“I would remind you Knight Captain; the Alliance forces are -not- to be harmed or subjected to antagonistic action unless you’d like to experience a short fall with a sudden stop.”

The open ocean. I cannot say I’ve ever been fond of it. The crying of the seagulls, the breaking of waves upon the hull, even the very scent in the air. It only serves to unsettle my stomach and assault my nerves. The food is poor and commodities few. Though for the sake of appearances I must endure this torment. The soldiers must see me as one of their own. A man whom may simply teleport – but of such a mind to suffer alongside them. This builds camaraderie, I should think. A necessary indignity to further my position politically and upon the battlefield.

My schedule has become routine – and it upsets my mentality greatly. Like clockwork I wake before dawn and take to the deck, at first light I partake of breakfast. From the afternoon onward I convene in the captain’s quarters discussing stratagems, and avenues of approach once the landing has been secured. In the twilight eve I speak at length with fellow magisters of what our viable political options are following this campaign should it prove successful.

“We may yet find ourselves in a position fruitful enough to resume negotiations Stormwind and her allies, depending on the Regent Lord’s whimsies… or perhaps at the very least find ground to propose an armistice.” Anetho mused, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. A frown pulling at his lips as he discovered a few bristles of hair. “We should strike while the iron is hot. The Alliance will surely be weary in the aftermath. Why broker peace with an enemy we are surely able to destroy?” Another magister in green countered. “We once thought the Scourge to be a swift victory – instead we lost everything. Arrogance and grudges hold no place upon this table.” A third imparted. “Even now the Alliance surely debates the same affairs. Would you have them decimate us while we are ill prepared and without a contingency?”

Anetho slammed his palms down along the table, knocking a candle over. “Be damned your warmongering attitude. The people tire of war, Magister. How many Hellscreams must we contend with when he falls? You? The next? The one to follow? It must stop somewhere!” He shouted, startling the man in green. “There was a time not so long ago when the magistrate was mere moments from re-introducing the Sin’dorei people into the fold of the Alliance. If not for the interferance of the Sunreaver loyalists you’d be wearing blue right now.” A fourth magister nodded in agreement. “True enough – but as you say it ‘almost’ transpired. You know as well as I what followed. Would you truly align with monsters such as that?” The Red Magister sighed, rubbing at his temples.

“Such answers shall only present themselves following the deposition of the warchief. Until all this talk of what if and possibilities only serves to spark drama.” An elderly man spoke quietly, tugging at his snow white beard. “Agreed.” Anetho replied in deference to the decorated veteran of politics. Everyone else nodded in kind.

More often than naught – I find myself clinging to a rope and dangling from the side of the ship, revisiting adventures of bigone days. Ian and I once braved cruel seas and malicious storms to find the remains of the supposed ‘Broken Isles’… Some ancient Kal’dorei landscape charted by Gul’dan on his conquest to find the tomb of Sargeras. Later it was revisited by Illidan Stormrage and his would-be-hunter Maiev Shadowsong. Of late those names have been recurring, now that I commit thought to it. But then I have very little to worry over. Present affairs are all but clear cut before me. I can waste time over allusions to the demonic later.

Though now that I dwell on Fel twisted powers, I must profess an uncertainty regarding the peaceful flows of ley that now reside within me. I ponder if I should be wary over the sudden shift from tempestuous to serene or to simply embrace it as it is. No longer do I feel the need to suppress it – and often it materializes as if wings. At first I was troubled over it, and then I recalled reading somewhere that such things aren’t uncommon in regards to arch-magi and other potent practitioners of magic. Glowing eyes, overpowering auras, faint breezes and even arcane horns. Perhaps these ‘angel wings’ as I’ve heard the men regard them are just another testament to the distance I’ve traveled. I suppose it’s just different than I expected.

It couldn’t be evil though. This isn’t malignant. It’s bliss.


~ by anethodawnpride on September 24, 2013.

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