[Korethael]
I remember now why I preferred the school of fire to that of frost. When aligned with my natural fire, I felt things quickly, then let them go. My rages and sorrows were fleeting, like summer lightning. With this new alignment to frost, the feelings seem to linger, coalescing into a cold, terrible weight around my heart. I'm fairly certain I don't like it.
Torael and I have gone to Hyjal, along with every other able-bodied fighter and healer in Azeroth. I've seen Hitoh, so I know he's well and whole, but I've managed to avoid being spotted by him in return. Better he think I'm tucked up safe somewhere in Silvermoon or Org or Dalaran than him be distracted with worrying about me at the wrong moment.
Hyjal itself isn't so bad, with the Ancients and the green places and the proximity to Nordrassil's Well keeping my mana reserves full, but the Front in the Firelands itself is a hellish, chaotic place, dimly lit by the constant flow of flickering orange-red elemental bodies and filled with the sounds of weapons clashing against claws and the screams of the wounded. Torael and I found a Warden huddled in a crevice, so badly burned he was scarcely recognizable as a Kal'dorei. Even if we hadn't already exhausted our small daily ration of the healing ointment, I'm not sure it would have been enough to save him. All I could do was numb him and slip conjured ice chips between his cracked lips until he finally went beyond the reach of any more suffering. There is little love lost between us and our drudic cousins, but that night elf was someone's son, brother, father, lover.
I was struck by the thought of, Light forbid, Tory or Hitoh in that situation. Stranded in some forsaken pit, all beloved features burned away and alone with no one to hear their cries eventually die away. Something came over me then, an icy, implacable rage. Suddenly, all that mattered was turning as many of these creatures into frozen husks as I possibly could. I don't know how long I spent exterminating elementals and mad druids, only that it was some time later when my twin found me again, eyes unusually wide in his soot-covered face as he practically dragged me through the portal and back into the mortal world.
We're at the shrine of Lo'gosh now, curled up between the feet of the great wolf's statue. I know that if I'm trying to avoid being spotted by my Knight, this is probably the last place I should be, but this was the only place I could feel at peace. Tory's been plying me with his hip flask and the last of his s'morc stash while he trims up my hair with one of his many daggers. I don't remember it, but apparently at some point a flaming something went whizzing by my head close enough to singe off a goodly bit of hair.
I'll move somewhere less conspicuous in a little while, but right now I'm so very tired.
Torael and I have gone to Hyjal, along with every other able-bodied fighter and healer in Azeroth. I've seen Hitoh, so I know he's well and whole, but I've managed to avoid being spotted by him in return. Better he think I'm tucked up safe somewhere in Silvermoon or Org or Dalaran than him be distracted with worrying about me at the wrong moment.
Hyjal itself isn't so bad, with the Ancients and the green places and the proximity to Nordrassil's Well keeping my mana reserves full, but the Front in the Firelands itself is a hellish, chaotic place, dimly lit by the constant flow of flickering orange-red elemental bodies and filled with the sounds of weapons clashing against claws and the screams of the wounded. Torael and I found a Warden huddled in a crevice, so badly burned he was scarcely recognizable as a Kal'dorei. Even if we hadn't already exhausted our small daily ration of the healing ointment, I'm not sure it would have been enough to save him. All I could do was numb him and slip conjured ice chips between his cracked lips until he finally went beyond the reach of any more suffering. There is little love lost between us and our drudic cousins, but that night elf was someone's son, brother, father, lover.
I was struck by the thought of, Light forbid, Tory or Hitoh in that situation. Stranded in some forsaken pit, all beloved features burned away and alone with no one to hear their cries eventually die away. Something came over me then, an icy, implacable rage. Suddenly, all that mattered was turning as many of these creatures into frozen husks as I possibly could. I don't know how long I spent exterminating elementals and mad druids, only that it was some time later when my twin found me again, eyes unusually wide in his soot-covered face as he practically dragged me through the portal and back into the mortal world.
We're at the shrine of Lo'gosh now, curled up between the feet of the great wolf's statue. I know that if I'm trying to avoid being spotted by my Knight, this is probably the last place I should be, but this was the only place I could feel at peace. Tory's been plying me with his hip flask and the last of his s'morc stash while he trims up my hair with one of his many daggers. I don't remember it, but apparently at some point a flaming something went whizzing by my head close enough to singe off a goodly bit of hair.
I'll move somewhere less conspicuous in a little while, but right now I'm so very tired.