Therean attempted what was perhaps a chuckle, but quickly devolved into hacking and wheezing. "Good Knithawk," he said, regaining his composure, "it is not that I disrespect the arcane. To the contrary. I crave it. For a century and a half I immersed myself in it, and dare I say it, probably exceeded your own mastery. That was a different time, and understandably difficult to believe when looking at me now." Therean paused to regard himself, wavering in his posture and bracing himself upon the table, "After 10000 years of total immersion, I expect your people will have a similar bond to the sublime current. Worse, perhaps, for you shall have been alive the whole time. When something like that is torn from you..." Therean's joints weakened, and he looked away for a moment, "The most abominable thing, among so many options, that I regard in myself was not the atrocities I devolved to in wretchedness. It was not seeing my people, land, and loved ones brutalised and defiled by the scourge. It was not the supplication to the vilest of fel powers," again, Thereans voice cracked, but this time he was choking back tears, "It was the that the worst thing, for me, was losing magic. When the sunwell dried up... I didn't give a hair about any of the other things. It consumed me."
Arduously limping over toward Knithawk, Therean hardened his face, "You forsaken fancy yourselves arcanists, I know. I have seen things you wouldn't believe. In Quel'thalas, in Dalaran, in Outland. Kael'Thas' acumen for wizardry was beyond that of any other Elf I have ever met, Illidan's was beyond that which I could even comprehend. I stood in invocation rings with them, and for but a moment linked aspects with them and a hundred other magisters to weave spells they don't even teach anymore. And you accuse me of disrespect?! Perhaps you are a mighty mage, perhaps mightier than I ever was- but understand this; I am no dropout apprentice. I was a MAGISTER damn it, in the HIGH COURT! LOOK AT ME NOW!" Therean dropped to his knee, head rolling somewhat, exhausted from shouting. Looking back up, he continued, "Do not think you shan't share the same fate- living forever as you do, it is a statistical certainty. The lucious embrace of the arcane will drive you made, lead you into the servitude of demons, or take your mind should she ever retreat. That beutiful mistress is as cruel as she is enrapturing. What warlock was not once a mage? Is not the arcane but a fanciful facade to little else but Sargeras' own fel energy? Look to yourself, just as the vile fel energy can be twisted and remade as undeath, so too it represents itself as the arcane. Perhaps that is the reason for the forsaken aptitude with magic- children born of fel energies, playing with the same of another variety."
Therean struggled to get to his feet, "As for my treachery; pah. 'Forsaken', you call yourself. Surely you would understand apathy in the face of futility. The heartless clutch of nihilism. Betray you, the Grim, what for? What do I have to live for? Look at me," Again Therean attempted to laugh, nearly toppling over again, "No, when Huntress Ryanica found me, I was a husk. Far worse than this. Dead already, you might say. Refashioned I have become a weapon of the grim. Do with me what you will, but the knife does not stab the master without a hand wrapped around it. Should my blade slip between your dilapadated spine discs, it will be at the command of one of your superiors."
Feeling he'd spoken his piece, Therean went to turn away from the undead mage, but collapsed as he did so. He spasmed on the floor, and as he twitched, began to wail, frothing at the mouth. As the wail subsided, Therean became more still, though still twitched somewhat, and hardly conscious his glassy face mouthed the words "no more" in Thalassian over and over again.
Theran storms into the guildhall, clutching a flyer.
Re: Theran storms into the guildhall, clutching a flyer.
((In light of the fact that I attended the debate today, the events in the posts henceforth must therefore be considered to have transpired before the debate sunday the 18th, until somebody moves them up to date)).
Therean came back to himself, realising he was on the floor of the guild hall, under the silent scrutiny of a room full of Grims. Wiping the saliva from his mouth with trembling hands, he glanced up at the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. He couldn't read the hands between the blurred faces, dizziness, and screaming hunger for magic. Instead looking out the small window higher up above the clock, he could see the deep purple glow of dusk. The debate!
A maddening reverberating ring droned in his ear which intensified whenever he tried to think or move. This was without a doubt the worst relapse of his withdrawals since he went dry off magic at Huntress Ryanica's bidding in preparation for joining the Grim. To think he'd believed he'd beaten a century of reckless casting in a few weeks of abstinence. In a cruel feint, his withdrawal symptoms had subsided into remission a few weeks after turning away from the arcane- but now they came back worse than he had ever felt them in his life.
