Straydog Saga
Flea 31: Everybody Hurts
"So…what's the damage?" Orifiel weakly sighed. The defeat in her heart flowed lazily in her veins despite their slight victory over the hidden Twilight flight. She sat, back hunched and aching forehead in her bandaged hand, and listened as what was left of her staff gave their reports. Seth, who proudly but shakily stood behind his mate, placed a gentle hand on Orifiel's shoulder as Malfurion spoke first.
"The dragons have stopped the fires. My druids have been rescuing those still trapped in the tree and bringing them to a clean area. We're healing who we can and giving rites to those we can't."
"How many?" Orifiel interrupted.
"I am uncertain of the number, but it is a touch over 100." Malfurion looked to the small figure beside him. Geena Foggybottom, who flew to the tree along with the rest of the White-Water trade officers after the fighting was over, crossed her arms and looked to the ailing priest.
"The more charitable members of the cartel and our Horde allies have sent boats and planes with supplies to the evacuees. The Warchief doesn't need to know about that, but the sooner we can get your people back in the tree and off our shores the better. The trade prince may come looking for favors, but even he knows better to come poking by when the chips are down," Foggybottom affirmed. Though still quite shocked over Seth's transformation and the dragon's involvement in the tree, Anduin Wrynn rushed home to Stormwind to bring back any and all aid his father could spare.
"How long until we can repair the damage?"
"Because the dragons didn't freeze the fires, repair of the limbs shall only take a few weeks with Malfurion's druids and the Earthen Ring on the job. We still need to test the structural integrity of the woven sections of the upper bough, but we can start cleaning up and moving people back into the trunk in a few days. And…many left before too much could be seen in regards to Lord Nightgaze et all. Our mutual 'cover' should not be compromised too badly, nothing that can't be explained away or denied somehow," Romulus spoke up.
Orifiel turned to see two unfamiliar figures standing beside the dragon-mage. Keesha, who stood beside Hanariel and a clinging Inge in the small gathering place, recognized the sweet-faced troll with the short orange hair, but the goblin shaman was a stranger in her sight. The questioning look on Orifiel's face spoke before her lips could, and Romulus was even quicker to explain himself.
"These are my personal assistants: Imajin Ation and Fabrizzia Bomberlock. Imajin was one of those carrying our scrying necklaces that made our monitoring possible and is a prized student of mine. F-bomb here ensured Ima's continued safety. They have agreed, neigh insisted, on helping repair the tree and with its care," Romulus explained. Ima blushed and turned bright red at the warm tone Romulus used when he spoke of her. Despite the fact that she knew he was a dragon, the thought of his approving smile still made her heart race.
"It's the least we can do for the damage we did, right girlie?" F-bomb spoke, casting an upward glance to the tomato-faced mage. Imajin gave a firm nod, but found herself unable to look at anything but the floor. Keesha frowned but remained silent.
"That's fine. We'll have to meet with the White Branch Dragon-Council and co-ordinate repair efforts with them. Romulus, I'll let you handle that; I will hold a second meeting once all affairs are in order. We'll also begin planning a memorial plot and services for the lost. I know many did not have homes or families to be sent back to." Orifiel's voice broke. She did not want those in the room to see a hidden dragon cry over the loss of mortal life, but the tears came all the same.
"Don't fret…too much. You saved many more…than were lost." Seth struggled to speak and breathe at the same time. He gripped her shoulder as firmly as his strained fingers and bandages would allow.
"L-Lady Whitedeer? I-Is it ok for me to address you?" Ima softly asked. Orifiel's golden gaze turned to the troll who did her best not to collapse in the priestess's sight. The priestess gave her a weak smile.
"Of course."
"W-We came with friends as I'm sure you know. They were tricked too. I-If any were hurt or…would they have been taken to the clean zone too?" Ima's heart threatened to leap from her throat. It took everything she had not to burst out in tears at the thought as she heard a small sigh. Orifiel looked to Malfurion who quickly nodded and replied.
"Yes. The dead and critically injured from both sides were taken to the clean zone. Although if your friends were identified as enemies and were found uninjured, they were taken to the holding area in the Tangled Canal."
