“…You can’t turn the tide against me in your present state, Magister… In fact… I’d imagine you’re seeing double.” Anetho chuckled, despite the truth of the matter, even with his vision blurred and his senses disoriented. Fel flames burned at the center of his palms, each directed outward. “T’is why I have two hands. One for each of you.” His lips twisted into a smirk.

I feel the warmth of power course through my body as it leaves through my hands. I watch the fleeting images fleeing into the distance, thinking I’d miraculously recovered. I’ve always been quite the actor. My caretaker emerges from the shadows and catches me before I stumble to the ground. My eyes clear if only momentarily. She looks upon me with a mixture of doubt and concern for the powers I harbor. Perhaps difficulties stemming from prior experiences related to times predating my birth.

She held me a moment more, clutching me tightly. I sigh, and she realizes just how close I am. She pulls from me suddenly and I nearly topple over. I catch myself and nod in her direction. There is a ringing in my ear again, and a brief flash of colors. I shake my head, dispelling whatever illusions would think to emerge from the sea of my soul. I regard her a moment more before setting off into the forests of Ashenvale beyond the thicket to the melting pot that is Orgrimmar. The ringing turns to voices. The voices meld together as if an echo of one.

“…Destiny is yours…” He heard his shadow whisper. “…Do you fall before it, or grasp hold for all that it is worth?” Anetho peered over his shoulder, gazing beyond the mortal plane. Trying to perceive some wonder beyond this world. “…Belkresh?” He asked alloud. Silence was the only reply. He turned to march forth. “…You know what you are, puppet.” He whipped around, now looking feral and frantic. “Sariane!?” He cried out, hands reaching for a sword that was not belted to his hip. “…Red… You have the power… The drive… The imagination…” His heart skipped a beat. Was this the woman of his first affections speaking beyond time and space? Was he even within the physical plane any more?

“….Understand, Anetho, this world is nothing more than a stage upon which the elaborate canvas that is our lives is to be painted and penned. We’re all actors upon some parchment that will be lost to time or clumsy hands. T’is folly to ask if memories or imagination are tangible… You need to define your own role… Paint your own picture…” The voices began to ramble incessantly amidst the ringing in his ears. He clutched his head and shoutted to the skies; not one beyond the local wildlife to hear him and scatter in terror of his anguish. Then it came to him. A moment of clarity where he looked to the heavens above and saw it. The flows of ley wrapping into a shape. A veil. A tangible object. And he watched himself as he walked forth from the flash of light. He understood.

The time is upon us now. Wrynn masses his naval fleet. Theron has nearly finalized the plans for our insurrection in support of the Darkspear Trolls. Gods only know how many others conspires behind doors closed to my eyes. We’ve made the moves. Blood has already been drawn. And now I walk from the shadow of deception, I walk as I did years ago following the Sunwell. I sally forth as the champion of my people, nay, I march forward as one of many that would act as a spark amidst a dark world. I heed the call of a title never once desired, nor claimed. I stand as a hero. A paragon of the weak, downtrodden and abused. Their voices call up from the dirt they’ve been pressed against so forcefully, demanding justice.

For the second time in my life, without thought of personal gain I walk forth with a banner in hand. A simple soldier of a different color and title. The ringing in my ears clears, and my vision clears. I stand now before the gates of Orgrimmar, and enter into the fortress for the last time as their servant. When I depart it will be under the oath that I shall return in due course as a force of liberation. The souls I’ve stained will be cleansed. The injuries suffered in my company righted as best I may. I will never be that beacon that walked from the ramparts of the Sunwell again… But I will see honor in my stride upon the conclusion of this bloodied chapter that threatens history with the title of The Fourth War.


~ by anethodawnpride on July 26, 2013.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


Just another site

Nobody's Blade

Destiny has two ways of crushing us -- by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them. ~ Henri Frédéric Amiel

Dark Intent

Well, that floor is not going to tank itself.

%d bloggers like this: