It’s been a while

I have been off WoW for a while, and off Tumblr for even longer lol. 

Plan is to return, RP my Draenei, Karaaldos on Allyside, and a handful of characters on Hordeside. Anyone here still playing WoW on WRA? 

Rise, A Knight! (The Story of Sarestha Ravelle)

Part 3: The Resurrection

Her eyes snapped open.

She became aware of the fact that she was standing up.. And that she was in a large open chamber, its black walls adorned with skulls that were either artistic or real. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care.

In front of her stood a clearly-undead Thalassian elf, dressed in the skull-adorned armour of a senior Acherus death knight. The elf watched her closely for a time, a frown on his face. She noticed the silver blade on his back, engraved with glowing-blue runes. She became dimly aware that she too had a sword, once. A vague thought passed silently through her mind. “I wonder where it’s gone…”

Finally, the elf spoke, his voice sharp and melodic, cutting through the silence. “What is your name?”

“Sarestha Ravelle”, she said, without thinking. How did she know that? She liked the name. Sarestha. It felt warm and familiar. She felt the smallest of smiles form on her face.. Although her face felt strange. As if she could barely feel it, and as if her facial muscles were stretching in ways they previously hadn’t.

The elf nodded. “Mine is Eldinus. I’m here to welcome you into the family that is the Scourge.”

Scourge. That name seemed familiar. Yes… Very familiar. She was fairly sure she didn’t like the Scourge, but she couldn’t remember why…

Eldinus continued his speech. “In life you were a Paladin of the Scarlet Crusade, an enemy of the Scourge. In death you are reborn as a Death Knight - a servant of the Lich King. He speaks in our minds. He gives us purpose. Direction. We are his weapons… and we will serve him faithfully, no matter who he orders us to fight.”

Sara frowned. With his words, memories were coming back to her. The Scarlet Crusade… she remembered something about that. Something about Lordaeron. She’d heard of the Lich King and the Scourge too. Death Knights? Was she undead. She remembered something about the undead… abominations. Yes! They were abominations! She couldn’t be undead. She had sworn to fight the undead at all costs. “I can’t… I’m not a Death Knight, I’m a Paladin.” She said, her thoughts jumbled and confused in her own mind.

Eldinus merely smirked with amusement and said nothing.

A voice sounded in Sarestha’s mind. It was an echoing voice. An authoritative voice. A voice that, for some reason, she felt a desperate need to listen to.

“All life… must end….”

That made sense to Sara. She felt awfully silly. Why had she questioned that? It would be a better world if all life ended, after all. She suppressed her embarrassment and focused her attention on Eldinus again.

Eldinus’ smirk broadened. “You serve the Lich King now. Your old beliefs. Your old ideas… they are all ash on the wind - to be cast away and forgotten. Do you understand?”

Sarestha nodded, and Eldinus continued speaking. “First of all… I saw you fight, Sarestha. You held your own against many ghouls. They’re not the most skilled of combatants, but you kept killing them. Again and again and again. All on your own. I want to see your fighting skills firsthand.” He picked up a sword and threw it over to her.

She caught the blade easily. It felt familiar in hand… and with a rush of delighted emotion she realised it was her sword - the one she had wielded in battle only very recently.

Eldinus drew his own blade - a two handed greatsword not unlike her own. Without a word or even a nod of acknowledgement he launched himself into the fray, subjecting Sarestha to a barrage of blows from his sword. Sarestha parried and blocked, her combat instincts taking over as she fought her opponent and began returning his blows. After what seemed to be a very long thirty seconds, Eldinus backed off and held up his hand. “Hold Death Knight. You’ve proven your worth.”

Sarestha lowered her blade. “What must I do now?” She asked.

Eldinus smiled. “Why, you must take part in one of the most momentous battles of this war… We intend to conquer and defile one of the most holy places on Azeroth. We are to launch an attack on Light’s Hope Chapel. You will join us - your skills are already sufficient, and we can teach you the finer points of being a death knight after it is done. But there is one thing you must learn. Come with me.” Eldinus led Sarestha to one of three large forges in the chamber. The forge was topped with a large skull, and it glowed with an eerie blue colour.

“What is this place?” Sarestha asked.

Eldinus set about preparing the runeforge, not turning to face her as he replied. “The place as a whole? This is Acherus, the Ebon Hold. To date it’s the most powerful Necropolis in the Scourge Arsenal - in part because it holds the largest group of Death Knights this world has seen. We’re floating above the Scarlet Enclave - the place where you died. As for this particular location… this is a runeforge. It’s here that we’ll take your sword and emblazon it with powerful runes. It will make your weapon stronger, and make you stronger as well. You’ll learn more about that in time.” He motioned towards her sword. “You intend to keep and emblazon your current sword, no doubt?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. I’ve had it for a long time. I’d like to keep it.”

Eldinus held out his hand, silently asking for the blade. Sarestha handed it to him silently, and he surveyed the blade. “Redemption…? This is the sword’s name?”

“Yes.” Sarestha nodded.

“Hmm… a futile concept. Still, it’s a good blade.” He placed the weapon in the runeforge, and left it there as the blue light intensified, glowing brightly for a few seconds. Eldinus smiled at Sarestha “Take the blade. It’s yours… and like you, it has been improved. Enhanced.”

Sarestha stepped forward, reached for the weapon, and pulled it from the forge. To her surprise, the once silver blade was now black, emblazoned with dimly glowing red runes, in a number of complex shapes and patterns. She regarded it with a smile on her face. She liked those colours.

Eldinus nodded, seeming impressed. “It turned out well. Congratulations.” He tilted his head. “Make ready for the battle to come. You will be called upon shortly, and briefed with further instructions. Do you have any questions before I leave.”

Sara frowned thoughtfully, thinking, her memories all but fully returned. “Just one. Why are you attacking Light’s Hope Chapel? The Argent Dawn is far weaker than the Scarlet Crusade. Wouldn’t it be safer to take out Tyr’s Hand and the Enclave first?”

Eldinus laughed in response. “You haven’t guessed?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Sara looked at him, curiously.

He sighed. “It’s fallen, Miss Ravelle. The Scarlet Enclave was our first target. You died defending it. Apart from those cowards who fled by boat, we left none alive.”

Sarestha blinked. A wave of sadness crossed her mind, before that beautiful voice in her head reminded her of her purpose again.

“All life… must end.”

Sarestha smiled. She looked back to Eldinus. “Thank you for your help. I look forward to fighting in the battle by your side.”

Eldinus nodded in return, and saluted her. “Suffer well, Sarestha Ravelle. For the Lich King!”

Sarestha saluted him back. “For the Lich King” she said, somehow knowing that that wonderful voice in her head would approve of the phrase.

All life must end, after all.

Rise a Knight (The Story of Sarestha Ravelle)

Part 2: The Scarlet Fall

Havenshire was burning. The acrid stench of smoke mixed with dead flesh stung Sarestha’s nostrils as she stood, sword in hand, ready to defend New Avalon. The Scourge were coming.

She stood on the ramparts of the New Avalon wall. She had watched helplessly, unable to leave her post as she saw death knights butchering innocent farmers and loyal soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade like cattle. The Scarlet Enclave had been the safest and most secure part of the Crusade’s lands since the beginning... and now the Scourge was undoing everything with their new necropolis. Acherus, the Ebon Hold, floated in the sky above them as a herald of their doom, and a trophy of victory over the burning farms of Havenshire. Amongst the burning buildings of the farming community... shapes began to stir. Ghouls. They were on their way.

“Sarestha Ravelle!” A voice called out from the ramparts, getting her attention. It was a messenger boy - she didn’t recall his name. The boy looked wide-eyed and nervous, but carried out his duties regardless. She admired that.

“Yes, I’m Sarestha Ravelle. What is it?” She replied, turning to face the boy.

“Orders from Inquisitor Charlesh Ravelle, Ma’am. You’re to report to him outside the citadel immediately.”

Sara scowled slightly, but nodded. “As you wish. Take me to him.”

The boy led on, leading Sara off the wall and across the town square, towards the New Avalon Citadel. About halfway there, the sounds of fighting began to break out at the wall. The Scourge had commenced their attack on the city. Her scowl broadened. She knew she should’ve been there, helping her fellow Crusaders fight.

At the entrance to the citadel stood her father, resplendent in full priestly regalia, and wearing his tabard proudly on his chest. He frowned at Sarestha as she approached, nodding an acknowledgement, and nodding again to dismiss the messenger boy. The boy ran off, obviously having some other task to attend to. “How goes the fight on the front, my daughter?” Asked Charlesh, an odd note to his voice. Sara couldn’t tell if it was sadness, resignation, or something else entirely.

“The fight would go better with me there, father. The Scourge have already overwhelmed Havenshire - thus increasing their numbers. Defending New Avalon will not be easy. But with our resolve and the Blessing of the Light... I believe that it can be done.”

Charlesh tilted his head, frowning slightly at Sarestha and regarding her silently for a few seconds before replying. “No. It cannot. High General Abbendis has received another vision from the Light. The Scarlet Crusade in this land will fall... it will be abandoned to its doom. But our expedition to Northrend will succeed. We will destroy the Lich King there, the Light has willed it.”

Sara blinked. “What? I... If the Light has spoken, then so be it. Then we need to order a mass-evacuation of the citizens. This expedition to Northrend needs to be made bigger. We need to get everyone out.”

Charlesh’s frown deepened. “My child... We will not be taking any more than those originally chosen by the High General.”

Sara frowned. “What? You can’t seriously mean to-”

Charlesh’s frown grew stern. “Do you question the will of the Light, child?”

“Father, the Scourge is trying to kill us all! It’s not our way to flee our Kingdom, while leaving everyone else to die! The Scarlet Crusade committed to drive the Scourge from these lands, not be driven away ourselves!” Sara replied, anger crossing her features.

Charlesh’s stern frown did not dissipate or increase. “The Light has given us a new path - one that will lead us to ultimate victory. It is not my right to question that.”

Sara glared at her father. “This is insane! You’re giving up everything we fought for!”

Charlesh sighed and briefly looked down. “No. I’m fulfilling everything we fought for. I hope you and your mother both understand that... in the realm beyond this one.” He rose his gaze to fix her with a firm stare again, as he added. “The final choices have been made. You will not be joining us in Northrend. Die well, my daughter. I will avenge your death.” With that, Charlesh turned his back and walked off in the direction of the docks.

Sara stood frozen for a moment. Her own father... abandoned her. But quickly her stunned abandonment turned to abject rage. He was wrong! He had to be! The Scarlet Crusade did not rise only to fall. It was the remnant of Lordaeron, the Kingdom she had sworn her absolute loyalty to - the Kingdom that both her mother and father had fought to protect.

Sara threw back her head and roared in abject fury! She drew her Greatsword, Redemption, from her back. Continuing to roar incoherently, incapable of words at this point, she ran as fast as she could towards the sounds of fighting - towards the New Avalon gates.

There were ghouls everywhere, and they had all but overwhelmed the defenders. Without hesitation, Sara threw herself into the fray, wielding her sword against the undead like a knife through butter! She caved in one ghoul’s skull, then pulled back her sword and executed a slicing blow, beheading another three. Her sword glowed brighter and brighter with Light as she continued to fight, dismembering ghouls left right and centre.

And yet they kept coming.

She kept swinging her sword... but the succeeding ghouls were taking less and less damage as Sara’s arms burned with the strain. Instead of immediately caving in a ghoul’s skull, she had to come back for a second shot as her blade was deflected. Instead of cutting off heads, her sword was getting stuck fast in neck bones. And the Light had begun to dim. The golden glow of her sword was fading... fading... fading.

Finally she was disarmed by a ghoul who managed to get under one of her strikes, and headbutt her hands. Her sword went spiralling out of the way... and she fell to the ground. 

The ghouls quickly took advantage of the situation, piling on top of her. Their mouths were open, their claws were scraping on her armour and her flesh alike... and the stench from the creatures was overwhelming. They bit, chewed and gnawed... and Sara screamed in pain until she could scream no more, reeling as the creatures tore off parts of her armour and began to rip, tear and devour her flesh. One ghoul even came up to her face, and she wanted nothing more than to cry as the creature tore skin from her face, along the jawline. But instead... she felt somehow increasingly detached, as if watching the situation from afar rather than experiencing it. The pain began to stop, even though she was aware of what was happening. Her vision began to dim.

“Enough!” A call came out. Numbly, Sarestha became aware that the ghouls were stepping away... and an undead elf had come to stand above her, frowning slightly as he regarded her form.

As her vision continued to dim, she regarded the man with muted curiousity for just a moment, “A Death Knight...” she realised, before her vision disappeared entirely.

With a last, rattling breath, Sarestha Ravelle was no more.

___________________________________________________

Don’t worry. The story isn’t over yet. Part 3 coming soon!

Rise a Knight (The Story of Sarestha Ravelle)

(Historical Intermission - Prelude to Part 2)

Two years have passed since the most recent part of this story.

In this time, The Scarlet Crusade was far less successful than they had originally hoped, and much of their leadership had fallen apart. Highlord Taelan Fordring, the commander of Hearthglen, and Grand Inquisitor Isillien, the leader of the Crusade’s priesthood, had been killed. To add insult to injury, the Grand Crusader had also been slain during his attempt to reclaim the city of Stratholme. Rumours had even begun to circulate that he had been possessed by a Dreadlord, although these were largely rejected or simply ignored by the Crusade, who continued with their mission irrespective of the Grand Crusader’s status. Following this, the Crusade achieved a considerable victory, collaborating with the racially tolerant and non-extremist Argent Dawn to launch an attack on Naxxramas, the Black Citadel of Kel’thuzad, who led the Scourge in the Plaguelands.

While this eliminated a significant leader in the Plaguelands, the Scourge continued to be significantly powerful in the region. The Crusade’s power further declined when Darion Mograine, a member of the Argent Dawn and son of the Crusade’s first leader, Alexandros Mograine, marched into the Scarlet Monastery, where his father’s ghost apparently killed Renault Mograine, the older son of Alexandros, and the commander of the Scarlet Monastery. High Inquisitor Sally Whitemane was also defeated during this time, although her strong connection with the Light allowed her to heal herself, albeit not in time to save the life of Renault. Darion later perished while assisting the Argent Dawn in the defence of Light’s Hope Chapel, thus ending the Mograine line.

