How cold the Frygyd mage

[Frygyd]

Cool green eyes.  Papa's eyes Mama always said, even if her sister would admonish her by stating that all bloodelves have some hue of green to their eyes, Mama would just smile and say, "Some have green eyes but Frya has her Papa's green eyes." and that was the end of those conversations. Little more was ever discussed of Papa by Mama for some things will not be spoken of when the heart cannot bare the retelling of the tale.  For her part the daughter never spoke of the dead ... and shunned the undead.

Cool green eyes looked out over the expanse of unrelenting bluish white that encompassed the Storm Peaks. These unblinking eyes belonged to the young bloodelf Frya who many called Frygyd. A childish joke taken to heart. She was nothing if not amiable in her undertakings and she took many things far too much to heart.

There had been no word from her mentor in some time, the one who had taught her all that she knew and all that was pains takingly needed to harness the powers of magery and bend them to her iron will, but this revelation was not evident in the depths of her unflinching gaze. Those eyes that had witnessed all the marvels that magery could reward her with had seen her through the arduous studies in her slow climb to power. And the path of the mage was indeed slow and painful and her body and mind bore the scars more vividly than any medal tucked away in a box to be forgotten could ever reveal. The mocking grins and jibes of the Warlocks easier path through darkness and demonology echoed hauntingly within her core. The dark call that tugged at her inner being. The song she would not sing out loud even as the soft sibilant humming power offered comfort and veiled promise. And this was a song she longed to sing. None could look so close as to see these inner struggles opaquely obfuscated behind those cool green eyes. 

No call had rung out from her battle leader whose horn was silent these past months.  Many of the raiding party had gone their own ways.  Two by two and some enmasse as was their want. She did not blame any of them, the mentor, the leader, the killers who rallied for a new banner to bleed and deal death beneath. Each felt their calling and followed it as their hearts led them but what of her?

Cool green eyes stared unblinking at the vast whiteness.  Frost covered boots gathered snow and chill in their stillness while ice mantled shoulders sizzled and hissed with the arcane power held in check within.

She closed her eyes, those eyes so like her Papa's, and with a few ritual gestures she was gone.

All that remained of her were her foot prints in the snow.

[Yichimet]

(( That's some fine writin'. I hope you give us more! ))

[Frygyd]

Ice is merely frozen water?  You cannot afford such naivete young mageling. Revealed in all its terrible magnificence ice is a beautifully deadly tool of slicing destruction which tears through foes flesh and bones with barely a pause in its elemental mindlessness.  Ice will never fail you as the sword that breaks or staff which snaps. The coursing water channeled into malignant and purposeful form will never leave your side as the fleeing comrade or bucking mount. Never mistake the elements for your own. They are not possessed or channeled without grudging respect and will never be controlled as raw magicks can. They are too powerful for you little one and they will demand your respect.

They were all dead.

It had begun with a whistling arrow that had careened off an ever present frosty barrier but had ended in this twisted carricature of life bled out upon glistening white snow.  Though the wounds were quite apparent the lacerations and gouges from the flesh of the fallen forms had come from no mortal weapon.  The elements had tested these bodies defenses and found them pitifully wanting.  The dance had been quick paced and lightly stepped, a spin into the air with blazing green eyes wide alert, magicks already channeling in mid pirouette and upon gracefully landing the frigid death already being dealt upon the unworthy attackers. Chilling blood steamed in the air as she continued on without missing a step.  She had never been one for long relationships and the fallen ambushers were quickly forgotten as she swept along the snowy trail with her cape and robes snapping in the chill northerly winds.

Mama, I am home. Is that what she would say? She closed her green eyes against an icy gust but did not shield her face from icy speckles that should have stung her skin. These sensations had always comforted her and she did not feel the chill, the cold or the ice as others might. One could blame her protective wards for such indifference but there had been a time when magicks did not shield her and she would stand on icey shores beside the tall fisherman without shivering, for he did not shiver, complain in body or spirit and so neither would she. Side by side so very close with a gulf between them that would never be filled and yet in contrast a kindred bond shared as one seen across the way who you admire, acknowledge, dip ones head in reverence to at what is seen from afar and know yourself for what they have given. Papa had taken no time for childish luxuries and so neither would she.

The destination she traveled to boasted no crossings of magickal lines of power, no hub of the esoteric that would draw her as she had been drawn away those years before. She had always felt the calling of the powers and they were always away from this vale she traveled to now. Whether elemental or demonic neither called this area home.  This was the valley that Mama called home. The place he had called home.

