Cycles of Despair

The world doesn’t need Guardians or Gods – it needs but a single champion working in darkness that others may shine victoriously.”

-Anetho Dawnpride-

I examine myself in the mirror, playing with my long red locks of silken hair. The face looking back at me is both familiar and foreign to me as the memories of three lives slowly intermingle. The torrents of emotion and confusion come and go much as they had when first I arrived upon the shores of Quel’Thalas those many years ago; The only difference in the scenario I’ve woven for myself is that I possess this enchanted vanity mirror. With it, the transition of mind and soul is less one-sided. Unlike the cultist whom lost her memories when her soul was bound to the body of the Lordaeron Clergyman, Asleon De’Forte, I retain the experiences of both he, and the resulting Red Magister that assumed the name Anetho Dawnpride. The woman in the mirror before me contributed little in terms of useful information or trade skills, though she has proven to be an excellent conduit in channeling mana. With the Tomb of One, I need not start from the beginning, but rather I may accrue levels of power equal to, or perhaps in time superior to, the heights of Anetho Dawnpride at his prime during the events of the Cataclysm.

The flows of magic are far easier to control in this vessel, perhaps due in part to the fact that she had not embraced the holy arts prior to embracing both the energies of Fel and Shadow, or perhaps because there is an absence of rage that is equally foreign to me. Where once thoughts and heart raced furiously, only quiet and paced thought reigns. It is strange, even as I attempt to force feelings of hatred and anxiety regarding those I’d fought in the past, they do not echo with so much as a fraction of the intensity that consumed Anetho Dawnpride. I feel purpose, and conviction still when I think upon corrupting what remains of their teachings that have been passed on to those who would plunder the darkest secrets, but there is nothing forcing a sense of urgency or aggression within me. In the silence and reflection, I can see with clarity what Anetho Dawnpride was… A man caught in his own despair and suffering; One plagued with memories of two lives, unable to exist within either. His body had been corrupted from within by the darkness that swelled within the soul not rightly his own… Yet it was this union that would ironically redeem the very nature of who I am now.

Without the memories of the Twilight’s Hammer cultist that spawned the events leading to the ultimate failure of their experiment, and the birth of Anetho Dawnpride, the soul of the woman, my soul, is now perhaps a tint lighter than it began. Perhaps even grey, where once it stained all it touch as black as night. Anetho was an unforgiving, callous, and horrible man, but he wasn’t evil. For all his actions, and constant self-loathing, I realize now that he needed to appear as such to himself. Asleon’s memories held him back, and so he tainted himself in such a way as to make it easier to accept himself as he was. He pronounced himself the necessary evil, that he might justify his own increasingly immoral actions in the eyes of the world. He ostracized himself from society to better accept the darkness he’d welcomed into his life as his weapon… He knew he would die in one form or another and wished it to end with him. In the end, he realized that the cycles of despair continue forward. Only those that know pain unending may appreciate the dream that is peace. A fragile thing, he’d only ever known measured in mere handfuls.

To soothe the world, consumed by despair, he had to become the avatar of it’s suffering. That collective pain, the evil of the world he channeled, is what gave birth to Orpheus. Through this persona of many, that evil was given purpose in service to a higher calling… Though in the end, despair will continue to pervade the world. Accepting the burden as the Harbinger of Despair meant enduring that endless reality. This lesson, is one that I hold close as I observe the events that are ever more obscure. I cannot read the world, nor this parallel reality engulfed by potential ‘unrealized’ futures that I may never experience myself. In that world, crossed with our own through phenomena even I cannot fathom, there is a world that I need not exist at all if cradled appropriately. That thought comforts me, as I reflect on the earliest memories of Asleon De’Forte for the last time.


The cycles of despair continue through me, and I bear that burden with the foresight I possess through new eyes. Eyes unclouded by hatred, that turn away from that which formed the foundation of the Red Magister. The necessary evil, may have his rest. That is but one life, one chain in a series of links. This one shall be put to better use, as I examine the disorder of clashing realities, and afford only moderate intervention… For a much greater threat looms on the horizon; One foretold of in teachings ignored and history plundered without regard. Anetho Dawnpride walked the shattered isles, and traversed the long halls of Suramar… The very same that Gul’dan himself sought when he emerged in Azeroth. There was purpose, and if the shadow creeping behind me forming violent eyes is any indication, so too is there renewed purpose in this cycle of despair. One I accept, and intend to shoulder, with the many mistakes of three lives upon my heart to guide me forward into a new day. One cast in brimstone, rather than iron.

“Again you call upon me, Fool Mortal… Again I answer as I am bound.”


~ by anethodawnpride on August 6, 2015.

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