A formal ending (open)

[Sanrin]

(A quick forward I suppose, before i continue what will be a series of updates. If anyone whom moderates feels this is inappropriate please feel free to move it elsewhere. It has been a long road thusfar, and while I posted once before how I was unsure if I would be returning the seriousness of my new school time as well as money deticated to said education is making my hopes of getting a new computer slowly flicker away. As one of my final Sesson II Summer projects I am assigned the task of showing the development of a single characters existance. Combined with my guilt at not posting nearly enough RP writing as I wanted, I give you what will perhaps be my last written work in WoW. Please feel free to give me as much (or as little) feedback as you can, as I'll also be submitting this for my lit final.
Thanks a bunch, and I'll keep in touch with ya'll as much as I can!

ps: If I typo I'm sorry! I promise not to be as bad as Tilna! :O )





The room was just bright enough for reading, but not of the casual kind. You'll find that readers, just like most people, will split the levels of their trends into clear layers of enjoyment...and if you take a long hard look at our surroundings the word fanaticism comes to mind. The word describes a level of commitment beyond obsession, something you not only begin to live for, but use to define yourself. It is through fanaticism that even the most beloved and justified ideals become sin, and sadly it is through the traits of fanaticism that those afflicted cannot see the truth.

We often picture a fanatic as a wild eyed individual, unrelenting and uncompromising in their goals. Cold, calculating, and completely engrossed in thought the small amount of candlelight that seemed almost pathetic by comparison to the sea of darkness it swam in was more then enough light for the man intent on reading in it. We can take a moment to watch him, however you need not feel any pity - in fact there is a method to this madness, though he would never tell any of us.

Like most men he was searching for something, and just the same he had lost it long ago. A broken heart is a terrible thing, but worse still remains the fact that there is more then one way to suffer such a fracture. And even beyond that remains the individual capacity for a person - a man in this case - to move on. For their heart to heal, even if it is but to be broken again. And so as our gentlemen sits, untamed hair resting across his cold and focused eyes let us look around for close as to his despair. A broken locket, ripped pages of a journal, a large mace sits unused and seethingly displeased with this fact. the room was hot, much larger now that we're taking the time to look around, a table stacked high with texts, papers, and maps. We pause, and watch as our gentlemen closes his book with a harsh sense of finality, perhaps because he has just finished a book he'd taken an equally long time in writing. Some literature is bathed in a history of blood and violence, however few revel in it - the very text that we look upon at this moment stands as a written monument to mortal cruelty.

"Mortal cruelty, as it is rare when gods feel pain man himself takes the place of the torturer. The only Twisting Nether is the one we're living in ourselves." the fanatic answers a question as well as raising several of his own. Address him if you'd like, though i doubt it'll do any of us much good.

"No, I never really did kill him. Though I wanted to at the time."

"Yes, I loved her. Both of them at one point, though never at the same time."

"Regret? I highly doubt you'd understand my own regrets without first dealing with your own. However if you wish to pass judgement on me give me but a single day to make what poor simple mistakes I've made into something more correct. The sun will be up soon I'm sure, then we'll all have our questions answered."

You see? I suppose it is as least good he answered some of your thoughts, though sadly he has given us the date of his final hour. Perhaps it is our advantage that we as watchers only can see the events. We see him dress, pushing those unruly strands of hair into a set submissive place. His armor is clean, though at the same time absolutely filthy, there is a stench that you cannot completely wash off when you kill another. One that changes depending on how you kill someone. He jogs down the stairs, armor clanking in a hollow musical tone, a grim entourage to his presence.

Still holding his book, we watch quietly as the man shuffles away its black pages before his heart but behind his steel exterior. There is a moment of weakness as his hand slips and clutches the hard but smooth curvature of his bed. For just a single moment we see his weakness, his doubt. And not all the heat, the pressing and almost oppressive air that flows throughout the city from the Great Forge could dry the single tear that escaped him. We see his fanaticism clear in the light of the truth, that bringing back the ones you love might come at much too high a price. That it might not be worth it.

"Might." he states coldly, releasing his grip on the well crafted wood. "There is still a chance..."

And so, calm and collected, Sanrin Zenafova walked out of his home for the last time in his life. Let us cronicle this day.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



When we look at the world around us our eyes search for things that will catch our brins interest. Likewise we can assume that if you're still here you're searching for something. We all are, in a sense, looking for something we're not quite sure how to explain or even accomplish. Ideals such as peace, conquest, or even something as simple as happiness are dreams. Some come to life, others conflict and can only be birthed at the expense of others. However for as much as we continue to chace down those dreams, is it really that exceptional to obtain them? Is there true satisfaction in achieving ones goals when life itself is defined by how we chase them? I apologize, perhaps I should explain things better.

"And what in Elunes name do you think you're doing?!" a young woman cried out, her voice firm and unwavering however playful in nature.

Her world was a bit rickety, as yours would be if you were in her shoes. Boats are often times difficult to stand on when you've rarely been on one, and Krilani was no exception to this rule. Sanrin laughed brightly, wrapping his arms around her as his more sea worthy legs spun them wildly about. The sea air is a treat you rarely have tasted, not bitter or stinging as most days but cool and caressing. They kissed, rude of us to watch (though some of us may learn a thing or two) but lets continue, for its days like these that Sanrin considers to be the best days of his life. We will watch them dance to the beat of their hearts, the enchanting Elf and charming Human spinning themselves about the deck of their boat. Or, to be legally correct, his ship. This was not their first moment together, nor would it be their last to come for a long time from now. Still, there are telltale signs.

