#ysaria

Ysaria Et'hawa paced slowly across the throne room of the palace.  The heels of her boots clicked loudly against the marble tiles and echoed off the walls.  She was alone, lost in thought, a solitary figure dominating the shadow-dappled space.  

Two empty thrones sat upon a dais in the center of the room, beneath a stained glass dome set high in the vaulted ceiling.  The thrones were draped with green flags bearing the black and white tiger symbol of House Et’hawa, defiant against the rest of the room, still resplendent in Naresse blue and gold.  Her people had removed the falcons where they could, but they couldn't remove the colored inlays from the floor, nor the frescoes from the wall.  They'd hung their own banners, but the falcons still soared overhead, frozen in flight. All of that would change in due time.

Ysaria climbed the low stairs of the dais to stand in the place where she had executed King Larsol.  The servants hadn't been able to fully remove the blood stain from the floor; it had seeped into small cracks in the marble, and no amount of scrubbing had helped.  Seeing the stain again filled her with a surge of anger; it was one more part of House Naresse they hadn't been able to get rid of yet.  

Ysaria had always thought she would feel differently after killing the king. Ever since she was a child she'd hated the ones responsible for her father's death – Empress Vaeeta of Aiora, King Larsol of Fenerra, and his contemptible advisor. Twenty years ago, her father had traveled from Corsia to meet with them on a mission of peace, to sign a treaty that would bind the three nations together in bonds of friendship – and they'd sent his body back home in a coffin.  On that day, Ysaria learned that peace was a foolish dream.  She'd taken up the sword, and vowed revenge against the monsters who had slain him.  

For twenty long years, Ysaria had dreamed of that moment.  She'd always imagined how glorious it would be.  She thought she would feel a sense of triumph, to have finally avenged something of her father's death.  That there might be a feeling like a great weight lifting from her shoulders. She thought it might bring her peace.

Trust is as dangerous as it is rewarding. All those that live and perhaps even, those that are un-living, must play this game every night. Below are two excerpts from the Diary of Lady Miri'nal. Once a cherished gift for a life lived before the Sundering, it is now a Well-soaked, battered relic; protected by powerful curses and under guard of its equally cursed owner.

ENTRY: Despite my faith in our beloved Lady and our new god, I still do not trust this "legion" Something so hideous has no worth of being trusted regardless of the noble task it works towards. Many of the demons who now guard the palace, our quarters included, have seen the light and are as wholeheartedly dedicated to our Queen as we Highborne. As much as they displease my senses, I must admit they are very ept guards. The felhounds that roam make me nervous, though they are not permitted to harm us. Still, with so many vanishing as of late, it would be prudent to order one of the felguard to accompany me on the way to the Highborne's District. I wish to speak with Valdren. He is currently on duty at the walls. He still disappears from time to time, but no longer writes about what he sees. We bicker often and he has resorted once more to calling my life here a gilded cage. He knows I will remain devoted to my Queen and Xorial, but he prepares for our departure anyway. I humor his delusions out of care for him, but he is a fool. Our Light of Lights knows all and will guide us to paradise. She has never led us astray before, we must simply trust in her. To serve is the birthright of all Highborne.

Fireworks of endless colors filled the night sky as wind rushed through the silver hair and whistled into decorated ears of a nearly solitary Lady Ys'arial Miri'nal. Neither she nor her prized hippogryph Corri'ande paid much mind to the celebrations dotting the Moonglade. The Lunar Festival had begun and despite all of the horrors of recent times, perhaps even more so because of them, the Kaldorei threw themselves into the time of honoring ones ancestors. Much had changed this year alone and with the loss of Teldrassil, Ys'arial neither knew or particularly cared what befell the ancestors' spirits that used to make their annual appearances in Darnassus and Dolanaar. “That is a mystery for the Sisterhood” she reflected as Corri'ande began the descent into Azshara and she grimaced at the popping within her ears. She sighed and tried to re-tie her hair back, but in vain as her mount shifted ever so slightly each time she tried. Corri'ande was feeling mischievous tonight it seemed.

Normally one to ignore the core reason for the Lunar Festival, embracing instead the various parties and celebrations for frivolities' sake, this year she had decided to mature a degree and seek out her own ancestors and pay them homage. Her eyes narrowed as all too soon she could see the ruined Tower of Eldara on the horizon. “This is a terrible decision. I know this, and yet here we are. Aside from soul mirrors, it would seem terrible life choices are this House's legacy.” She continued this train of thought  from her first footfall upon the sand right up until the lighting of incense and offerings placed at the towers base. She waited in silence, keeping an eye out for any lesser beings with a death wish. She did not have to wait long, for after only an hour did she come face to face with her parents and  a plain faced hostile looking spirit that looked a strange mix of Kaldorei and troll. Ys'arial narrowed her eyes, unsettled by the unexpected stranger. She turned most of her attention to the mother and father she had not seen in over ten thousand years, who had long since perished during the War of the Ancients.