Therean again reeled. Though he did not know it, he was again face down on the ground. Green mist surrounded him, coiling around his senses, luring him back into unconsciousness. The debate! He had given his word to Ashenfury; to the Grim. He was better than this. He just had to-... defeat wasn't so bad. He'd lived for years defeated, and broken. Though it was miserable, it was easy. If he just let go, the Grim would toss him back out on the street where they found him, he could go and raid Godun's workshop in the drag, swipe some arcane essences, and glide away from it all for a while. Leave it all behind.
Arcane essence... he could feel it, imbued within his sword, tickling his senses. The haze subsided a little as, almost animalistically, he clawed the rapier free of it's scabbard. The paralysing pain washed away at the promise of imbued magic, and Therean shot up to his knees, clutching the the sword thoughtlessly by the blade. As thin tendrils of blood trickled down from his palms he closed his eyes and untied the ethereal bindings of the magical blade, disenchanting it. A moments pause saw the elf briefly slump before suddenly stiffening. His grip tightened around the sword, which began to glow, and more noticible amounts of blood ran down his inner forearms as he raised the blade above his head. "Vendel'o eranu", he gasped as shards of light pierced outward from the blade, dancing between his slender fingers, and unmaking the blade.
A trail of dust scattered to the floor, and the blade was no more. In it's place a hovering amber arcane essence thrummed for a second until Therean snatched it out of the air. Clenching it in his fist, his body contorted and lifted itself up as the glowing essence in his grasp dimmed and flickered. Finally, it was no more, and Therean's eyes burned again with a radiant green as he stood, panting, arms streaked in blood. He felt empowered, sensitive, sharpened, sated. His eyes shot between the present Grims, and he took a step back. They'd seen the whole thing. His stomach dropped, unable to bear their gaze, he backed away toward the door. Fumbling for his cloak and gloves, he felt the warm sting of a fresh wound on his hands, and recklessly wiped them clean on his bundled cloak, only to behold them weep freshly again. Not even looking again to the guildhall, Therean, pushed his way out of the door and fled.
The debate was in less than an hour. Was it even worth going anymore? Would they even want him to?
Therean came back to himself, realising he was on the floor of the guild hall, under the silent scrutiny of a room full of Grims. Wiping the saliva from his mouth with trembling hands, he glanced up at the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. He couldn't read the hands between the blurred faces, dizziness, and screaming hunger for magic. Instead looking out the small window higher up above the clock, he could see the deep purple glow of dusk. The debate!
A maddening reverberating ring droned in his ear which intensified whenever he tried to think or move. This was without a doubt the worst relapse of his withdrawals since he went dry off magic at Huntress Ryanica's bidding in preparation for joining the Grim. To think he'd believed he'd beaten a century of reckless casting in a few weeks of abstinence. In a cruel feint, his withdrawal symptoms had subsided into remission a few weeks after turning away from the arcane- but now they came back worse than he had ever felt them in his life.
Therean again reeled. Though he did not know it, he was again face down on the ground. Green mist surrounded him, coiling around his senses, luring him back into unconsciousness. The debate! He had given his word to Ashenfury; to the Grim. He was better than this. He just had to-... defeat wasn't so bad. He'd lived for years defeated, and broken. Though it was miserable, it was easy. If he just let go, the Grim would toss him back out on the street where they found him, he could go and raid Godun's workshop in the drag, swipe some arcane essences, and glide away from it all for a while. Leave it all behind.
Arcane essence... he could feel it, imbued within his sword, tickling his senses. The haze subsided a little as, almost animalistically, he clawed the rapier free of it's scabbard. The paralysing pain washed away at the promise of imbued magic, and Therean shot up to his knees, clutching the the sword thoughtlessly by the blade. As thin tendrils of blood trickled down from his palms he closed his eyes and untied the ethereal bindings of the magical blade, disenchanting it. A moments pause saw the elf briefly slump before suddenly stiffening. His grip tightened around the sword, which began to glow, and more noticible amounts of blood ran down his inner forearms as he raised the blade above his head. "Vendel'o eranu", he gasped as shards of light pierced outward from the blade, dancing between his slender fingers, and unmaking the blade.
