Never Fallen Prologue
Title: Never Fallen
Characters: In this chapter, an undead man and a human woman.
Rating: T - most definitely a bump up in the future.
Summary: Caelas Arrowind discovers a night elf druid in the wood who has gone mad. Though he initially wishes to kill her, the weight of a guilty conscience psuades him to take her to the Moonglade, where he is sent on a mission to save all of humanity from a new evil stirring upon Azeroth.
Note: Prologue. Unedited. One day, I promise, I'll get back to editing. "Lerunon" is pronounced Lare - oo - nahn.
In the far-off distance, a great, vile plume of smoke rose above the trees, staining the pinks and the oranges that a setting sun had painted the sky. Flocks of birds were flying high into the air, attempting to flee from the vaporous inkblot in the sky. Countless numbers of creatures - deer, wolves, squirrels, even the occasional worg - scuttled through the brush, and hopped from tree to tree. A crash sounded through the forest, bringing with it the resonating sound of the Earthmother’s screams of pain and anguish. There was another crash, this one bringing with it the haunted howl of the worgen. One of its kind had been killed.
He felt the dead, skeletal horse beneath him, Ero, snort in irritation and shift its weight, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the plume of smoke rising from the distance. He had first noticed it on a mundane delivery ride from Brill to the Sepulcher a few hours previously, and had followed it all the way from the outskirts of Tirisfall Glades to Silverpine forest, where he was greeted by a large array of wildlife fleeing inland, toward the ruins of Lordaeron. The urgency of it all had both amazed and shocked him, and he quickly summoned the first person he knew he could trust.
He first recognized her from her long, pure-white robes as she rode her black mare to a secluded hill that overlooked the Maiden’s Orchard. She had come from the Alterac Mountains, to the east. Her hair, which she normally wore long, was tucked into her white hood, save for a few loose strands.
She was beautiful, she was alive.
For a moment, he felt as though he were alive again, too.
“You’re here,” he rasped when she was close enough to hear him. She nodded in response, her lips pursed tightly, and said nothing else. Ero stomped an impatient hoof and chewed anxiously on the bit in his mouth. It was a common reaction of the undead horses, having suffered from the Plague, to act as such around their living counterparts. “For a while, I thought you had decided not to come.”
“I’d never,” she said flatly, eyeing him from beneath her hood. She had attempted to bring her horse closer, he supposed to make conversation easier, however her own horse skitted backward, braying angrily at his horse. She ran her slender fingers over her mount’s mane, but did not push it forward. Instead, she turned in the direction he was facing, and eyed the plume of smoke lumbering in the air. “Have you gone to see it yet?”
“I thought it wise to wait for your audience,” he said, his speech feeling funny in his mouth. It had been years since he had spoken so graciously, he almost felt as though he had never done so before. But somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “If we go together,” he added, “perhaps we could prevent well-intended ambushes by certain respective parties.”
She nodded. Her squared jaw and the determination in her eyes told him that she was refusing to look at him. He wished she’d look at him. Instead, however, she looked down at her gloved hands and fumbled with her mount’s reins.
“Have you any idea where it is?”
“It appears to be coming from Pyrewood village,” he hoped he sounded sympathetic.
“Let us go, then,” she replied. Her tone was harsh, but noncommittal. He nodded, and pushed his steed forward.
The forest was silent, save for the sounds of Ero’s leg bones popping against one another as he walked. It was a sound that should have sickened his stomach, as the horse he rode was nothing more than a pile of walking bones, but he was not. He had wanted to turn back to see if it bothered her. If it did, he would resort to tying his horse to a tree and walking beside her so as to make the journey quiet. But, he chose not, as he knew the stoic look on her face wouldn’t reveal anything she was thinking.
The journey was short and otherwise silent, until they came to the road that forked into Pyrewood village. An acrid smell had risen into the air, the smell of burning wood and dying nature. Though he wasn’t nearly as attuned to the earth as the elven races, he thought he could just hear the Earthmother’s screams beneath the sound of the forest. As they approached the fork in the road, he had made to continue down the path that lead straight into the village, however, she stopped him.
“We do not know what is down there,” she said simply, pushing her horse further down the main road, and off into the forest.
