It had been some time since Aneyah had seen either Theras or Telivathus. In fact, it had been some time since the two men had seen one another either, both having been directed by Magister Dawnwing to aim their talents towards the threat of the Twilight’s Blade. Back at the estate though, for the moment, the pair were more focused on the chess pieces on the table between them.
Although both were former Farstriders—one the youthful idealist who had left the formal structure of the military to pursue his own horizons, the other forced into retirement for his disregard of command—their respective approaches to their task differed greatly. Their game reflected this as well: Theras played black, and always seemed a few steps ahead of Telivathus’ white, although only defensively; he did not readily strike back, while Telivathus displayed an almost reckless aggression, as the graveyard of lost pieces attested. Still, Aneyah observed over her book, he was likely to win.
Theras carefully charted suspected cult movement in the wilds of southern Quel’Thalas and proposed routes of escape for Thalassian populations nearby, or choke points where the porous mountains and forest could be better defended. Telivathus, on the other hand, was the blade; his information was gained through targeted violence. Aneyah shivered, despite her proximity to the fireplace. The harm the older man had done in his life weighed on his shoulders like a heavy black cloak, a darkness shrouding his otherwise vibrant spirit. And yet, he seemed at peace with it all.
“What do you make of Father’s situation, Tel?” Theras asked, breaking the silence of concentration that had settled over the three.
Telivathus shook his head, sweeping a bishop across the board to take one of Theras’ rooks, “Hardly out of the ordinary for Magistry business. It’s all posturing.” He looked up from the board and snorted a laugh, “You know how dragonhawks will display for territorial rights? Wings flapping, beaks clacking, tails thrashing? It’s like that, but with more paperwork.”
Aneyah peered at the pair, and felt the tension in each. Theras was worried for his father, and Telivathus’ flippancy was a ruse, she knew; she could feel the swirl of his anxiety in her own stomach. Indeed, she did not even need to reach out to his mind to feel it; his speaking too much was enough of a tell—not to mention an attempt to distract from the state of the board. It was not for Magister Dawnwing specifically, though. Did he fear the coming dark as much as she? Had he heard the Song, too?
Theras quietly tapped Telivathus’ bishop out of the way with a pawn, looking coolly at the elder ranger, “I’d like to believe that, Tel, I really would.”
Telivathus leaned forward, arms resting on the table’s edge as he scanned the board, moving a knight with what appeared to be little thought, “You should. It won’t do any good not to, will it?” Surface aggression, to keep his opponent on his back foot, but clever, Aneyah noted. “Check,” the ranger added.
Theras furrowed his brows, looking much like his father in that moment, and took the knight with his second rook, exposing his castled king, “Do you think his research is actually dangerous? I know he claims it will be useful, will be revolutionary, but what of the harm it could do?”
“Anything worth doing has an element of danger, doesn’t it?”
The younger Dawnwing looked utterly unamused at Telivathus’ carefully hedged answer, his lips drawn into a thin, flat line.
“What is an acceptable cost to fight against Renilash?” Aneyah ventured, her voice quiet and distant, as if her mind were somewhere far away, even as she spoke to the men at the table. Perhaps it was, as it drifted back to the Sunwell, and to the fear she had felt there, “Priests of the Sacred Flame say that when the end comes, if we give all of ourselves, the darkness cannot triumph. He risks everything in search of understanding.”
“But,” Theras replied, shifting his attention to Aneyah, “Is what Father doing personal sacrifice, or is he trying to make himself a martyr? What good comes of prolonging his dispute? Surely he can still make progress in his work if he just…” He paused, searching for the right words, and spitting them out in frustration when he came upon them, “Turns over his Void artifacts? Toys with other forces?”
Telivathus chuckled as he moved his queen—the only piece still in his arsenal other than king and pawns—across the board, “Check, again.”
Theras snapped back to the game, glaring daggers at Telivathus, who only gave him a broad grin in return.
“He would be right to do so,” Aneyah responded, “But you and I saw K’aresh, Ther. Can you deny that there was life even there, awash in darkness? I am not sure the Void is the threat, but the Harbinger. Or other predators. So he may yet be right not to do so, as well.”
Clearly flustered to have his attention drawn two ways, Theras held his head in one hand as he both observed the state of the board and formulated a reply to Aneyah. When he spoke, it was slow, deliberate, “It doesn’t make sense to fear the lynx, but it does to guard the flock from them.”
The Arathi beamed, “You understand. I knew you would.”
Theras’ cheeks colored at even this slightest bit of praise, and he turned his head away before hastily taking Telivathus’ queen with his own king.
“What a principled stand Dawnwing is taking, hm?” Telivathus mused, a smirk playing on his lips, “He could lose much, but anything worth doing is dangerous, right?” He gently slid a pawn forward, one that had slipped past Theras’ defenses, reaching the opposite end of the board, “The queen is dead; long live the queen, as they say.”
Theras turned his attention back to the game, and his shoulders slumped in dismay. With the new queen in play, he had run out of options.
“Sometimes a little bit of calculated sacrifice can do more good than harm,” Telivathus said, adding in a whisper with a wide, cheeky grin, “Checkmate, kid.”