Tyr’s Hand and the Scarlet Enclave remained the main bastion of the Scarlet Crusade’s power, with the Scarlet Monastery and Hearthglen both isolated and in a crisis of leadership, and control over Stratholme lost. High General Brigitte Abbendis, the primary Military leader of the Crusade, took de-facto leadership of the organisation. Claiming to receive visions from the Light, she began to prepare for an elite cadre of Crusaders to set sail to Northrend and attack the Lich King in his own lands. By so doing, they hoped to bring him down in the same way they had brought down Kel’thuzad.

But this may not be what fate has in mind for the Crusaders. A new Scourge Necropolis, Acherus - a citadel stronger than Naxxramas itself, has come to the Scarlet Enclave under the personal command of the Lich King. With it, the Lich King intends to destroy the last significant bastion of power controlled by the Scarlet Crusade, and return control of the Plaguelands to the Scourge....

Watch this space! The Story of Sarestha Part 2: The Scarlet Fall, is coming soon.

_________________________________________________________

All the above information is owned by Blizzard Entertainment. I’m simply summarizing their lore specific to this era of the Scarlet Crusade, to add context to the next story.

Rise, a Knight (The Story of Sarestha Ravelle)

Part 1 - The Scarlet Paladin

“It is time, my child. The sun has risen. Daybreak is upon us.”

Sarestha Ravelle opened her eyes, and turned to face the man who had spoken. He was a rapidly-balding man with brown hair and green eyes. Her father, Charlesh Ravelle. He was dressed in his best robes today - red and gold with his best tabard upon his chest - proudly displaying the Crimson Flame of the Scarlet Crusade. Sarestha was dressed in comparatively simple armour, nowhere near as ornate as that worn by her honoured father - a highly-ranked Inquisitor in Tyr’s Hand.

“Already?” Sarestha said, blinking her eyes, trying to wake herself up without making it obvious she had been asleep.

“Yes, my daughter. It is incredible, isn’t it, how much time can pass by when you spend your time in prayer to the Light?”

Sarestha smiled and nodded, and inwardly cursed herself. She should have had more strength. She should have stayed awake. Today was the most important day of her life, and instead of spending her night in prayer she had, somehow, fallen asleep while kneeling on the cold floor of the Tyr’s Hand chapel. She silently promised herself it would not happen again, before replying.

“I am blessed and grateful that this day has come so soon, Father. I know I am ready to serve the Crusade.”

Charlesh smiled, his usually harsh eyes displaying a gentleness. A pride. “I know you are, Sara. You have fought and trained hard ever since you were a little girl. Ever since the Scourge first turned our lives upside down… Ever since they took your mother, you have been resolute in your training and your teachings. I am proud to call you my daughter, and I am proud that you are able to be proclaimed as a Knight of the Crusade so young.”

Sarestha inclined her head deferentially, a gesture of respect. “You honor me father, thank you. I will serve with pride, as mother did, and as you continue to do.”

“I know you will, Sara. I know you will. Now prepare yourself. The ceremony is about to begin. Are you ready?”

She nodded, solemly. “I am ready.”

Her father nodded, his eyes glistening with pride as he turned around and led her towards the cathedral. She followed, taking deep breaths as she prepared herself for what would no doubt be the biggest day of her life. At 18 years old it was extremely rare for someone Sarestha’s age to be Knighted, but there had been an incident in a battle with the Scourge where many Scarlet Crusaders had returned to Tyr’s Hand unable to speak, feed or dress themselves. Many more had died, although thankfully the mighty relic, Light’s Wrath, had been recovered, and the Scourge had suffered a colossal defeat. Nevertheless, the numbers of the Crusade had been weakened somewhat, and so a handful of young Squires, including Sarestha, had their Knighthood’s pushed forward to accommodate the significant loss.

Sarestha walked slowly up the road to the cathedral, staring at the blood-red symbol of Lordaeron. She remembered an age when it had been blue, but that time was long past. The red represented all they had lost - all the Scourge had taken from the people of Lordaeron. The thought humbled her. She was serving the remnants of her Kingdom, and swearing a solemn oath to avenge the blood that was spilled, and drive the vile undead out of the Kingdom, once and for all. She would not fail in that charge. While it would never be fully the same again, she was determined to ensure that, one day, Lordaeron would once again be free.

She entered the cathedral and looked around. While not filled to capacity, a considerable number of Tyr’s Hand and New Avalon citizens had come to watch the ordination of the new Paladins. Standing near the front of the large cathedral were the nine other candidates of her age, all dressed in polished armour and wearing their tabards proudly, standing before a priest in red, white and gold regalia. Upon close inspection, she recognised him as a certain Bishop Terrence Davis, a friend and former student of her father. Quickening her pace as she realised she was the last one present, she moved to join them. As she made it to her position, the crowd stood, and the Bishop spoke.

“We are gathered here today, in this Blessed House of the Light, to bear witness to these brave young people who are today about to make the most sacred commitment to the Light. The Kingdom of Lordaeron has ever been a beacon of faith and righteousness, and we continue to be blessed. Even in the face of darkest adversity, the Scarlet Crusade endures, and continues to fight the good fight against the undead. We have done this alone, and unaided, and we have shown no signs of losing this battle! It is my prayer that these young men and women will spearhead a new age for Lordaeron, that under the wise guidance of the Light and our Grand Crusader, will bring about a new age of peace and prosperity for our glorious nation!”

The crowd cheered and applauded, some of them intoning a solemn “Amen” in response to the Bishop’s words.

“Already the Grand Crusader is in the process of reclaiming Stratholme, and driving Naxxramas, and the vile Kel’thuzad, from this land forever! He has sworn that Stratholme will rise as the glorious city it once was, and Capital City will follow! All of Lordaeron will follow! The work of the Dread-Prince is to be undone! The Scourge is doomed, for it cannot stand against our Faith, our Righteousness, or our Resolve. Praise be unto Saidan Dathrohan as he leads us into this new age, with the valuable support of our soldiers, and these new young Knights who are about to join the cause!”

The crowd cheered louder, more “Amen’s” echoing through the halls. Sarestha smiled, deeply happy at what she was hearing. Saidan Dathrohan, The Grand Crusader, was a great hero of Lordaeron’s past, and the leader of the Crusade in the present. She was encouraged to hear that his mission in Stratholme was going well.

“Now, brothers and sisters of Lordaeron. Servants of the Scarlet Crusade! Let us pray that the Light bless these young Squires as they swear their oaths, and become Knights.” Terrence looked at the young Squires and lowered his voice. “You will swear your oaths one at a time, and then rise as Knights of the Scarlet Crusade! The Light will be upon you, so speak truly and without falsehood. I will know if there is doubt in your heart. Do you understand?”

The squires nodded their assent. Raising his hands, Terrence called down a pillar of Holy Light in front of himself. “Now, it is time!” Terrence intoned, speaking loudly so the crowd could hear him once again. “Sarestha Ravelle, step forward into the Light, and kneel.”

Sarestha stepped into the pillar of Light as instructed, and knelt before the bishop. She felt the Light all over her body, permeating her body and soul, looking for impurities… and yet offering a calm, soothing feeling. She felt truly content.

“Do you swear to follow the First Virtue of the Light?” Terrence intoned. “Do you swear to show Respect to your fellow Crusaders, and to respect the power of your foes, fighting with honor against all but the Scourge and those who carry their vile taint - whom you will treat without mercy.

Sarestha nodded. “I do”

“Do you swear to follow the Second Virtue of the Light? Do you swear to always live by the tenant of Tenacity? Perservering against even the greatest of odds to fight for what is Right and True? Do you swear to stay true to your beliefs, even if they are challenged in the most vile of ways?”

Sarestha nodded, feeling more determined this time. “I do, now and forever!”

“Do you swear to follow the Third Tenant of the Light, and show Compassion to those humans who are free from Scourge taint, and who fight for Lordaeron? Do you swear, however, to show no mercy to those who dare question our right to fight for our Kingdom? Do you swear to do whatever it takes to ensure that Lordaeron, and The Crusade, endures?”

Sarestha blinked, hestitating briefly. That was new. The Virtue of Compassion had… never been put quite like that before. Nevertheless, after her short hesitation she nodded. It was true, after all, that compassion should not be shown to the Scourge. The idea would be ridiculous. Perhaps, she reasoned, the Three Virtues themselves must be allowed to change, given certain circumstances. “I do.” She said formally.

“Do you swear loyalty to The Scarlet Crusade? Do you swear loyalty to the Kingdom of Lordaeron, promising to love and serve the Grand Crusader and give life and limb for the cause without hesitation if required?”

“I do.”

Terrence smiled. “Then rise, Sarestha Ravelle! Rise, Paladin of the Scarlet Crusade!”

Sarestha stood and turned, waving to to jubilant crowd as they cheered and applauded her! She smiled broadly. Her dreams had been achieved. She was a Paladin… and somehow she knew that she would fight for Lordaeron with her heart, body, mind and soul.

Forever.

Reckoning - A Karaaldos Story

It was done…

A lifetime of running, a lifetime of fighting, and finally the Draenei’s great persecutor was defeated. However it went beyond just Kil’jaeden - the entire Burning Legion was destroyed. Karaaldos made no effort to hide his sobs as the Vindicaar beamed him down.. And he looked upon the new home of his people. Within the Exodar was a crowd of Draenei - normal, Krokul and even a few Lightforged - all reacting with a mix of joy, relief and shock… But all with an undertone of happiness. The impossible had been achieved. The great evil that had chased his people across the stars… was ended.

Even in his wildest dreams, Karaaldos had not imagined that Sargeras could be stopped - he had considered it a miracle to even stop Kil’jaeden. But to everyone’s disbelief, it had been achieved. Argus, while never destined to be saved, was at least free… And his people could finally focus on building a new home - their final home - in peace.

He found himself hugging people in the crowd - men and women he’d never even seen before! He cheered and cried and drank and sang - his emotions as tumultuous as most of his kind. For hours, time seemed to fly by in a blur, as he and many others were lost in the sheer-emotional relief.

Then, time seemed to stand still.

He saw him… standing in a corner, near some stacked crates of supplies. A Vindicator, resplendent in grey and purple armour… wearing a crystalline hammer on his back. The man had a smooth, young face, marred by a few small scars here and there. He was staring at Karaaldos, with a look of fiery and intense hatred. The face was angry. Bitter. Discontented. It was a face both familiar and alien to Karaaldos.

It was his youngest grandson, Vuurak.

As time stood still, the memories returned unbidden. Vuurak had been Karaaldos’ student on Draenor - a happy, optimistic and idealistic young boy, who wanted to become an Anchorite like his grandfather. He was a keen student, who regularly talked of things like sharing the Light with the orcs. Now, it seemed the only way he’d do that was by hitting one with the end of his hammer. Something had drastically changed in Vuurak since the fall of Shattrath, when Karaaldos had last had a civil conversation with him. Where once there was love and joy, there was now hate and anger. Where once there was idealistic hope, there was now only cold, iron resolve. Where there was once a desire for peace, there was now a tendency for violence. While Karaaldos had seen Vuurak around a few times in the recent year - the shock of seeing his face nearly paralysed him on every occasion. So much had changed. So much good and innocence had been swept away by the dark circumstances of Draenor’s fall…. Of its transition into Outland.

Karaaldos could not help but blame himself.

His own smile fading, he walked towards Vuurak, shambling along with the typical limp that his Broken form had left him with. The Vindicator’s eyes narrowed, and he watched Karaaldos closely. As the old Krokul neared, Vuurak nodded his head in the direction of the exit. Karaaldos reached Vuurak and the Vindicator wordlessly turned and began walking in the direction of his nod. The two walked together, leaving the Vault of Lights, and ascending the walkway towards the Exodar’s exit. There were no words spoken.

Karaaldos looked straight ahead, and smiled gently at the irony of the situation. When last they had walked together like this, they were both whole - Draenei of pure body and mind. Now, in a wicked twist of fate, they were BOTH Krokul. Only in different ways. Karaaldos’ form had been broken, and he had been through trials, even losing his powers. At the end of it all, though, he liked to believe that he was a better person than he had ever been. He was more kind, more accepting, and far less judgemental. Vuurak, on the other hand, had retained his body. He had retained his Light. But everything that had once made him Vuurak had fled… leaving an angry shell of his former self. In an unorthodox way, a Krokul like Karaaldos. Both Draenei had been broken by their circumstances - changed into something unrecognisable… but now it was time to heal.

They exited the Exodar, and Vuurak stepped ahead, leading them into the forests of Azuremyst Isle. Even the wild predators seemed to shy away from the intensity of Vuurak’s wordless fury… the sabercats and other creatures cleared the area, their instinct protecting them from the wrath of this embodiment of rage.

Vuurak finally stopped in a small clearing of trees… and turned to face Karaaldos. For just a moment, something crossed his features. A flicker of doubt. A flicker of sadness? But it was gone as quickly as it came - Vuurak’s facial expression quickly became one of abject rage. He spoke, struggling to keep himself calm, his voice trembling with years of pent up emotion.

“You dare celebrate this victory? After what you’ve done to your people? Your own family? You don’t deserve to be here… the Draenei’s new home is too good for a traitor such as you.”

Karaaldos sighed. “I’ve made many mistakes, Vuurak. Staying with the Illidari was one of them. At first, I did it to survive. Then, I stayed because of Nathreza. I believed Illidan’s demon hunters may have been the only way to defeat Kil’jaeden. And with their help… we did more than that.”

“You’d DARE to JUSTIFY your position!?” Vuurak roared, sparking a mass-fluttering of birds as they fled their trees and left the scene. “It wasn’t the Legion, but forces of your oh-so-precious LORD OF OUTLAND who killed my father! My mother! My SISTERS! All before my eyes!”