"I do not wish to expose the elekk in the room, as the draenei say, but what about the gem? Keesha tells me it was taken in the battle by a dragon. The injured should be cared for and the fallen souls put to rest, but should we not spend more time retrieving it? If there is more to all this, as I'm sure we all suspect, couldn't the gem be used for some sinister purpose?" Hanariel carefully spoke. He did his best not to smile at the irony of the statement. Orifiel did not deny the idea's merit, but shook her head as she wiped the wetness from her face.
"The gem was giant, glowing bait and little more. I shall explain its true purpose in more detail later. Just know that it's worthless to our enemies and worth far less effort on our part. My son is in pursuit of the dragon and, as lady Tyrygosa briefly informed me, one of her own flight also gave chase." Orifiel paused for a moment as Romulus made a motion to speak.
"I have also sent one of my consorts to locate the gem. Surely three against one will work out in our favor," Romulus informed.
"Hopefully they will be enough to get it back. If not, it is of no real consequence. Just a few pissed-off dragon aspects and their minions," Orifiel informed with a bitter smile as she moved to stand. "But there is something here, in the Tangled Canal that would be a problem if tampered with. Now that we know for certain that the Twilight's Hammer is still active, we need to take better care to see it is not disturbed. Romulus, please escort Lady Hazzad and Lord Dawnblade to the shrine and debrief them. Seth and I have our own tasks in the Tangled Cannal to deal with. Ima and F-bomb, if you wish to see your friends' fates, I will be going to the two places they will be if you wish to accompany me." Orifiel offered. Her proposal earned her two enthusiastic and grateful nods.
"Lady Whitedeer, that's not necessary." Keesha informed, looking to Hanariel, who nodded in agreement.
"We already know what lies within the shrine; we saw it in the golden ether." Hanariel said, referring to the time both he and Keesha jointly meditated and traveled into the tree, meeting with Net and Orin about their mysteries of destiny. Orifiel looked to them with surprise in her eyes before a much needed smile came to her face.
"You both are far more advanced than I could have hoped. Then you know why it must be guarded?" Orifiel looked to the pair and received confirming nods.
"Those filthy monstrosities won't get near the shrine. I simply won't allow it. But I will need to check out the damage in the roots." Keesha shrugged.
"The roots are fine; the majority of the damage was done to the upper bough and trunk." Romulus nodded.
"Lady Whitedeer, I do have one request. I believe, if my visions are correct, that there is someone who is currently in the Tangled Canal who I do very much wish to see. Would you mind terribly if I came with you and the others?" Hanariel asked. Orifiel shook her head.
"Of course not, Han. Now, let's get this tree back in order."
Morion felt a light squeeze on his trembling hand. He didn't realize how much he was shaking until the one beside him shifted to keep him walking straight. Looking to the sheet-covered forms made his heart nearly stop each time his eyes came to rest on one of the unmoving white-clothed bodies. Each body, once a person, could have been his wife, or her mother, or his sister, or at worst, the body of a newborn nightelf. The rows of bodies, each with a small candle burning at their feet or hooves, seemed endless; but each outline was too large, too stout, too masculine, or any slight quality that would differ from his loved ones. The one who claimed his shaking hand and kept him steady was his new-found friend, a smiling shaman whose cheer kept him from collapsing at each corpse they came to.
"Stay calm. It is ok. Tink te best," Violetina softly whispered. Her own memories of fallen loved ones came to the surface, but she did her best to keep a sweet smile for the barely-composed hunter.
They passed mourning mothers and fallen comrades. They could hear faint moaning from those who were still alive, but didn't have much time left; their only comfort being the ability to say goodbye to their loved ones. The dead Twilights were given no such luxury. The empty violet and mint-dressed husks lay like spare baggage. Though rites were performed for their spirits, darkness seemed to linger around their forms.
Violetina noticed a particular pair, who sat among their enemies, who seemed exempt from the permeating sickness of evil. She recognized them as two of the members of Bodyl's mercenary group, but Violetina did not stop as the wavering hunter beside her could collapse at any moment.