See his hand, how it holds her own so tightly. His arm around her waist, how closely she clings to him. They smile. She laughs, he kisses her. He loosens his grip but for a single moment and she clings that much tighter. perhaps we will never find out what makes her so incomplete without him, and yet he holds on just as tight as his own grip can manage without causing harm. Always a little closer, always a little longer then the last. Lets stop watching now, as they're soon to make love and its here that Sanrin prefers to let his daydream end.

We're on a boat now, different though similar to the one we saw Sanrin owned. The air is bitter and stinging, just like most days, and unlike before he can see the horizon clearly now. A small port, some buildings, a clear farm, Southshore is far from an exceptional place. However it is but a stepping stone for our trip, his stay here will not be long and thankfully we'll only need to remain for as long as his interests persist. We have many minutes to wait though, but I assure you that discovering how exactly his mother burned to death is well worth the wait.

[Tillna]

((;-; NUUUU!!!! I'll put a response after work...))

[Persefani]

[[ *quietly contemplates how this will affect the world* ]]

[Vilmah]

(( /mourn

We'll always love ya, Sanrin. ))

[Sanrin]

It was during times like these one could truely learn to appreciate the ones we love, isn't that true? When you're alone that is. We all have our own demons, often times the worst thing we can do to ourselves is stay alone and grieve over our own mistakes. Self doubt kicks in, and you wonder if things would be different if perhaps you never left your home for those short fifteen minutes. You'd of seen your mother enter the basement, give a small book with black pages a warm kiss. See her break apart the remaining bottles of wine, relics of happier less sober moments we try not to picture our parents having.

We see a young boy now, bright and full of energy. His cheeks are flushed red from running about as all curious young men, hair neatly tied into an unobtrusive ponytail of soft white hair. He remembered his mother joking that he should-

"Never run around during winter Sanny, Light knows you'll fall into a damned hole and we won't be finding you until all of Elwynn thaws out!"

She was a funny woman, its nice to see where Sanrin may of gotten his sense of humor from. He would not consider this until he met his first true friend, and a man whom he would conflict with for many months...but we're not to that point yet. In fact, Sanrin had just entered the cool shade of his own home at that exact same time his mother had finished locking the door to the basement, traces of smoke only apparent from the outside cellar door.

"Mom?" piped the young boy, startling to us as we're so used to a bit of a deeper voice. Innocent and young we hear him call out as he wanders the short halls of his humble home.

"In here sweetheart." his mother rang back, and like a trained bloodhound her son responded to her voice, tracking her down to her bedroom.

"Hey!" he smiled as she lay down, waving him to her bedside.

"Well hey there bucko," she smiled lovingly to him, "and where have you been all day?"

"Oh I've been out! I found a man going by on horseback today, he had amazing armor you should of seen it!"

"Shone like the sun?"

"And sharp!"

"Really now! And I suppose you asked this man all manner of questions?"

"Oh yes, he asked the way to town and I showed him all about moss and how it grows. Then I told him ours is private property so he better watch out because the roads arent so good around here."

"Well that was quite nice of you."

"Yes, his horse looked strong but not nearly as big as Elavandres was..." Sanrin spoke proudly of his fathers horse, whom had passed away not but a year earlier.

There was a silence that struck between them, a rising warmth that made Sanrin feel uncomfortable.

"Do you imagine Lian and father are alright?" he asked abruptly, though in his defense it had been weeks since he'd last heard news about his sibling and parent.

"Sanrin, could you do your mother a favor?"

"Mhmm, can I eat first?"

"No, you can eat later sweetheart," she spoke softly, placing a hand to his arm, "I need you to pay close attention right now."

It is not always a terrible thing to watch a childs few strings of innocence break. It is these strings that differ them from adults after all, while some may forget they may have existed it does not change the fact that they did. Most men and women of the world have had their own removed through the realization of a failed first love, for nothing feels as cruel and lonely as any sort of abandonment. And though he would not realize it until many years from now, we sit and we watch young Sanrin stand and listen as his mother aptly tears away the very fiber of his youth. She explains the notice of his fathers death recieved months ago, his brothers murder by military hands. She is careful what words to use, not out of fear nor protection but rather as a careful gardener planting a long awaited seed. A seed she hoped would blossom into her lovers final wish.

"Your father was betrayed Sanrin!" she is yelling now, her hand clenched down upon the arm of the tear-streaked boy. "Betrayed for what he believed in! And you..."

They stared at one another, her hand caressing his cheek like a stranger fumbling over the lines of a terrain she'd never experience before.

"I dont know what he sees in you." she spoke softly with a brutal and crushing sense of absolution.

The heat in the room is apparent now, and its not till Sanrin is dealt this heavy blow that he noticed the hallway was ablaze (indeed, her sad words seemed to capture our own attention from this as well.) He pulled his arm but he was stuck in place, the panic that struck his body was almost so drowning he didnt notice his mother was still gripping down on his arm. Knuckles white, her face stern, she continued to speak above the crackling flames while her son resisted.

"He gave us instructions, don't you see? Hes still alive, out there...Your father abandoned death-" Sanrin looked up in shock "-to confirm my love, his love for me. But I am too weak now, dont you understand?! Promise me! Dammit promise me!"