Karaaldos nodded. He seemed to deflate. “We’ve had this conversation before, my child. You know I left the Illidari behind me. You know I acknowledged it as a mistake. If it makes you feel better, I was not treated well there. Some Demon Hunters seemed to enjoy punishing many of my race for Akama’s betrayal.” He smiled gently. “So I’ve already paid much of my recompense. Much of it deserved.”

“There’s only one way your debt can truly be paid, traitor.” Vuurak growled. “Your death will ensure you can NEVER hurt anyone again.”

Karaaldos nodded again, expressionless. “Then… by all means, my grandson.. Proceed. But know that I love you. I love you with all my heart, and I always will. Just as I loved your father, your mother, your sisters. Nothing in this world matters to me more than you. Nothing.” His eyes welled up with moisture as he continued. “I never realised what had happened. I would never have willingly played a part in the deaths of those I loved. But when I heard that you had survived… I was pleased. I was so happy - so hopeful for the future. But for your own sake Vuurak, before you do with me as you see fit… please let me ask you just one thing.”

Vuurak stared at Karaaldos, the anger still imprinted on his features and radiating off him like heat from a fire… but he nodded once.

“When I’m gone… don’t hold onto your anger. If my existence is the reason that my hopeful, loving grandson has been so consumed by rage that even the Legion’s defeat cannot cause him to smile… then I will pay the price of my life gladly. But when I’m gone, Vuurak… don’t hold onto your anger anymore. Let it go. Move forward with your partner… with your life. Find your happiness in the world. I beg of you.” Karaaldos sighed, tears openly streaming down his face. He kneeled on the ground, looked up at his grandson one last time… smiled gently, closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I will always love you, my child.”

Vuurak, his face unchanged, took two steps towards Karaaldos. Glaring furiously at the Broken that had once been his grandfather, he drew his hammer, lined it up with the back of Karaaldos’ neck, and he rose it high above his head.

Vuurak roared, a terrible sound, deafeningly loud and mingled with pain and rage.

The hammer descended….

… and landed with a THUMP in the ground next to Karaaldos, sending up a cloud of dust.

Seconds later, Karaaldos felt cold, metal gauntlets grasp his underarms and pull him up, off his knees. Dazed and surprised, he was even more shocked when plate arms wrapped around his back. Vuurak was… hugging him. Karaaldos opened his eyes, and saw a face that was no longer angry. Vuurak had tears streaming from his face, the anger replaced by the immense grief that he had been using rage to push back all this time. Decades-worth of pain and loss fell from his eyes in tears, his lower lip trembling as he clung to Karaaldos’ old, broken body. Through his sobs, he spoke quietly, so Karaaldos could barely hear him. “I.. .forgive you. And… I love you too.”

Karaaldos hugged him back, tightly, tears falling down his own face - mirroring the grief, and relief. Karaaldos… belonged. His grandson had accepted him. Forgiven him. Now, he could finally forgive himself.

As the two Draenei stood together, grandfather and grandson, a sense of peace washed over them both. The Legion was defeated. The rifts that had torn their family apart had taken the first step towards healing. Karaaldos knew that there would still be a long road to travel… but he clung to a new emotion - one that had eluded him, and Vuurak, for many years. One that he knew, in this moment, they both felt again.

Hope.

((Thank you so much to all those who’ve had a hand in Karaaldos’ development. He was originally intended as a plot device, someone who Vuurak would eventually kill, if the old man didn’t end his own life first. But somehow, along this tumultuous road, old Karaaldos’ life was saved... and he’s going to be a major character in my stories going forward. Through the awesome, AWESOME development brought about through RP, this character took directions I never thought he would... leading up till now, the first step in healing the rift between himself and Vuurak.

Special thanks to @anchoritegervas, Karaaldos’ oldest living friend, who has been responsible for a very large degree of his development. I don’t think he would have made it without you, Gerv, and you’ve made me realise just how much of an amazing character he is. Thank you! I also owe thanks to @library-of-the-forgotten, @kaldenflintheart and a non-tumblr person affectionately named Dino for RPing other parts of Karaaldos’ family! The development of healing relations with his son, Telarendon, and his (Alt timeline) granddaughters has also been totally awesome! @ashoka-of-shattrath has also been great to chat to, and has made Karaaldos a lot more open to certain things. The kindness shown to him by a demon hunter while he was Illidari as well has been remarkable, and I think Karaaldos will be truly devastated if/when he finds out Israva is dead @everything-you-mist. He appreciated her more than you know.

Again, thank you all so much! It’s been a whirlwind ride, resolving the story of Karaaldos... and each and every one of you has played a very important part! I look forward to all the plots in the future!))

The Blackened Sky (A Karaaldos Story)

I was ready..... So ready to die.

For so long, my purpose has been vegeance. Righteous vengeance, but vengeance nevertheless. Kil’jaeden needed to die if my people, the Exiled Ones, were to be saved.

My plan was in place. I had made my peace. My friends, my family, they would be better served remembering me as I was; Prelate Karaaldos, a wise and powerful priest of the Light. They did not need the physically and mentally crippled Broken that I had become; the creature that had to resort to fel magic and dark Alliances to merely endure.

I had betrayed the very core ideals of my being, the very core ideals of my people. I knew the consequences would come. But I also knew that if I was to fall... I would fall not as a broken old man, not as a supporter of Illidan Stormrage... but rather in one last brilliant burst of Light. The power of the Light may be beyond me... but I thought I could die with a shining spirit; a resolve to do one last noble act, and save my people from their greatest persecutor.

I gave everything, in the Tomb of Sargeras. Joining the assault, I fought demon after demon, plunging into dark and mysterious halls, with the intent to face down the Betrayer. Kil’jaeden. The demon who would destroy my people. All my power, all my knowledge, and the very last reserves of my life were to be given in the fight for the destiny of the Draenei. Chaos, confusion and death rained around me, but my focus was singular. Kil’jaeden. I must reach Kil’jaeden.

I descended down the halls. I found the great elevator, and then a pit of fire; handily saving myself from burning with a quick levitation enchantment. I saw the broken creature of stone, wondering to myself if it was the Avatar of Sargeras that was rumoured to reside within the temple. I didn’t have much time to speculate, however. There was a portal... a fel portal. The source of the Legion’s invasion. I ran for the portal. I was just about to enter too, when the world around me exploded in green felfire, and searing pain.

But it was not the end. I awoke in the human city of Dalaran. In the infirmary. I was burned and scarred and injured, but not dead. Not yet. Before long, I heard the whispers. Argus. Why does everyone talk about Argus, I wondered to myself.

There was a commotion outside. People were talking, yelling, crying and more. Something was very wrong here. I stood up and walked outside, seeing a crowd looking to the sky. I looked up.

Argus. My home.... and yet, nothing like I remember. It was destroyed, torn as if it had been rent in two by a giant blade, green fel blood and desolate land covering the landscape. The place of beauty unlike anything I had ever seen before had become a place of desolation and ruin. The demon homeworld. But that... is not the true concern.

The problem is that it is here. Why is it here? Is this the Legion’s endgame? Did Kil’jaeden survive, and come to destroy us once and for all?

The Legion took most of my family from me. They took my faith, my power. They took my place among my own people and civilisation. And now... they have taken my last hope for peace. They have taken my final rest from me.

But this isn’t over. Not yet. I will fight, one last time. And Argus... will be my tomb.

Times Change - Chapter 5

Hope and Despair

The Black Temple had been reclaimed by the Broken, with the assistance of their new allies - the blood elves and naga known as Illidari. Lord Illidan had promised that the sacred temple would be returned to the Draenei, under the stewardship of Akama. The Broken were elated! After decades of war, there was finally a piece of hope - a small glimmer of Light in the darkness. Their most sacred city had been reclaimed! It seemed the first step to a greater dream! This would represent the restoration of Draenei civilisation; their return to power in the world named for their colonisation. It also gave them a safe base from where to start anew! A palatial, easily defended fortress, where the Draenei could finally find safe haven after so many years. The Broken Draenei were collectively happy and hopeful for the first time in years, and they dreamed big! Perhaps the other Draenei would flock to their cause, and help them restore Karabor! Rumour had it that the Prophet was planning something, out in the marshes formally swallowed by the Zangar Sea. Perhaps Karabor could give him a refuge! Perhaps it would show their uncorrupted brethren that they still fought for the Light! Perhaps Velen would come and restore the temple, causing it to be a place of Light once more, a beautiful, sparkling monument to Draenei faith and power, rather than a corrupted den of evil.

Eagerly the Draenei anticipated the changeover of power. Eagerly they watched and waited, desperate to purify the temple once again.

But then, days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months... turned to years. And Lord Illidan made no effort to give the temple to the Draenei. In fact, he acted entirely contrary to his promise. Whether officially or not, the Draenei became the lowest caste of his burgeoning society. The Blood Elves and Naga were treated like heroes, whereas the Broken began to be treated like slaves. Lord Illidan forced them to work on all manner of menial projects, all over Draenor. To add insult to injury, they often had to work alongside, if not under the command of, Kargath Bladefist’s Fel Horde, which had sworn to serve Lord Illidan. Working alongside the orcs that had been responsible for so many deaths seemed like a slap in the face to Karaaldos, and for some time he bore it in the hope that Illidan would vacate the temple and leave it in Akama’s hands. But over time, it became more and more clear that Illidan did not have the Broken’s best interests at heart. Rumour even had it that he had even communed directly with Kil’jaeden - the arch-enemy of the Draenei people. Perhaps Lord Illidan was as bad a demon as Magtheridon, who had deceived the Krokul in an effort to cause them further pain. Day by day, the conquest of Karabor felt like less of a heroic victory, and more of a crushing defeat.

The dream of Karabor’s restoration drifted ever further away as well, because instead of purifying the temple, Illidan seemed to be adding to it. He had, for a time, left Outland and fought some great evil on another world, and not much changed. But upon his return he seemed to obsess about defeating the Legion, about defending himself against its armies. He conquered most of what was left of the world and proclaimed himself Lord of Outland. From his seat of power at the Black Temple, he recruited all manner of dark and evil creatures, from fel orcs to demons and beyond. To make matters even worse was the... other. The unknown. Lord Illidan’s special project.

Lord Illidan had sent out some manner of call. He began selecting certain individuals from Kael’thas’ blood elf forces, and isolating them in a particular part of the temple. Before long, others began to make their way to Lord Illidan. These creatures appeared to be elves as well, but they were taller and purple-skinned, more closely resembling Lord Illidan himself. Perhaps they were his own species. In any case, more and more of these elves were recruited and hidden away - and Akama’s Broken were tasked with keeping them healthy. As a former Anchorite and competent healer, Karaaldos had been assigned to the post. He watched the transformation of the elves. Watched their combat skills grow, and watched in horror as they were forced to eat the hearts of demons, and gouge out their own eyes with a knife. He tended to their wounds each day with disgust, as he observed more and more new demonic tattoos on their bodies, and as he watched their skin harden, their eye sockets glow with green energy, their foreheads split and give way to unnatural horns, a sick replica of their master’s. They even began to sprout wings, in some cases. It didn’t take long to realise what Illidan was making, and when he saw how the army of Illidan’s was formed, he was disgusted. The Demon Hunters of the Illidari would be a force to be reckoned with, and were an abomination unlike anything Karaaldos had seen before.

For many Draenei, Karaaldos included, the demon hunters were the final straw. They knew that Illidan had to be dethroned from his seat of power, just as Magtheridon had been. Akama had been secretly plotting with an old enemy of Illidan’s; the uncorrupted night elf named Maiev Shadowsong. She and her small force, supplmented by a small faction of her own Broken, had been working with Akama to defeat Lord Illidan. Maiev, unlike Illidan, had no interest in the Temple at all. She wanted vengeance - to capture the man who had apparently been her prisoner. The Draenei could have Karabor as far as she was concerned, but Illidan himself would be her prize. The bargain was struck, and the planning began. After a time, Akama began to seem less enthused, or at least worried. He was taking a dangerous step for his people. But in the end, his resolve seemed to win out, and a plan was concoted.

Taking the Black Temple would be a near-impossible task. It was a strong, defensible citadel. Short of opening a breach somewhere, the great walls and gates could hold off an army ten times the size of the one garrisoned within. But an opportunity had arisen whereby Illidan was going to leave the temple for the Hand of Gul’dan, and conduct a ritual to summon a portal for some mysterious mission or another. He would be accompanied by a guard of naga, elves, and even fel orcs, but... he would be out in the open, and Akama had said his guard would be small, to ensure maximum secrecy. This was the one chance that the Broken had of fighting Illidan on their own terms, and Maiev’s forces were more than happy to join in. The board was set, and the assault was to begin.

________________________________________________________________

Karaaldos marched alongside his friend Gorabon, the former Rangari, as they approached the Hand of Gul’dan - the dark, unnatural volcano that dominated the once-beautiful landscape of Shadowmoon Valley. Behind them was a small support force, comprised of 20 former Rangari, 5 shadow priests, and 5 shaman. The former Prelate Karaaldos was now an Elder Sage of the Ashtongue, and Gorabon was his second-in-command. They marched as stealthily as possible from the west, alongside the rest of the ragtag army assembled by Akama and Maiev, who led the force from the front. Karaaldos glanced up at the volcano, an eternal reminder of all his people had lost, shooting green fel fire into the air, and causing the earth to shake. He grimaced.

Gorabon looked at him, and put a hand on his shoulder as they walked. “You seem troubled, Elder Sage. What is on your mind?”

“If we lose today, Gorabon, we’ve lost everything.” Karaaldos replied, his voice kept quiet so that nobody other than Gorabon could hear him.

“We’ve already lost everything, my old friend.” Gorabon said, looking him in the eye. “This may be our only chance to begin our restoration. It may take the rest of our lives, but I know this for certain. It all starts... or ends... here. Illidan is open. We can win this.”