[Greebo]

(( Very tasty. Fall On Your Knees meets sorcery. ))

[Frygyd]

(( Very tasty. Fall On Your Knees meets sorcery. ))

(( Sounds like something to add to my reading list ))

[Frygyd]

Fire does not burn. Never make that mistake mageling for such a common view of this magnificent element will be your undoing. No instead be well aware that fire devours. From the moment it is given birth it hungers and yearns, mindlessly perhaps, but no less the dangerous for its want and this visceral element feeds with all the earnest of an insatiable babe. It is given unto you the power to hold in check this hunger, controlled and writhing in its need, and at the time of your choosing unleash it with all the ferocity of your focused will expelled against your foe. Such a culmination is exhilarating. To be one with such a raw force of nature, the focae of something so great and eternal as to scorn an immortals feable claims. For there should be no doubt that you are no more than an outlet for this ravenous power. You are nothing but a carefully tempered tool for it to use in its unending need to reach out from the beyond and rise again, fiercely and vibrant even if for but one searing flash of momentous life. This is its victory and you are merely sharing in it. When you have guarded yourself with such knowledge you will be better prepared for its grudging cooperation and steel yourself for the rigors required to coax its support in your cause.

Frya did not trust fire. It is true that she had excelled at the manipulation of water and ice and perhaps this was the root of her enmity. Like any mage she could bend fire to her will but only in the most rudimentary of means. The way in which a real fire mage would look upon herself would be how she would look upon the common folk reveling at their ability to lay a fire in the hearth. It was as nothing. She had witnessed true wielders of fire and they were breath taking, literally in their manipulation, for fire is as greedy of mortals breath as it is for the material world and such pyromancers could direct the fiery element as a red flowing stream bucking and writhing through the air sprouting rivulets of lava from its trunk to jet forth in blossoming explosions upon their enemies. Such a hunger unleashed upon the mortal world so casually could not be a good thing or at least this is what she believed. 

Papa never lit a fire on his outings. He believed fire was something for the hearthstone to contain and not being a man known for any long term interest in the outdoors he did not camp. The tools of his trade did not include a flint and tinder and certainly not some goblinoid trinket fire starter. The rods and the lines, the nets and the baskets were the accompaniment of the sharp gutting and fileting instruments. And about him would be wrapped the ever present oilskin jacket and pants, his feet encased with practical boots. If she paused long enough to inhale slowly she could easily bring the scent to mind and this was a comforting place to linger for a time. She could rest here in the moment but not tarry for too long because in such quarters other vile things lurk. The winding passages of the minds honey combed halls resplendent with its doors both brightly lit and darkly adorned await the unlearned psyche to enchant and lure with recollections both pleasing and profane. She was no amateur to allow such moments to turn against her. This would not be the dwelling of her mind. Or so she would say but the moment was upon her now and even as she groggily shakes her head in halting denial she feels the truth of it arise ominously before her lurching disjointedly on ethereal puppet strings with wide gaping mouth, black jagged teeth and bright burning green eyes that hunger for all lifes cessation.

[Frygyd]

Quick step, fast step, agile step. Now. Don't stop. Don't cease. Don't die.

A torrent of arcane energy is a beautifully impressive display of deadly surging energies spiraling and twirling towards their intended target with deceptively quick joltings and stuttering spastic mini-explosions of magickally induced offerings of pain. It hurts.  Frygyd loved to hurt things.

It hurts even more when they blink out of existence just after leaving your wide spread fingertips.

The white toothed grin of triumph could be read a mile away; well if you had the keen eyes of the elven at least.  Unfortunately she did.  Curtly disrupted magicks were quickly followed by a numbing cold that cut to her bones and froze her still. Somewhere in the back of her mind she cooly pondered that it was terribly indecent to have her favorite cards played against her. There aught to be some rule against it. However the petulant dessert was not to be savored and screechingly Frya was wrenched painfully from her millisecond reverie by the cold bolt of ice that lanced through her and left her staggering. Breathing was quickly difficult, gasped in then out with puffs of crystalized air, to add to the misery.  Silken reinforced robes once light and flowing felt wet sodden stiff from crystalized moisture and hampered her every miniscule movement used to balance steady and ready herself for some manner of defense from the school of magick that held few comparisons when it came to protecting oneself and killing ones foe.  Alliance frost mage.

She regretted not attuning to frost magicks before leaving Dalaran. Arcane, though lauded as the only aspect to attune when in a war party resplendent with a compliment of skilled Horde killers, could not keep her alive when alone.

Lance after lance of icey pain shot at and into her from the fast moving human who darted about the nearby terrain taking tactical advantage of the lands layout with practiced ease.  He was a killer.  Knowledgeable in his death dealing craft and gleeful in the display of it.  How she hated him.

She was going to die to him.

[Frygyd]

Fingers bend flick and gesture elegantly in their somantic component of the spell being gathered and readied to whisk at the female blood elf.  Obtrusive snow and slippery misery had been his companion on the trail following the Horde mageling but it had all been well worth the stalking venture.  A kill was a kill and he would take them where he found them. What a pretty prize to flay with icy precision and leave bleeding out in the pink snow. Her kind would rue the day they drew him into this conflict. Innocents had died that day and he would never forget, never forgive, the butcherers. He would not dishonor the fallen with a weakness of his spirit or resolve. Kill them all. Slaughter them like the animals they were. Killing the blood elves was the hardest he had to admit. After all they at least looked civilized, seemed cultured, but deep in his quick hammering heart he knew their evil was the deception of the eye. The beauty of form and figure was merely a glamor and it was one that had cost the Nightelves dearly. These frail looking creatures were no less dangerous than the hulking Orcs or towering Tauren, no less malignant than the Undead which befouled the very ground they walked upon. Perhaps they were even more vile for the pity they managed to conjure within the heart of the unwary soldier. He had seen hesitation kill a number of his companions. Monsters do not have to wear the countenance of a beast to be worthy of the sword.