“I have nothing to lose, I can go down there,” he reassured her, touching the hilt of his sword. It felt good to be so tongue-and-cheek about something again, although it really was not much. Not compared to what she had to brag about, perhaps.
He heard her scoff as her robes disappeared into the brush. Her voice began to fade, the further away she became, “There is a hill here, just past these trees, that will allow us to see the village. It will be safer than just walking in there.”
He released the hilt of his sword and pressed Ero to follow. She was several yards ahead of him, the scent of her perfume lingered behind her. It was a sweet smell, lilacs. It made his stomach churn with bile.
They came to a stop at the top of a steep hill. Beneath them, Pyrewood village burned in what appeared to be an unabatable fire. The great plume that had stained the sky from so many miles away was magnificent, a giant among ment. Easily a mile or so wide. He supposed the whole town, every building and everyone in it, was burning. It had to, in order to create a plume so large. He heard her cough and fumble with her hood, pinning a portion of it to her face so as to block out the smoke. The acrid smell overwhelmed her lilac perfume. While it did not make his stomach churn, it burned his nose and stung his eyes.
“By the light,” she said quietly, “What could have caused an inferno such as this?”
“The Dark Lady knows,” he replied.
They stared in somber silence at the destroyed town. Even the horses had seemed to forget each other, and stood side by side without acknowledgement.
“Demons?” she asked.
He shook his head, “No, the flames would have been healthy greens, purples. And the whole forest would have been burned down to rubble. The infernal things do not understand the meaning of subtlety.”
She nodded in the corner of his eye, “Scourge, perhaps?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. From somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the sounds of shrieks and screams.
“This is not the Scourge.”
No explanation was needed. She simply nodded again, “Then what?”
“This looks like the work of the Arcane,” he sighed, “It was subtle, until the great plume had risen, and it’s clean. See how none of the trees had been burned?”
She looked around. Her face pulled into a frown, “It appears as though the trees had been deliberately spared. I will venture to guess that whoever is responsible for this wanted to purge the forest of… impurities…” she tilted her head and squinted, as though trying to make something out through the smoggy air. “But all those who I would imagine would want to preserve the earth… don’t know enough of the arcane arts to produce this atrocity.”
He sighed again, nodding.
“Another evil is stirring.”
The words were harsh and rasp, and she nodded in agreement.
As the sun fully sank behind the horizon, the fire engulfing the village left a faint glow on her face. Her head was bowed in prayer. He lowered his own head, but found he didn’t have a prayer to say. How long had it been, since he had thanked anyone - the Dark Lady, the Gods, the Light - for anything? He couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed. But he did not want to seem rude. He kept his head bowed in mock prayer until she looked back up.
“I will go inform Highlord Fordragon,” she finally said, “he will spread the word to King Bronzebeard, to Mekkatorque, to Lady Whisperwind, and the Prophet Velen,”
“Do you really suppose this is worth informing the entire planet? Suppose this is just a group of rogue mages…”
She whipped toward him, “If it is just a group of rogue mages, they must belong to the horde or alliance. Seeing as this was a human village, I would guess it is of the Horde,”
He felt a sting of pain whip through him, followed by a bubbling anger. He had not liked the way she had stressed that the inhabitants of Pyrewood had been of the living. He gripped the reins of his horse between his fingers.
“They were also cursed by Arugal, and are monsters. Perhaps the humans of the alliance…”
“That would never happen,” she growled. “Just go tell your Lady. If whoever caused this could burn a town without so much as a single voice of war, imagine if they could do it to Stormwind. Lordaeron.”
He glared at her, but fell silent. After a tense moment, he nodded.
She turned her horse, making to leave the hill and head westward to Alterac to catch a gryffon ride back to her home.
He cleared his throat, “Emmaline.”
She stopped, but did not turn back to face him, “What, Lerunon?” Her voice was harsh and raspy, like she had been crying.
He looked at his hands, “A high priestess now. You finally got what you wanted.”
“A high warlord. You did the same.”
“It’s all meaningless, now, not without you by my side.”
She squared her shoulders and sighed heavily, but still did not turn around.
“I would be lying if I said it was not the same for me.”
He looked down as her black mare, her white robes, and her crystalline tears disappeared into the forest.