Karaaldos nodded, and looked at Akama in the distance. “You are right, Gorabon. I’m sorry. For so long we have had nothing but despair. This victory could change... everything.” He tried to smile at Gorabon, but then looked at Akama again. He seemed to be devoid of energy, tired and dejected. Something about it didn’t seem right. That was not the Akama that Karaaldos remembered, but their experiences had changed them all. He frowned, and then continued to march onwards.

As they approached the Hand itself, the traditional marching was replaced by stealth. Small groups moving from rock to rock, step by step, gradually edging into position to surround the ritual location. Before long they had a view of what they would face. A number of ritual circles were formed, and manned by thirteen summoners each. They chanted and gestured, and Karaaldos could feel the fel energy in the air. Something was about to happen. He looked around and saw that there were robed Illidari scattered throughout the site, but there were more summoners than these mysterious bodyguards. Lord Illidan himself stood in the centre, arrogantly giving orders and overseeing proceedings. Karaaldos knew this was it. He knew the time had come. He nodded at Gorabon and his forces, who nodded silently in return. Each one of them was determined, and ready to fight to the bitter end. In the distance, Maiev raised her armoured hand and gave the signal to attack! They fell upon the Illidari forces quickly, and Illidan did not even seem to immediately notice them. Karaaldos tried to attack the minds of some summoners, but found them too focused... which was a good thing. He grinned. If they did not notice his mental attack, then they would barely notice the mundane. He gave the order and arrows flew, taking down a number of summoners while the main force did the same with swords, axes and glaives.

Maiev’s force in particular fought with incredible ability, and moved at an astonishing rate, seeming to not even need to stop as they ran towards Illidan, cutting down all those who got in their way! Karaaldos couldn’t believe it! They were actually going to win!

Then, Lord Illidan’s head turned towards the force. Illidan looked directly at Maiev, and raised his warglaives above his head.

A magical signal blazed.

And chaos ensued.

All around them, magical portals began to open up. Reality was torn asunder and hundreds upon hundreds of naga and fel orcs raced out of the portal, fully armed and ready for battle. Leading them was a creature that Karaaldos remembered from his first encounter with the Illidari. Lady Vashj. She shot cold arrows in all directions, freezing various soldiers in their place! She shot with alarming speed and accuracy, and one by one more and more soldiers fell to her. The tables had turned!

Karaaldos’ heart fell.

He looked around him, looked back at his force, at the determined Gorabon, at the terrified people in his service. It was a trap. It was always a trap. Somehow, Illidan knew.

He was dimly aware of Maiev shouting orders to her soldiers. But he could see the battle was lost.

His soldiers fought off a fel-orc onslaught, being forced to retreat as the red creatures charged at them, evil grins on their faces! Karaaldos’ force held their own with magical and mundane might, but slowly many of his forces began to fall. Some were dead, some wounded, and some dying. About a quarter of his force remained standing, and he snarled, breaking the minds of fel orcs and using all his energy to stay standing! Gorabon stood next to him, fighting now with a broken axe handle, and giving the battle everything he had.

Then, time seemed to stand still as Lord Illidan took off, and hovered above them in the air, his great wings spread! He laughed a sick, twisted laugh. The eerie laugh of an evil being completely victorious! As if by silent command, the remaining summoners returned to their ritual. Black spheres swirled above the battlefield. Long tentacles of darkness reached out... and touched the wounded and the dying, including those in Karaaldos’ force. When they touched, the living victims screamed and aged years in seconds, as if their very life was being drawn out of them. Black sparks shot out of their bodies and were pulled into the black spheres.

Karaaldos screamed in a way that must have sounded similar to that of the victims; a scream of total horror and despair. He couldn’t believe it! Souls! The souls of the dead were sacred to the Draenei, and now Illidan denied his former allies even the peace of death! The essences of their being were ripped from their bodies to be used as fuel for some ritual. Karaaldos was sick to his stomach, and blinded to all reason. The last moment of hope for the Broken had become a moment of utter despair.

The rest of the ritual passed Karaaldos by, being to horrifying for his brain to comprehend. But he dimly remembered the spheres growing bigger, and combining to form a great portal. He vaguely remembered Akama screaming that this hadn’t been the plan, and he remembered the fighting continuing, though he himself was too paralyzed by the evil, soul sucking ritual for which his beloved people had been fuel. And then he remembered the demon hunters, charging out of portals from the Black Temple, and making their way towards the larger portal, summoned at the price of his people’s very being.

When next he became fully aware, he was bound at the feet of some naga, who oversaw him, Gorabon, and their few remaining soldiers. They looked disdainfully at Karaaldos, and their commander, a sea witch of some kind, hissed. “Look, the Broken has finally stopped crying...” She rasped an otherworldly laugh, and the other naga joined in. But Karaaldos’ attention was piqued by something else. Illidan and the demon hunters were returning through the portal. Whatever they had done... it seemed to have been successful, although their numbers were somewhat reduced. The portal closed behind them. The Illidari forces guarding the captives all fell silent and turned as Illidan rose, and began to speak, his voice carrying across the plain.

“Today, we have struck a blow against the Burning Legion the like of which has not been felt in ten thousand years. We have slaughtered dreadlords and ravaged their world. We have shown them that they are not immune to our vengeance. That they will be brought to justice and made to atone for their deeds.”

The demon hunters smiled, and exuded approval! Karaaldos could feel their collective thoughts plainly, and saw images of what they had achieved. A Legion world. Dreadlords. Archives. Some sort of attack... that left Dreadlords permanenetly dead? The thoughts flew at him, and his jaw dropped. He needed to learn more of this. Had the Illidari truly dealt such a blow to the Legion? He listened intently to Illidan as he continued.

“We have slain thousands and lured their armies into a trap that killed a hundred times that number, and we have this!” Illidan brandished a large, green-runed disk. Its power was clear, and Karaaldos sensed it had something to do with the archives he received images of from the triumphant minds of the demon hunters.

Illidan continued triumphantly. “We have found the key to the homeworld of Kil’jaeden and Archimonde, to a place where the Legion’s commanders can finally be slain. We have uncovered the location of Argus!”

Karaaldos gasped audibly, bringing some looks from those near him. Gorabon’s eyebrows shot up, and the Broken near them looked awed. Murmurs began to break out among the nearby broken, and all over the area. “Could it be true?” “After all this time?” “They can be defeated?” “Is Illidan the answer after all?”

Illidan was not phased by any reactions, and continued. “The Legion has destroyed world after world, enslaved and massacred nation after nation. Now it will reap what it has sown. Today we have slaughtered the Nathrezim, and that is only the first step. Today, we put our feet on the path to ultimate victory! Today we found the means to cut off the head that guides our foe. We are taking the war to Kil’jaeden! We are going to teach him the meaning of defeat!”

Illidan concluded his speech and moved on, and the cheers of the demon hunters echoed across the valley. Karaaldos simply watched in astonishment. The day had been a day of failure, a day of despair. And yet....

It brought with it the message of a world of demons defeated. Of a way back to Argus. Of a solution to Kil’jaeden’s relentless genocide of the Draenei people. For all Illidan had done, Kil’jaeden and his puppet Gul’dan had done so much more evil to the Draenei. Perhaps Kil’jaeden could be defeated after all?

Karaaldos felt despair. Overwhelming despair and horror at what he had just been forced to watch. What he had seen, and what he had unwittingly led some of his people into. And yet... there was a glimmer of hope. A hope that came at a terrible price.

Karaaldos knew what had to be done. He knew the price was high. He would make a deal with a lesser evil, to combat a greater one.

With fear and sinking dread in his heart, Karaaldos watched the demon hunters, and then closed his eyes.

For too long his people had been forced to run from the Legion. These were going to face them in combat. Karaaldos had no delusions of reclaiming Argus, but a strike force designed to kill Kil’jaeden? If that could be achieved... at the very least his people would not be specifically targeted by the Legion.

A noble purpose stood before him. The salvation of his people...

He knew it could be done, but it would come at the cost of his own soul, and likely the souls of many others as well. He knew that he could not truly serve the Illidari without tacitly condoning such evil heresy.

A tear slid down Karaaldos’ face as his feelings clashed and warred against each other. He kept his eyes screwed shut, trying to deal with what he was feeling.

Hope and despair.

__________________________________________

Credit for all Illidan dialogue and many of the descriptions in this story goes to Blizzard and William King, for the novel; Illidan. You can find the story in which Karaaldos was just a piece, in chapters 16 through to 19. I do not claim ownership of these characters, I merely write my own character’s role to play in this universe. :)

Strength - The Story of Haldreth

((I thought I’d start a backstory series on Haldreth Firebeard, my iconic dwarf and in-character guild officer! Can’t guarantee its release schedule, as it’s a busy time of year and I still have Karaaldos to finish. But here’s a taste, with the first chapter!))

Chapter 1: A Whisper in the Wind

Dorgus Firebeard puffed on his pipe as he looked out the window, shaking his head. His four youngest children were walking around, chatting excitedly. Well, three of them were at least. The youngest, a boy named Haldreth, remained quiet and distant. He sat on the ground, staring off into space.

“Lives in a dream world, tha’ one.” Dorgus sighed to his wife, Gavina. “What’d I do tae deserve a son like him?”

Gavina shot him a glare. “He’s our son, Dorgus. It’s yer own bloody fault ye had him, and ye can jus’ get over th’ fact tha’ he doesn’t fit every little thing ye want. He’s a lovely boy. Just quiet.”

“Quiet and weak.” Dorgus replied, distaste evident in his voice. “Th’ Firebeard Clan are a family of warriors. He’ll never make a decent warrior. No’ wit’ tha’ foot o’ his. He’s an embarrassment tae me.”

Haldreth had been born with a club foot. It was bent and twisted out of shape, and the young dwarf was thus afflicted with a permanent limp. He couldn’t move fast, he couldn’t maintain the balance to ever have a decent hammer-swing, and he’d probably never manage to ride a gryphon well if he couldn’t control the stirrups. This was an embarrassment to Dorgus, because he was a proud and strong warrior and gryphon rider of his clan. Dark Iron Dwarves and Trolls alike fled from his gryphon, Thunderwing, and fled even faster from his storm hammer. His skill was impressive, and he was well regarded. He had eight children, two of them already gryphon riders of the clan, and another two in training. His youngest four children were still just that, children.

“Kaern, Helgrus, Hilde, Norgoth, Halgrum, Eowynn, and Alan are fine.” Retorted Gavina. “Give th’ boy a chance. He’s no’ yet twelve, Dorgus ye ugly bastard. Who knows wha’ th’ future may bring? He’s go’ a brain on him. Tha’ alone might be enough.”

Dorgus’ beard bristled, and the argument continued.

Haldreth frowned, his anger growing silently within, and yet tightly controlled. Once again, they thought he couldn’t hear them. Ordinarilly, he shouldn’t have been able to, in fact. But Haldreth had always had unusually keen eyesight, and incredibly keen hearing. Nature’s compensation for his deformity, he thought. He knew what his father thought of him, and he thought the same in return. He hated his father. One day he’d show his father everything he could do.

The twelve year old dwarf boy stood, and hobbled around the garden, checking on the section that he had planted. He made an effort to busy himself doing the weeding, another strategy to avoid his siblings. Alas, he was soon noticed.

Halgrum, his sixteen year old brother who had the makings of a fine beard already, laughed at Hald. “Oi, Haldy Waldy, whatcha doin’ there?”

Hald scowled. “Fixin’ th’ garden ye great lummox. If ye had brains in yer head instead o’ rocks, ye’d notice tha’.”

Halgrum laughed. “Oh, good one, little brother. Ye know wha’ else is a good one?”

Hald looked at him. “Yeah, you pissin’ off.”

Halgrum shook his head. “No, brother. Check this out.” He picked up a hammer from the side of the house.

Haldreth turned and faced him. “Oh, ye finally found somethin’ wit’ th’ same IQ as ye. Well done.”

Alan, Hald’s closest brother in age, snorted at the comment, then awkwardly returned to looking serious after Halgrum gave him a look.

Halgrum turned a menacing grin on Hald, then ran at the garden. Hald tried to block him, but was no match for his older brother’s speed. Halgrum smashed up the garden with his hammer, then rounded on Hald and kicked him hard in the side of his bad foot. Twice. Hald fell to the ground, right into the garden in fact, crying out in pain. Tears flowed down his cheeks.

“Look at th’ crybaby” Yelled Halgrum, grinning at his other siblings. They grinned back, Alan less enthusiastically than Eowynn, his sister.

Dorgus opened the door and walked outside. “Wha’ happened here?” He growled, looking at the garden, then his crying youngest son, with disgust.

Halgrum grinned. “Hald and I were just playin’ around, wrestlin’. Once again, he was too weak tae handle it. He’s a wimp, Pop. Shoulda crushed his skull in and put him out of his misery when he was born.”

Dorgus looked at Haldreth with disgust. “Yeah, maybe.” He grunted. “Stand up, ye bloody wimp.” He walked over and kicked Haldreth in the side.

Hald stood, shaking. It was agony to stand, but he wasn’t going to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him lie there. He stood tall and looked his father in the eyes, trying to control his tears.

Dorgus glared at him. “Real Wildhammer dwarves don’t cry, son. Real Firebeards are strong. Nothin’ gets under their skin. MAN UP!” He yelled. Then he shook his head, and spoke quietly. “But then, who am I kiddin’? You’re not a real Wildhammer. Yer no’ a real Firebeard.... You’re a weaklin’ and a disgrace.... And no son of mine..... Ye can’t be. My family are tough. But you..?” He spat on the ground, and turned his back.

Haldreth fumed inside. He was furious that he couldn’t hold back the tears, furious that his family was so cruel, and furious at the world in general.

Dorgus sighed, then looked at his other children. “I was comin’ tae collect ye anyway. Yer mother says Ol’ Bessie McBeaks’ eggs are about tae hatch. Since she’s yer mother’s gryphon, we’ve got first pick o’ th’ hatchlings. There’s four o’ them there. Let’s go.”

The others cheered and followed as their father strode off to the town’s gryphon roost with a quick stride. Haldreth grunted and began to follow as best he could, albeit with no luck keeping up.

