Grim Views

Therean laid on his back against the hard wooden floor. The cracks in the wood were like termites burrowing into his back. Above him the ceiling vaulted and reeled, sucking at him. The elf cringed as he tried to smear himself further into the floor. The sound of a thousand harpies screeching rang in his ears, approaching closer and closer until he stopped to listen- at which point the sound stopped abruptly, restarting as soon as his attention was diverted. In between the screeches the sound of thalassian whispers could be heard- incantations, invocations, spells.

Hours had passed like this, sometimes days. Therean would leave his dormitory at the Grim only to fetch food and water- and even then he would do this as infrequently as possible. The headaches and hunger pains were preferable to the madness- when they verged on overpowering him, he was in fact more lucid. Currently he was in his worst ever state. His skin, stretched thing and pallid at the best of times, was cracked and dry. Only the faintest glow of green could be seen in his fel green eyes- which had darkened to near blackness, and were cut thin like two slits. Grit encrusted the sides of his open mouth, which gaped as he occasionally gasped. His limbs were flaccid and outstretched. Yellowed claws extended from his fingertips, enshrined in a chaotic pattern of scratches into the wooden floor beneath them. Fully clothed he lay there motionless, as if he had just collapsed in place.

This last week was by far the worst. Two months had passed since Huntress Ryanica and Lady Bryii found the wretched elf debasing himself on the street. At the blade of Bryii's axe, he had elected service to the Grim, and rebirth as a weapon over the release of death, or the continued embrace of wretchedness. In assuming his supplication, he renounced magic, which he only knew how to abuse. The first two weeks were mindrending, and during that time he spent his time sequestered in a remote cave. Returning triumphant and in control, he met his inquisitor; a taciturn Orc Shaman name Ashenfury. The Orc had a certain cynicism, a reluctance to recklessly praise, that brought the most out of Therean. A single approving nod from that discerning Orc was worth a thousand of his snorts. In that first month he wrestled his addiction and through sheer force of will overcame it. In place of the hunger, there was only the mandate.

This was, however, but a remission. The withdrawals returned in force. For the last month they had been surging, in increasingly vicious waves. At first, he would hide himself for a day until it passed. Soon the storms would last days, and he would not be seen. Now, as he lay on the floor, a whole week had passed. Curiously, Ashenfury had not made contact with the Elf, who was surely behind on supplicant duties. The last time they'd spoken was the last time he'd left his room, about a week ago. Even then he was unwell. Ashenfury and Knithawk had come to examine his deteriorating condition which was manifesting to become a liability to the Grim. They left, stating an intention to find some kind of cure. Nyali had seen him that day too, offering her skills as an alchemist to help in any available way.

Suddenly, Therean jerked and wailed. His hand shot to the left and pawwed through a pile of clutter, passing over his pauldrons, axe, a pouch until finally clutching onto a curiously shaped bottle. Pyramidal in form, the stopper was in the base- in such a way that there was no to sit it upright. Frantically he fumbled at the bottlecap until he realised it was already open. Examining it, he let out a rasp of despair when he realised it was empty. A sickening chain of cracks ran up his body as he twisted to his hands and knees, and looked under his bed. Pouncing, his hands fell upon two more of the bottles, also empty. Therean regarded the three empty bottles with trembling dismay for a full minute before breaking to run his hands through his stringy white hair and rising to his feet.

shuffling to his door, he unlatched it, and wrapped his thing fingers around the knob as he leant against it to open it. Making his way down the stairs, he hobbled through the halls of the Grim. The place was empty. Reaching the mess, normally a centre of activity, he tremblingly poured himself a cup of water from an unattended decanter, splashing water everywhere, and drank. The entire guildhall was silent. Wheezing, he reached into his pocket and produced his hearthstone. Bringing it to his haggard face he whispered, "Warbringer Nyali. Are you there? I need some more deepstone oil". Silence.

The hearthstone vibrated at last, "Supplicant. You are to come to Quel'danas". It was not the litling voice of the Troll druid, but rather of High Inquisitor Ashenfury. Therean paused, "Dreadweaver. I... I am not in the best of sorts. I was hoping for some medication from Warbringer Nyali. If you permit, I would return to bed rest and-". "I do not permit, supplicant. You are to come to Quel'Danas", Ashenfury interrupted. Therean cursed under his breath, then lifted the hearthstone back up to his mouth, "If it is you will, dreadweaver, I will come". Quel'Danas? What could they possibly want of him there? In his current condition Therean could think of no worse place to be. The surging energies of the sunwell would drive him mad. One slip up, the tiniest err, and the torture of the last two months of abstinence would be for nothing. He would be wretched again, and either have to begin all over again, or lose everything.A portal cut through the air of the mess hall, and crackled open next to him. Therean downed another cup of water and stepped through.

