[Story] Perfection
Ring around the Rosie......
Welcoming, acceptance. This is what the initial feeling upon being one of the Forgotten. Love? No Love was a foolish venture. Adoration? Worship? Perhaps. De'Melnor carefully set a new stack of books aside with in the Maul before tilting her ears back a bit. It was empty in the hall now that the books where off the shelf. Eying her work and eying the piles she made, the Sin'dorei was pleased. They where all kept in order based off the shelf she removed them from. Carefully pulling the tarp over she tied it down stretching her toned form against the stone slabbed floor.
Rising to her feet she picked up the wind blessed blade and held it front of her. It wasn't unique, this blade was carried by many generals of Ala'kir, some who attacked the cities she once protected. Her hand gripped the blade's hilt as she focused her thoughts into it. The light was gone from her body, her only 'magic' was from what she could coax out of the blessed weapon. The winds whipped around her gently as they picked up in speed. The wind curved the blade as it sung the very sound ringing within the elf's ears.
I can't fall down... I can't fall down...
Elsewhere in a memory the winds ripped across her flesh. Her footsteps light as a feather as she calmly used the swords gift. This remnant of a gift from the wind lords, that now carried her over the glass like surface of Northrends ocean coast. Still that day she used no element of her own, no light, merely enforcing her will over the powers that laid within, a manipulation like most of her race had done before. It was from that shore that she witnessed the rising of a gods like minion, and the falling of their greatest stars. She knew, an instinct that someone capable of bringing forth that, could not die so easily.
Her voice would breach the ocean depths she told herself. When they awaken I will find them on the surface. Returning to her dwelling she braced the harsh colds of the Dragonblight. Each night the winds ripped across the flimsy doorway, she crafted to at least maintain some warmth. It didn't' phase her much, despite her own body growing stiff from the sub temperatures, despite the great bear that stayed by her side attempted to warm them both. Her eyes merely focused out into the cold of the night and day watching the shore for any signs of movement.
Lost ones around me ....... I can't fall down.
Astallia beamed with pride as she came face to face with her dreamless sleeper. His body hovered over hers slightly, they conversed in length each word she clung to for a moment. He had heard her beneath the waves, that knowledge would satisfy her another cold night as the march of what remained of the Hammer gathered slowly. She would be a Vindicator no longer, their second meeting she offered her blade to him, Her shield as well, back then she had noticed his arm long since removed from his body. Perfection in servitude towards the worlds true gods, sacrifice and survival until their freedom.
He offered her dwelling amongst his belongings. Clearly the mastering of motion in all things nonliving gave him insight to the death that crept upon her limbs. There she would rest and regain much robbed strength for the coming days. A mere Vindicator of the Hammer, no longer to follow the follied whims of Cho'gall and the Twilight Father. Her role and services where to the Forgotten, those whom she would cut down the denouncers that would dare interrupt their work.
What do you suppose we... Can do to fight the Darkness in which we all drown.
She grinned and looked up as the winds cut out, Astallia moved the blade aside as it finished singing. Her eyes lit up in excitement as the final parts of her craft cooled before her fel-imbued eyes. In one life she had been a stalwart champion of the Light, a forger of find weapons and armor for those who wished to protect. In the twilight of those years and beneath the shadowed wings of the very Aspect of Death she was reborn in flames, as the saying goes. The hammer reforged her as well into one that served the Gods of Old, her weapons and armor where no longer to protect, but to bring ruin to those that had wronged her.
Astallia De'Melnor knelt in front of her work and slowly slid her hand into the crafted palm. Her eyes closed as she gently stroked it, lifting it and placing it against her body starting with near her throat and moving downward. A grin slowly formed upon her lips as she felt it's perfection. Still she continued to test for it imperfections, sliding herself into more of a cradling position on the floor with the newly built metallic arm nestled between limbs. A shiver brushed over her skin in excitement. Now if only her master was as pleased with it as she was.....