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Note: This takes place after the full campaign; there will be no major spoilers, but some events may be tangentially mentioned. The second and third parts of Luminash's, Telivathus', Theras', and Aneyah's parts in the campaign finale are still a work in progress!
It was rare for Telivathus to have guests in his apartment nestled in the alleys of Murder Row; rarer still was for Magister Dawnwing to pay a visit, mostly due to the inherent dangers of someone so nobly-garbed as conspicuous as he moving through those shadowed corners of the city.
And yet, Dawnwing had come, and gladly took in hand a glass of whiskey poured by his host. Placing the bottle back into his lavishly-appointed bar, Telivathus turned on his heel and padded past the magister's chair to take his own seat, with his own glass.
“Taking stock of the damage to the city after the attack, Dawnwing? Or are you here on a social call?” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and tilted his head, “It has been far too long since we’ve played a game of chess, hasn’t it? Theras isn’t too bad, but he’s been busy with Aneyah of late, and I am quite starved.” The way his voice hit a singsong note on the Arathi cleric’s name made Luminash quirk a small smirk.
“Still giving him grief over his infatuation, are you?” Luminash asked, a brow raised.
“It is not merely that, my friend, but the way she looked at him when she awoke from the Void haze that hung over her since the…incident,” Telivathus replied, approaching the near-miss their people had suffered with surprising tact.
“She is a good sort. Inquisitive, kind, with a great deal of wisdom, I believe, despite her relative youth. I will hesitate to give my approval unless something comes of it, but Theras could certainly do worse,” the magister admitted, taking a sip of his whiskey and blinking at its strength.
“I never answered your question though, did I, Tel?” Luminash continued, “Get the board set up, but in the meantime, I would like an update on your activities, such as they are.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Telivathus chuckled as he slid out of his chair and proceeded to the cabinet where he kept his hand-carved chess pieces, “Which activities first, Dawnwing? Shall I begin with the Blade?”
Luminash nodded, “I don’t see why not, even if their activities in the region are no doubt going to be diminished by Xal’atath’s departure.”
As Telivathus gathered the pieces and began to set the board—the round table by where he and the magister had sat was lacquered with a grid already—he shook his head, “Oh, quite the contrary, my friend. Though Antenorian was cut down, and that ogre in Zul’Aman, the disaffected still flock, and I have reason to believe will be increasing their attempts to gain a foothold in Quel’Thalas before long. The desperation of a cornered animal, to borrow a turn of phrase from Theras, hm?”
Luminash furrowed his brows, pursing his lips in concern as he braved another sip of his drink, “You think so, Tel? I cannot say I am surprised, but rather…disappointed. I trust your judgment in this matter, however, so continue your work as you see fit.”
“The Broken Throne, in particular, is a hotbed of activity,” the former ranger explained, sliding languidly back into his seat on the side of the table where he had set up the pieces carved from ebony, “And as much as I am loathe to admit, the Amani may need aid.”
“Do keep me apprised of the situation. I, and our people no doubt, appreciate your dedication, Tel,” the magister said, leaning forward to observe the board. As he reached for a piece—the queen’s pawn—he hesitated, feeling a warmth emanating from the pale wood, “Is this lightwood?”
Telivathus only grinned back at him, “You are not the only one who can procure interesting things, Dawnwing. And speaking of which, your little fel project?”
Luminash nodded, “Yes, my second question: how have you fared so far? Any news?”
“The Row is still the Row, as it ever shall be, and as I am sure you are aware. The major smuggling operation that was frightened off by the Illidari poking about has left behind caches yet to be discovered,” he said, watching as the magister moved his pawn, carved into the likeness of a Silvermoon guard helmet, “I have a few reliable leads on where they have been stored, both in the city and without, and our dear Nether consultant and I will be paying them a visit to judge their use soon enough.”
He moved his king’s knight, carved into the shape of a hawkstrider, leaping over his row of pawns.
“Really?” Luminash responded, whether to the ranger’s defense, or the ‘dear Nether consultant,’ Telivathus could not tell, but he allowed himself a pleased smirk across the table all the same.
“I do have one request, however, before we conclude this little bit of business and return to pleasure, as it were, my friend.”
Luminash glanced up from the board, a brow raised, and nodded as he moved his own king’s knight over his pawns.
“An enchantment on vellum, so that I may apply it at a later date. The ability for, let us say…a weapon, or other such object, to draw latent mana from the environment into itself, and to release upon impact. An ambient infusion, of sorts.”
Luminash motioned for Telivathus to make his move, “That is simple enough, though that hardly seems your style. In fact, it seems more that of ‘our dear Nether consultant,’ as you so phrased it. Either way, what need would there be, when, to my understanding, your trusty blades have their own sort of infusion already.” His gaze flickered for a moment towards the bookshelves near the bar; he knew what lay behind their hinges, and what sort of infusions a skilled killer produced.
“Oh,” Telivathus waved a hand dismissively, “It is not for my blades, but rather something else.” He then made a motion that called to mind the crack of a whip, and broke into a wide grin, “I am afraid I put pleasure before business, and attended quite the show in Shattrath that offered some inspiration.”