He was too frantic for words, and thinking became difficult. Save mother, escape, dont go into the fire. Its no use crying out to him, tell him to save himself, and for as much as we yell and scream its difficult to even hear over the roaring of the flames. We know how it ends. Sanrin would escape the blaze, but not before giving into his mothers burden. His left arm still singed black from the pact he made, we can only guess at how long his mothers dark voice echoed through his mind until he gave in. How often her curse, the imprint of her black soul upon his own, urged him to reunite her with the father he would grow to hate. He would pass the curse on years from now, and as a result sentence himself to a slow death for it was the very essence of his mothers malice he had carried with him through all these years that had seeped into him. Had given him the strength he desired to excell at combat. It wasn't until the day he removed it that he realized prior he'd never been sick a day in his life. This was months after he'd killed his father, though weeks from where he stands today, paying the innkeeper for a single room while we dive deep into the hidden courses of his mind.

We could watch Sanrin grow up, no doubt it would be awfully cute to see the minor landmarks of his life. His first kiss, first horseback lesson, the first cut he ever recieved from his own misuse of a sword. But these events are marred, and far and few in between. His time at the Stormwind orphanage was not a plesant one, oldest amongst his inmates, and it would not be until the age of fifteen that Sanrin would leave one of the few stable homes he had for what he would hope would be resolution.

We watch the tired young man lay down, consider how far he'd come in the six years since he'd left the orphanage. Lets let him sleep. It will not be a good night for him, but we can at least rest assured it would be the last night his nightmares would persist.

[Kurohane]

(( Wow, I'm glad I decided to come perster people via PM over here. Excellent read, so far, as always Sanny-pants. Hope I can catch you on MSN in the future. <3 ))

[Ulroci]

(( ;-; *misses the San already* ))

[Sanrin]

Let us assume the mind is like a clock. The gears inside move and allow us to see (upon the face) various facts - or a single fact in the case of this clock, called time. This is of course assuming our clocks are up to date, and accurate. Everyone at one point in their lives wonders how clocks work I am sure, so it is safe to assume that we all at one point wonder about how our minds work. Children are the most notorious offenders, known and feared for their barrage of questions.

Shall we then, like children exploring the delicate intricacies of a ticking clock dive into the thoughts of Sanrin Zenafova as he sleeps? Rude as it might be, we must keep in mind a single fact: This will be the last nightmare our young man will ever have. And while we struggle on the principle of invading privacy let us take note that our surroundings have grown quite hazy now. Our sight is marred though we can make out a few things. Rubble, some pieces stacked high while others lay strewn about, clear elements of a prior civilization. The trees grow (what few we can discern are still trees and not overgrown fungi) corrupt and dark, a twisted mockery of normal vegatitve life. The fog lifts slightly, and we can get a better look at our surroundings.

A figure stands amongst the mist, proud and fierce, surrounded by a thin veil of flame and dressed in the most modest pieces of armor we've seen yet. This will be the second time we've seen this figure surrounded by fire, though this time for much different reasons. His familar mace glows menacingly, we need not see blood on its spiked end to know it has just claimed another foe - the hissing sound of evaporating liquid is more then enough of a sign.

There is a burst of movement just within our sight, and the rich smell of undeath fills our senses. Sanrin moves with urgency, eyes fixated ahead of him as his arms sweep his heavy weapon wide before he even reaches the target. A deafening boom is released from the length of his weapon and our world is instantly thrust into one of heat and light, his armor shining in a triumphant burst of illumination and we finally see the Holy Demon of Southshore at work. The fireball released from the tip of his weapon is graceful but cruel, sweeping across broken towers of rubble and plantlife to consume one of the armed undead. And while one is engulfed in flames we barely have time to register the speed of his strike, as if the world stood still save a single paladin Sanrin swings the single remaining extension of the firelords will down into the collarbone of his foe. Armor gives into the biting teeth of his mace as bone snaps and skin rips and melts into a sickening chorus of violence. He reverses his grip, spinning his body and Sulfuras in a single motion, sweeping his heavy mace back, around, under and upwards into his opponent heavy slash. An attack that would normally render even the most prepared veteran into a defensive stance is blocked easilly by the young man, and we do not have time to shield our eyes as his mace roars triumphantly. The explosion is as fierce as the last as the undead is consumed in the fire, and Sanrin does nothing more then blink once. Left completely unharmed (though reeking of ash) his baptism of fire continues to spin gracefully around his body.

He does not tire, he does not waver, and there is almost a mechanical feeling to his movements. A well praticed routine slowly playing out before our very eyes few of his enemies get close enough to feel the weight of his swing, most are consumed by the flames he produces while still more are laid down by the flashes of light released from his hands simple gestures. And when his morbid ballet is finished he finds himself standing in the same place he always ends in, the remnants of a home whose walls have long but collapsed. A figure is watching him, the only remaining creature left alive.

"Your mother wondered what I saw in you." it grinned, jaw glistening in the light of the flames.

"I wonder as well." spoke Sanrin coldly, he tries to remain calm but we can see his grip is much tighter then before.

"Do you? Tell me, how did she look before she died my son?" the figure continued to grin, stepping forward so we can see his complexion much better then before. Traces of white hair are pasted to his sickly skull in dull patches, he is hunched though still tall and while rotted gives a sense that his body is far more solid then we could imagine. "Did she tell you she loved me? How I came back to show my love for her?"