Characters: In this chapter, an undead man and a human woman.
Rating: T - most definitely a bump up in the future.
Summary: Caelas Arrowind discovers a night elf druid in the wood who has gone mad. Though he initially wishes to kill her, the weight of a guilty conscience psuades him to take her to the Moonglade, where he is sent on a mission to save all of humanity from a new evil stirring upon Azeroth.
Note: Prologue. Unedited. One day, I promise, I'll get back to editing. "Lerunon" is pronounced Lare - oo - nahn.
In the far-off distance, a great, vile plume of smoke rose above the trees, staining the pinks and the oranges that a setting sun had painted the sky. Flocks of birds were flying high into the air, attempting to flee from the vaporous inkblot in the sky. Countless numbers of creatures - deer, wolves, squirrels, even the occasional worg - scuttled through the brush, and hopped from tree to tree. A crash sounded through the forest, bringing with it the resonating sound of the Earthmother’s screams of pain and anguish. There was another crash, this one bringing with it the haunted howl of the worgen. One of its kind had been killed.
He felt the dead, skeletal horse beneath him, Ero, snort in irritation and shift its weight, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the plume of smoke rising from the distance. He had first noticed it on a mundane delivery ride from Brill to the Sepulcher a few hours previously, and had followed it all the way from the outskirts of Tirisfall Glades to Silverpine forest, where he was greeted by a large array of wildlife fleeing inland, toward the ruins of Lordaeron. The urgency of it all had both amazed and shocked him, and he quickly summoned the first person he knew he could trust.
He first recognized her from her long, pure-white robes as she rode her black mare to a secluded hill that overlooked the Maiden’s Orchard. She had come from the Alterac Mountains, to the east. Her hair, which she normally wore long, was tucked into her white hood, save for a few loose strands.
She was beautiful, she was alive.
For a moment, he felt as though he were alive again, too.
“You’re here,” he rasped when she was close enough to hear him. She nodded in response, her lips pursed tightly, and said nothing else. Ero stomped an impatient hoof and chewed anxiously on the bit in his mouth. It was a common reaction of the undead horses, having suffered from the Plague, to act as such around their living counterparts. “For a while, I thought you had decided not to come.”
“I’d never,” she said flatly, eyeing him from beneath her hood. She had attempted to bring her horse closer, he supposed to make conversation easier, however her own horse skitted backward, braying angrily at his horse. She ran her slender fingers over her mount’s mane, but did not push it forward. Instead, she turned in the direction he was facing, and eyed the plume of smoke lumbering in the air. “Have you gone to see it yet?”
“I thought it wise to wait for your audience,” he said, his speech feeling funny in his mouth. It had been years since he had spoken so graciously, he almost felt as though he had never done so before. But somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “If we go together,” he added, “perhaps we could prevent well-intended ambushes by certain respective parties.”
She nodded. Her squared jaw and the determination in her eyes told him that she was refusing to look at him. He wished she’d look at him. Instead, however, she looked down at her gloved hands and fumbled with her mount’s reins.
“Have you any idea where it is?”
“It appears to be coming from Pyrewood village,” he hoped he sounded sympathetic.
“Let us go, then,” she replied. Her tone was harsh, but noncommittal. He nodded, and pushed his steed forward.
The forest was silent, save for the sounds of Ero’s leg bones popping against one another as he walked. It was a sound that should have sickened his stomach, as the horse he rode was nothing more than a pile of walking bones, but he was not. He had wanted to turn back to see if it bothered her. If it did, he would resort to tying his horse to a tree and walking beside her so as to make the journey quiet. But, he chose not, as he knew the stoic look on her face wouldn’t reveal anything she was thinking.
The journey was short and otherwise silent, until they came to the road that forked into Pyrewood village. An acrid smell had risen into the air, the smell of burning wood and dying nature. Though he wasn’t nearly as attuned to the earth as the elven races, he thought he could just hear the Earthmother’s screams beneath the sound of the forest. As they approached the fork in the road, he had made to continue down the path that lead straight into the village, however, she stopped him.
“We do not know what is down there,” she said simply, pushing her horse further down the main road, and off into the forest.
