There was barely a sky, barely starlight, darkness seemed to stretch into infinity. In the distance one could see torches, one by one, illuminating the shadows, but he had little need for such light nor did any of his companions. It was for the benefit of others, more then the benefit of themselves, yet it still revealed small features woods around him: The greenish sludge pulsing through the veins of the forest, the fungus that spread across the blood fed ground, the little scraps of purple skin clinging to thorny plants and branches.
Teeth had started to grow in the knot of this tree, pushing their way out of bloody rotted gums and jagged shards of jaw bone. If one were to stick their arm into it, it was unlikely to come out again. He smiled under a plated mask that obscured much of his features, shaped into the deaths head of a bird. One hand reached up then, covered in torn and ragged black cloth that itself dripped with gore, and pressed to the 'flesh' of the tree, the priests bony taloned fingers pushing into the liquefying meat of it's psuedo-bark.
It wasn't the only tree like this, there were at least a dozen in various states of decay around him now. His plaguedoctors robes had been stained with their lifeblood, and their flesh had begun to dig into the earth and nibble at the elven bodies staining the forest floor. He was doing this, he knew, him merely being here was causing this to happen. The spirits were clawing at his flesh, drawing around his body like a cloak, he found it unsurprising when the first words of Shath'Yar began to leave it's uneven mouth.
"You used to be a man of peace, not a man of holy war." it began for the eighteen time today, though he could not remember the other seventeen. He breathed out, his face turning to look upon it as the knot began to twist and contort. It looked labored, dying, but he knew the only reason it could speak at all was because of that fact. He pulled his clawed hand from it's hide and gave the same bitter reply he always did. "For the greater good of the Forsaken, we do not live, we do not die, we are outside the cycle. Just like you, I would hope you'd understand that better then anyone...or at least half of you would." when he said these things his lips did not move, he simply thought them, and he knew the arboreal abomination would understand.
There was a long moment of silence, he couldn't tell if it was seconds, or if it was hours. No one was calling out for him, but he knew that meant nothing at a moment like this. Above a flickering gas light burned, suspended in a branch of flesh and gnarled bone, nestled into a pulsating green fistula that had been growing there since three moons ago. When it spoke again he got the vague impression that it was looking at him, though he knew the creature was very much blind, he'd personally gouged out it's eyes. "Do you not remember the man you were? a lifetime spent together with her long ago? Your family bowing their heads beside you, teardrops spattering the floor as they begged for the lights grace. They are always with you, we were always with you, if you would just let us touch you, we could be...happy." it punctuated it's sentence with a labored gasp, one of it's lungs had burst and was running down the side of it's 'mouth' into the earth.
The priest clenched and unclenched his hands for a moment, it's words amused him more then anything. "Don't lie to me, I know they aren't here...they were in Northrend, muted screaming inside mouths that failed to form the most basic words. You are they only in part, the part that drained itself into the Lucid Dream. A twisted reflection, a mockery, puppeted by he and the Seeker." he pulled his hand away from the bark and paced back to the organic groves inner circle. He knelt down to a once whole sentinel, it's chest cavity had been torn open and the forest floor had begun to chew through it's armor.
His clawed hand dug into it's entrails, pulling out a fistful of meat. "I won't settle for this place, for you, for anyone but her." he finally spoke, as if actually uttering the words carried more emphasis. "I won't die anywhere else, so save your bargaining and lies for another day." there was a long pause, the thing had gone silent for a blessed moment. He placed the rotted chunk of flesh into a satchel at his waist for later, when the hunger pains started again, and then followed the sound of his comrades calling him in the distance.
Until Darrethy needed to return again.
Seance.
Re: Seance.
Tonight, the forest seemed to almost be choked with fog. The perpetual night had made visibility terrible as was, it seemed every day it was just getting worse. It seemed to at least, with the eclipse hanging over the sky it was hard to tell how much time had actually passed, one just had to go with gut instinct. It hadn't been that long since he had left for the Altearic, that much he knew at least.
He came to a stop on a bloodstained shore, moving to sit in view of what was once Darnassus. As he looked up at the enormous bulk that dominated the sky, he could hear the Lucid Dream speaking to him, telling him that all three of them had something in common: The shadow of their corpse will choke this land for all eternity. He shook his head, he'd gone too far at this point, there was no ending for him...not even in death.