"She told me-"

"A lie no doubt." his father spat, bursting into animation. "A lie that worked out didnt it?! You're here, finally, after all this time and I didn't even need to get you myself. You even brought mother I see?"

Sanrin couldn’t help but wince, his left arm was searing more then ever.

"One big happy family, mother father and the two brothers-"

Again we're left at a lack of explanation. Sanrin was a blur of flashing silver and searing heat as the ground beneath him exploded violent in defiance, what appeared to be both the remnants of a cellar as well as armored figure descending rapidly on our young paladin.

"united again! This is precisely what your mother could never understand, I have visioned today! Here and now we live my dream! What did they tell you Sanrin, that we feel no pain nor emotion? That it is impossible-"

The strikes were quick and unforgiving though Sanrin was able to fend them off. There was a familiarity to each blow, not equally matched but similar in nature, Sulfuras cried out in outrage each time it was blocked and smoked in triumphant rage each time it deflected the screaming metal of his opponents sword. Strips of white hair extend beyond the helm of Sanrins attacker.

"for us to feel love? More lies, ones your bitch of a mother envolped herself in completely until I showed her my letters, showed her to truth. Your brother was the same way but now-"

Sanrin was thrown back, caught off guard but the untiring and uncompromising swings that his brother loosed upon him. His mace responded of its own will spitting fire like insults, throwing both brothers apart in the wake of the uncontrolled blast. He stood up, but was too slow and too the full force of his elder siblings kick to his chestpiece. Metal bend and folded around the force of his undead strength, and Sanrin was sent rocking through the air.

"he embraces it fully."

The air is cold now, everything goes black and we're left in a state of confusion. Sanrin has woken up now, our seared and collapsed surroundings have given way to the reality of solid wood and soft sheets. We take a step back, give him room to breathe, allow him to regain his composure. He has a long day ahead of him, and we've been much too impolite even now as we impose upon his dream. Let us leave his room, close the door behind us, and give him the chance to collect himself.

[Sanrin]

We could take another moment to invade his privacy, but he is still just waking up and it would be indecent to pry upon a man attempting to regain his composure. Yet we have a hunger we must feed, so many questions that need answering. We could look back to observe Sanrin in prior times, before he would take his place in the ranks of Empyrean Dawn. In fact if we just go down the stairs, out this tavern door (don’t turn right, I understand it is reflex) and head toward the dock we may meet someone interesting. Its misty, as the past often is, but if you look close enough you'll be able to see the shadowy figures that inhabit end of the wooden walkway. We can take some steps forward and reveal a much less stressed Sanrin, although it is hard to resist at least a small smile. Mismatched armor adorns the young man now, his hand grips down at the hilt of a blade by his side. The woman he stands beside seems graceful enough, a cloak wrapped delicately around her shoulders makes the visual assault of chainmail look that much more aquward, and increases the natural charisma his companion seems to have.

"You're looking good, come pretty far have we?" she speaks softly, her quip about his armor is easy to see but the smile on her lips suggest it was more friendly then insulting.

"Things're ok, I cant say much about the rest of us all but I'm doing fine." he shifted uncomfortably, we notice his left arm wrapped heavily in bandage.

"Good, I've decided to leave you know."

"Oh? Where to?"

"I am as wise as I am beautiful am I not?" she challenge him with a vain smile, it would seem from his reaction that this was a familiar question.

"We'll miss you. Keep in touch." Sanrin grinned, putting a quick close to their game. She never did manage to get a compliment from him.

"Dont trust him, not too much anyway." she spoke softly again, "I've heard what he says about me. It is a shame losing the favor of the Goddess...the things he says about me."

"Of 'your beauty'?" Sanrin smiled again, looking off at the gentle rocking waves below them.

"Cute. You're a good man."

"Take care."

"Goodbye."

Few would be able to recognize Sanrins first guild master, fewest still can remember her name and even fewer then that would be able to recall that Sanrin and her kept in touch with one another even have Celethorn had lead away the core members of her society to form the Blades of Lordaeron. She was the reason he hated Southshore, for surely wouldn't you fear running into someone you thought you disappointed? We'll stand on the dock for a long period of time, and consider the warning that he would ignore in the future. If the fog was lifted slightly we could see his tabard, though he meant no disrespect he must not of considered wearing those colors around her may sting.

We could sit and pick apart his contradictions. He had no connection at all to Lordaeron, the city he was supposed to represent. Officer to a city he'd never even seen, admired a man he barely knew when he'd made rules against getting close to others, he had even been rallied into further leadership positions...Sanrin could barely lead his own life let alone steer the direction of others. He sighs and we step aside to watch him walk away, Tomorrow he'll engage in combat attempting to defend this town he would loathe. It would be his first encounter with an undead woman that would intrigue him, but to say his life would change much for the next few months would be a lie. He would meet many people and do some exciting things, we would catch him off guard as he allows himself to open up and smile.

Sanrin is almost up now however, and while we would love (and hate) watching him slowly fall in love with his mentors lover, we simply do not have the time. Particularly since it is not our time to waste.