"M-Morion," a tired voice called. Morion's form seemed to freeze. His heart beat so quickly he thought it might explode. As he turned, a scar-smile met his trembling vision.
"Falina, you're alive? Where's Luny? Iona? What happened?" Morion demanded with panic in his voice. Falina shook her head as the little bundle in her strong arms began to shift.
"They're alive and well, if not exhausted, thanks to this little hero." Falina sweetly smiled and shifted her arms to pass the child to his heart-sick father. Morion laughed as tears of relief and joy threatened to wash over the trembling, egg-plant of a child in his arms.
The newborn did not bother to open eyes that matched his father's, but Morion could clearly see from the little tuft of verdant hair atop his head that that babe was very much his mother's son, in appearance at least. Falina continued her explanation.
"Fastest birth I've ever witnessed, especially for a first child. It's as if he knew time was short. We were able to escape through the emergency portals before a single fire started. I know it might be a bit dangerous to bring him here, but I was assured that the area is secure and, if you were still alive, I figured he'd be a most welcome sight." Falina sighed as a strange glow seemed to surround the man and his boy. Violetina couldn't help but hug them both in congratulation.
"So cute. Come, we should go. Tis place is no place for baby," Violet whispered as she made silly sounds at the baby while tickling his tiny nose. Alorion Catwhisper giggled in response as his relieved father and his companions left the specter of death for the shore where his wife and family eagerly awaited his return.
Chistoffel shivered, but the air around him was pleasantly warm. Soothing water running along the root-chamber that was his prison did nothing to stop his constant shaking. The fel blades that were his daggers did far more than keep the blood of his enemies flowing. Their soothing, near-constant flow of fel nourishment kept the trembling assault away, but it had been nearly a day since he lost his precious source of energy, and his stomach began to turn. The muscles in his back would surely hurt later, if he could ever find stillness again.
But his pangs of withdrawl paled in comparison the murky mind that kept redundantly playing images of his partner's fall. Her voice rang his ears. The sight of her terror-drenched eyes could still be seen even as Christoffel clinched his eyelids shut. He let out a desperate grunt as he punched a wall, but the force was barely enough to scratch his knuckles. The occasional roar of agony eerily echoed through the Tangled Canal, but Christoffel could not find the compassion to worry for the unfortunate creature.
Christoffel could vaguely make out a dim golden light coming from just outside the root-woven bars of his prison cell. He did not turn when addressed; Christoffel could barely make out the words as they came in muffled in his clouded attention.
The figure concentrated on the bars, and though they were not of his specific path, the roots obeyed Keesha's mate. As he walked in, Hanariel could feel the air around his brother grow dense with emotion. Hanariel took a deep breath and then another. Kneeling, in a shaking heap, was his only remaining family, and he struggled to find words.
"Y-You've caused quite a bit of trouble haven't you?" Hanariel spoke with no response. Christoffel didn't move save for his constant shaking, and made no sign that he even heard the statement. Hanariel tried again with something a touch more blunt. "I'm sure mother would have put you in the corner for it. But I'm sure Ven would have snuck you treats like he always did." In an instant the dense air shifted as Christoffel's body twitched. He did not turn, but the words did seem to reach him as the blood elf let out a snort.
"L-Leave me the f-fuck alone," Christoffel scoffed. He did not turn to see whatever hallucination the tree was providing in his shuttering, fel-deprived state. The look on Hanariel's face shifted from concern to pure pity.
"Are the pangs that terrible, Narlyn?"
"Y-You're not real, go away!" Christoffel growled as sweat began to roll down his forehead in earnest. Hanariel sighed and pulled something from a pouch at his hip. The small arcane crystal, that was his constant temptation and a vehicle to help maintain his self control, rolled about in his hand like a beacon. Hanariel effortlessly tossed the tiny trinket to Christoffel, who hungrily accepted the morsel.
"This should clear your mind. Do you still find me an illusion?" Hanariel softly asked. Christoffel could feel things start to come into focus. The water seemed crisp on the woven walls, his muscles began to ache as they finally stopped twitching, and the glow coming from the elf behind him irritated his renewed vision. Christoffel turned to further inspect his visitor.