The evil that men do lives on and on, he had little doubt that would change when he joined the Grim. Whatever they wanted him for would stain his hands forever, but did it even make a difference now? Once one stands aside as a nation is engulfed in flames, as men, women, and children were devoured in purging fire, there's no going back. The Burning was the end of a chapter, a curtain close to another section of his life, another portion of what had been one long extended nightmare. He wanted to believe that this would stick with him, but like the First and Second War he felt that one day he would stop thinking about it.
He should be crushed by guilt, and yet he was still fighting.
A lot of justifications had been given for the various wars of course, he still vividly recalled the images of starving Orc children in Orgrimmar. Innocent, pure, on the verge of death for reasons they couldn't possibly comprehend. Those were the kind of people who either died early or grew up to be soldiers like him, suffering some torment they couldn't at the time comprehend and letting it fester into a seething hatred in old age. So it went, causing more conflict, more bloodshed, more starvation, more death for both them and the Alliance.
Did that mean the solution to the cycle was making peace? to bury that hatred deep under and extend a hand to his former friends? he didn't think so. At this point no forgiveness could be given for the things they had done, the only satisfying conclusion ended with the other force as a pile of ash, just like the smoldering corpse of the World Tree. A handful of enlightened individuals did not stave off war and death, there would always be the angry masses. Much of Stormwind didn't know the first thing about their own heroes, were unaware their churches were run by Ancient Dreamers, Writhing Seekers, or beasts with Seven Eyes.
So how could they be trusted to know the first thing about the Horde?
A ragged breath escaped his lips, gripping a nearby walking stick he pulled himself up. The moonlight was disturbing his delicate reverie, dragging his senses out into the starlight. The Dreams voices grew faint, leaving only the soft lapping of the waves against the shoreline. He could hear his companions calling from the Ruins of Lor'danel, it was never that long before they found someone or something that needed his attention.
So he waved goodbye to the beautiful ocean and let the starlight take him by the hand, and then drag him where he was needed most.
He came to a stop on a bloodstained shore, moving to sit in view of what was once Darnassus. As he looked up at the enormous bulk that dominated the sky, he could hear the Lucid Dream speaking to him, telling him that all three of them had something in common: The shadow of their corpse will choke this land for all eternity. He shook his head, he'd gone too far at this point, there was no ending for him...not even in death.
The evil that men do lives on and on, he had little doubt that would change when he joined the Grim. Whatever they wanted him for would stain his hands forever, but did it even make a difference now? Once one stands aside as a nation is engulfed in flames, as men, women, and children were devoured in purging fire, there's no going back. The Burning was the end of a chapter, a curtain close to another section of his life, another portion of what had been one long extended nightmare. He wanted to believe that this would stick with him, but like the First and Second War he felt that one day he would stop thinking about it.
He should be crushed by guilt, and yet he was still fighting.
A lot of justifications had been given for the various wars of course, he still vividly recalled the images of starving Orc children in Orgrimmar. Innocent, pure, on the verge of death for reasons they couldn't possibly comprehend. Those were the kind of people who either died early or grew up to be soldiers like him, suffering some torment they couldn't at the time comprehend and letting it fester into a seething hatred in old age. So it went, causing more conflict, more bloodshed, more starvation, more death for both them and the Alliance.
Did that mean the solution to the cycle was making peace? to bury that hatred deep under and extend a hand to his former friends? he didn't think so. At this point no forgiveness could be given for the things they had done, the only satisfying conclusion ended with the other force as a pile of ash, just like the smoldering corpse of the World Tree. A handful of enlightened individuals did not stave off war and death, there would always be the angry masses. Much of Stormwind didn't know the first thing about their own heroes, were unaware their churches were run by Ancient Dreamers, Writhing Seekers, or beasts with Seven Eyes.
So how could they be trusted to know the first thing about the Horde?
A ragged breath escaped his lips, gripping a nearby walking stick he pulled himself up. The moonlight was disturbing his delicate reverie, dragging his senses out into the starlight. The Dreams voices grew faint, leaving only the soft lapping of the waves against the shoreline. He could hear his companions calling from the Ruins of Lor'danel, it was never that long before they found someone or something that needed his attention.
So he waved goodbye to the beautiful ocean and let the starlight take him by the hand, and then drag him where he was needed most.
Re: Seance.
He remembered the day the great wall fell, so long ago.