[Sanrin]

We are, for the first time on our journey, moving at a quick pace. Though related in no other way then name Elavandres moved quicker then most horses. Perhaps it was the focus of his rider, or maybe he knew the sands of time that put such limit upon our tale was running out. Whatever the reason Elavandres pushed fast and hard across the hills beyond Southshore, leaving Sanrin a stunning view of the rising sun. He has a long way to go even at our current pace, so we can allow ourselves to daydream just a little while and lightly in case of attack. Sanrins gleaming metal figure easy to spot amongst the lush hills, and Elvandres sparkling gold and blue armor almost painfully obvious (though his coverage from head to horn in metal didnt slow the mythical horse down).

"Liadain!"

We've seen her before but each time is a shock, a vibrant smile hidden behind an assault of mystery, the woman standing in the empty streets of Old Town. Except now you know her name. Sanrin waves brightly to one of the few individuals he considered to be a close friend, Celethorns soon to be wife, he would regret not spending enough time with her.

"Whats up?" she smiled in response as the paladin steps down the guild hall stairway, expecting a blast of fresh air he instead greeted with the thin smoke produced by mechanics. Same tabard, with armor much more organized.

"Nothing really, you?"

"Just heading out for a walk!"

"Need company?"

She grins and need not answer, the two begin their aimless hike through the city streets. It was days like this his arm never hurt.

"Hows you nd the old man?" Sanrin piped.

"Doin fine, can't complain really." she chuckled at his remark, shking her head in amusement.

"We've supposed to head out soon right? Theramore?"

"Mhmm, off the coast of it. Kings order, we'll be meeting the Regiment there too."

"Yeah whatever, King cant order himself to be saved."

"Guess not, but orders are still the same. And the pay is decent this time."

"We get paid?!" he exclaimed in feign excitement.

They laugh again, walking off tot he flight master with the cheerful anticipation that came before every fight. The conversation would continue and we'd drone in and out of it until they reached their destination. The weather, the clouds, new forms of breakfast. Lighthearted conversation that could only really be stopped by the cry of-

"Hey!" A strong male voice rang hard through the city streets. Looking older but from fragile Celethorn picked up his pace to match their own.

"Hey Cele." greeted Liadain, still chuckling from her bright conversation.

"Sup Old Man?" grinned Sanrin, watching his mentor frown for show.

"You two are going to be late if you keep this up, we need to meet the others there afterall."

"Nah, we're still early plus the flights are running smooth today." the three chatted as they moved up the ramp to where the flight master kept his birds in tow.

"You'll be up front with the rest of us right? I'm keeping some of the less mobile forces in the rear."

"I suppose someones got to lead..." Sanrin sighed with exasperation, his hand unable to resist scratching his head in the mock notion of responsibility.

"Day I'll be lead by a child is a cold one." shot Celethorn in return.

"Children, behave now..." Liadain waved a finger between the two as their paid for their fare.

Although he may not realize it quite yet Sanrin would find out those individuals whom spend their lives alone seem to embrace loneliness willingly. This is not to say that he enjoyed the concept of abandonment. Months from now he would be placed into a situation both unavoidable and yet tragic, and it is with thoughtful remorse that we witness one of the last pleasant gatherings these three would experience at once.

Celethorn would leave the Blades, following the footsteps of his wife though for reasons different in nature. We imagine it was with a mixture of broken pride and disappointment that the half elf left behind both the guild he loved to lead and the young paladin he would admit to loving like a son. but that is not how Sanrin would see it. Angry, confused, and now formidable in his strength we would not have to look far and deep to notice how easily Sanrin labeled his abandonment as betrayal. Perhaps it was the last gift his father bestowed upon him. Taking great effort to prove that not all was lost Empyrean Dawn was formed, and what would start as a simple mark of defiance against his mentors succession against his family would rapidly give him a small name and place in the history of the world.

Sanrin laughed, a warm and yet pained tone. The wind was starting to grow harsh and his few accomplishments had to be put behind him. perhaps when all of this is done he would find his old friends and apologize. They had come far, very fast, and they'd not a single time done it alone. We may see more moments of his life, he still has a while to go after all, we will rest ourselves a moment as he rides on, pondering a short but sweet reunion with those he loved.

We know the truth. Let us refrain from speaking it aloud.

[Sanrin]

"Shield me! Keep me alive!" screams a man we're unfamilar with. Tall, proud and yet showing signs of weariness his wild hair preforms excitedly in the wind.

Our wild haired man dashes uphill where two orcs wait eagerly, weapons in hand they charge and scream in a chorus of violence. There is little between the two forces save land and air, the empty blacksmiths facilities ring quiet and the nearby water runs still. We hover in anticipation. Orcish armor cries out as loud as their booming voices, and for the first time we notice our wild haired friends robes aren't like those we've seen before. Knit loose yet fitted they fail to hinder his uphill dash, trails of blue and white flowing like mist hit by a blast of air. A bizarre snapping noise, like the crack of a whipe or the split of a pea pod, is heard and the orcish combatants barely have time to realize the man they were facing is now behind them before the smell of sulfur fills their nostrils. Saiken grins knowingly, the last thing we see before his body is surrounded by a cascading wave of fire, we shield our eyes reflexively and hope theres nothing left to see of his victims.