((More to come, typed enough for now, though))

"T'rean, come wit' me, aye?", it was Nyali, the troll druidess, greeting him at the gate to sunwell plataeu.
"Actually, Nyali, I'm not feeling too well. I was hoping you might-" Therean wrung his hands as he winced at the positively thrumming atmosphere of power. Nyali interrupted, "Now no' be da time fo' dat. Da au'torit'ah o' de mandate call yoo. I w' no turn 'way fro' dat."
Therean stood in place, anxious.
"Com' now. I be wit' ya mon. All da Grim be be'ind ya. Dey be waitin' fo' ya at de sunwell". At the mention of the word 'sunwell' Therean balked, and backed away, "The Sunwell? I can't go there. It would ruin me. I have worked so hard to abstain from the thirst... it would be irresistible. No, no... no."
"T'rean!" Nyali snapped, with acharacteristic force, "Ashenfury an' da bosses o' da Grim be waitin'. Dis be ya final test. Walk 'way now, an' ya walk away fro' da Grim."
Therean swallowed his anxiety and nodded, following her gesture to come. Perhaps Ashenfury would listen to some sense.

The surging energies of the Sunwell smashed against Therean's mind. He was in the inner chamber of Sunwell plateau, that which housed the Sunwell itself. Before him, illuminated by blinding nimbuses of holy light, stood Ashenfury, and Keledain.

"Supplicant, the time has come," Growled Ashenfury, "You must face your fear, heal your shattered mind, and drink of the Sunwell. This is your final task."
Therean wavered. Though his inquisitor's voice could clearly be heard in the sacred chamber, for Therean it was a cry amid a torrent of magic and fear.
"We all must face our fears, supplicant", said Keledain, "the mandate demands it."
Therean looked over his shoulder, his body screaming for an escape. Behind him stood Nyali, "I' be time T'rean." She said with tender firmness.

"Y-you misunderstand," stammered Therean, "I have worked so hard to wean myself of magic. This will destroy me. I have not the strength of will to return to moderation."
Ashenfury shook his head, "You have failed, Therean. Look at yourself. Knithawk assures me that if there is a way to restore you, this is it."
A wave of rage possessed the elf, "would you have me dead?! Broken? I assure you this is the only outcome of such folly. I can't, I won't."
The three Grims stood silent, unmoved. Every muscle in Therean's starved and withered form screamed out, offering forth their last mote of strength in a desperate attempt at release. The locks of pain and doubt freed themselves, and Therean leapt at his inquisitor in a primal rage, angling his blades toward the Orc's neck. Without even shifting his pose, Ashenfury caught Therean's twiglike wrists, twisting them to make the rogue's daggers drop to the floor.

Holding him fast, for a moment, Ashenfury gazed into the panicked elf's eyes. His spirit was a tough one, though his mind did it no service. The shaman could sense Therean's spirit calling out, in agony. It would not be long. Perhaps the elf was right, perhaps the rush of violent and pure energy would disintegrate what little sanity he clutched on. Yet, there was no other way. His current path was destroying him, moreover, making him a liability. Without moving a muscle, or making an utterance, Ashenfury siezed Therean's wild gaze and bid upon him a simple command, "go."


Therean dropped to his knees as the powerful orc released him. Looking up he saw the three proud Grims standing over him. Their aspect was resolute, and though their judgement was harsh and final, they did not judge him as Trolls, Forsaken, or Orcs. The mandate was in their eyes, in their very hearts- washing them of doubt and fear. Turning to the sunwell Therean at last saw not a well of rushing energies, or a threat to his sanity- but an imperative; the will of the mandate. Behind him, in escape, there was only oblivion. If it was the will of the mandate that Therean risk all he had, in what place was he to question it? Were the sacrifices he had made to for the mandate truly spent if expended in it's service?

Therean stood straight for first time he could remember in years; sheer purpose blocked the cacophony of weakness and doubt assailing him. Singular in self and intent, he strode to the edge of the blinding column of light, and with a final nod, into the light.

Glorious light infused magic kissed Therean with the force of a tsunami and lightness of a feather. Instead of the edged potency of purely arcane energy, an alleviating benevolences shaped it, rounded it, and gave it purpose. This was not the sunwell he once knew; a roaring torrent of primal energy. It was... intelligent, loving, forgiving. Cradling his tortured form, the cleansing energies of the Sunwell lifted and absolved him- caressing his hurts, doubts, and guilt with absolution. A moment of ineffable perfection enveloped Therean as he felt an unimaginable weight lifted from him; absolution. For but an instant he glimpsed an eternity he had never seen in centuries of magery; the universe was intelligent, and it loved him. It forgave him.

***

At last, Therean emerged, restored. Though his physical form still bore the scars of a life of hardship, his tear streaked face hel a wholeness none of the Grims present had seen in it before. His eyes no longer flickered with darkness, but shone with vim and vibrance. The elf stood tall and straight, and regarding his companions for a moment gave them a slow, assured, nod. He was whole. He was restored. He was Grim.

((took me a while to finish that one off- got kind of sidetracked. Anyhow, I figured it'd only be right to complete this before starting another RP post.))