How ironic indeed if he took a moment to mull over his heated thoughts.

Beneath his onslaught of mystic ice and chilling pain the blood elf was weakening. Her form was glistening with the remnants of the crystalized spells that had bombarded her since he had ambushed her.  Quickly loosed magicks kept her off her balance  and locking down her arcane abilities had left her with pitiful little to attack or shield with not that the arcane attuned had any real defenses to brag about to begin with either.  Almost out of reflex she had sent a showering blizzard across his path as she desperately tried to back pedal out of his range but unlike her he had the use of real shielding which left him completely unscathed while he had barely given her the breath to raise an ice ward to fend off her imminent icey death. To add insult to misery a swiftly summoned fireball blasted into her chest to mock her feeble attempt. The laugh was upon his lips but his professional pride held him in check. She was not dead quite yet. No sense crowing before the sun is seen on the horizon.

Green eyes blazing she charged at him wildly through the heavy snows. She was running uphill. Frozen blood flecked her lips and the corners of her fair eyes.  There was hardly anything left of her but raw will. As he took his time to ready the final spell combination he would need to tear her fragile body asunder he couldn't help thinking in the back of his mind; this would be almost amusing.

[Frygyd]

In your mind there is a place where you understand all things with crystal clarity, unmuddled or unbiased by societal and peer pressures that lean upon your thought proccesses with the heavy burden of repercussion and guilt. You may never know this place. Many spend their lifetimes traveling, living in self induced hardship, searching for this destination within themselves and barely glimpsing it off in the distance as a faint glimmering candle light just out of reach in a dark and heavily branched forest. The forest is deep. The mountain is high. The ocean is vast. The sea is savage. Whatever these subconscious guardians of this secret realm manifest as each wields the same wards with iron handed inevitability. None shall pass.  We wish for our decisions to be our own and we subconsciously fail even as we consciously revel in our triumph of free will. What fragile marionettes we are strung so eloquently with the empty promises that guide our limbs and bodies in a trudging and then whirling jig through lifes fast and far flung years. How tragic is the fall when these ephemeral lines are severed.

Time stood still and she was offered her momentary glimpse. Despite her determination she would not reach him.  The snow was too deep. The ice was clinging. Her robes were soaked, heavy and dragging her down to her imminent death. The magicks which locked down her arcane talents would not wear off before he killed her and she had nothing to protect herself.  Her ephemeral lines were snipping one by one by one. Hope had been murdered as a small child bludgeoned to death and left to bleed out in the alley of an uncaring city.

She heard the incomprehensible shout at the same time that a glowing and shimmering field of force sprung up around the alliance mage. Startled he turned in confusion to face not a horde attacker but the smiling and helpful face of a human priestess who had happened by to save her fellow human from the nasty blood elf.  The spell sequence he had prepared to finish off the horde mage had been aborted by his turning.  With a snarl he swiveled back just in time to see his quarry dashing into range to raise her hands high above her head in the use of her innate racial ability which cut off his scream of frustration with an explosion of pure and unheeding silence.

Wanting to collapse but knowing it would be the death of her Frya felt the mages counterspell drop, unchaining her arcane arts, she blinked and the quick spell took her far beyond the alliance couple. Certainly out of range of immediate harm.  With another fast flung incantation she shimmered out of existence to her foes while fleeing and unseen amidst the rocks of the mountainous area she finally collapsed hidden, trembling with spent adrenaline knowing that the charm of invisibility would not last forever.  Knowing that she should collect her wits to teleport away but without hope to summon the lengthy ritual she lay curled in the snow amidst the rocks and for the first time in many years Frya shivered from the cold.

It was the whispers that roused her. Always their voices sibilent and coaxing, drifting up seemingly from within; for they held all the keys and could come and go as they wished when she was not guarding the gates and certainly they should come in and how very welcome they felt and how poorly she had been treated and how angered that made them and they had all the right answers and the price is so little and how much they would help her and then none would touch her and her foes deserved pain now and their souls would scream madly if she would but join us ...

Bone weary she dragged herself to her feet haltingly not knowing how long she had lain in the snows.

... and punish them forever with fire and of torment and laugh at their pain where we will be giddy with glee ...

Body shaking, her fingers moved almost of their own volition as she conjured the lengthy magicks required to take her from this place.

... and tease them with freedom but always without it and giggle so madly as we make them ....

And then she was gone from that place.