The sunlight pierced the veil of mist around Trisfal, a rare occurrence at the best of days. Normally the warmth would bother his undead flesh, but he had wrapped himself so tightly in a cloak of black leather and chainmail that it barely grazed his flesh. In his hands was a bow made of solid bone with a single taut silver string that through both quality and enchantment had not once broken in his service, it would not break that day either. He rode through the streets of Brill to roars and cheers, his clawed fist pumping the air as he too roared to the heavens: The Gilneans would learn this day that this world is not for them, that as they cowered behind their walls the world had moved beyond them, that their very existence on Azeroth was an affront to those who had done the actual work of saving this blighted ball of rock and mud they dwelt upon. Genn Greymane's name was a curse as it left his lips, his companions...war heroes all...wished him luck, after years of isolation they would be greeted by their old friends and every one of them would have a grin saved for just this moment.
No matter how the day ended, he would be smiling. By firelight, in the streets, bleeding against the forest floor, in a cell, and if the Gilneans asked him why he did all this? He would happily tell them the truth: The sunlight dragged him here.
Flaming arrows thudded into door frames, barrels of blight smashed against buildings, windows shattered and bodies fell writhing in agony. He could hear the crunch of bone as his horse thundered down the war quarters streets and through their ranks, his steed remembered them just as well as he. Some were still human in their aspect, others wore their twisted monstrous forms openly in reflect of what they had always been deep down. He'd been preparing for weeks now, this crucial moment where he would break into their shelters to bring about their ending. He couldn't believe all their lies, all their outrage at the cloaked figure cutting through their ranks, how dare they. How DARE they pretend to be angered at HIM after all THEY had done to Lordaeron, how they sat upon their walls and shouted their vindication to the sky while his countrymen were devoured by the plague.
He saw one of the corpses nearby squirm, the ground slick with blood and ash. Their bodies were covered in arrows, plate and cloth alike had been split apart in the first salvos. He slipped off the side of his horse, the skeletal beast looking at one of the bodies with undisguised hunger as he made his way to the mound. He could see a woman's head turn ever so slightly under one of her companions as he approached. The fire reflected in her eyes just as his skinning knife came to his palm.
Beautiful music.
.............................................................................................................................................
He was back here, again. He knelt in a ring of bodies as he palmed a bloodstained blade in his hand, around him he could see the burning trees nearby and the blight pulsing along the forest floor. The only difference was that this time it wasn't watered down, distantly he could hear the shambling of bones as creatures and shadowy horrors stumbled through the dark.
The Seekers mark was in his eyes, the sound of a distant ocean gave him focus as he examined one of the women propped against a nearby tree. Dark hair, unfocused distant brown eyes, but her facial features were the most familiar. Broader, a bit more rugged, her armor lacked most icons of the light compared to normal human attire. The scent of herbs was distinct, rifling through her coat pockets he pulled out a charm that appeared to be wolf teeth threaded through strands of tight hair. He felt a growl emerge from the back of his throat, the ambush had killed her too quickly to transform but he'd recognize a mutt anywhere.
He pulled away from the body then, the words of distant dreams filtered through the air. The Void had led him here, it wanted him to be angry, to be malleable in the days to come just like the Ren'dorei. But instead this simply gave him a cold focus, tossing the charm aside he went back to the woods. Something wasn't right, they should be in Lordaeron, not in Darkshore.
Maybe that was the point?
With them here, the Arathi was vulnerable to further attacks. How many had been committed to this battlefield? Ten, Twenty, hundreds, thousands? Maybe every human he had fought in the last two hours had been one of them and he'd simply not noticed in the chaos. if they could hold them off long enough in Kalimdor it might give the Horde a critical opening. Frustration painted his features, while that would retake his home that would likely mean relinquishing Darkshore and letting these scoundrels continue to....exist....and he suddenly found a very foul taste on the tip of his tongue. Where he the same as back then he would find such a compromise unacceptable, but he suspected High Command already knew about this hours ago and adjusting their strategies accordingly. He wouldn't be baited by the old ones into doing something he'd regret, he could hear the soft chants for revenge at the back of his mind but lesson one always came back to him in moments like these.
The Void lies.
He would reluctantly return to camp for now, the time for reckoning would be at hand soon enough. Whatever their commanders decided, he would indulge himself as much as they would allow. But whether he realized it or not, even as he turned away a smile had graced his lips.
