Rating (this chapter): PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.
_________________________
Chapter 4 - A Matter of Perspective
Again the cool, soft darkness of the crypt rose up to greet Merihem. The chaos and rush of the world above faded away. Above, everyone hurried, there was a franticness about their movements and slightly raised voices, so painfully focused on their personal business that world was totally lost to them. All this frenetic energy was white noise to Merihem, a dull buzzing roar in the back of her mind that she never noticed until it faded away into the peaceful darkness of the warlocks' world below. Only there did she know true silence. Here the world opened to her. Tendrils of awareness probed at the edges of her consciousness, seeking what lay beneath. This black unknown did not frighten Merihem; it excited her with possibilities, as something to make her own.
The gnome had expected her. He motioned her through flickering candlelight and deep shadows. Wordlessly he hopped up onto wooden bench, and motioned that she do the same opposite him. A small study table stood between them, adorned only with a single thick candle. The orange light accentuated the inky black color of the gnome's eyes, and in contrast, the pale golden color of Merihem's hair. He continued to say nothing and closed his eyes for a moment.
A touch of awkwardness began to grow inside Merihem. Was he waiting for her to speak? Was this a trial of some sort? Anlorre's cautionary words echoed in her ears, and Merihem shifted uncomfortably. Maybe returning here had been a poor decision.
She was about to speak, to ask to be excused, when the measured clop of great hoofed steps reached her ears. The demon she'd seen yesterday emerged from the darkness behind the gnome. The broad expanse of his chest rose and fell in even breaths; he seemed less bent on killing today. The great axe that nearly ended Merihem's life was still in his hand though, and she involuntarily shrank back a bit. She looked away, not wanting to provoke him by staring.
The gnome watched Merihem's nervous shifting with a touch of sadistic amusement. He watched as she forced her eyes to the surface of the table, only to snatch poorly-concealed glances at his demon. He allowed the moment to draw on a bit longer. He gave her a chance to be afraid and tremble under the weight of her decision to come here. To his surprise she managed to compose herself a bit. A deep breath, a straightening of posture, and finally expectantly locking her pale grey eyes onto his.
"You chose to return. You're not afraid of what you've seen here?" the gnome finally spoke.
"No…" Merihem replied, suddenly unsure of her answer. Was she afraid? She had almost been killed last time she entered here; her curiosity proved nearly fatal. Almost instantly she felt her blame shift from the demon to herself. She had intruded into a world to which she didn't belong. Fear morphed to a twinge of guilt.
"No, I'm not afraid," she repeated more strongly.
The gnome folded his tiny hands on the table and studied her. "Why?"
Merihem paused, at something of a loss of how to answer. "I guess I just… I don't see any reason why I should be."
"You know who we are."
"Yes."
"Most people would consider that something to be frightened of."
"I know, I'm familiar with the history lessons. What I see here is not what I am told, however."
"My demon almost killed you yesterday."
The demon seemed to be listening intently to the exchange. He hovered a short way behind his small master. The candle light cast a dull sheen on the plates of his armor and a stark contrast to the lines of muscle on his torso.
Merihem grew slightly annoyed. The gnome seemed to be goading her, attempting to elicit a specific response. Merihem didn't understand what; her responses thus far had been sincere and truthful, but didn't seem to be what the gnome wanted to hear.
"So why not? What answer are you looking for here?" she retorted, tired of his vague, leading statements.
The gnome raised his eyebrows and something like a smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"You're still capable of asking questions, which means you're still able to learn," the gnome said, finally seeming pleased with her response, "Do you want to learn?"
"Well, yes," snapped Merihem, "otherwise I wouldn't've come back." Merihem was fairly certain the gnome wasn't slow-witted, though his questions were leading her to believe somewhat otherwise. The demon was looking at her intently; he seemed to sense her annoyance and displeasure, and watched contentedly as it smoldered inside her. Merihem innately knew that hiding from the demon was impossible. In an odd sort of way she found this to be a relief, almost a permission to express and emote fully.
"You're a mage," the gnome continued, "Which is how many of us begin. Unlike those who live above, however, we see it as a stepping stone of sorts. We do not see truth or mastery in the study of simple, tangible forces limited to this world. The Universe is vast and terrible and empty and teeming with life. Our world of Azeroth is a single speck in a mote of dust, one world among many, and we who live below do not seek to limit our understanding by confining our minds to this world. Our minions, the demonic races, come from other worlds. We are united by the power of shadow, which stretches between worlds."
He paused, and his expression softened slightly. "That's why I stopped my demon's axe; your words yesterday told me that you feel this way also. You showed me that you could understand, that your mind did not have the walls that most others do."
"Who are you?" Merihem asked.
"I am one of the leaders here. Not the only one, nor the most distinguished. My name is Brenwick."
"And… him?" Merihem's eyes flickered to the demon.
"Ah, yes… the demons are a source of tremendous interest…" Brenwick muttered before answering. Mine is a member of mo'arg demon race. Among their ranks he is a common low-ranked foot soldier. A felguard, he'd be called by people of this world."