Luminash simply stared, stunned by his friend’s pantomime, opened his mouth as if to speak, then only shook his head, “I dare not pry further. I truly, truly do not wish to pry further. As a favor to you, I will take care of it, as if I’ve no other more pressing concerns.” He shook his head again, brows still raised, though he also looked as if he was stifling a laugh, “Just…make your move, Tel.”
The ranger laughed brightly, “Now, let us put business behind us, and let us see how long it takes for you to lose, my friend.”
Despite the new start at the Dawnwing estate, there was much work to be done, from masonry repairs to the restoration of the entire interior, not to mention cleansing the place of lingering Death. While its embrace awaited all, it was, no doubt, inimical to the growth of new life.
Luminash signed another work order, rolling the scroll and pressing the daub of crimson wax to seal it, the imprint of his signet–a winged sun, Thalassian phoenix superimposed–upon it. Though guided by new purpose, an emptiness remained after K’aresh; he felt only an echo of himself here, where the walls of reality were so unyieldingly firm. He could not open himself to the infinite cosmos here; he was painfully aware of the body trapping the arcane soul within.
The estate’s study was situated precisely in the center of the second floor, its window opening onto the courtyard below, and through it streamed the morning sun. Although its light offered admittedly pleasant warmth to the magister, he felt like a Thalassian flower wilting in the desert sun over Kalimdor, as if he ought to be elsewhere.
Sliding into the desk chair, one of the few pieces he had managed to salvage from the ruins, he permitted himself a moment to center himself and to breathe. In the back of his mind was Jaskian’s steadfast presence, and around him was the work to be done. He repeated the tasks ahead as a litany against the disconnection he felt.
The sound of a cleared throat from the doorway broke him from his reverie.
“Morning, magister,” Telivathus offered in greeting, “It’s already looking up around here, I say.”
“Ah, Tel. Good of you to come; it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Luminash replied, pushing himself up from the chair. It was not such a struggle, but all the same felt as if his body was dragging him down.
Telivathus eyed the magister as he entered the room fully, taking in the details: a gaping hole in the roof above, a floor ravaged by the elements, the shelves built into the walls broken, and what contents remained resting on the floor. At least the dust had been cleared and the codices and scrolls stacked along the walls again.
“You seem troubled, Dawnwing,” the older man observed, “Care to share?”
Luminash shook his head in response, “No need, Tel. There is simply a great deal of work to be done, and I fear little time in which to conduct my other responsibilities.”
“Such as? You’re a magister, my friend. I am sure no one will mind if you take some time for yourself. You would have the power to simply silence their dissent, no?” Typical Farstrider cheek at the Magistry’s expense.
Permitting himself a slight laugh, Luminash shrugged, “No need for that. It is not about time for myself, but about time for my work. I have a meeting this afternoon at the Spire concerning my report on K’aresh, another with the Reliquary tomorrow morning concerning a manuscript for publication, and–”
“Walk and talk, Dawnwing,” Telivathus cut in, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. In fact, he was continuing down the main stairs towards the estate’s entry hall before Luminash caught up.
“Where are we going, precisely?”
“You’ll find out,” Telivathus said, a mirthful gleam in his eyes, “Walk and talk. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
With a sigh, Luminash continued, even as the two left the house and grounds behind, “I know what your game is, Tel. You think I’m too deep in my own thoughts and need to clear my head.”
A noncommittal grunt and a shrug of the shoulders was Telivathus’ only answer.
“It’s not that, but precisely the opposite, you ought to know.”
A brow raised, but no response. A light breeze ruffled the leaves above as the ground began to slope towards the Eldrendar in the north.
“It’s somewhat how you said you felt after Outland. That your mind was elsewhere, and the body is left behind going through the motions.”
That, at last, elicited a response as the pair began to weave down a sharper slope, “I’ve heard what you faced out there. I surveyed the manaforges in Netherstorm for the Scryers, and the damage even a fragment of Dimensius did to reality itself there was palpable.” After pausing while stepping over a particularly hazardous exposed root, he continued, “And I can’t say I’m sensitive to that sort of thing at all. You, though?” He sucked air in through his teeth and shook his head.
“It’s not only that. Imagine, Tel, that there is a…piece of you, something in your soul itself, that does not belong here, but does belong there.” He shook his head, “No, that is not quite right. That belongs outside, that longs to pass through the rift in reality, to exist beyond it. Now imagine it here. It is like being caged.”
“And yet you’re the one who caged it, aren’t you?” Telivathus’ reply made Luminash stop in his tracks, so fully did it cut to the core of the problem, “Do you truly understand why you did it?”
Luminash remained silent, stunned, but continued following his friend as the sound of the Elrendar met their ears.
“You let yourself be part of this world before K’aresh, and you will again, but you need to remember why. It’s what I had to do after everything I was made to do with the Sunfury, and it takes time.”
As the pair approached the riverbank, Telivathus placed his hand on Luminash’s shoulder. In that moment, a flash of memory: the assault on Tempest Keep, the defense of Quel’Danas, and later, Luminash’s hand in that same position, pulling Telivathus up from the abyss of his own despair.
“It’s going to take time, Dawnwing, but you know where to find me. And your lovely wife is but a thought away, isn’t she?” The older man nudged his companion with his elbow, “Take the time, and it’ll all fall into place.” Luminash scarcely noticed the receding of Telivathus’ footsteps, leaving him alone on the gently sloping south bank of the Elrendar.