We hear the arrows loose through the air but the mage is already in motion. Some fly wide, other shots seem pushed from his body by an unseen force, but he realizes now (far too late) that his enemies were more then a pair and his support is already dead. He is skillful however, and far from out of tricks. A storm of fire and ice flow gracefully from his fingertips, he doesn't bother gaguing his enemies strength as he lets loose a flurry of spells. Arrows fly past him, expertly dodged, hitting only air as his body is torn ahead of where mere muscle and speed can reach. We feel the air around us snap crisply with frost as he roots a bloodthirsty rogue into the ground, ice shooting up from the solid earth to hold his foe into position. Our bodies feel heavy as Saiken seeps the air thick with his violent releases of arcane energy, a half hearted fireball is set loose from his palm, though broken curses muttered by a singed Blood Elf are enough to bring a smile to his lips.

He is struck, hard and from a direction he can no longer comprehend as his body is sent flipping through the air. The ground embraces him warm and eager to stop his doll-like movement, body convulsing for a moment as a dark feeling sweeps across his very being. He was not from this world at first, only now do we notice this as he recovers from the attack with urgency as strength a normal human could not muster. We watch feeling return to his body, he struggles and stumbles franticly to his feet as a triumphant warlock closes in over him.

"I've got you covered!" a shot finishes their verbal exchange as if time had not continued.

Though we rarely consider the feelings of animals we will pause and reflect for a moment upon the emotions of a particular creature. Long was he teased (unjustly) for his looks, never given a chance to explain himself properly. Indeed this warlock was an offender, so it is good (and decent), for us to cheer as Elavandres sweeps in. Head down, body charging, horn as sharp and unrelenting as the suns rays the holy mount pierces the undead warlocks chest, galloping off and away with his corpse. Justice has prevailed in ribbons of red and flashes of golden armor.

Saiken could hardly contain a smile as he scrambles to his feet, hands a blur of gestures and runic symbols. We watch Sanrin dash into view, smile wide and bright as day, we would be asking the worlds first stupidest question if we were to question their close friendship. Familiar sights and sounds assault us as we observe what we've never witnessed before. Sanrins mace roars defiantly, spitting fire with reckless abandon as the unfortunately rooted rogue feels its sharp spikes dig into his spin eagerly. Arrows meant to hit the young paladin are distracted and poorly fired as bolts of arcane force blast away parts of the poor smithing house - the only cover available to our unfortunate archer. Again our wild haired mage defies the principles of reality, tearing his body past our sight as Sanrin drops his weapon long enough to mend his friends few wounds from afar. His healing magic was never effective though he was taught how to dispense it well. It is another dance, joyous, rhythmic and triumphant in its gore. The two sweep across the battlefield in deadly unison, the screaming release of steam and the crackling of ice the only sounds shared between the two.

It isnt until the dust is settled and the two have finally stopped moving that they speak, clear and to the point.

"What're you doing here?" Saiken asks bluntly, almost as if words were unfamiliar to him.

"Actually I need your help."

"Help?"

There is a silence that passes amongst them, broken only by Elavandres' return, horn bloodied though looking fine aside it all.

"What kind?" again, short and to the point. Words pass between them as bullets fly.

"A portal, you're the fastest mage I know."

"Oh?" he smirked, "Well, it doesn’t look like I'm needed here much anyway."

The excuse was a mere formality as Sanrin knew, Saiken was just killing time. He had been doing so for quite a while.

"A last adventure I suppose?" smiled his arcane companion.

"Yeah, we need to get goin."

Their conversation is awkward and short, almost forced, a sense of obligation driving them to talk. Formalities done with, they move on and will not speak again until they reach their destination. It is not that they have nothing to say, simply that there is no need to say it. And just as fast as Sanrin had found his friend, they were off.

We ride again.

[Sanrin]

We often times cannot identify when our end is near, though when it does arrive we have choices in how we meet it. Some embrace the final moments of their lives as open and as loving as they embrace their friends and families. Others choose to run, they escape death or the thought of it in their defiant willpower. And still others try to bend it to their will. We shun them in a sense, these individuals who believe that death isn’t an inevitable concept but rather a force that can be shaped and made to serve. We call them Necromancers, though often times they’ll refer to themselves as the start of humanity. Dedicated to finding the perfect form of humanity they make their own paths that are steeped in the blood of others and the absence of their own sanity. Feelings, emotions, and hunger are not necessity but rather tools. Yet they never abandon the tool called love. They attach themselves to it, against it, for it. Some achieve their alleged immortality in order to save loved ones, others to join them in what they perceive to be eternal bliss. Still more consider their actions to be the pinnacle of truth and their goal to be the harbinger of it, to spread their newfound joy and revulsion of all that makes the living alive.

Its difficult to say what end Sanrin is meeting at this very moment, harder still to see if he can identify the looming sense of finality as more then just a gripping fear. He pushed his mount hard and fasted, Saikens large war-cat achieving great leaps and bounds to keep up with the enchanted horse. The ride was long, yet they knew the land well and were able to take quick routes across the foothills up north and into the darker corners of the world. And with the extensive journeys they seemed to lose track of time itself, waves of rolling green hills giving way to prior times yet again.

It is not unusual to make friends with those whom are similar to you, Sanrin himself was no exception to this rule. People with strife as their mother, raised in broken and shattered homes he had learned to seek refuge with. He would think fondly of Kurohane, Pistos, Liadain, Celethorn...Krilani. Most of whom he knew the names of, others time had not been so forgiving to. He tried hard but couldn’t remember the night elf whom taught him to smelt, or the dwarf he had saved by throwing off a cliff. He had trouble recalling exactly whom the Regiments first great leader was, but even worse could barely remember the beautiful but haunting paladin that had caused such a stir amongst the Church of the Light. She was a recent face too, and he could faintly remember how sweet she smelled...

