously spoken between the pair. Was it his true thoughts?

The sibling shook her head though her eyes showed the hurt. The ritual started to feel like a prison and a cage even if there was protection there.

Was there any sanctity by doing any of this alone? Should we even try?

“Didn’t we promise not to lie to one another? Shouldn’t you trust me more to help you?” Lledwyn whispered and just like Aurora, his form melted as the spiders returned to their inky form before. His dissipation accruing the conflicting feeling in Ilyea’s chest or right versus wrong. Strength of what she has.

But still, Ilyea continued to dance while the mantra rang in her ears.

Breathe.

Just Breathe.

While it had seemed much larger than before when she first started, her dancing felt confined by the ritual circle. The winds piled and moved but Ilyea felt no closer to her goal, in fact, she was starting to feel farther away.

She was starting to feel lonely.

Ilyea should have known that is when the well decided to strike with its next mouth piece. The mage wasn’t  even that shocked when Malefaca’s form came next. The man whom had plagued her for a better part of her early years. An elf that no longer had much of a form but was merely a skeleton of fel enriched power that spoke in the same mocking voice as her fears that the spiders created.

“Where the hell are the people you are so proud of? Where is that fucking shit stain husband of yours?  Anyone that can’t exist without you for a few seconds is weak. What a pathetic loser you have Ilyea, just like Francis.”

 Was that when she opened her telepathic link to Aurora? Or was it when the rage started to fill the link as Aurora spoke. The anger sparked just like cold fire over washing over her shortening her breath. Ilyea didn’t know when she opened or closed the bond but his affirmations of love and support were enough to make her decision.

 “You are weak just like the company you keep. They hold you back, you should get rid of them all.” Malefaca’s voice sneered in mocking contempt.  

 “Prove it then” Ilyea yelled back the residual of Aurora’s anger flowing over her tongue. “Prove to me that the company I keep makes me weak.”

 Having received its challenge, the skeleton began to smirk. Its mouth then opened and closed in a wide gape of movement as the bones simulated laughter clacking together its jaws in chittering movements, the spiders spilling down to the floor as it did.

 The mage knew in many years not to directly challenge Malefaca, it’s how he baits you. It’s how he wins but if winning mean isolation and loneliness, then Ilyea knew she’d rather fail because there were those around her to help her find another path.

 The skeleton rose its hand to start their next dance as Ilyea moved over the protection circles. The illusion felt warm but solid as it folded her into his embrace, before shoving its fingers into her side marking her skin.

 “Then depend on the people that you decide are as worthless as you and die among with them. Prove it, indeed.” The voice chuckled as it tossed her aside to the ground.

Ilyea succumbed to the pain as soon as the ghostly fingers hit her side; her eyes closing against the arcane winds that flowed over her like a tomb not even registering that she hit the floor.

–

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours but when Ilyea moved it was clear that she had done something. The wondrous blues and purples that surrounded the area had faded until the dull blackness as before. It was just her own labored breathing and the muted sounds of what was ahead in the forest.

As the mage slowly leaned up, she felt the pain beside her explode against her side and the she knew that where the apparition had touched her would not go away.

“Then depend on the people that you decide are as worthless as you and die among them. Prove it, indeed.” The mage dimly repeated in her head as she shakily stood to her feet. Was this tie purpose of the test or what the test was trying to tell her?

Trust. Or failure.

Ilyea licked the coppery film that coated her tongue and slowly brushed the dirty locks of black hair from her face. Inwardly, she hoped that Aurora wouldn’t get too angry at her. Maybe she can ask Theron for guidance.

She would prove that she wasn’t worthless, and that her faith wasn’t misplaced.

Ilyea would try again.