For a man who contained memories of seeing the cosmos from the outside, it was such a tiny place, even as the trees, at last healing from the blight at their roots, towered over him, and the river rushed onward to the near-boundless sea. It was so small, but, as the magister settled onto the grass, so was he; and in that moment, the ache of disconnection faded.
This was why.
@daily-writing-challenge
@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian reference (again!)
(( The following takes place at the opening of the Red Moon. ))
Telivathus sipped his drink as he observed the tiered room before him, the elegant and beautiful taking the opportunity to bask in a late night of curated abandon. The salt-scented sea breeze wafting through the windows in the alcove behind him was a pleasant contrast to the alcohol warmth of his drink as he swallowed.
For some time, he simply rested there, watching the patrons and savoring the atmosphere. He was, however, here for a purpose: in times of trouble, those with means often hid themselves in indulgence, and with the lavishly-appointed bar, among other delights, tongues were sure to be loosened.
He drained the last drop of his glass and, turning briefly as if to admire the glittering of distant lights on the sea between the harbor and Quel’Danas, refilled the glass from a flask slipped from inside his coat. Perfectly golden and full, it was, although not with anything that would further cloud his mind; one drink had been enough for him.
As he slipped away from the windows to mingle, he thought that, if no leads surfaced, he might permit himself another, or perhaps a session with the hookah, or a host, before the night was over.
His clothes—long, black formal coat and gloves, black trousers, black shoes polished to a shine, and with soles that gave a satisfying clack as he walked—allowed him to fade into the background scenery for many of the guests, so similar did he look to the catering staff. For those who saw he was not, the false drink in his hand made him look like just another guest, and so he moved easily between clusters of patrons, soft apologies as he bumped elbows, or promises of returning with hors d’oeuvres he, of course, had no intention of bringing. All the while, he saw everything, heard everything.
From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw an old acquaintance, Alae’drel, whose path he had crossed in years past. Before the Scourge, when he still wore a Farstrider uniform, his aptitude had been in slipping unseen through sun-dappled forest shadows, but after Voren’thal’s defection, the Scryers—and later the powers that be in Silvermoon, upon his return—his talents were put to use in the City’s shadows as well, as were hers. For a moment, he considered taking a few moments for himself and seeking her out, but then, a slur of words reached his ears, a lull in the music providing an opportunity.
“It will all be over soon anyway,” a dark-haired elf leaning heavily on one of the cocktail tables opposite the windows said. His collar was undone, a sheen of sweat on his face. The number of glasses on the table told the same story.
His companion, a flame-haired man in a well-cut suit nearly the same color, raised an eyebrow, “You’ve had too much, my dear. What ever do you mean by that?”
“I’ve got…” He paused to throw back the last of his fourth glass, “I’ve got good reason to take enjoyment while I can. Let’s say we…” He trailed off as the other man shook his head.
“I believe I have…elsewhere to be,” he responded, and turned to depart, leaving the besotted—in more ways than one, perhaps—man alone with his swirling thoughts. A vacancy.
Telivathus sidled up to the table where the man had departed, and leaning an elbow on the table’s edge, flashed his best rakish grin, “He was a catch, wasn’t he, my friend? A shame he didn’t take the bait.”
“Eh?” The inebriated fellow smoothed back his hair and snapped back to his senses upon Telivathus’ arrival, “You’re… Yeah, he was.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Telivathus mused, sipping from his decoy drink, meeting the other man’s eyes with his best heavy-lidded look, “We’ve got to take our pleasures now, before it’s too late, don’t we?”
The drunken man’s eyes met Telivathus’ and widened, lips parted almost in awe, “You know the Song, too?” He leaned across the table in a whisper, “They know it, too.”
Telivathus leaned in conspiratorially, “Let us say that this night could be our last. Let us go somewhere more private, and you can tell me all about those…” He paused, letting the anticipation build, “Fleeting pleasures. Shall we?” He jerked his head towards the door and drained the rest of his false drink, any haze in his head long gone, and left his glass with the others.
The same could not be said of his new companion, who, inhibitions lowered, pushed himself away from the table and, taken in by Telivathus’ barest modicum of charm, stumbled towards the exit in his wake.
“Heading out for some air,” Telivathus said with a wink to the bouncer as the pair departed, “We’ll be back soon.”
Turning into an alley, inky and black, shaded from both stars above and enchanted streetlamps below, Telivathus pressed the poor fellow to the wall, leaning in as if to kiss him. The reek of alcohol swirled around Telivathus’ head as the other breathed heavily and leaned forward with hungry lips, only for his glazed eyes to widen and suddenly sober in shock and fear as he felt the dagger pressed against his sternum.
“Now, my friend, you are going to tell me everything you know about the end of which you speak.”
* * * * *
Some time later, Telivathus returned to the Red Moon, and slipped back inside, offering an apologetic shrug and hopefully a convincingly abashed grin, “Some men can’t quite handle their drinks, it seems.”
Back inside, he set out to catch up with Alae’drel after all. He could certainly afford himself a social call after a job well done.
Theras wrinkled his nose as he took a sip of the drink Telivathus had offered him. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let out a sharp cough as he set the glass down with a clink, the amber liquid sloshing about in the glass.