“Her name was Lovely and she was a whore.” Saiken shouted over to his holy companion, frowning as Sanrin looked over to him in a state of mild confusion.

“Mind reading?” Sanrin frowned, wind pressing hard against him as he tried to communicate while moving.

“You’re talking aloud again. Thought the voices stopped?” the two slowed down, they were approaching their final destination.

“They did. And I didn’t bring you here to lecture me.”

“So? How long has it been going on?”

“Last night.” Sanrin paused, refusing to make eye contact with his otherworldly friend. “I finished the book.”

“And? A good ending I take it?”

“Dry.”

“Perhaps that’s because death generally is. But I wonder, at the end of that book your father wrote, the one you needed blood to fill...I wonder whose death it foretold?”

Sanrin’s silence spoke loudly of the answer he didn’t have. Hundreds of lives had been ended to fill the pages of a book he had hoped would be ripe with answers. The Tome his father had written was finally finished, no questions answered. No answer to escape death but instead a means of prolonging life...of undoing what had already been done. But no means of escaping it, his father had created a spell in which one could pull themselves out of the situation and back into the world of the living. You were required to first kill to obtain it, to slaughter in order to embrace it.

“Your father was a fool.” spat Saiken.

“Thanks, I didn’t already know-“

“And he raised a stupid child it would seem.”

Sanrin turned Elavandres to stop their both in their slow trot, eyes cold yet desperate.

“And what do you know? How much have you given to find out the truth? Nothing. You sit here on this miserable world with no means of returning, you threw in your fucking towel!”

“So now this is a personal issue? Ever wonder why he left you so many questions? No answers, only a way to bring back the only one who’s ever plagued your life? The only villain great Sanrin has yet to defeat. The Holy Demon versus his own father.”

“You think this is about revenge? About bringing him back? I killed him once I don’t need to prove I can do it again, mage.”

“Oh? You haven’t learned anything have you? You couldn’t cope with the death of Kurohane so you brought her back, couldn’t deal with the death of your mother so you always held that abomination near you.” Saiken spat, his voice rising with impatience as he pointed at the paladins wounded arm, “You fear death more then anyone I know, that’s why you carry that damn piece of shit with you. What will you learn from it? Avoidance?”

“This ‘piece of shit’ is a mark of defiance!” screamed Sanrin, drawing the book from his chest piece in revelation.

“Against what? Death, or acceptance?” the mage sat back in his seat, arms crossed with temper unrelenting. “What other prices must you pay to defy the cycle? How many lives have you paid so far?”

A grim silence passes between the two as Sanrin looked away from his friend for the second time. He couldn’t bring himself to talk anymore, could barely get himself to focus.

“What other prices Sanrin? You still remember who I am?”

“Of course I do.” snapped the paladin in response.

“Is that why the Dawn disbanded then? Easier to forget a cause you simply discarded, friendships you simply could say you used. Is that why you stopped seeing-“

“And what would you do?! Drag them down in my madness until my friends and family tear themselves asunder in the wake of my instability-“

“They have a choice-“

“I made the choice for them! What happens to this Tome when I die? Who will be tortured-“

“And so this is it?! We put and end to it now, your valiant self sacrifice will live on in the minds of no one. You will die as a pathetic memory of misplaced valor, attempting to understand things that aren’t meant to be understood by the likes of you!”

“Then that’s what will be done.” shouted Sanrin, turning Elavandres back into trot away from the conversation.

“What a waste of life.” sighed Saiken, kicking ahead of the Holy Demon into the corrupted grass and the twisted brush of the Plaguelands.

Sanrin stalled for a moment in thought, but he had already made his decision. They had only an hours worth travel now, and this is the first time we notice a genuine fear in his eye. We do not know what exactly it is he fears, but perhaps now we can finally understand why he fears it. Death, reunion, and even though he hides it well it is easy to see has Saiken pushes his cat hard into the distance that the young man fears one thing above all else.

Loneliness.

We will leave him for the final hour of his trip. It will be the last hour he spends alone.

[Sanrin]

He does not tire, he does not waver, and for the final time in his life Sanrin allows him to express himself in the only art he’s ever been good at. His mace sweeps hard and fast across and through the rotting bodies of his foes, his body is a blur of both movement and emotion. Each swing is a little lighter then the last, each blow is a little harder, and slowly but surely we watch a smile creep across his face. It had been a long time since he had been in the Plaguelands, even longer still since he had visited this place. A village long broken, buildings torn violently to the ground, their insides strewn about the streets like its residents so brutally gutted inside of them. Some had come to fight Sanrin by will, others by force, and though the resistance he met amongst the undead townsfolk was relentless still he pressed on. Sulfuras roared. Their bodies fall, unable to continue responding to the strings that held them up.

