Grand Designs

Your little scheme flopped, Dawnpride.” A shadowed figure laughed in a mocking tone. “Is that how you perceive it good sir? I’d say it was a smashing success.” Candle light danced about the small enclosure of a room and the figure sauntered forth, her soft voice roused with curiousity and confusion. “Did you not intend to bind her to your whimsies? Did you not wring her True Name for just such a purpose?” He slipped from his coat, taking a moment to mock her now in laughter. “Not at all my dear – t’was all part of her tutelage you see? She wished I teach her the arts that I know and so I shall. If she were incapable of breaking the bonds I’d placed upon her, even with the outside help she had, then I’d have eventually shown her what such weakness costs. In the end she’d have been released just the same. It tells me that she’s both ingenuity and a careful collection of associates and easily manipulated fools.” He ran his right hand through his hair with a content sigh.


“Scotch?” He inquired, holding up a bottle. “I’m on the wagon.” She replied in a demure tone. “…Suit yourself.” He popped the cork and poured himself a glass. “I imagine you wish to know what my ultimatum is? That was your next question, no?” She nodded, though he didn’t see it nor did he wait for any verbal approval as he continued along. “Before one learns strength they must find weakness. T’is how I found it, t’is how many more before me came into it, and stands to my eyes as the purest form of appreciation for power… For the moment she stands victor, as I’d hoped, and it makes her think she has power. Pride swells in her heart. When she breaks again – and it will be faster, hotter, and far more painful than this little orchestration I assure you – it will demonstrate the final point preceding her instruction. The she isn’t invincible. That she doesn’t surpass me, and that for all her friends, associates or colleagues she cannot hide, defeat, or surpass what I am.” 


He took a moment to sip at the intoxicating beverage, sighing once again in mild comfort as the woman placed her hands upon his abdomen to resume mending an injury he’d intentionally received.  “A bit full of yourself aren’t you?” She chided cynically, working the flows of mana to sooth the still fresh and pus-filled burns. “…But I’ll stroke that ego of yours, just what is it she’s meant to discover about you?” He smirked, despite the pain wracking him even now. “…That even with Westel, Jaedn, Kuvasei, or all the rest – I’m a monster and all monsters hold a domain. Within that domain there is one absolute law. Live or die. Hand in hand with that is of course the realization that by the time anyone can actually conceive of where that domain truly is; neither here nor there, well I’ve already done what I needed to… and at the same time formalized something on the broader scale.”


“Broader scale? Is this another rant over the canvas and Gods? The whole maddening egotist shtick must be great, you can keep recycling the same material.” He shook his head. “…Something greater, or perhaps worse depending on her. When I’ve had my last musing with her in private it falls on her own inner strength of will and upon the Whispering Tome. I fear that even I am bereft of power as to what shall follow in the aftermath, it scares me – and that only serves to further encourage what you’d call madness.”


She broke the bonds of what some consider absolute control, though she had help. I’m amused at this fact and the revelations it brings in kind in pertinence to a particular Fel Weaver. I’ve tested the limitations of her composure and willingness to react and found myself painfully enticed. She threatens to end me if I should interfere in her ‘interests’ but for the presentation of subservience that is so willingly given. I’ve drawn her curiousity and perhaps more if those poor, watered eyes just barely held back told me anything. It was all I could do to keep from laughing aloud, calling out in song; Oh woe to the soiled dove her heart downtrodden and all but forgotten! 

Even she has her uses however, and there might be something more to broker than violence. In her I see potential, unknowns, plausibility, and more. Not in the form of the atypical puppet, no that’d be without the due respect or regard she clearly deserves. Her spellcraft is above average from what I might interpret but nothing outstanding as of yet. Everything has it’s shadows – but as night must inevitably part so too much shadows withdraw and yield their secrets. I am no exception, and if I must risk a truth to bare another t’is of little consequence. What have I to fear? Nothing. Not for all the fire in the Molten Core, nor all the suffering buried deep beneath Lordaeron. 