“Potent, Tel,” the young man coughed while the elder, legs tossed over the arm of his chair, savored a sip from his own glass.
“Not to your taste? Fair enough, then,” Telivathus replied with a laugh, “No rush, my friend.”
It had been since before Theras joined his father on the Dragon Isles that he had seen Telivathus. Retirement from active duty with the Farstriders seemed to be treating the man well: the crow’s feet and deeply etched laugh lines, along with his silver hair, bestowed upon him the air of a good-natured uncle, his easy humor and quick laugh a welcome refreshment among the heaviness of his home. The room itself was dim, lit only by lantern, the rich hues of wood and the sheer weight of the furniture–handmade, knowing Tel–suggested a somewhat more rugged tenant than sat before him.
“I’ve heard good things about your new friend, by the way,” Telivathus ventured, raised brow and lopsided smile betraying a hint of his rakish younger years, “The Arathi girl?”
Were Theras to have had any of that acrid spirit in his mouth, he would have sputtered, so surprised by the turn of conversation; it had been mere pleasantries before, catching up with his mentor, comparing their works of art–Theras his sketchbook, Tel his carved figurines–and, unfortunately for the young man’s palate, tasting a few of Tel’s favorite beverages.
“Aneyah, yes,” Theras replied, a hint of color touching his cheeks. His friend.
“Your father has said little else, other than that she is insightful and studious. The sort of things he might notice in someone,” Telivathus continued, tossing his legs off the chair’s arm and leaning forward attentively, “I ask not as a father, but an interested friend. Tell me about her!”
Theras sighed. He should have known that he would not be able to avoid such conversations with his elders forever.
“She is…” He trailed off, lost in thought, sifting through words for the closest approximation to Aneyah’s complexity, “Peculiar? Uncanny at times? When Father introduced us, it was for work, for hunting cultists, and she seemed so sad, or perhaps fearful. I think she is, but she isn’t at the same time, if that makes sense?”
Telivathus only nodded and leaned back in his seat.
“I’ve never met someone happier to look into the dark. The Arathi have a prophecy, the final battle of Light and darkness, Renilash, and it is always a lingering presence in their lives–in her life.”
“I unfortunately know all too well what doom and gloom does to a person. Is there anything–”
“No, Tel, not Aneyah. She’s…happy, despite it all. She wears the fear like a comfortable cloak. Have you met anyone who simply sits and watches the shadows shift across the ground? Or stands with her feet in the sand, eyes closed, and just…is?”
Telivathus offered a slight chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders, “You’re making her sound like poetry, kid. Should’ve known from that shocked look in your eyes when I brought her up.” There was the rakish half-grin again.
“She’s–I’m not…” Theras choked out, cheeks darkening further. Despite the burn, he reached for his drink and tossed back a larger gulp than he’d expected himself to take.
“Nothing wrong with a crush, Theras!”
“Tel!” Theras exclaimed over his glass, gaze cast down in sheer embarrassment, “It’s not a crush, it’s just–it’s admiration!”
Telivathus smirked over the lip of his glass, “What is it you’re admiring, then?”
“I’m admiring her…complexity! Appreciation of the world around her, maybe, or… It’s just admiration!”
“Take all the time you need to figure it out, Theras.” Telivathus slid from his chair and strode to his bar cart, lifting and examining a bottle, “Another drink?”
Theras downed the rest of his glass and nodded mutely.
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The landscape of Eversong was hazy, shifting and wavering, its details never the same; at times, a tree would be young, others ancient, its branches hanging over its own deep shape. The light always remained the same, a calm golden glow from above, cast not by the sun; rather, it was the omnipresent light of dream.
The runestones rose and fell, flames flickered in and out of shaded thickets, burning them to ashes and disappearing as quickly as they appeared. The Amani surged from the gates of Zul’Aman, a sight unfamiliar to the dreamer’s mind; just as quickly, they faded away, replaced by shambling hordes of the undead, their eyes as cold and dead as those dredged from the Undersea by the kobyss.
Then, it calmed, the bleak scars carving through the forest giving way to new, green growth; broken spires in the north rose towards the sky once more, a people renewed, bathed in Light from the Sunwell.
The soft light from above faded abruptly. The sky grew black, and even the brilliance of the Sunwell from Quel’Danas faltered. The spires began to crack and topple into a swirling darkness erupting from the south, carving a new scar through marbled streets.
A moment of dread, and a scream from the depths of the world. The Radiant Song, shrieking in terror, and so the dreamer awoke.
Theras awoke with a start to a knock on his door. He stumbled from his bed, throwing a blanket around his shoulders to cover himself at least somewhat, and made his way to the door. Still bleary-eyed as he opened into the hallway of the inn where he holed up during his stays in Silvermoon, he was greeted with the sight of Aneyah.
Her golden eyes were wide, their luster seemingly dimmed by the ashen pallor seeking to overcome her face. Her breathing was uneven as she threw herself onto Theras, wracked with stifled sobs. There they remained for several minutes–what seemed an eternity–the ranger’s arms wrapped around the priestess as she returned to herself.
“Ther. All the way down to my core, I feel something terrible is coming,” she whispered at last.