The sunlight pierced the veil of mist around Trisfal, a rare occurrence at the best of days. Normally the warmth would bother his undead flesh, but he had wrapped himself so tightly in a cloak of black leather and chainmail that it barely grazed his flesh. In his hands was a bow made of solid bone with a single taut silver string that through both quality and enchantment had not once broken in his service, it would not break that day either. He rode through the streets of Brill to roars and cheers, his clawed fist pumping the air as he too roared to the heavens: The Gilneans would learn this day that this world is not for them, that as they cowered behind their walls the world had moved beyond them, that their very existence on Azeroth was an affront to those who had done the actual work of saving this blighted ball of rock and mud they dwelt upon. Genn Greymane's name was a curse as it left his lips, his companions...war heroes all...wished him luck, after years of isolation they would be greeted by their old friends and every one of them would have a grin saved for just this moment.
No matter how the day ended, he would be smiling. By firelight, in the streets, bleeding against the forest floor, in a cell, and if the Gilneans asked him why he did all this? He would happily tell them the truth: The sunlight dragged him here.
Flaming arrows thudded into door frames, barrels of blight smashed against buildings, windows shattered and bodies fell writhing in agony. He could hear the crunch of bone as his horse thundered down the war quarters streets and through their ranks, his steed remembered them just as well as he. Some were still human in their aspect, others wore their twisted monstrous forms openly in reflect of what they had always been deep down. He'd been preparing for weeks now, this crucial moment where he would break into their shelters to bring about their ending. He couldn't believe all their lies, all their outrage at the cloaked figure cutting through their ranks, how dare they. How DARE they pretend to be angered at HIM after all THEY had done to Lordaeron, how they sat upon their walls and shouted their vindication to the sky while his countrymen were devoured by the plague.
He saw one of the corpses nearby squirm, the ground slick with blood and ash. Their bodies were covered in arrows, plate and cloth alike had been split apart in the first salvos. He slipped off the side of his horse, the skeletal beast looking at one of the bodies with undisguised hunger as he made his way to the mound. He could see a woman's head turn ever so slightly under one of her companions as he approached. The fire reflected in her eyes just as his skinning knife came to his palm.
Beautiful music.
.............................................................................................................................................
He was back here, again. He knelt in a ring of bodies as he palmed a bloodstained blade in his hand, around him he could see the burning trees nearby and the blight pulsing along the forest floor. The only difference was that this time it wasn't watered down, distantly he could hear the shambling of bones as creatures and shadowy horrors stumbled through the dark.
The Seekers mark was in his eyes, the sound of a distant ocean gave him focus as he examined one of the women propped against a nearby tree. Dark hair, unfocused distant brown eyes, but her facial features were the most familiar. Broader, a bit more rugged, her armor lacked most icons of the light compared to normal human attire. The scent of herbs was distinct, rifling through her coat pockets he pulled out a charm that appeared to be wolf teeth threaded through strands of tight hair. He felt a growl emerge from the back of his throat, the ambush had killed her too quickly to transform but he'd recognize a mutt anywhere.
He pulled away from the body then, the words of distant dreams filtered through the air. The Void had led him here, it wanted him to be angry, to be malleable in the days to come just like the Ren'dorei. But instead this simply gave him a cold focus, tossing the charm aside he went back to the woods. Something wasn't right, they should be in Lordaeron, not in Darkshore.
Maybe that was the point?
With them here, the Arathi was vulnerable to further attacks. How many had been committed to this battlefield? Ten, Twenty, hundreds, thousands? Maybe every human he had fought in the last two hours had been one of them and he'd simply not noticed in the chaos. if they could hold them off long enough in Kalimdor it might give the Horde a critical opening. Frustration painted his features, while that would retake his home that would likely mean relinquishing Darkshore and letting these scoundrels continue to....exist....and he suddenly found a very foul taste on the tip of his tongue. Where he the same as back then he would find such a compromise unacceptable, but he suspected High Command already knew about this hours ago and adjusting their strategies accordingly. He wouldn't be baited by the old ones into doing something he'd regret, he could hear the soft chants for revenge at the back of his mind but lesson one always came back to him in moments like these.
The Void lies.
He would reluctantly return to camp for now, the time for reckoning would be at hand soon enough. Whatever their commanders decided, he would indulge himself as much as they would allow. But whether he realized it or not, even as he turned away a smile had graced his lips.