When Haldreth finally made it to the gryphon roost, his father was nearly done giving a speech. “.... And I tell ye this, lads and lass. Choose carefully. A gryphon is a companion fer a lifetime, or most of it at least. Look th’ chicks in th’ eye. See who comes tae ye. Gauge their qualities with a keen eye. Then ye gotta give em a name. Make it mean somethin’. Halgrum, you’re up first.” 

Halgrum stepped forward. He picked up the biggest chick without hesitation. “This one’ll have a beak like a meathook, and claws as strong as stone. I’ll call her Stoneclaw.”

“Probably StoneBrain was well” Haldreth thought to himself. The chick looked as vague and confused as its new owner.

Eowynn stepped forward. “I choose this one. She’s no’ as big as Stoneclaw, but look at how she’s a wee long in’ th’ legs. She’ll be tall and slender, I reckon. Fast. I’ll call her Zoom.”

Dorgus blinked at the name, then chuckled. “Alright, lass. Zoom it is. Alan, yer up.”

Alan chose one that seemed a bit fretful at the disappearance of its siblings. Compassion was one of Alan’s key traits, and thus it made sense. Haldreth found him the most agreeable of his siblings, but found his pity annoying. Haldreth didn’t want pity. He wanted to be strong, and prove them all wrong.

Alan picked up the chick and held it close. “I’ll name this little fella Azul. See his concern? His care? He’ll be dependable and loyal.”

Dorgus nodded.

The word Azul was old dwarvish for “Dependable.” An apt name, Haldreth thought.

Haldreth stepped forward, ready to take the last grypon. Truthfully, the last one was the one he wanted. It was the smallest, probably the weakest. There was little signalling it out as a fine steed... except for one thing. Its eyes. They shone brightly, and Haldreth could see determination in them. He saw a kindred spirit.

“What are ye bloody well doin’?” Exclaimed Dorgus as Hald got closer.

Hald blinked. “It’s my turn. He’s the last one.”

Dorgus sneered. “Wha’, ye think yer ready for a gryphon? Ye’ll probably sit on it, just like th’ garden. Nay lad, ye ain’t ready fer a gryphon, and ye never will be.”

Hald glared daggers at his father. Halgrum grinned, as did Eowynn. Alan looked at his father. “Pop...” he muttered. “Give him a chance.”

Dorgus glared at Alan. “Trust me Alan, I’ve given him too many already.” he turned his gaze to Haldreth. “Haldreth - go home. Now.”

Hald glared right back. “No.”

Dorgus growled. “What did ye say tae me? Ye dare disrespect me?”

Hald shouted his reply. “All ye ever do is disrespect me!”

The wind began to blow. The clouds darkened. And Haldreth’s vision went black.

A voice spoke out. “You are not alone, Haldreth Firebeard.” It spoke with a whisper, as if it was the barest breath. But Haldreth heard it.

“Well, I damn well feel it.” He said. “Where am I? I can’t see.”

“You are in a vision.” The whisper replied.

“A vision of your present, and your future.” Another voice spoke. This one was deep and rumbling. Like a rockslide.

Suddenly it dawned on Haldreth. Elementals. The spirits.

“The Wildhammers are children of the sky, and children of the earth.” A new voice said. This one flowed and rushed like a waterfall, the voice modulating as if being pushed and pulled. Water. “Your destiny is a great one, Haldreth. You have been chosen by the elements, and you will become a shaman of the Wildhammer. But there is a greater destiny yet for you still.”

A final voice spoke, this time with anger and passion. Fire. “You will be the one to revive an ancient order. Knowledge lost to time is going to return. It will be necessary for it to return. In the coming years, everything about this world is going to change. You are needed.”

“But...” Haldreth said. “I.. I’m a cripple. Wha’ could ye possibly use me for?”

“You have more worth than you know” whispered the wind.

“And more strength” added the earth.

“You are capable of adaptation” added the water.

“And your rage gives you power.” added the fire.

They spoke in unison. “We give you our strength.”

For a second he saw row upon row of Wildhammer dwarves. Ghosts. He saw four elementals. His brain seemed to... click. Connect to something. And he opened his eyes.

No time had passed, none at all. The vision happened in an instant. He heard the echo of his own phrase, and his father’s reply.

“Do ye challenge me, boy?” He growled, darkly and dangerously. Even Haldreth’s siblings backed away. Eowynn’s gryphon ran off, and she chased after it.

Haldreth grinned. He still had his club foot, but he felt something new. Something powerful. Something dangerous. He was twelve years old, and yet he felt convinced that he was stronger than his father in this moment. He held his chin high, looked into his father’s eyes, and said, quite simply. “Yes”

Haldreth stomped his club foot on the ground. He winced, expecting pain, but the earth responded to him. It caved in where he stepped, and with a loud CRACK rose up to surround his father’s body. A cone of stone surrounded the old man in an instant. His eyebrows shot up. He stood completely stunned.

Halgrum ran off rapidly, perhaps fleeing potential revenge for before. Alan just stood still, looking between Haldreth and his father.

Haldreth was stunned as well. “Did... did I do that...?” He thought to himself. Outwardly however, he could finally appear tough, and he did so.

“You say I’m weak, father? I say you’re the weak one. I am no son of yours? An embarrassment? Well, I think we can agree. How embarrassin’ is it to have a father who can be beaten up by a twelve year old?” He chuckled.

Dorgus snarled. “Ye took me by surprise ye bastard!”

Haldreth smiled. “Still won though, ye piece o’ troll dung.” He gave his father the middle finger, and looked at the tiny gryphon. Somehow not scared, the little gryphon had climbed up the rock, and looked at Dorgus’ face. He squawked, and pecked him under the right eye.

Dorgus grunted “Bloody bird! Alan, help me out o’ here! Get it off me!”

The small gryphon’s beak cut into Dorgus’ flesh, and as Dorgus wrenched away, it pulled further down. It left an inch-long cut down Dorgus’ face. The gryphon chirped and jumped off, onto Haldreth’s arm. Hald grinned, smugly. Alan just stood there.

“I’ll name my gryphon Skyrazor. Not only will he help me control th’ skies, but he’ll cut through anyone who gets in my way. Farewell, Pop.” Haldreth said with a malicious grin, and limped outside. The gryphon followed happily.

Putting his feet to the road, and limping along, Haldreth walked with a newfound purpose, his new gryphon hatchling following happily along behind him. There was nothing left for him in Kirthaven, save for his friend Torgrum, and they could stay in touch, especially when their gryphons grew up. Haldreth would make for the Northern Wildhammer clan, in the Hinterlands. The primary home of his people. There he knew he could build a new life. A life where, despite his physical infirmity, he would not be weak.

He would be strong. And he would dedicate himself to strength for the rest of his days.

He walked onward, into the west. Into the sunset.

Into his destiny.

___________________________________________

Character mentions: Torgrum as Hald’s childhood friend -

@kaldenflintheart

Times Change - Chapter 4

Illidan

Time had passed.

The very world had exploded, in terrible fury.

The orcish warlock, Ner’zhul, had opened a number of portals. Karaaldos did not know why. All he knew, was that the portals accomplished two things.

Firstly, they tore the planet apart. The skies burned with terrible fury and the earth shook for years afterward. Many had perished in the breaking. Much of the world collapsed into the Nether, the swirling energies consuming the broken earth as it fell away. The oceans had drained with an ear-shattering rush, the water falling endlessly into nothingness! Entire cities, such as the ruins of Telmor, and the massive ogre city of Highmaul, were destroyed in seconds.

Secondly, they paved the way for demons. Just as it was looking like the orcs were leaving the world, like their massive forces had dwindled… the demons came instead.

The Burning Legion became the masters of Draenor, now spoken of as Outland by some, a desolate, forsaken place. Their leader, the colossal Pit Lord, Magtheridon, quickly established his seat of power… in Karabor of all places. Once it was the holiest place of the Draenei nation, but now it was a Black Temple, and home of the Legion.

Many years had passed since the breaking of the world. The Broken Draenei, now entirely isolated from their non-corrupted kin, had broken off into various camps and groups. Most of them embraced something of a tribal society, acknowledging that they were not what they once were. After all, their former kin treated them with contempt at best, and outright hostility at worst.

First of all, were the Lost Ones. These Broken had deteriorated to such an extent that there was nothing left that identified them as Draenei. Their skin was brown or grey, their feet were clawed, and their minds…. Were simple. Corrupted to such an extent that most of them, if not all, had no idea who they once were. It was a depressing reality, to see the majestic Draenei who had once ruled the world as nothing more than brutes and savages.

Secondly, there were the Kurenai. These Broken had not given up the possibility of reconnecting with their uncorrupted brethren, and made every effort to reach out. Karaaldos admired their ideals, but saw them as hopeless and foolish. Nevertheless, they operated out of the former Draenei town of Telaar in Nagrand, where Karaaldos had once lived and worked, as a Prelate. That life seemed so distant now….

Thirdly, there were the Ashtongue tribe. A large concentration of the Draenei people, Karaaldos among them, had followed the former Exarch, Akama. He too was broken, and his charisma had attracted many followers. Dwelling in what was left of Shadowmoon Valley, they had originally possessed the grand goal of capturing and purifying the Temple of Karabor, now the Black Temple of Magtheridon. Karaaldos wasn’t sure why he fought for that goal. In part, it was tradition. The idea of saving just that one part of Draenei society, that one monument to their nation’s former greatness, appealed to him greatly. Perhaps he would be able to do good, to do something useful again.

It did not work out that way.

Magtheridon had sent his fel orcs against the Ashtongue, and while a dwindled population, the orcs were still a formidable force, and more sadistic than ever. Magtheridon’s orcs had red skin, and demonic protrusions, even more fel corrupted than their predecessors. They were physically stronger than the Broken, more numerous than the Broken, and led by an absolute sadist; Warchief Kargath Bladefist.

The Draenei and orcs had battled at a stalemate for some time, but eventually the orcs began to win. The Ashtongue population was dwindling, and their situation was hopeless.

One day, the orcs attacked Akama’s main village in the ruins of Embaari. Reinforcements were too far away, and it looked as if the orcs would finally triumph. The battle was fierce, but inevitably swinging in their favour.

Karaaldos fought in the battle, the tattered remnants of his hope beginning to fade.

He may have lost his Light, but his ability to penetrate the mind had not left him. Once, he had used it to heal and to calm. Now, he used it to cause pain and suffering.

He glared at an orcish warrior running for him. The orc raised his axe. Karaaldos raised his hand. Suddenly the orc fell to the ground, clutching his head and screaming. Karaaldos sent images to another orc, making him see only Broken Draenei around him. The orc cried out in alarm, and began attacking his own forces.

This kind of magic was effective, but exhausting. He began to puff heavily, his own head aching. Nevertheless, he continued his assault.

Mind magic was effective not only for rendering his enemies incompetent, but also for learning from them. If he was to continue fighting, Karaaldos knew he must do so now.

With a hint of reluctance, and a lot of disgust, Karaaldos targeted an enemy warlock with his mental spells. He knew he would need to focus, so he raised his now-scratchy and halting harsh whisper of a voice, and yelled to the Ashtongue around him.

“Protect me… I attack… the warlock…”

Five Ashtongue warriors surrounded him and guarded him from attack. He focused his full fury on the warlock.

The struggle commenced. Mind against mind. Despite the lack of physical conflict, the battle between them was intense, and they both groaned in pain. Finally, Karaaldos broke through his defences. With a roar he smashed into the warlock’s mind, dazing him, and pulled his knowledge from it. Everything. As the warlock dropped to the ground, dead, Karaaldos’ mind was flooded with images.

The orc as a brown-skinned toddler, hugging his parents as he played with a toy. The orc as he became a shaman of his clan, kneeling before the feet of the Shadowmoon chieftain, Ner’zhul. The orc as he listened to Gul’dan’s offers, and accepted them. The orc as he butchered innocent Draenei with terrible fel magic, and so it continued, right up to Magtheridon and the conflict they now fought.

With a practiced efficiency, Karaaldos sorted through the memories. He discarded the ones he did not need, and focused on what he was looking for; the orcs memory on how to summon felfire blasts, and to drain life.

He stood dazed for another two moments, then ran into the fray. By now, the Ashtongue were certainly losing. The fighting was house to house and disorganized on both sides. With a pang, Karaaldos was reminded of Shattrath, though he kept pushing on… now offsetting his mental attacks with bolts of felfire.

“Does this make me a warlock?” Karaaldos thought with despair. “I am wielding the weapon of the enemy…” Then he sighed. “No, I will use their weapons, but not their demons! Their knowledge will be mine, but not their creatures.” He nodded. That would do for now.

The Broken were getting pushed back and half of their settlement was in ruins. The orcs continued to move forward with a vengeance. Karaaldos grimaced and prepared for what he knew to be his final battle, listening to the orders that Akama barked.

Then… a horn sounded, and another army joined the fray. It was an odd conglomerate of pale skinned, slender humanoid creatures with pointy ears, and strange large snake-creatures. They spoke in another language, hissing and yelling out orders. Karaaldos was stunned, he had never seen their like.

They slammed, organized and efficient, into the orcish ranks, and the battle was over within minutes. The rabble of orcs was no match for this fresh, new force. They showed the Draenei no hostility at all. Karaaldos was confused. “What are they?” He asked no-one in particular. He walked nearer to Akama, who seemed to have some idea what was going on.

The combined pale-creature and snake army assembled just outside the ruins, and two individuals came forward. One was a majestically dressed pale skin, wearing ornate red and gold armour ordained with a black cloak. Around his head circled fire energy, ready to strike out at enemies. He was obviously a mage of some sort. His companion was a tall snake woman with four arms, and… snakes for hair. Odd. Karaaldos realised as the pale-skinned leader got closer that he had seen his like before. Creatures from that other world, this “Alliance” that had attacked the orcs in their own lands. The Draenei had never connected with them, not wanting to risk attack by another foreign group, but they had seen them before. This one, he believed, was an elf.

As the two approached, Akama stepped forward. “I am Akama, Elder Sage of the Draenei. Lord Illidan promised to rid us of our ancient enemies in exchange for our loyalty.”