I can't fall down....
Welcoming, acceptance. This is what the initial feeling upon being one of the Forgotten. Love? No Love was a foolish venture. Adoration? Worship? Perhaps. De'Melnor carefully set a new stack of books aside with in the Maul before tilting her ears back a bit. It was empty in the hall now that the books where off the shelf. Eying her work and eying the piles she made, the Sin'dorei was pleased. They where all kept in order based off the shelf she removed them from. Carefully pulling the tarp over she tied it down stretching her toned form against the stone slabbed floor.
Rising to her feet she picked up the wind blessed blade and held it front of her. It wasn't unique, this blade was carried by many generals of Ala'kir, some who attacked the cities she once protected. Her hand gripped the blade's hilt as she focused her thoughts into it. The light was gone from her body, her only 'magic' was from what she could coax out of the blessed weapon. The winds whipped around her gently as they picked up in speed. The wind curved the blade as it sung the very sound ringing within the elf's ears.
I can't fall down... I can't fall down...
Elsewhere in a memory the winds ripped across her flesh. Her footsteps light as a feather as she calmly used the swords gift. This remnant of a gift from the wind lords, that now carried her over the glass like surface of Northrends ocean coast. Still that day she used no element of her own, no light, merely enforcing her will over the powers that laid within, a manipulation like most of her race had done before. It was from that shore that she witnessed the rising of a gods like minion, and the falling of their greatest stars. She knew, an instinct that someone capable of bringing forth that, could not die so easily.
Her voice would breach the ocean depths she told herself. When they awaken I will find them on the surface. Returning to her dwelling she braced the harsh colds of the Dragonblight. Each night the winds ripped across the flimsy doorway, she crafted to at least maintain some warmth. It didn't' phase her much, despite her own body growing stiff from the sub temperatures, despite the great bear that stayed by her side attempted to warm them both. Her eyes merely focused out into the cold of the night and day watching the shore for any signs of movement.
Lost ones around me ....... I can't fall down.
Astallia beamed with pride as she came face to face with her dreamless sleeper. His body hovered over hers slightly, they conversed in length each word she clung to for a moment. He had heard her beneath the waves, that knowledge would satisfy her another cold night as the march of what remained of the Hammer gathered slowly. She would be a Vindicator no longer, their second meeting she offered her blade to him, Her shield as well, back then she had noticed his arm long since removed from his body. Perfection in servitude towards the worlds true gods, sacrifice and survival until their freedom.
He offered her dwelling amongst his belongings. Clearly the mastering of motion in all things nonliving gave him insight to the death that crept upon her limbs. There she would rest and regain much robbed strength for the coming days. A mere Vindicator of the Hammer, no longer to follow the follied whims of Cho'gall and the Twilight Father. Her role and services where to the Forgotten, those whom she would cut down the denouncers that would dare interrupt their work.
What do you suppose we... Can do to fight the Darkness in which we all drown.
She grinned and looked up as the winds cut out, Astallia moved the blade aside as it finished singing. Her eyes lit up in excitement as the final parts of her craft cooled before her fel-imbued eyes. In one life she had been a stalwart champion of the Light, a forger of find weapons and armor for those who wished to protect. In the twilight of those years and beneath the shadowed wings of the very Aspect of Death she was reborn in flames, as the saying goes. The hammer reforged her as well into one that served the Gods of Old, her weapons and armor where no longer to protect, but to bring ruin to those that had wronged her.
Astallia De'Melnor knelt in front of her work and slowly slid her hand into the crafted palm. Her eyes closed as she gently stroked it, lifting it and placing it against her body starting with near her throat and moving downward. A grin slowly formed upon her lips as she felt it's perfection. Still she continued to test for it imperfections, sliding herself into more of a cradling position on the floor with the newly built metallic arm nestled between limbs. A shiver brushed over her skin in excitement. Now if only her master was as pleased with it as she was.....
I can't fall down....