Pulling away, Theras ushered her to the room’s divan and offered her the blanket he wore, “I’m going to get you some water, alright? What is happening, though, what do you mean?”
While her host provided a much-needed moment of nourishment for her body, frail as it was after waking from her terror, Aneyah recounted her dream, the shattering of Silvermoon, the darkening of the Sunwell, and the dread, the absolute certainty beyond simply a feeling of fear. The world itself had called out, and warned of the doom of all things.
“Renilash comes, Ther, and I don’t think we can stop it."
*****
Luminash looked across his desk at his assembled companions, Jaskian standing by his side. Though his own gnawing worry could surely be felt through their bond, her presence brought him the calm he knew he needed to project in this moment, not as a husband, father, or friend, but as lord of House Dawnwing.
“I am glad–in truth, we are all fortunate–that you’ve come on such short notice,” he began, the sun newly-risen to stream in through the study window. Theras and Aneyah had come, of course, and Telivathus had even arrived early, though he looked as if he’d only been in bed for a few hours before dawn.
“As you may be aware, before the destruction of Dalaran and the descent into Khaz Algar, I received the visions that we’ve taken to calling the Radiant Song. Though they have faded in recent months, they have never left,” he continued, looking pointedly at Aneyah, the slight Arathi staring into the distance and pressed against Theras’ arm. Luminash’s heart welled with pity; the cleric had most certainly not slept after what she had seen.
“You are not alone in this, Aneyah,” he added hesitantly, gaze flickering to Jaskian.
“Luminash has seen it too,” Jaskian added, offering a reassuring smile to the younger woman. Her husband nodded, jaw clenched, before he recomposed himself.
“Not in such depth as your account, however, only a renewed call to act,” Luminash resumed, clasping his hands together as he spoke, “And so we shall. No threat to Quel’Thalas will surface without House Dawnwing rising to meet it.”
He had been in Dalaran when the Scourge had come, and in the ruins of Quel’Thalas when Dalaran fell. He had failed twice to defend his homes then, and with Dalaran itself now a smoldering ruin, he would not fail yet again.
“I will be searching for any leyline anomalies,” Jaskian said, “With their nexus at the Sunwell, any disturbance that could alter its state must be felt elsewhere. Should anything change, I will be sure the Magistry moves to act quickly.”
Luminash nodded, then turned his attention to his son and his longtime confidant.
“Theras, Tel. I know neither of you are Farstriders any longer, but the wilds are hardly closed off to you. Aneyah’s vision showed darkness from the south. See to it that nothing untowards lurks in our forests, and return.”
Telivathus snorted, though he spoke with a smile, “Calling me out of retirement to play in the woods, are you? Fair enough then, Dawnwing. If there is anything to these visions of yours, I’ll do my part.”
“As I knew you would,” Luminash replied; his own smile betrayed warmth for his friend though his words remained formal and professional, “And with such duty comes privilege as well. You are hereby reinstated as a retainer for the House, with all the accompanying benefits. You are to safeguard these lands through whatever means necessary.”
Telivathus bowed his head with a knowing wink, “Whatever means necessary, old friend. You know I will.”
Although his face expressed puzzlement at the exchange, Theras, too, bowed his head, “I will see it done, father. What of you and Aneyah, though?” He glanced between the only two who had yet to receive a task.
“A good question. I believe, for us, a pilgrimage of sorts is in order.” He turned fully to the Arathi, “It is high time, Aneyah, that you saw the Sunwell for yourself.”
(( To be continued come Midnight. ))
@daily-writing-challenge
@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian!
(( This thing is incredibly long, and I am sincerely sorry for that, but I didn't want to break this into any smaller units, as I felt it would damage the flow. So...yeah. Here's the thing. ))
Telivathus lay there in a haze, as he had done for weeks now. He had lost track of the days, no longer caring to count. It had been over a month since the Day of the Dead, since he had passed out in an alley, medicating his grief with the bottle. He knew that the only way to pull himself out of his condition would be to seek help; when he did, though, it was only a passing thought, dreamt by a mind drowned in liquor and choked out by a cloud of smoke. He rubbed his cheeks, unkempt stubble covering them. The shattered remnants of his mirror lay where they had fallen what seemed like so long ago. As he was about to roll over, pull blankets over his withering form, and sleep, there was a loud knock at the door.
"Tel, open the damned door, I know you're in there!"
The ranger's eyes snapped open, panic flooding him. Dawnwing.
"I'll give you one minute, Tel, and then it comes down. We are worried."
Telivathus grunted, pushing himself up on his elbow, shouting back, his voice thin and sickly, "Go away, Dawnwing. You hardly need an old man around, and you know it!"
"Half a minute, Solarian!"
"Just leave me alone! Theras is well-cared for. I did all you ever wanted of me; he'll make a good ranger, and there is no need for--"
All within a split second, the wooden door bowed inward, the frame - stone, crafted as part of the building itself - cracked and crumbled, and a flood of brilliant arcane energy burst through, shattering the door and sending its shattered remains to the floor. Kicking wood and stone out the way, Luminash strode in, arms crossed, his clothing as ornate and conspicuous as ever.