Karaaldos’ eyebrows shot up.

Akama continued. “These cursed orcs serve Magtheridon – a terrible lord, whose Black Temple lies to the east. Under his command, the orcs hunted us to the brink of extinction. But now, with Lord Illidan behind us, we will fight back, and retake our ancestral lands.”

In Karaaldos’ opinion, Akama’s tone sounded guarded. Cautious. Perhaps he was wary that these were not the reinforcements he had been promised by this Lord.

The snake creature spoke up. “We also serve Illidan, old one.” She hissed.

The elf simply watched quietly, seeming intrigued.

Akama smiled gently. Was that a hint of hope? “Very well, stranger.”

Karaaldos, with the rest of his kind, were briefed on the plan. This Lord Illidan had come to the world in an effort to dethrone Magtheridon. He would close the demonic portals that Ner’zhul had originally opened, thus preventing the Legion from easily gaining reinforcements. Akama organised the troops and led them out.

Karaaldos stayed behind and saw to the rebuilding of the settlement, as well as stealing what rations they could from the orcish base camp. He worked hard into the night, and mere nights later, was given a new mission.

_______________________________________________________________

Karaaldos marched forward along the road through the desolation of Shadowmoon, led by Akama and surrounded by most of his kin. The Ashtongue Broken were joining Illidan in their attack on Magtheridon’s Black Temple.

Karaaldos was emotional just thinking about it, but when they rounded the corner and he saw it up-close for the first time in such a very long time, he openly wept. He wasn’t the only one.

Karabor was both heartbreakingly familiar, and not. The beautiful colours of the walls had faded, leaving them an awful brown. Fel fires burned where once waterfalls fell, rubble remained where once wonderful statues had towered into the sky, and the temple itself was covered in large, intimidating spikes.

The Draenei approached and were met by some of the serpent creatures. The leader slithered up and hissed “Lord Illidan awaitsss you. Let usss be off.” They led the Draenei to the main force. Akama, Karaaldos, and a few others broke off from the main army at the snake man’s request, and went to speak to Illidan in person.

As they approached, Karaaldos did a double take. The elf leader, whom he had learned was named “Prince Kael’thas”, stood next to a winged creature he had thought for a moment was a dreadlord. He realised he was incorrect, but he remained wary. The creature looked vaguely like an elf, like Kael’thas, but much bigger and more demonic. His skin was purple, not off-white, his ears were long and pointed, but swept back rather than up. There, the vague similarities ended. The winged creature, whom Karaaldos assumed must be Lord Illidan, was covered in green tattoos. His feet were not feet like the elf’s, but hooves. His hands were clawed and his teeth fanged, and large horns extended from his head. The power emanating from the winged creature was unmistakable. He was a demon, or at least, was heavily corrupted by one. Karaaldos felt a pang of unease. Uncertainty.

The snake woman from the other day, whom he had learned was named Vashj, addressed the demon creature. “Lord Illidan, new arrivals come to greet you.”

Illidan turned and watched Akama. Akama stepped forward. “We Draenei have fought the orcs and their demon masters for generations. Now at last, we will end their curse forever. We are yours to command, Lord Illidan.”

Akama suddenly ran forward. The elven forces attempting to attack the temple gates were being decimated by fel cannons. Akama used his knowledge of the temple and its weak places to slip past unharmed, and destroy the power generator. The cannons died, and the elves stopped advancing. They looked relieved.

Illidan smiled, baring his sharp teeth. “As I promised, your people shall have their vengeance, Akama. By nights end, we will all be drunk with it. Vashj, Kael; give the final order to strike. The hour of wrath has come!”

Illidan’s forces assaulted the temple, the Elves through the main entrance, and the snake creatures attempting to flank them from the side, through the old sewers. A clever idea, Karaaldos thought. Akama’s Draenei joined the elven assault, though an elite team of them slipped through enemy lines to destroy the fel-cannon generators. Together, they destroyed many fel orcs and demons. Karaaldos relished every kill, and fought with a passionate intensity. To be inside Karabor again, and to see it so corrupted, so damaged… so broken… In his mind, there was no thoughts of peace and forgiveness. Only revenge. Heads would roll for what they had done to Karabor!

Karaaldos and those with him were attacking a greater felguard of some kind, and he noticed an orc running off around the corner. No doubt to warn his master. Karaaldos wouldn’t let it happen. He pursued the orc, limp-running as fast as his damaged legs would take him, and crushed the pitiful creature’s mind, causing it to fall to the ground.

Too late, he realised his mistake. He had fled the main army, and was on his own.

On his own, in a temple of demons.

One stepped out of the shadows. For now, he appeared to be alone. That was good, Karaaldos reasoned. One might be defeated.

It was an eredar. A man’ari. Its dark purple skin, broken only by pieces of green fel corruption and bright green eyes, looked almost scaly. The cold smirk on its face was horrifying. It looked like an uncorrupted Draenei in every possible way, save for the fel taint. Karaaldos felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy. Why was it that these creatures suffered fel corruption, and remained the same, while he had been broken by it? He dismissed the thought. There was no time for such things now.

The eredar regarded him, brushing the black hair on his head absently backward. The creature seemed somehow familiar. “Well, well, well.” The eredar said, smirking. “It’s been too long, Karaaldos. You look terrible. You’d be unrecognisable I would think, had I not sensed you.”

That voice, that face. It all came back to Karaaldos. “Theldranas…” He murmured, not believing what he saw. The eredar who stood before him was his younger brother. Almost forgotten in twenty-five thousand years of separation. Karaaldos stood absolutely stunned.

“Then you remember me, big brother.” Theldranas said, disgust evident in his voice. “I used to idolise you… look up to you. Sometimes I even wondered if I made the right decision, accepting the power of Sargeras… I wondered if I should have listened to you, and fled.” His upper lip curled in disgust. “Now look at you. If ever there was evidence of my choice being the right one, it stands before me now. You are a disgusting, devolved wretch, who has no right to call itself eredar. You are weak, and your pitiful Light has fled you. I am a champion of the Legion, a conqueror of worlds. But you? You are utterly broken.”

Karaaldos regarded him silently, letting him finish. When he spoke, it wasn’t with anger, but sadness. He spoke, his voice quiet and calm. “I would rather die a broken man, one who does what is right, than to live as a slave. You think… I did this to myself? No, that was the fault of you and your friends. Even now I fight for good. You fight as a sadistic torturer. No, Theldranas… I may be broken. But I will -never- be as broken as you.”

Theldranas snarled. “Let us see, then, brother!” He roared and drew two large swords, made of black metal and green crystals. He swung the two heavy blades around quickly, aiming to slice Karaaldos in two.

Karaaldos rolled to the ground, dodging the attack narrowly, and regaining his footing a few metres away. He grunted. Damn it, he wasn’t agile, and that had hurt.

Theldranas swung again, his blades now igniting with felfire, and leaving it dripping to the floor, burning under its own power. The blades swung through the air.

Karaaldos ran, ducking. He initiated another spell he had learned from the orcish warlock, and summoned a barrier of fel energy, protecting himself as the blade thundered into the barrier, and rebounded off again.  

Theldranas blinked, surprised. Then he laughed. “Look at you. Forced to stoop to my level, eh? Not bad. Let us see how your power compares to an eredar of the burning Legion.” He raised his hands and fired an intense wave of felfire at Karaaldos’ shield.

Karaaldos grunted as he tried to hold up the barrier. This would be the end… unless……

Karaaldos stopped pouring energy into the barrier. He knew it would only last seconds on its own, but he used the brief time he had to lash out with a last attack. A mental attack.

Karaaldos looked deep, into all the most heartfelt memories he had with his brother. Playing together with toys, amazing things made of materials Karaaldos hadn’t seen or thought of in years, on Argus. Hugging each other when one was sad. The wedding of Karaaldos and Nataara. So many other events, heartfelt moments representing the bond between brothers.

He took them and with all his mental strength, sent them straight into the mind of Theldranas.

Karaaldos’ barrier fell. He roared in pain as he was surrounded by the agonizing fel fire, burned and drowning in a sea of green. Then it suddenly stopped. Karaaldos’ roar of pain was matched by another roar. Theldranas. Karaaldos realised that the mental attack had worked! The old memories were so in conflict with what Theldranas had become that he simply couldn’t bear the intense emotion… the love… of Karaaldos.

Karaaldos kept pushing the mental attack, sending more memories towards his brother, more feelings of love and concern. Memories of feelings the Man’ari, or Legion, eredar had not felt in millennia.

Theldranas was completely overwhelmed. He roared and cried out, clutching his skull. “NO! NO! YOU WILL BURN!” But, he seemed unable to attack. The memories were too much for him.

Karaaldos felt his eyes well up with tears. “I am sorry, Theldranas. I hope that one day, out there in the nether you are bound to…. You will see just how broken you really are. How much you have lost. I may be Broken, brother… but you…. You are utterly shattered.” Karaaldos roared and drew his daggers. He plunged them both into Theldranas’ chest, piercing his heart!

Theldranas roared even louder, and began to glow green!

Karaaldos quickly withdrew, limping and still smouldering from the felfire. He hid behind a wall, and…

BOOM!

CRASH!

The walls shook. Fire filled the hallway! It finally stopped, and Karaaldos peeked around the corner.

Fire burned where Theldranas had been. He was gone. “Not permanently.” Karaaldos reminded himself. “He is a demon; he will be back…” He limped off, feeling an odd mix of emotions.

Karaaldos limped back to his force, weak and tired. When he got back, his people were celebrating! As were the other forces!

One of the Broken, a former Rangari named Gorabon, ran to Karaaldos. “Karaaldos! Magtheridon is defeated! Lord Illidan has triumphed! Karabor is ours!”

Karaaldos smiled, but worry gnawed at his mind. Would Lord Illidan give the temple to the Draenei, or would he simply be a new demon master for a demon temple? Could Karabor ever be truly restored?

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his rising nerves as he realised something terrible.

He did not know.

________________________________________________________________

References:

Akama, Illidan and Vashj dialogue from Warcraft 3; The Frozen Throne.

Times Change

Interlude: Broken

Karaaldos awoke.

But not in the ruins of Shattrath.

He was in a camp of some sort. There were Draenei soldiers guarding it, and… a lot of people who seemed sick, or dazed. He himself struggled to realize where he was. He looked around. “Giant.. giant mushrooms. Am I under the sea?” He laughed, somehow seeming to think it was the funniest thing he possibly could have said.

A guard approached him. “You are safe now… do not fear, sir.”

Karaaldos simply laughed, and then frowned. Shattrath. He remembered. He began crying, feeling immense pain from his right leg. Had it been broken? He didn’t know. He cried, the screams, the dying little girl, his friends falling in battle all around him, all echoing in his mind. As he once again slipped into unconsciousness, the despair lingered fretfully in his mind.

_____

Time passed. Karaaldos’ memory grew ever more fragmented. He awoke each morning and limped around the camp, his right leg heavily slowing him down. Despite this, he helped around the camp, but did not take any leadership responsibilities. He didn’t even tell anyone he was a Prelate, though some seemed to guess and addressed him as such. He felt unwell, the hacking cough not leaving him, and his voice taking on a dreadful hoarse tone, his throat hurting as he spoke.

Representatives from the Prophet had come, they had spoken to the camp, telling them that the goal of the Draenei was now to stay in small, hard to find groups, like the camp he was in. The idea being that there would be no mass concentration of people to massacre, and for the most part the Draenei as a whole could avoid detection. Somehow, Karaaldos felt little hope in the idea. A depression had begun to seep in.  Worst of all, was that when Karaaldos tried to call upon the Light, to heal himself in a moment of sickness…

It failed.

The Light would not heed his call. No matter how hard he prayed, no matter how desperate he was. He did not understand, but he felt its absence as he would feel that of a missing limb. He was cut off, and without the Light, he was weak and useless.

Over time he felt himself getting worse. He and others like him, had begun to physically change. Their arms seemed to swell, their tails seemed to widen and shorten. His own tail felt as if it was being pulled, stretched to the point of tearing. It was agonizing.

Some got worse quicker than others. Soon, the non-affected guards began to whisper. He heard it, sometimes. The words they used. “Infected. Pestilence. They will kills us all.”

They avoided the ever-sickening Draenei like the plague. The survivors of Shattrath were regarded as cursed.

Eventually, they decided to separate. Those who were afflicted, were to maintain their own camps. Everyone else went their separate ways.

They had been cast out from their own people.

Karaaldos only got worse. His tail did tear, separating into three smaller tails. His hair fell out, and his face seemed to stretch, pushed and prodded by an odd pressure from within. His hoofs became lumpy, bony protrusions, and his fingers seemed to rapidly web together, eventually merging from five into three.

He recognized the changes, and saw them in others, but he had refused to look at his reflection, to gaze into pools of water or to find a mirror. He was afraid of what he would see.

One day, he decided to look into the water as he fished. He stood and leaned over the smooth surface, and saw what he had become.

His kind had been given many names by the healthy Draenei, such as cursed, infected, afflicted, and forsaken-of-the-Light. He felt in his heart that he was all of those things. But as he gazed on his reflection, only one word came to mind. A word that seemed to describe all he’d been through, all he had suffered, and all he had lost. He looked upon the reflection of his physical form, and whispered the word that defined his very soul.

“Krokul…”

Broken.

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Part 2, which includes Chapters 4, 5 and 6 of the Karaaldos story, is coming soon! Stay tuned!

Times Change

Part 1: A New World

Chapter 3: Reckoning

Karaaldos looked out of the ramparts of Shattrath city from his vantage point atop one of the city’s plateaus. The rain pelted down, thunderclouds crackling and the wind roaring in his ears. His face was grim. The last city, the last holdout of the Draenei people, was under attack.

In the hundred years since Karaaldos’ visit with Darrixius, the Draenei nation had continued to prosper.

But then, their nemesis, the Eredar Lord Kil’jaeden the Deceiver, had found them again.