The world is vast and those beyond it more-so. I peer within this enchanted time piece and behold wonders. While all the rest see a meager, overly enchanted bauble that ceases to function as intended. The hands of time no longer move, but are now open to me beyond simply keeping time in my pocket. Though the clockwork mechanisms have long ceased in their turning – fate’s wheel has never been more pristine, apparent, or visible before my eyes in so much tragedy as is meant to pass. What are confusions of nightmares, dreams, and reality but one possible explanation? There is but one I could entrust with that conversation beyond myself. I fear however, that such an individual shall not present herself as expediently as I’d like. 

The absence of warmth beyond simple fires and blankets grows increasingly apparent and my appetite dulls. I’ve had my fill and though it remains a favorite it now rests upon my tongue as bland – without the seasonings I’d come to appreciate. Painful perhaps are memories… What I’ve done and what I must do as a result. What we’ve laid in stone for ourselves only makes itself apparent long after the bones are buried and the sun has set. There is no release from the bonds of fate and conjecture. No release of the man from the maw of the monster. 

I remember the words the Palamecians repeated long after I had. They yet ring in my ears as the tolling of bells to announce the dead.

“Look upon the skies oh ye lost children, the light before the thunder, as happiness before rage. As the flowing of water from the heaven’s skies to the tears from our eyes. Yours is destiny, long fated and long lived. Yours is malice and benevolence. Yours is the prison founded at thy own hands. Through your acts many have benefited, many have suffered, but at some point all have lost. You are the downtrodden, the outcast, the hated, the tragic. But in my eyes, in the eyes of fate and her infinite wonder you are so much more… Repeat as I say. Embrace the words. Hold the meaning as it sways you.”


“Harbingers of Despair are we. Those entrusted with the lash and embrace of fate and it’s law. In all things, truth. Before truth, suffering. Before suffering, treachery. Before treachery – Lies.  The lies of oneself, the mask of man before the beast within. Of blood and marrow am I born, of blood and marrow do I die. Just as surely as I consume the fire of my enemies, do I also feed the inferno that burns at the hearts of men.”


“We – You- I, have paved the roads to despair, have heralded it’s calling in our words, our actions, and all that they have wrought. We have observed the turning of fate’s wheel and know it’s lash and embrace. Of love, and of hate we are chosen. We are bred. We are destroyed. Of our own hands are we forged, of our own designs shall we be destroyed. Fate forever our guiding light, we few, trusted to herald in it’s suffering. To watch the world unfold – to enact the forbidden, to do the unthinkable, to uphold it’s law.”


“As Gods enter and fade from memory, your own experiences are but transient hosts to sensations. The passing of mortals through expressions, actions and feeling. There must be a balance of suffering to happiness, just as surely as there must be a balance to our own souls in order for it to function as if healthy and well. The world is no different. There is a scale that we must all interpret upon our own course. To hold the line between what is grace and what is malice. We are not heroes, we are not oppressors, we are but witnesses to that which is born in their wake. We are that which safeguards and that which destroys. That which was once held safely and then cast aside to burn in that very same inferno.”


“The wheel of fate turns, night to day, day to night, restless. Infinite. Beyond this notion of time, beyond this singular design that is mortality or Azeroth. Countless are the stars, and countless are those touched at it’s hand. Though they have not the name we’ve taken – many are our brothers and sisters. Worlds apart, seperated by time and space but forever connected by the same binding threads.”


“That is what it means to be a Palamecian. That is what it means to be a Harbinger of Despair.”


Nostalgia – how often it creeps upon me in the darkening years that are to precede my release from this facade. I will miss the decadence, the smiles, the happiness before the shadows once more envelope me that I may service their needs. It is as I have always said.

“I’m a monster, true enough. But more than that I am the necessary evil…”


~ by anethodawnpride on November 27, 2013.

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