One Year Later
Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 12:02 am
The Naaru are beings of light. Some would say they are beings of Light, I among them. Water splashes about my boots as I stride from the portal toward one of the many archways piercing the dome. It has been some time since Illidan was bested, since Varian and Thrall turned their gaze northward. A'dal still floats in space, the image of the city still glowing beneath it but in a few short months the stone rim of one of the pools so carefully crafted by Eredar has crumbled and their exquisitely built pumping systems push thin waves of water across the tiles. This, then, is the still beating heart of Shattrath - a mindless mechanism feeding the slime that grows on centuries old marble while A'dal hovers there insensate.
Last month I defeated what I thought was a god. Clearly I was wrong because there is no way that any being worthy of the name should suffer the ignominy of defeat at the hands of a score of squabbling mortals. A'dal, however, is a god. It was able to bring rest to the human when even the Lifebinder herself was powerless. M'uru was his kin and chained. C'thun sought to rise, and Yogg-saron and they were both beaten back. I can see why the Eredar built a temple for this thing. What I cannot see is why it bothers. It floats in space as entropy swirls around it, flittering like a damsel fly against a bonfire.
Life streamed through these halls not twelve months ago - now hours, days go by without a sound other than the drip and rustle of water. The most powerful entity we have ever encountered is here to be worshipped and we ignore it. Instead we scrabble after an egotistical paladin, one who was not even fit to wield a fraction of the energy that forms it. And when life in its voloptuous corruption has overthrown the frozen throne of the north, what then? Then we shall see who breads faster.
Or burns faster. Who can purge the corruption with a cleansing flame. Fire I can play with, but Light I cannot. Not because of the body that I wear, indeed not. If Thrysta can use the Light, if the so called Blood Knights. The boil must be lanced and the wound cauterized for our goals. We must worship this god who lords over decay, over a shattered world. It cares not for the material world. If I can wield its power it will not care about the use to which I put it. Perhaps the rush is all, the flow of power through its matrix. We will caress as we kill. When Arthas is done and dusted, when the source of the infection is gone and life surges anew we will need a source of power to stem the pulsing tide. I worship thee of God of Light, thou who art what I was. Bless me, guide me to the light that I may visit Peace upon Azeroth.
Last month I defeated what I thought was a god. Clearly I was wrong because there is no way that any being worthy of the name should suffer the ignominy of defeat at the hands of a score of squabbling mortals. A'dal, however, is a god. It was able to bring rest to the human when even the Lifebinder herself was powerless. M'uru was his kin and chained. C'thun sought to rise, and Yogg-saron and they were both beaten back. I can see why the Eredar built a temple for this thing. What I cannot see is why it bothers. It floats in space as entropy swirls around it, flittering like a damsel fly against a bonfire.
Life streamed through these halls not twelve months ago - now hours, days go by without a sound other than the drip and rustle of water. The most powerful entity we have ever encountered is here to be worshipped and we ignore it. Instead we scrabble after an egotistical paladin, one who was not even fit to wield a fraction of the energy that forms it. And when life in its voloptuous corruption has overthrown the frozen throne of the north, what then? Then we shall see who breads faster.
Or burns faster. Who can purge the corruption with a cleansing flame. Fire I can play with, but Light I cannot. Not because of the body that I wear, indeed not. If Thrysta can use the Light, if the so called Blood Knights. The boil must be lanced and the wound cauterized for our goals. We must worship this god who lords over decay, over a shattered world. It cares not for the material world. If I can wield its power it will not care about the use to which I put it. Perhaps the rush is all, the flow of power through its matrix. We will caress as we kill. When Arthas is done and dusted, when the source of the infection is gone and life surges anew we will need a source of power to stem the pulsing tide. I worship thee of God of Light, thou who art what I was. Bless me, guide me to the light that I may visit Peace upon Azeroth.