“I have nothing to lose, I can go down there,” he reassured her, touching the hilt of his sword. It felt good to be so tongue-and-cheek about something again, although it really was not much. Not compared to what she had to brag about, perhaps.
He heard her scoff as her robes disappeared into the brush. Her voice began to fade, the further away she became, “There is a hill here, just past these trees, that will allow us to see the village. It will be safer than just walking in there.”
He released the hilt of his sword and pressed Ero to follow. She was several yards ahead of him, the scent of her perfume lingered behind her. It was a sweet smell, lilacs. It made his stomach churn with bile.
They came to a stop at the top of a steep hill. Beneath them, Pyrewood village burned in what appeared to be an unabatable fire. The great plume that had stained the sky from so many miles away was magnificent, a giant among ment. Easily a mile or so wide. He supposed the whole town, every building and everyone in it, was burning. It had to, in order to create a plume so large. He heard her cough and fumble with her hood, pinning a portion of it to her face so as to block out the smoke. The acrid smell overwhelmed her lilac perfume. While it did not make his stomach churn, it burned his nose and stung his eyes.
“By the light,” she said quietly, “What could have caused an inferno such as this?”
“The Dark Lady knows,” he replied.
They stared in somber silence at the destroyed town. Even the horses had seemed to forget each other, and stood side by side without acknowledgement.
“Demons?” she asked.
He shook his head, “No, the flames would have been healthy greens, purples. And the whole forest would have been burned down to rubble. The infernal things do not understand the meaning of subtlety.”
She nodded in the corner of his eye, “Scourge, perhaps?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. From somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the sounds of shrieks and screams.
“This is not the Scourge.”
No explanation was needed. She simply nodded again, “Then what?”
“This looks like the work of the Arcane,” he sighed, “It was subtle, until the great plume had risen, and it’s clean. See how none of the trees had been burned?”
She looked around. Her face pulled into a frown, “It appears as though the trees had been deliberately spared. I will venture to guess that whoever is responsible for this wanted to purge the forest of… impurities…” she tilted her head and squinted, as though trying to make something out through the smoggy air. “But all those who I would imagine would want to preserve the earth… don’t know enough of the arcane arts to produce this atrocity.”
He sighed again, nodding.
“Another evil is stirring.”
The words were harsh and rasp, and she nodded in agreement.
As the sun fully sank behind the horizon, the fire engulfing the village left a faint glow on her face. Her head was bowed in prayer. He lowered his own head, but found he didn’t have a prayer to say. How long had it been, since he had thanked anyone - the Dark Lady, the Gods, the Light - for anything? He couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed. But he did not want to seem rude. He kept his head bowed in mock prayer until she looked back up.
“I will go inform Highlord Fordragon,” she finally said, “he will spread the word to King Bronzebeard, to Mekkatorque, to Lady Whisperwind, and the Prophet Velen,”
“Do you really suppose this is worth informing the entire planet? Suppose this is just a group of rogue mages…”
She whipped toward him, “If it is just a group of rogue mages, they must belong to the horde or alliance. Seeing as this was a human village, I would guess it is of the Horde,”
He felt a sting of pain whip through him, followed by a bubbling anger. He had not liked the way she had stressed that the inhabitants of Pyrewood had been of the living. He gripped the reins of his horse between his fingers.
“They were also cursed by Arugal, and are monsters. Perhaps the humans of the alliance…”
“That would never happen,” she growled. “Just go tell your Lady. If whoever caused this could burn a town without so much as a single voice of war, imagine if they could do it to Stormwind. Lordaeron.”
He glared at her, but fell silent. After a tense moment, he nodded.
She turned her horse, making to leave the hill and head westward to Alterac to catch a gryffon ride back to her home.
He cleared his throat, “Emmaline.”
She stopped, but did not turn back to face him, “What, Lerunon?” Her voice was harsh and raspy, like she had been crying.
He looked at his hands, “A high priestess now. You finally got what you wanted.”
“A high warlord. You did the same.”
“It’s all meaningless, now, not without you by my side.”
She squared her shoulders and sighed heavily, but still did not turn around.
“I would be lying if I said it was not the same for me.”
He looked down as her black mare, her white robes, and her crystalline tears disappeared into the forest.