Startled by the blast, Telivathus had leapt to his feet, a reflex from a time gone by, "Oh, good, I didn't need that anyway. It isn't as if I live in Murder Row now, or anything."
Luminash eyed the room, brow furrowed, gaze lingering on the pile of bottles and the shattered mirror, "From what I understand, you hardly need someone else to help you find yourself in a gutter. It has taken far too long to track you down. You are good, I'll give you that, but it's time for you to stop this, clean yourself up, and return to your place."
Setting himself heavily back down on the bed, Telivathus shook his head, "I am not your hireling anymore, Dawnwing. You brought me in after Quel'Danas, when I had nowhere left, and I am thankful for that, but...it's done."
Moving closer, Luminash set a hand on the older man's shoulder, "It is not, in fact, done. Theras misses his uncle Tel. Almost every day, he asks his instructors when you will be back, and none of them have the heart to tell him." The magister narrowed his eyes, "I had thought you cared more for him than this."
The ranger looked up, meeting Luminash's eyes with his own sunken and weary gaze, "I do, and always will. He does not need me anymore, though, and--"
"Oh, would you listen to yourself, Tel? You can't even make yourself sound like you believe it!"
Telivathus sighed, jerking his shoulder away from the magister, teeth clenched, "Just leave well enough alone, would you? The damage is done."
Taken aback and withdrawing his hand, Luminash shook his head in disapproval, "Why, Tel? If you are so adamant, at least tell me why you are here, why you are doing...this." He gestured to the hovel surrounding them, squalor having taken root in nearly every inch of the little room.
Letting out another heavy sigh, Tel rested his elbows on his knees, eyes downcast, "You never did know when to quit, you know. Glad to see you still don't. Fine. I will tell you, and if it eases your conscience, for letting it come to this - don't give me that look, I know you blame yourself, you always do - it is not your fault. Or Theras'. I thought it was before, but as you can see, I have had...time to think. It was before we met, but what happened... I relive it every year, every time I go to light the memorial candles." He chuckled dryly, "This year just was...especially bad. That, at least, is from Theras growing up. I know that, but it still is no one's fault but my own. You see..."
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
"Are you sure about this, Tel?" Amatia closed the flap of their tent, and turned to face her husband, who was sharpening his swords, his newly-patched cloak thrown over the back of his chair.
Looking up from his work, he smiled at the woman opposite him, the light coming through the slight opening between tent flap and tent catching her golden hair and giving her a brilliant glow, "I never do anything unless I am entirely sure. I thought you would know that well enough by now." He smirked, sliding the whetstone along the length of the weapon across his lap.
"We would be leaving everything behind, though. You say you can do that, but can you really? You are right, I have known you for a long, long time, and you aren't one to case aside those you care for."
"The other rangers? They made their choice when they did not answer our Prince's call to arms. Dalaran was in ruins, and was infested with those wretched undead beasts." He grimaced, holding his sword up to the light and nodding in satisfaction, "They do not belong with us, where the Prince will take us. We will have somewhere to call our own, away from Garithos and his ilk."
Amatia closed the distance between the two of them, and embraced Telivathus from behind, kissing the top of his head, "But do you want to go?"
After a long pause, he shook his head, "No, but we are Farstriders. It is our duty." He leaned back into her, closing his eyes.
Just then, there came shouting from outside the tent, "Rally, Sin'dorei, we move for the portal. Garithos' men have been spotted nearing our position. There is no time. Rally, now!"
The couple smiled sadly at one another, hands joined as they exited the tent in a rush, leaving their old life - and world - behind.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Netherstorm. The air of the place crackled with infinite arcane power, raw nether energy weaving through the void above. Here, Kael'thas had made his people's new home. Telivathus rested on the open-air balcony of the small ranger garrison, elbows settled on the railing. In the distance, he could make out the silhouette of one of an enormous Draenic structure, a whorl of arcane energy gathered around its peak, the sky itself drawn into the machine.
"So, those are what they say is going to save our people, Ama?" Telivathus looked over his shoulder.
Amatia stood nearby, heavy robes wrapped around her form. In the time since arriving on Outland, her eyes had become sunken, and her skin pale. She had been sometimes freezing, sometimes breaking into sweats. She was only nominally a Farstrider. Although she had undergone the same physical rigors as her comrades, her skill lay in enchanting their arms and arrows. The Sunwell's defilement had been bad enough, but the full force of withdrawal had only come after arriving on Outland. Even the mana-rich environment of Netherstorm did not seem to be enough. She remained silent, only nodding in response.
Pushing himself off the railing, he turned and made his way to his wife, wrapping his arms around her thin, shivering body, "Don't fret, now. I received a letter today, from the ground forces. They have the mana forge operational. We will be able to leave in the morning."
"It hurts, Tel." She shivered against him, head resting on his chest.
He closed his eyes, nodding, a sad smile on his face, "I know."
"Leave? Again? Tel, you can't be serious, not after everything we've gone through!"
The tent was dim as the couple lie on adjoined cots, the only light the eddies of the nether outside, the only sounds the rustlings and distant chatter of other Sunfury in the camp.
Tel replied, voice nearly a whisper, "Shh! Ama, not so loud! Voren'thal is right. Surely you are having some doubts?"