For thousands upon thousands of years, Kil’jaeden had pursued and persecuted the Draenei people, all because they had turned down the offer to become one with the Burning Legion.

Karaaldos remembered when Kil’jaeden was a creature of Light. A gifted genius, who worked his incredible magic for the greater good of Argus. Now, he was a creature of destruction.

The Deceiver had reached out to the orcs, the primitive natives of Draenor. He had offered them power, and unity, and they had accepted. A people that had once been numerous, but incredibly divided, were now numerous and united.

United against the Draenei.

The orcs, tainted by fel energies and demon blood, their brown skin turning green, had conquered Draenei towns and cities, one by one. Karabor, Telmor, Farahlon, Telaar, Sha’naar, and many others were ruthlessly destroyed, their people massacred or fleeing for refuge. The orcs gave no quarter. Their goal was genocide. Now, only the capital, Shattrath, was standing.

The might of the Draenei had been utterly broken, and they stood now on the precipice of certain defeat. Many refugees had already left the city, fleeing into the marshlands on the coast of the Zangar sea. Karaaldos, and others like him, stayed behind. It was his duty as a Prelate, and he would do –anything- to see his people safe.

He surveyed the area, twirling a green crystal in his hands. The walls had already been breached. They were coming.

He turned around, and looked at the frightened young man behind him. His grandson, Vuurak looked out, fear written plainly on his features. Vuurak was regailed in the splendor of a priest of the Aldor, an order that operated out of Shattrath. The young man was only an Acolyte, and indeed the assistant of Karaaldos, but it seemed fitting to give him his tabard and insignia early. He may not have been able to attain it easily, after this battle.

“What are we going to do, Grandfather? There’s still so many refugees to get out.” Vuurak said. “Our family among them. They’re already inside the city. Many people are going to die.”

Karaaldos sighed deeply, fatigue written all over his face. “I know, Vuurak. I know. But…. you, your mother and father, your siblings… they will not be among them. It is time for you to go.” He handed Vuurak the green crystal. “This was crafted by your grandmother. I call it Shadowveil. If you activate it, it can hide a small group of people from sight for a long time. The more people you try to include, the less long it will last before it needs to recharge. Nevertheless, if only you and your family use it… it will last four hours at least. Possibly more.”

Vuurak frowned. “We cannot just sneak out while so many others suffer. How many can Shadowveil hide?”

Karaaldos frowned. “As many as can fit in a certain radius. The radius can be enlarged to ten metres, but… at that size, it will last minutes, not hours. I’m not even sure how long. It would be safer to-“

Vuurak smiled at his grandfather. “You know I can’t be that selfish. I’m taking as many with me as I can. Caring for others, sacrificing anything for them… you taught me that Grandfather.” His eyes gained the wet sheen of one who is holding back tears. “Won’t you come with us?”

Karaaldos shook his head, tears forming in his own eyes. “No…. My duty is to Shattrath. I need to stay here. Tell your father that I’m sorry. I wasn’t the father I should have been. I was selfish… and that selfishness cost me Telarendon’s life.”

Telarendon, as far as Karaaldos knew, had perished in the battle of Telaar. Certainly, he had found no evidence of his son’s survival.

Vuurak nodded, his voice cracking. “I will, Grandfather. I will.”

Karaaldos smiled shakily. “And tell them all… .that I love them more than life itself. Now, go! Go!”

Vuurak nodded, and ran off, holding the crystal in hand.

Karaaldos turned his attention back to the fight. He was worried about his family and the other refugees, but now, all he could do was focus on the task at hand. The battle. “I will go down…” Karaaldos said to himself, quietly. “But I will go down fighting.” His voice rose as he drew his staff from his back, and yelled “For the Light! For the Draenei!”

The soldiers who stood on the plateau with him roared their approval, and repeated his phrase!

The exultation of the forces began to wane, when they heard the screams from below. The lower city was in utter chaos, and it sounded as if the orcs weren’t just killing the Draenei this time. They were torturing them.

Karaaldos closed his eyes. “We cannot let this pass, brothers and sisters. Many of our people are still trying to get out of the Lower City….. I suggest we give them time to do so. I go to attack, those who wish to follow me…. will die… but we will die saving lives.”

Karaaldos raised his staff. It glowed with the Holy Light, and he charged. Many of the Vindicators and other priests atop the plateau charged with him. A small force, but a little group in any case. Not enough to save the Lower City, but enough to give the refugees some time… he hoped.

The force reached the elevator, and filed aboard. They descended, and had twenty frightful seconds of peace… and they entered into chaos.

They charged, running from the elevator upon its arrival, into the orcs. The fighting had gone completely chaotic. The orcs had broken ranks to slaughter, and the Draenei defenders had been cut off from each other, and fought in small groups. Into the chaos the group ran, hammers, swords and all manner of magic flying through the air, attacking the devilish orcs.

Karaaldos roared and sent out barrages, waves and bolts of Holy Light. Orcs fell around him, and still kept coming. They were numberless.

Explosions boomed and shaked the area, the siege weapons of the orcs firing haphazardly at Draenei buildings, and yet the force still kept fighting… and falling. Their numbers dwindled steadily, the Draenei barely making a dent on the orcish forces. The orcs were only closing in.

“Fall back to the alleys! We’ll fight them one by one, in the residential district!” Karaaldos roared, and he retreated into the relatively intact residential district. The few Draenei left alive from his failed attack followed, and scattered. Karaaldos gripped his staff, determined. They would fall by ambush, and he would claim the lives of a hundred orcs, for each one of his men that was slain. He glared out… and saw what must have been a commander. A green skinned, robed orc, his shoulders adorned with Draenei skulls, walked around the area, giving orders to his men. A warlock.

Karaaldos felt rage boil inside of him. He stayed hidden, however, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Until… he heard the screams of a child.

A young girl, possibly only six years old, had been discovered by the warlock. He targeted her with a smirk, and drained the energy from her body in a single, sickening attack. Green light flared… and her body seemed to dry as she screamed in pain. Within seconds, a broken black husk was all that remained. The warlock smiled, drunk with his new power.

Karaaldos roared! “NO!” He ran out, his face a mask of total rage, all reason lost as he engaged the warlock in combat. “You will pay for that, orc swine!” He yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks. He launched barrage after barrage of Light attack, his full fury focused on the warlock. The warlock smirked as he defended himself, but then began to scowl. He faced the wrath of a very old, well-trained Prelate. It would not be easy.

The warlock barked an order. “Men! DESTROY him!” and the orcs rushed forward.

Each one fell underneath the sheer fury of Karaaldos’ attack, the Light burning them with righteous fury.

Soon it was only Karaaldos and the warlock, golden energy smashing against green, as they fought for their very lives. The gold pushed the green ever back, the warlock’s eyes widening in horror as he stood on the cusp of defeat.

And then…

Kra-KABOOM!

An explosion erupted from below, from somewhere out of sight! Its force was mind numbing, and the ground beneath Karaaldos seemed to jolt, knocking both him and the warlock off balance!

A fine red mist billowed out into the city. The few remaining defenders began choking and retching, doubling over in pain. Many even dropped their weapons. Karaaldos coughed as he felt his airways restrict, and breathing became difficult. He was determined however, and with one last furious roar and a burst of Light, the orcish warlock fell to the ground, dead. Karaaldos doubled over in pain, and stumbled to a nearby wall, all that remained of a now crumbling building. He retched and coughed.

Then, he looked up. His eyes widened, and he tried to move.

A catapult had been fired, somewhere. A flaming boulder flew towards him, doubtlessly in an effort to destroy the remaining buildings of the residential district. He stumbled as he tried to move, in incredible pain from…whatever this mist was. The boulder struck the building next to him, around a metre away, and he was knocked off his feet from the shockwave. The last thing he saw that day was the rubble, as shards of the broken building flew around him. The screams of the remaining Draenei, being tortured by the orcs, rang in his ears, the last thing he heard. A piece of rubble, a rock of some kind, struck him in the head, and he fell immediately into unconsciousness.

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Mention of Telarendon, @kaldenflintheart character

Times Change

Part 1: A New World

Chapter 2: Expectations

Eighty years after the death of Nataara, much had changed for the Draenei people.

They had expanded across the new world, which they had christened Draenor, or Exile’s Refuge. There were natives to the world, such as the disunited and tribal orcs, the comprehensive ogre empire, and the mysterious and exclusive Arakkoa, but the Draenei had created their own nation within the world. In the dark but beautiful Shadowmoon Valley, the Draenei heartland and forest of Talador, the green plains of Nagrand where they had first landed, the wild jungles of Tanaan, and even the distant island and colony of Farahlon, the Draenei had established settlements that quickly covered the landscape. They had forged an empire, in a very short time. It could be argued that they were now the primary rulers of Draenor.

In this empire, Karaaldos had risen to a position of relative power and prestige. He was a Prelate, a governor of sorts, both high-ranking administrative official, and priest. His skill with healing and public speaking were well regarded, and he was generally considered an important and proper person.

His sons, on the other hand…

He had two sons. Darrixius and Telarendon. Darrixius, the older, was Rangari, a member of the organization that protected and patrolled the wilds. They were everything from scouts to spies to botanists, and while a respected profession, were considered… odd, by some Draenei. Darrixius was no exception, even having some understanding and interest in orcish customs. In the eyes of Karaaldos, however, at least he had a reasonably respectable profession. He had a family as well, a priest for a wife, and an older son who was beginning to train as a Vindicator. He even had four other children, which was rare among the Draenei! Overall, Darrixius made Karaaldos proud.

Telarendon, the younger child… was another matter. He seemed to be little more than a brutish street brawler. Yes, he played his part in protecting Telaar, the frontier town where Karaaldos usually lived, but for the most part he drank, smoked, and acted like a common mercenary. He even openly protested about the Light, and refused to put his weapon skills into a respectable profession, like that of a Vindicator. For the most part, however, Telarendon scoffed at the idea of becoming anything involving the Light, and was generally borderline heretical compared to most of the reverent and religious Draenei people. He was a good fighter, and defended the town well enough, if in what Karaaldos thought of as a savage manner.

Karaaldos sighed to himself as his elekk strode along the road from Embaari village to the city of Elodor. His sons many failings, in his eyes at least, troubled him greatly.

He looked at the six Vindicators that flanked him, also atop majestic elekks. Their armour shone with violet crystals, filled with energy, blessings from the Naaru. He sighend again.

Nataara had wanted the children to have a great destiny. This is what Karaaldos’ sons should have been. Rulers, guardians, mighty harbingers of justice. Not…..

Well, not what they were.

Karaaldos felt a twinge of uncertainty. The feeling he had for so long, that feeling of inadequacy, that he’d somehow let his wife down, that he hadn’t kept his promise, gnawed at him. He suppressed it, and resumed his stoic demeanor.

Today, he was going to visit Darrixius and his family.

The elekks made it to the entrance of the home. His Vindicator bodyguards dismounted, and stood at attention. Karaaldos walked to the door, then turned to his armoured escorts. “You may wait for me at the inn. Procure lodgings there. I will contact you when it is time to go. Do not become inebriated. You are on duty, and there will be consequences should I hear you have touched a single drop of alcohol. Is that clear?”

The soldiers responded in unison. “As you command, Prelate!”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

The soliders filed off, formal as ever. Karaaldos gave a nod of approval. Everything was so perfect, so in control, so organized, just how he liked it.

He took a deep breath.

He knocked on the door.

A short and slender woman, dressed in a wonderfully formal violet and gold gown, greeted him at the door. Karaaldos’ daughter-in-law, Telraatha.

“Father! Welcome! What an honour to see you! Please, come in!”

Karaaldos smiled. Telraatha, at least, had a sense of propriety. She was an Anchorite, a Priestess of the Sha’tar. Karaaldos himself was a priest of the same order, so he respected her position. She always seemed happy and welcoming, but also quiet and composed. Karaaldos was pleased by her welcome. It befit his station as both senior in the Order, and respected Father-in-law.

“Greetings, Telraatha. How have you been? It has been far too long.” Karaaldos replied.

“Very well, father, thank you!” She smiled in turn. “Please, come in.”

She turned around and guided him inside.

The house was messy, but understandably so for such a large family. Karaaldos took in his surroundings. Three little girls were running around, having a pillow fight! They were all toddlers, but old enough to have the energy and speed to leave chaos in their wake. Darrixius sat in a comfortable-looking chair with a baby in his lap, who seemed to simply look around. The oldest child, Arrixius, was adolescent. He rolled his eyes at his sisters, and stood in the darkest corner he could possibly find, perhaps to appear as dramatically bemused as possible. Karaaldos smiled gently. For all their faults, these people were family, and he loved them dearly.

Telraatha broke formality and began calling out to the girls, frustration in her voice! “Meldria! Kaivenha! Fezna! I have asked you to be on your best behavior! Come back here! Your grandfather has come to visit.”

Kaivenha and Fezna came back tentatively. Meldria sighed dramatically, but did the same. Kaivenha stood next to her mother… almost as if she was standing at attention. It brought a slight smile to Karaaldos’ face. The other two approached him, however.

Fezna walked over to Karaaldos. She smiled up at him. “You have nice hair!” She said brightly!

Karaaldos smiled and patted her head. “You as well, little one. It is very beautiful.”

Fezna beamed in response.

Meldria peered at Karaaldos. “Your dress looks funny.”

From the corner, Darrixius snorted. “I agree with Meldria. Hi Pops.” He gave Karaaldos a little wave, not standing up.

Karaaldos sighed. His son, once again exhibiting his usual deficit of manners. “Darrixius.” He replied cooly, nodding his head briefly. Darrixius merely winked in return.

Telraatha rolled her eyes dramatically. She was so composed and respectful, and her house was swiftly degenerating into some manner of zoo. She spoke brightly. “So, shall we all move to the table? I have prepared some food. Your favourite, Father-in-Law, grilled Clefthoof and salad!

The children’s faces universally brightened at the mention of Clefthoof, and then sank at the mention of salad.

Darrixius stood up. He wordlessly handed the baby, little Vuurak, over to Karaaldos. “Here, have a grandson.” He then walked to the kitchen and began organizing the food.