Ys'arial drank in their faces, and it was as if time had not passed. The elaborately braided violet hair and sharp golden eyes of her mother; the firm jaw of her father that made his smiles seem so grounding and calm, were as she always remembered. She stared at them, searching for the anger and disappointment that was surely there. She sensed both feelings within them and something...more. Love, and pity. Silence deafened that lonely, forgotten shoreline as moments lengthened into minutes. Ys'arial did not speak. She did not need to. Within her soul she knew that these spirits knew of everything that she had ever done in her life since the Sundering. Of her pain and her shattered mind, of her joy and of her fears. They knew her in ways that she may never know herself and they knew that she was aware of this fact. Just as they knew that she was acutely aware of the hostile spirit that had begun circling the former most recent members of House Miri'nal, glaring at Ys'arial ceaselessly. She was unaware of how much time had passed, only that what remained grew short. In a rare moment of true clarity, she bowed before them. “Forgive me.” she whispered.

ENTRY: Tonight was wonderful fun. I was supposed to be learning how to sew, but I was too full of energy to focus and it is such a boring task. Mother was out attending to the needs of the city and wouldn’t let me go with her. She says that I need to learn to control myself. She says it isn’t proper to clap excitedly or giggle when one receives praise. I don’t see why, it is the first that our people have started calling me Small Lady Miri’nal and I’m excited. While she was away I snuck into her rooms and played dress up. I pretended I was a proper princess, like Azshara. Then one of the servants caught me and I thought I was going to get a scolding, but she gathered some of the others and pretended to be  trolls. I vanquished them with my magic and saved the city. I led them in a victory parade throughout the mansion halls. Mother came home and saw us. She must have been overcome with pride, because she stared in silence for a moment before leaving for her rooms.

“What was it like? The process of imbuing yourself with pure mana and -actually- surviving?” The question had sounded with an almost disturbingly loud resonance, his voice seeming to echo off of the carefully gilded walls of Lady Miri'nal's personal outer rooms. She gazed into a violet flame looking thoughtful. “What was it like?” seemed to whisper from each and every mirror that lined those walls, creating a cacophony of sound that may not have even been real as far as the questioner had known. After all, this was a place saturated with illusion and transmutation magics, amplified by the very crystalline trees that made up much of the estate. Or perhaps, amplified by the one questioned. Lady Miri'nal herself lay draped along a low-backed, wine colored couch, her head propped up by one arm and despite the languid demeanor, had studied the questioner quite thoroughly. Now she reflected upon the recently ended meeting...

A soft chuckle escaped Ys'arial's lips. “Oh me, oh my...such a serious question. To be expected from a serious interviewer, but such is the way of the vaulted Quel'dorei people, hmm?” Her lilac eyes glowed brightly in the dim room and despite it being just the two of them, there was the sense of being watched. “When I accepted your request and your willingness of payment, I had no idea how...intriguing...a question you sought to have answered. It speaks much of you,” she seemed to fade from the couch and flicker in and out of the space between them, speaking each time she appeared; “of your boldness...” closer now “of your daring...” she was before him now, her hand caressing his cheek “of your -desperate- need for knowledge” she chuckled once before before vanishing. Masking his discomfort, the questioner stood straight.

“You agreed to this deal, and I demand you answer me. I said I would pay any price for my answer and I demand that you uphold your end of the bargain.” The young quel'dorei had never studied Divination much, and perhaps he regretted that now as his blue eyes searched the room; in vain it would seem, as Lady Miri'nal was once more lounging along the couch watching him. Perhaps she was always there, her eyes glowing more brightly than ever. He inhaled sharply.

“As you wish it, so shall it be.” she answered and the air in the room seemed to condense. “Painful, so very -very- painful. As if every nerve in my body, every thought of my mind, even my soul, were being flayed a thousand times over and the remnants being tossed about in the sea. Each and every second.” She smiled, her head tilted slightly as it rested upon her hand and newly cast shadows from a fire flickered around the room.

  “Screaming...breaking...empowering. Time had no meaning. Life had no meaning. Reality had broken and I -was- the Twisting Nether. Up was diagonal, right was backwards left. Pulsing, pulsing in an ebb and flow that was both slow and rapid. Everything that was me was shattered. Existence was laughable, and through my screams I laughed. I ought not to have survived, and the moment I began I knew that as truth. Zosimus, my dear, exasperated arcane familiar and now my kin, became the anchor. The soul reason I survived. Survived to feel that feeling so long as I live. Never-ending.” Ys'arial shifted position, her hair cascading over her shoulder, her smile widening as she looked down upon the writhing mass engulfed in pure arcane energy. “As you now know, since you have the answer you seek. You know what it is like, the process of imbuing oneself with pure mana. How one would actually survive. Now for your end of the bargain. All things have a price dearie, and the price of this knowledge is steep. Our deal is concluded.”