Of this world… Merihem rolled the phrase around in her mind, attempting to process the idea of places beyond. Another torrent of questions poured into her mind, overwhelming her. Nor could she fully detach herself from Anlorre's lectures and cautionary statements. Brenwick did not seem an evil or cruel man; intense, secretive, and cautious, perhaps, but not cruel. So why was he and his brethren forced into hiding and actively hunted? Merihem had been long taught that evil wore many faces and carried many names. And Merihem knew of felguards as well. Until her encounter with Brenwick's she had never seen one, but had heard stories of their sadism and brutality. The demon did appear constructed solely for combat, with thick coils of neatly defined muscle covering his body. Armor plating replaced clothing, covering his hips and legs and hands and head. She followed the curves of the three long spines emerging from his upper back and felt apprehension creep up on her again. She remembered what Anlorre had said about demons: monsters incapable of compassion or kindness, and with a will bent only toward destroying life.
"But demons are… why is he here?"
"Demons are… evil?" Brenwick said with a faint chuckle.
"You brought evil to this world!" Merihem blurted, unsure if the statement was accusation, a confirmation or a question.
Brenwick tugged at his beard. "The history books do tell the truth in that regard."
Merihem felt a stab of disappointment, almost hurt, at Brenwick's answer. She had harbored a secret hope that the history books had been wrong and that she would be able to find greater breadth of study here without locking herself away from society and tacitly joining forces with the beings who were, historically, responsible for all strife in the world. Brenwick's blunt admission shattered this fragile hope, and she had not realized how strongly she clung to it until it was gone.
"Ah, you were expecting to hear 'our side of the story'", Brenwick chuckled again.
"I don't know," Merihem confessed quietly, shrinking into her chair, "I guess… why?"
"What is evil, Merihem?" Brenwick asked.
Taken aback by question, Merihem was slow to respond. "It's the intent to cause harm, cruelty, suffering…"
"Suffering," Brenwick interrupted, "It is suffering."
"So then why? Why suffering? Why was this brought into the world?"
"Because we had a reached a limit without it. Without an obstacle to overcome, without a goal to reach beyond, we could go no further with our studies. So we placed ourselves in mortal danger. We found breaches between worlds, portals. We began passing through… at least our minds. There were terrible things, things that we didn't understand. When they happened to us, we had to find ways to make them stop."
Merihem was incredulous. "You brought suffering to this world because you needed a challenge?"
Brenwick calmly returned her gaze. "You think simplistically and selfishly, mage. The decision wasn't solely about ourselves. It was about all life on this world. We did not choose lightly. You need to think, if you will, about the world before we made our choice. We felt no wonder, no appreciation, no glory, no courage, no power, and no love. How can you feel pride without overcoming adversity? How can you know courage if you are never tested? People fear what they don't understand, but how can you feel wonder and awe unless you are confronted with the unknown, that which is greater than and beyond yourself? Uncontrollable? How can you gain power unless you conquer? How can you appreciate love unless you been without it? We achieve to improve. We discover through necessity. We learn to empower."
Merihem was silent.
Brenwick continued. "Have you suffered, Merihem?"
She swallowed hard and didn't answer for a long time. Brenwick waited.
"My father… he died when I was young. In a war with the Horde."
"Like so many others. Though death is not suffering."
"My mother suffered. She had nothing and couldn't support me. That's why she sent me away when I was young, to the Kirin Tor mages' academy here. And I suffered there, without her," Merihem shot back. She cradled her head in her hands and stared fixedly at the tabletop.
"And if he had lived, what would you have become?"
"I don't know! "
"Would you have been happy?"
"How am I supposed to know that now? That's not what happened. I get that you're trying to find some way to tell me that his death was 'for good'. But it wasn't," Merihem replied, her voice rising.
"Suffering is never 'for good'. It simply is. But sometimes, people have purposes in life beyond the mediocre and safe. I have suffered as well. I understand the experience you have shared." He gave her an intense look before continuing. "In any case, that is a brief, basic overview of the reasoning behind our choice. If you cannot accept it, leave now. You will not be able to return. We will see that you share nothing of what you have seen here."
Merihem closed her eyes, fighting down a wave of conflicting emotions. Why did it matter if she had suffered? Why was she forced to think about it now? She was angry at herself for bringing her own personal tragedies into Brenwick's otherwise objective discussion of ethics. Her judgment was clouded by the still-lingering pang of loss. She didn't leave, though. This was not the right time to make a decision. She remained silent. Brenwick waited. Merihem drew deep, slow breaths, focusing on the passage of air in and out of her body. She meditated briefly, and the fog of confusion slowly receded from her mind. Again she felt the draw of this place: the openness, the understanding, the unknown.
"I'll stay," she said, barely above a whisper. She slumped in her chair. The emotional outburst had been embarrassing and exhausting.
"I think you've chosen wisely," Brenwick said, "You will find that there is more to yourself, to any person, than that which is easily visible in the light."