Karaaldos blinked but accepted the baby. He looked into its bright blue eyes. “Hello little one.” He said, beaming with pride. He remembered well when Nataara and he first beheld the eyes of their firstborn. It was a special moment. Karaaldos still believed that children were an incredible blessing, albeit a constant frustration.

The family ate the meal and engaged in small talk, led primarily by Telraatha. Darrixius stayed quiet, which was against his nature. Eventually Darrixius left to sit on the balcony, and Telraatha began rushing around, preparing the girls and Vuurak for bed. Arrixius seemed to sneak off to… who knows where? Karaaldos stood and walked to the balcony.

The view was stunning. It beheld the town of Elodor, but beyond that the blue-green Hills of Valuun, and the mighty temple of Karabor, residence of the Draenei’s revered spiritual leader; Prophet Velen. Karaaldos took a moment to admire it and reflect with pride on all his people had achieved on this world. It was a stunning structure.

Karaaldos smiled down at Darrixius. “Is this seat taken?” He asked, motioning to the spare seat.

Darrixius snorted. “Yep. Invisible ogres. Gotta watch out for them, Pops. This is Ugg’Mugg. Say hi, Ugg’Mugg!”

Karaaldos regarded his son with a flat stare. “Very funny. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to show some respect once in a while, Darrixius.” He sat down on the chair.

Darrixius shrugged. “Doesn’t kill me by not either, so I guess I’ve got nothing to lose. Why are you here, Pops?” Darrixius sounded… vaguely annoyed.

Karaaldos looked at him. “I’m here to visit my family. Why would you anticipate an ulterior motive?”

Darrixius responded frankly, pulling no punches. “Because you always have one. Everything you do is planned. Calculated. Rare was the day that you did anything for me or Telarendon that was just for some sort of family love. It was for your own pride, gain, or advancement.”

Karaaldos sighed. “I know you may not believe it, but I love both of you. I have done much for you, not for me, though you do not see it.” He regarded Darrixius. “I have even forgiven you for abandoning the defenses of Telaar.”

Darrixius snorted. “Abandoning? I got married. I have a right to make my own path, Pops. I didn’t want to be in Nagrand anymore.”

Karaaldos scratched his left hand absently with his right. “Yes. Of course. And I have moved past it… but-.”

Darrixius interrupted. “Oh, here’s the real reason for the visit, hmm?”

Karaaldos continued, louder. “BUT, the ogres in the area are getting progressively more agressive. The men need an inspiring commander. Your way with words and your combat skills are still legend back at the garrison, Darrixius, despite your… Rangari path. I would like to request that you return. I can organize work for Telraatha, and Shattrath is not far in any case. There will be-.”

Interrupted again. “What about Telarendon? What does he think about the idea of me returning?”

Karaaldos sighed. “Telarendon… his opinions do not matter, Darrixius! Not in this case. Telarendon is simply not suited to the role. You are. He must swallow his pride.”

Darrixius snarled. “Listen to me, father. As I told you when I left, Telarendon is -NOT- incompetent.”

Karaaldos began to get angry as well, his face displaying his outrage and frustration as he replied. “Do not speak to me of my own son, whom you have not seen for years now! I know Telarendon’s uses. He is lazy, arrogant, disrespectful, and does nothing but smoke and drink! He treats the Light with irreverence and he refuses to find an acceptable mate! Telarendon is going nowhere in life, by his own choice! Yes, Darrixius, I know his uses, and damn it all they are few!” He smashed his hand down on the side of the chair, fist clenched. It made a loud bang. “Until Telarendon can get his act together, and actually be a GOOD influence on decent Draenei soldiers, THEN he might be promoted further! Not before!”

Darrixius regarded Karaaldos coldly.  “This has been your problem for far too long, Father. You never saw his worth. Tel is worth MORE for his individuality. I left in the hope that without your first son in the way, you might see that. Evidently, I was wrong.” He clenched his fists. “Telarendon is twice the man you’ll ever be. Get off your pedestal, stop trying to force your sons to excel YOUR way, and see the value in them. Look, and listen for a change.”

Karaaldos responded, his voice trembling. “You DARE-.”

“Yes, I dare! To all the world, even to my kids, you’re the kind and benevolent, loveable damned priest! But to your sons, you were always nothing more than a demanding ass! You made us feel worthless, Father. Your expectations were always too high, we always fell short… and unless you can accept that we are NOT you, then we always will. I see that now. I’ve seen it for some time. It’s why I’m not coming back. There’s your answer. No.”

Karaaldos stuttered a reply, hurt and angered by his son’s words. “You…. I made a promise to your mother! You achieved greatness Darrixius. I do not ask you to be a Paladin. You are a Rangari, married to an Anchorite, and you have honored your family with five children. Telarendon… he’s done nothing. Perhaps one day he will mature, but-.

“He has done more than you give him credit for. He’s a better fighter than me for one, and a better strategist for another. I’m good at skulking through forests, scouting, and yes even fighting… but I can’t lead like he can. You’ve got the better general, Pops. You have him already. Open your eyes. See his worth.” Darrixius sounded angry, but almost pleading.

Karaaldos closed his eyes, his voice rising with each word. “Darrixius. You do not even speak to your brother anymore. You know nothing! Shut your mouth, and listen! I KNOW BEST!”

A gulf of silence fell between them, the tension hanging in the air as if a physical force.

Darrixius spoke quietly. His voice barely in control, and trembling with suppressed rage. “Always a pleasure to see you, Pops.” He whispered. He smiled, but not with happiness. Darrixius’ tone and face was somewhere between rage and sarcasm. “But I think it’s time for you to go.”

Karaaldos stood. “As you wish. I see no reason to languish here in the company of an uncouth ingrate!” He abruptly walked inside, picked up his things, and left the house.

He looked ahead, containing his anger behind a mask of stoic neutrality. Why couldn’t his children see that he only had their best interests at heart? He wanted them to achieve. In his heart, he was proud of them but he saw they had far to go. He wanted to guide them there… to keep his promise to his wife. He could not see how wrong he was, how special they already were.

“Oh Nataara…” He said, to nobody in particular, reaching out to whatever part of his deceased wife might still be out there, listening. “Light help me with our boys…. They will see eventually. I’m sure of it. If I must be the harsh antagonist, one day they will thank me for my guidance… I only want what’s best.” He sighed, mounted his elekk, and began to head towards the Elodor inn, to meet up with his escort.

He got to the inn, immediately rallied his bodyguards, and directed them to march onward to Karabor. He knew at least, his visitation with Exarch Akama would be less stressful…

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Character credit goes to:

@library-of-the-forgotten - Meldria

@ariiasaurusofdino - Kaivenha and Fezna

@kaldenflintheart - Telarendon

All other characters are crazyproperty of crazyprophet’s crazypropeties crazypropriety limited.

The Revelation

He knew...

Nakima had spoken to the old man. She had spoken to Vuurak’s grandfather, Karaaldos. He had admitted that, as a result of his involvement in the Illidari, he knew about the attack on Vuurak’s refugee camp, on his family, before it happened.

The attack that ended in his family’s murder.

Vuurak sat stewing in a dark corner of the Cathedral. Trying to seek counsel and calm from the Light.

Remorse? How dare he attempt to feel remorse! If he had truly cared about his family, why hadn’t Karaaldos stood up to the Illidari? Why hadn’t he fought them, or at least died valiantly with his son and grandchildren. Why? WHY!?

Vuurak punched the side of the Cathedral Wall.

“Forgiveness. Peace. Love....” he whispered to himself. Then he added, eyes narrowed. “Justice...”

Justice. A murderer deserved justice. A life for so many lives claimed.

Vuurak’s anger built steadily. Soon, it utterly consumed him. Vuurak knew it was a dangerous place to be, but he didn’t care. Karaaldos would pay for this.

The old man mostly lurked in the streets of the Old Town. “He shouldn’t be too hard to apprehend” thought Vuurak. “People go missing from the Old Town all the time. And the government would never dispense justice appropriately. I will do it. He will die, and die slowly. No less than he deserves!”

Vuurak stood, and with his face as hard as stone, he walked from the cathedral with long, fast strides.

He had work to do.

Times Change

Part 1: A New World

Chapter 1: Love and Loss

The crash still rang in his ears. The sheer impact of the collision was astonishing. Still, there must have been purpose to it. Karaaldos trusted absolutely in the will of the naaru. They’d saved them from Argus, and the Legion for all this time. They would continue to do so.

He stood up, moving from his stasis pod and looking around the area. His part of the Genedar, the giant naaru vessel that had transported them through the nether to this location, had obviously fragmented upon impact, and he stood now in a green forest. A smile crept onto his face. It was beautiful. Millenia of much the same visuals each day, and now he stood once again on a living world.

“It’s no Argus, Nataara.” He murmered softly to his wife, who was nearby, seen in Karaaldos’ peripheral vision “But this may be destiny. Perhaps the Naaru planned for this. On this world… the Draenei may prosper, and become great once again.” He smiled broadly as he turned to look at his wife’s pod, next to his own. No doubt it had opened by now. “Nataara?”

The smile was wiped off his face, instantly. Instead, he displayed horror… and fear.

Nataara’s pod was broken, and she still lay inside. A pale violet shard of crystal, as long and thin as Karaaldos’ arm, stabbed right through her stomach. She was impaled. She coughed, and blue blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Nevertheless, she smiled gently at her husband.

“Nataara!” Karaaldos yelled in horror! “No! Lie still my love! I can fix this!”

Nataara’s eyes began to fill with tears. “My dear Karaaldos. Always…. So determined.” She coughed. “You know… there is nothing that can… be done.”

“No! There must be something I can do! Something the Light can do! The Naaru will not forget you, Nataara! Not now!” He begins to channel the Light into his hands, and commence an attempt to heal his wife. Despite this, however, she continued to weaken.

“My love, they have not forsaken me… I have seen… the promised land. I have seen the new home… of our people. Today… Karaaldos, I am greatly… blessed…” She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes briefly, as she was hit by another stab of pain. “Stop it, Karaaldos! Please. I cannot be healed unless… the shard is removed, and …if the shard… is removed… I will perish… from blood loss. Just… stop. Listen… share this last moment…. With me.”

“No! Nataara! I cannot lose you! I can’t!”

“Karaaldos…” she relaxed slightly again, and she looked at him. Her breaths began to rattle and rasp, her lungs filling up with blood. Nevertheless, she seemed somehow content. “There are more important things… than my life. I have spent… many ages with you… seen many good things… and many bad. I have been… greatly blessed… and one day we… will meet again. I believe that…. But… my love… I need you… to promise me… something…”

Karaaldos closed his eyes. He stopped channeling the Light. It was too late, and he knew it. He spoke through his sobs as he grasped his wife’s hand. “Anything… my darling. Anything…”

Nataara smiles. “Look after…. Our boys. Darrixius and…Telarendon…. They have a chance to live…. Free of the persecution of the Burning Legion. Free of… all the darkness our people have…faced. This… land… it is a new hope. The… last frontier… My darling... you must help them… to live up to their… potential… Help them to be great… to have a great destiny. Karaaldos… please…. Promise…me…”

Karaaldos gripped her hand tightly and looked her in the eyes. “I promise… Nataara. I will do everything I can. Our children will claim their great destiny. I swear to you.”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, her eyes seeming unable to focus, her neck scarcely capable of motion. She grasped his hand in return. Gently… so, so gently..

Her voice was barely a whisper, her breathing shallow and weak. “Then… one last thing… my darling. No… matter ….how hard …things get…. Never….. never give up… Karaaldos. Never… give… up. I…. I.. love… you Karaaldos.”

She exhaled one last rattling breath, and her blue eyes dimmed.

She was dead.

Karaaldos looked at the sky and roared. Not with anger, not with hatred, but with sharp and terrible pain. Nataara, his wife for nearly twenty five thousand years, was now gone. Cut off from him, forever. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing. He put his arms around her chest, and hugged her. The tears fell from his cheeks.

Other Draenei began to gather around, and from the looks on their faces, it was clear that Nataara was not the only casualty of the impact. Karaaldos composed himself, and stood, talking to the small crowd of twelve that had gathered nearby. “Gather up the wounded… lay the dead to rest. Then, we must simply await the Prophet’s orders.” He glanced at the smoking ruin of the Genedar, now rising like a crystal mountain out of the brown soil. He sighed. “Whether we like it or not, this is our home now.”

The Draenei went to do as he had asked, and looking around, Karaaldos could see that the same was being repeated by a number of groups throughout the forest. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, his facial expression as stern and hard as a rock, and he murmured softly. “I will never give up.”

He averted his eyes as two Draenei men pulled the crystal shard from his wife’s body, causing it to make a sickening, wet suction noise. Blue blood flowed freely from the wound. As the Draenei picked her up to prepare her for burial, something dropped from her hand.

A small, blue crystal, with a number of runes and markings carved gently into the surface.

Karaaldos bent down, and picked it up.

“Her music crystal…” He said to himself. He touched it gently, and it began to play a soothing instrumental song. Stringed instruments, flutes and chimes worked together to create a calming piece of music. So gentle, so soothing. Like Nataara herself.

Karaaldos held it closely, then tucked it into his robes. “I will never forget the promise I made, my love…. Never.”

He walked on to aid his people care for the wounded and deceased. The music played gently from his robes, and fought against his pain. He allowed himself the tiniest little smile. The memory of a lifetime well spent. He looked around, observing the sadness around him. The suffering and death of a crash landing… but looked beyond it. The trees. The sky. The grass. A new world. “The promised land…” He said to himself. As he walked on, he felt immense sadness, but just a hint… of hope.  

Times Change - Now Released!

 A short story series starring Karaaldos of Argus, and his life from the founding of Draenor, to the present day.

The Release Schedule is as follows:

Contents:

PART 1: A New Land

Chapter 1: Love and Loss

Chapter 2: Expectations

Chapter 3: Reckoning

PART 2: A Broken World

Chapter 4: Illidan

Chapter 5: A Frightening Hope

Chapter 6: The Fall