Amatia lowered her eyes, giving a slight shrug in reply. Since relocating to the mana forge, her health had improved drastically thanks to the presence of near-infinite mana. Each morning and evening she drained some of the energy contained in one of the blood crystals around the forge grounds. Within a week, her cheeks had plumped up once more, her eyes became as vibrant as ever, and her chills and fever had gone.
"You saw what he did to Kirin'Var. They weren't a threat to us. What about the rumors of demons spotted near our camps?"
"They are probably just ambassadors sent from Lord Illidan. You had faith in the Prince before. Why not now? Illidan has given our people such gifts since joining him. If not for him, we would not be here. I would not..."
Telivathus nodded, "I know, I'm sorry. Kirin'Var just has me on edge, that's all. It wasn't necessary. I am thankful to Lord Illidan for his charity, of course, and for your life. Perhaps this will blow over before we ever set out for Shattrath."
She leaned over to kiss him, "See? There is nothing to worry about."
Telivathus lay on his side on his cot, Amata beside him, her cot pulled over next to his, though facing the opposite direction. He could not sleep. In fact, the entire march to Shattrath had been difficult for him. Amatia had been growing distant, symptoms of her withdrawal returning, despite her daily draining ritual. More and more, Telivathus feared that she was giving in to the addiction, draining more than she needed, but when he inquired about it, she grew angry. And so, the pair lay there, facing away from one another, eyes open in the dark.
"Ama? I'm sorry. I love you, you know. More than anything."
"...I know, Tel. Go to sleep, please."
"I am here for you, if you ever need me. Just like always."
"...I know."
After an extended silence, Telivathus cleared his throat quietly and spoke, "Are you sure about this? About Voren'thal?"
It was the night before the supposed assault on Shattrath. Everyone in the camp was on edge. Already, Voren'thal's forces had encountered the defenders of Shattrath in skirmishes, and already casualties had been taken. Despite the small number of Draenei remaining in the city, their equipment was excellent, morale good, and elekks a serious advantage on the field. If all went well tomorrow, though, it would no longer be a concern.
Telivathus was awake, as he had been for so long now, listening to the rustlings of the forest and the sounds of the camp. Amatia had been gone for hours, and he could not help but worry. Shattrath's defenders had made a few attempts to sabotage the Sin'dorei army's supplies, and more than one guard had been found dead on the perimeter.
His muscles tensed, gripping the hilt of the dagger under his pillow as he heard the slight rustling of the tent flap. He subtly shifted, peering out the corner of his eye at the figure that had entered. It was bent over, wrapped in a dark, hooded cloak, the telltale glint of metal in its hand. It had not seemed to notice Telivathus yet, but instead had begun to rummage through the provisions he shared with Amatia. Perhaps, if he remained still and silent, the saboteur would leave him in peace, and he could strike when the figure's back was turned.
Suddenly, the figure's obscured face snapped around, looking directly at Telivathus, hefting the dagger, and lunging. Before the saboteur reached the cot, the ranger pulled his dagger out from its hiding place and ducked down while thrusting forward, avoiding his opponent's assault, and burying his own weapon to the hilt in the attacker's stomach.
Time seemed to stop. As the attacker fell to the side, bleeding, the hood fell away, a small collection of mana crystals dropping from within the folds of the cloak, their pale glow illuminating the tent enough to reveal a brilliant crown of golden hair. Telivathus' eyes widened in terror.
"No..." He remained frozen on the cot, looking down at his hand, wet with the blood of his own wife, "No... Why? Ama!"
He leapt up, and although too late to catch her as she fell, he knelt beside her, lifting her to look into her eyes.
"Tel... Tel... I didn't realize... It was a mistake. I wanted the next one, not... Just a few more..." As she spoke, her limbs trembling, she reached out a shaking hand towards the fallen mana crystals.
"No, don't speak. I... I will go, get a healer. Just... Ama, I..." He sputtered, tears beading up in his eyes, as he gently lowered her again before dashing out of his tent.
Luminash simply sat in silence, raking a hand through his hair.
"I was only gone a moment. When I came back with a healer, she was gone. In all likelihood, she bled out not far from camp and ended up swallowed by the forest." Telivathus wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, "And that is...why."
The magister extended a hand, placing it on his companion's shoulder again. This time, the ranger did not jerk away.
"I am sorry, Dawnwing. I think... I am ready to come back."
I sincerely apologize for such a lengthy lapse in my correspondence, but it seems that either my last letter, or yours, was lost in transit. My letters is the more likely one, however; I can see an acquaintance or two of mine pocketing it in order to use against me later. There are a great many people who either owe me money, or to whom I owe money, you see.
For some time now, I have been meaning to congratulate you on your recent announcement. I know you have not told me directly, but I have heard it through the always-churning rumor mill. As a father - or near enough one - myself, you have both my congratulations and my condolences.
Once again, you have my deepest apologies for neglecting my duties as a proper pen pal. Perhaps if you have another gathering, such as that you held for Noblegarden, I would bring my own ward by. It would do him well to meet other children, especially from such a dignified background as your own.
I look forward to hearing from you again soon, and do hope you will find it in your magnanimous heart to forgive the lapses of an old fool.
-Telivathus
(ourcollectivefantasy)