Though the one-armed figure seemed somewhat familiar, the confident, rune-bathed, and bearded elf with glowing golden eyes seemed too strange to be anyone he knew, let alone someone who knew him so well.
"Who the hell are you and how do you know that name?" Christoffel asked as his breathing began to steady. The figure seemed surprised by the statement, but quickly masked his shock with an amused smile.
"H-Have I really changed so much? Perhaps this will help…" Hanariel sighed and slowed his breathing. Christoffel marveled as the air around the figure began to distort, as the threads that composed the present began to unravel, and stitch back together again. As the days, weeks, and months around Hanariel began to regress, so too did his form. His confident stance began to falter, his chin and cheeks became bare, his missing arm was returned, and when the strange occurrence ended, Christoffel felt the air in his lungs knocked from his body.
"This…this is some kind of trick!" Christoffel shot to his feet as Hanariel looked to his alien arm and wiggled his long-missing fingers. Though the appendage felt wrong for the time in which he dwelled, Hanariel kept it there for the purposes of his demonstration. He looked to his brother and shook his head.
"It's no trick, Narlyn. I-I thought you were dead, with the others. It was not until I gained my new abilities did I learn you still lived. I know it must be a shock to you, but brother I…I'm still here." Hanariel seemed to exhale as if he was holding his breath the entire time. His form began to speed back to the present in a flurry of threads and golden light. His arm was gone, and all was right in the world. "Ah, that's much better."
"Nice trick. Did the black dragon put you up to this?" Christoffel accused. Hanariel shook his head.
"Black dragons have no talent for time, brother. And Lord Nightgaze is not our enemy any more than Shandori is." Hanariel's statement caused a murderous, grief-ridden look to flare in the blood elf's eyes. Despite the menacing nature of the look, Hanariel chuckled. "My, you do care for her don't you? Father would never have approved of it, but I vow to keep an open mind."
"You're fucking dead!" Christoffel lunged forward with a fist ready to strike at the supposed brother's smiling face. But in a flash of golden light and threaded air Hanariel moved to avoid the blow, and with a quick but firm chop sent his brother to the floor.
"Why are you… oh that's right! Forgive me, brother. I've been a little spacey as of late when it comes to the timeline. You couldn't have known."
"Known what?" Christoffel spat, trying to strike at Hanariel's legs. Once again the quick attack met nothing but a few loose threads.
"I have checked my book and Shandori's story is still being written," Hanariel cheerfully spoke, referring to his former holy book turned mystic tome.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"She still breathes, Narlyn. Your love is still alive." Hanariel spoke with a serious expression. Christoffel gave a bitter laugh.
"I don't know what you're playing at, stranger. Sh-Shandori fell out of the fucking tree. No way she's alive." Christoffel did his best to hide his guilt and grief as he took another strike. But no matter what he did, the golden elf seemed to smile and evade.
"It is your choice whether or not to trust my words, brother. But be warned, if I leave without you as my brother, the next visitor will not be so forgiving of your trespasses here," Hanariel warned. Christoffel made a rude gesture to the High Mystic and told him exactly where he could go. Hanariel gave a sigh and a nod to his stubborn and untrusting brother.
"So be it. You will know the truth of things in time," Hanariel spoke as made his way to the cell's exit. After turning his back to his agile brother, Hanariel felt a sharp pain between his shoulder-blades. Christoffel managed to get a quick punch in, but the smiling action quickly turned to one of sheer horror as the runes on Hanariel's body flared. Suddenly, a thousand images flashed in their minds.
Hanariel could feel the golden ether calling, and through his brother's links and memories, the High Mystic was able to see terrible black holes in the golden timeline, ones that if left un-stitched could cause havoc for the true destiny of the world. It was then a face flashed in both their minds.
The dark-haired elf, tortured and aged well beyond his years, seemed to gasp at them in surprise. Christoffel shouted obscenities at the strange elf, who could have passed for the rogue in his elder years. Hanariel knew the elder from his own childhood. The face matched the family friend and betrayer who would later become his mother's rapist and Narlyn Dawnblade's biological father. That same face was seen by Christoffel in his darkest nightmares, thanks to a chance encounter with a bronze dragon after his mother's death and his own self-imposed exile.