A trail of dust scattered to the floor, and the blade was no more. In it's place a hovering amber arcane essence thrummed for a second until Therean snatched it out of the air. Clenching it in his fist, his body contorted and lifted itself up as the glowing essence in his grasp dimmed and flickered. Finally, it was no more, and Therean's eyes burned again with a radiant green as he stood, panting, arms streaked in blood. He felt empowered, sensitive, sharpened, sated. His eyes shot between the present Grims, and he took a step back. They'd seen the whole thing. His stomach dropped, unable to bear their gaze, he backed away toward the door. Fumbling for his cloak and gloves, he felt the warm sting of a fresh wound on his hands, and recklessly wiped them clean on his bundled cloak, only to behold them weep freshly again. Not even looking again to the guildhall, Therean, pushed his way out of the door and fled.
The debate was in less than an hour. Was it even worth going anymore? Would they even want him to?
Re: Theran storms into the guildhall, clutching a flyer.
How could Therean possibly ever serve the Grim when he could find no peace from his magic shattered affliction. The Grim deserved better- and yet he was at an impasse. His craving knew no moderation; after slipping into wretchedness, there was no true return to the moderation that other Blood Elves manage. Yet, on the other side, swearing off the kiss of mana affected wild swings in his constitution and state of mind. Perhaps he should have taken Bryii's offer and allowed her to solve this problem with the head of her axe. Trembling, Therean could feel the warmth of the disenchant slipping away from him already.
After some time wandering the streets he used to call home, Therean came across the vandalised Tailor shop in the drag. Emblazoned on the wall was 'Peace through Annihilation'- though barely discernible as much effort had been put into scouring it clean. Something stirred in him; Perhaps the answer had been in front of him the whole time. It was not enough to serve the mandate, he had to subsume it into his very will. Peace through Annihilation. Could it be? Again, Therean's thoughts returned to the delibarate obfuscation and allegory Huntress Ryanica often wove within her deeds and words. She had offered him peace in service to the Grim- but what is the Grim if but an extension of the mandate?
With a renewed sense of conviction, Therean looked to the time; sunset. He had enough time, if he hustled, to make it to the debate after all. Once there, the Grim would be forced to wait until the conclusion of the debate to dismiss him if they would, as it was not hosted by themselves. Therean would go there, and use his long relegated skills of vitriolic invective to rip this Ugraz to shreds. He would humiliate him, he would invoke the crowds ire, he would... annihilate him. Perhaps, in beholding Therean's embrace of the mandate and righteous fury in debate, the Grim would be swayed to reconsider his worth.
Thereafter, he would need to have a word with Warbringer Knithawk, to apologise, and to make a request.
After some time wandering the streets he used to call home, Therean came across the vandalised Tailor shop in the drag. Emblazoned on the wall was 'Peace through Annihilation'- though barely discernible as much effort had been put into scouring it clean. Something stirred in him; Perhaps the answer had been in front of him the whole time. It was not enough to serve the mandate, he had to subsume it into his very will. Peace through Annihilation. Could it be? Again, Therean's thoughts returned to the delibarate obfuscation and allegory Huntress Ryanica often wove within her deeds and words. She had offered him peace in service to the Grim- but what is the Grim if but an extension of the mandate?
With a renewed sense of conviction, Therean looked to the time; sunset. He had enough time, if he hustled, to make it to the debate after all. Once there, the Grim would be forced to wait until the conclusion of the debate to dismiss him if they would, as it was not hosted by themselves. Therean would go there, and use his long relegated skills of vitriolic invective to rip this Ugraz to shreds. He would humiliate him, he would invoke the crowds ire, he would... annihilate him. Perhaps, in beholding Therean's embrace of the mandate and righteous fury in debate, the Grim would be swayed to reconsider his worth.
Thereafter, he would need to have a word with Warbringer Knithawk, to apologise, and to make a request.
Re: Theran storms into the guildhall, clutching a flyer.
((If it suits everyone, I think we can skip this back to live present time, post-debate, in which Ashenfury won, and Therean performed well)).