A Mystery..

[Skafloc]

Thinking back on it now, it was as if I was in a dream. The sheer surreal aspect of the encounter still resounds within my soul. I hear the echoes of the voice, although the exact words escape me.

Dragons. Dragons of Azeroth. I marvelled at the time of their presence in the far off remote Blade’s Edge Mountains of Draenor. The Cenarions wage a private war against the followers of the Dragonflight that against all reason seemed to have taken up residence in that far distant place. The commission was good and the challenge intriguing. Of course I could not pass up the opportunity to see this anomaly for myself.

Nymare was confused by my actions, and I cannot blame her. There before the main cavern entrance of the so called “Wyrmcult” I froze. Not in fear, but in rapture. There above us spiraling lazily on the air currents in the remote mountain valley was a specimen of draconian splendour. Its ebony scales catching the light of the afternoon sun and reflecting it down to the earth is a primatic display of color.

I had seen the corpses of many of its kind skewered as so many trophies in the camps of the ogres of the Mountains, but at the time the significance didn’t dawn on me.

Now there above us a living example of the Black Dragonflight patrolled the valley as a Lord surveying its realm.

The encounter stayed with me for some time. So much so that I needed to discover more. Why were they even there? They should not be. Who or what was this “Wyrmcult” that had sprung up in far off Draenor in worship of the Dragonflight?

I had my first inkling of an answer when I came across an ancient text in the Archives of the Magisters. Not much survived the Scourge invasion, but the learned Magistrates of Quel’Thalas had the foresight to preserve and salvage what records they could before the exodus to Azshara. The scroll I found was hand written on delicate parchment, aged almost beyond the point where it could be handled by a novice. With the assistance of a master archivist I was able to read the document and gained more insight into what might be happening. The implications were astonishing.

The text was by the ancient mage, Rhonin, and told the tale of his battle near Grim Batol alongside the Dragon Korialstrasz, consort to the great Alexstrasza. It recounted the taking of the Demon Soul from the orc, Nekros and its destruction using a scale from none other than the Aspect of the Earth himself, Neltharion. The dragon later named Deathwing.

What caught my eye however was that one line. One obscure notation that held tremendous import.


“ Deathwing gave ground before us, fleeing the field of battle as the powers of the Aspects returned to their rightful owners, freed at last from the prison of the Demon Soul. Alextrasza emerged from her confinement in Grim Batol.

Of Neltharion there is no sign. It is as if he has vanished from Azeroth. Some presume him dead, others believe he is being held by the powers of the remaining Aspects. I cannot be certain, but I feel the answer does not lie in Azeroth. The Dark Portal is closed, but who can say what powers the Aspect of the Earth possesses? He has retired to Dreanor before, following the War of the Ancients. Perhaps he has done so again, biding his time, regaining power and influence and awaiting the day he may return to Azeroth and continue his bid for absolute domination.”
It was armed with that new knowledge and insight that I returned to Blade’s Edge and the remote valley of the Wyrmcult.

I do not know how long it was I stood there on a hilltop overlooking the plateau before the cavern of the Wyrmcult, watching once more the effortless flight of the dark scaled dragon over the treetops. All I can be certain of is that it was aware of me.

Aware, and considering. As I stood there studying and thinking, I felt the touch upon my mind, a probing, questioning touch. The dragon studied me seemingly as intrigued as I was. Even now as I write I can scarce explain the sensation of such a vast intellect overlaping my own, whispering questions and sorting through my memories as so many pages of a novel. Cataloguing and analyzing.

Words it spoke, but alas they escape me now. I was not dreaming, but neither can I say I was fully lucid. It was unnerving.

Yet I dwell upon it still. There was power there for certain. Not as overt nor overwheling a sensation as I felt entering that domain of the Son, Nefarian. No, this was more subtle, like a breath held in check. Waiting for a suitable time to release.

I feel drawn back, to experience the sensation once more. Perhaps with time I will understand it better. The dragon seemed to accept my presence, for whatever reason.

That alone gives me cause to wonder.

[Skafloc]

Pain.

That is what I deliver. That is what awaits my ‘brethren’, whether they be duped into blind subservience or willing accomplices. They are guilty by association. As if I needed any further reason than seeing them cavort around with the demonic minions of the Burning Legion.

The mana forges were enough proof of that. The forays into the various wings of Tempest Keep simply served to punctuate my thoughts.

Pain and Death. To the Sindorei of Kael’thas and their demonic peers.

I am a felstalker. I walk alone.

Morgauth, my brother in spirit is long gone. My sister in spirit, Danyxandra along with him. Whether they will return or not seems more remote with each passing week. They have left the concerns of the world behind. Lovely my sister by adoption has taken her life to new paths. Her circle of peers expanded. Her outlook broadened. She has finally found her peace. I am happy for her. But my place is not there. My place is alone on the windswept crags of Netherstorm. My place is stalking the outposts of the traitors.

I have not stepped into the halls of Castle Melar Danashj for some time. My comrades I encounter from time to time in the field, as they too pursue the enemy. But they do not walk with me.

Clys has gone. Vanished from the Castle Nex’Cruor. More often than not I sleep there now, among the cold, dark stone chambers and towers. The plantation house managed by Chauncey, and the vineyard in the process of changing hands to Villayna deSinisca..

And Nymare my love. She walks with the Ghants. We talk, of course. We gave far too much of each other to simply be able to cast that aside. But there is pain there as well.

What was it Rivendark had said? “ Pain is a sensation, as any other. Rejoice in the pain. Welcome it and make it your own.”

And I have.

There is little left in my lands now for me. Empty halls and silent courtyards.

My life is stalking. My only companion my beloved Wotan or my feisty windserpent. I care not for the rest of my people. I care only about those close to me. But close these days means in heart, not in presence.

I walk alone.

[Skafloc]

(( and yes, I had the "Green Day" song running through my head as I wrote my latest entry. ;) ))

[Lovely]

((Good writing, Skaf!))