"Hollus Fenweaver…how?" Hanariel began to say, but the image sharply cut away as the connection and the strike concluded, leaving two distressed and confused brothers to ponder the meaning.
Maiev had not felt such emptiness since the day she destroyed the only meaning left in her long life. The only small comfort she had, as she knelt beside her fallen friend, was the fact that she was afforded one last smile and a warm farewell. None of the others would have such a gift. None of the Maiev's friends would even learn of her companion's demise until the fallen was long buried in their homeland. The smoke and the battle had been too much for the veteran, who had seen the rise and fall of many evils in her world. Maiev could feel more than the weight of survivor's guilt clawing at his back, as she muttered at a hidden specter, who licking her ears with torturous delight.
As Maiev struggled with her loss and the demons still yet undefeated, eyes that matched the beloved dead's woke to a strange scene. The area around the young human woman seemed to be drenched in clouds. She was wearing a dress she hadn't seen since she was barely out of her teen years. She touched her cheek and found no moles or wrinkles. Her form was several layers thinner and her boned did not ache as they usually did.
Meryld sat up in the comfortable bed within her favorite inn, one long destroyed since Lorederon's fall. She walked to the window and was met with a silent scene. Fruit was fresh inside polished cards. Flowers of all sorts decorated festival tents. All was silent as she heard the clinking of bar steins come from the dining area below.
She swiftly left her room, and traveled down a solid flight of stairs to see a phantom party below. Roated boar, pheasant, and all sorts of delightful scents met her nose as she continued to the main dining area. The crowd was thick, but full of strangers. As she approached, the laughing and drunk patrons began to fade into silence. One by one they disappeared until there were only two others in the strange space: the bar tender, and a tall figure ordering two drinks.
As Meryld approached them, her soul began to beat as readily as her living heart would have. The handsome elf with the human-style hair cut turned and gave her a long-lost smile.
"Damn, you're slow woman," Venlyn Dawnblade joked, causing Meryld to give a scolding smile.
"Its not my fault you're too quick." Meryld did her best to keep the joke rolling as tears came down instead. She ran to the lover who was stolen from her in life by duty, prejudice, and family to give him the tightest hug she could muster. "Am I dreaming?"
"No, I'm fairly certain you're dead," Venlyn spoke, returning the embrace and resting his face in her long, brown hair.
"What about rabbit ears and the others?"
"No, if any of your companions joined you in your state, they'd be here. Although I'm sort of glad. Now I have you all to myself again. No prying eyes or my father to keep you away," Venlyn joked, wiping the tears from his lover's face.
"Will they be alright?"
"I don't know; I'm a dead guy not a seer," Venlyn shrugged as the bar tender placed their drinks before them. "Your favorite was Dwarven double-barrel right?"
"You remembered." Meryld smiled as she took her drinking stein. The pair gave a cheer before clinking their steins together and taking a relished swig. The flavors were far more bold and clear than they ever could have been in life. "Still, it's a bit much to take…being dead and all. I sort of want to get back into the fight." Meryld sighed.
"I know the feeling. The kid isn't doing so well right now. I can only hope Han and Dori will be enough to bring him back from his dark path. I wanna be able to greet him here when it's his time too. Death isn't always a reward to everyone." Venlyn sighed, of all the dark, twisted souls on Azeroth, the image of Venlyn's own, fallen father was the most vivid in his mind. "But that's not our problem anymore. We can't help them with their fates; we can only beg the light to guide them, as it has guided us here."
"Don't you get all preachy on me."
"Uh, hello? I was a paladin in a long line of clerics and preachers. I believe it's my right," Venlyn teased as he took another swig of his drink.
"Oh well. The only one, who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man." Meryld shook her head with a smile as she finished the last of her drink.
"We should get going. There's a lot around here I want to show you." Venlyn stood and offered his beloved his ghostly hand. Meryld took it without hesitation. The couple didn't notice the scene around them fade as, at last, the loving souls were at rest in each other's company.