Sanrin felt his heart nearly tear itself from his chest at the first sight of the collapsed wine cellar. Broken walls and familiar scorch marks made paladin lose his place for a moment, recently torn fragments of cloth and burnt and splintered pieces of wood signified his handiwork. Sulfuras almost seemed to purr in admiration of its own artistry before biting down on Sanrin’s final opponent, the sickening wet crunching sound that seemed to accompany most of his young life brought him back to the present. He passed over the charred remains of a corpse that had not be remade on this day, gave a soft nod, then on and over the former body of his brother and down into the cellar from which he rose from. He remembered a symphony of pain then-

-a violent hailstorm of rock and shattered glass poured down around him as his siblings body fell to the ground, this time lifeless and still. Sanrin was short on breath but he knew he had to keep moving. His father was laughing, grinning with that same reckless abandonment that he had felt all this time burning inside his arm. He charged, unable to stop the momentum his feet had pulled him into. Yet again his mace roared as he swung upwards, a jet of flame reaching out desperately to drag down the man that had plagued him for so long. He saw his fathers hands flash out in movement, saw light and heat miss their target whom had with all the grace an unfettered corpse could muster rolled away from Sanrin’s desperate lunge.

It was easy to see where Sanrin had gained his grace from as his father picked up the closest thing to him in maniacal laughter, hurling the brick at his son in a lopsided manner. The paladin stood in astonishment as the rubble flew wide, missing him by what felt was more then a mile. He couldn’t believe it, he had come so far and this was all that he had to see? His father smiled, standing to pull his robes tight about his broken body.

“What’s wrong? Finish the job son, you’ve come so far only to disappoint me yet again? Swing, swing, swing.” he laughed, “Or shall I force you to myself?”

Sanrin grimaced and charged yet again, the distance between them was short now, there was finally nothing to stop him.

“Swing away, swing away my boy!” his fathers words taunted him beyond measure or control.

He felt his first swing his hard, though he knew not where. He felt the ground below his slip and buckle, his fathers laughter was drowned out by the thunderous collapse of the very ground beneath him. Instinct took over his body as he felt his body hit the ground as his former ground rained down upon him. He felt the searing heat of Sulfuras lash out in reactive confusion, tendrils of smoke and sparking tears flooding the darkened basement with both light and congestion. Sanrin began to stand only moments too late as he felt his fathers hand clench down upon his throat. He was lifted off the ground, his world was a rush of moving wood and stone before it all came to a heaving halt. The air blasted from his lungs his eyes could barely focus on his fathers hollow skull. Could barely hear the words escaping from his putrid lips.

“All the way here little boy and still you understand nothing!” he spit his words the same as he spit rotting blood into Sanrins face. “Came here to take the throne? Came here to throw me off my pedestal? Came here to dethrone me?! I cannot die. I will not die.”

He felt his arm burn and tremble violently as his vision clouded, his lungs were burning for air, he could no longer feel the cold hard floor beneath his feet.

“And so is this where it ends? As a nice little family all here together again! What of it Sanrin, a perfect family like you’ve always-“

He felt the searing pain escape him, flash about him brilliantly and lash out against his father. He felt his fathers fingertips slide away from his throat, felt air press itself lovingly through his lungs once more. The flash of light that had escaped his fingertips and flooded the room with illumination was gone, smoldering remains of wood offering what meager visibility it could. Sanrin dropped to his knees, breathing labored, looking up to see a wave of astonishment and horror cross over his fathers face. And pain. Pain like he had never seen one clutched by undeath would experience. He watched the twisted visage of his only remaining family member sink back into the darkness. Heard the muttered final words of a madman stretch into the vast emptiness of that lonely cellar. Sanrin had never thought-

-he would return so soon, the place smelled as rancid as it had since he had last been here. He held the Tome in hand this time, standing over his fathers mangled corpse. It was easier to see now that shreds of daylight had managed to work their way into the desolate basement, and he was unsure for the first time if just leaving his fathers corpse to rot was something he should have done. He spent a while looking into those cold eyes, still open in wide defiance against the life he had lead and the afterlife he had spent corrupting it. There was a pang of guilt, of understanding. What had his father attempted to accomplish? When had things gone so wrong? Perhaps this was his moment, when he could finally get all the answers he needed.

He opened the book unceremoniously, rifling through its pages in a quick and final search. There was nothing in there of course, nothing that need be read aloud anyway. He had killed for so long only to fill out the blank pages that belonged to a madman, logged his life from the day he met his beloved wife to the day the scourge had finally managed to corrupt his mind and soul. Each bit of blood he offered to the book gave him little satisfaction, little to offer in the means of answers. And as he began to read aloud the only passage of the book he swore never to use again, as the pages that had been stained red for so long began to slowly slip away in the spine of the corrupt text he began to understand. He watched the life seep back into his fathers corpse, his veins once again pumping in anticipation. Flesh slowly mended and unwrapped itself from the fragile bones, making way for muscle and organs yet again. His father screamed in agony as his brain sparked to life as the last moments of his pain melding together with the realization of his new source of torment, his spine itself was shifting to force his body back into a more natural position. Arviado Zenafova stood up and laughed a broken laugh, spitting out both dust and dried blood as he straightened his body from its prior contortion. Long and sweeping white hair clouded his face, though his eyes seemed to refuse their call back to life. Cold and hollow, they stared at his son with contempt and sick triumph.

“All this time and you didn’t learn a single thing.” Arviado smiled cruelly, wasting no time to speak. “All this time and you still came back here, you see? You can’t live without me, can’t let me rest in peace. Did you come to join me finally? Come to get your fathers recognition?”

There was a soft sigh that escaped Sanrin’s lips, he couldn’t help but smile in response.

“Actually, there is something I need to know. I was hoping you could answer it for me.”

“Oh?” Arviado’s smile was unrelenting, “Then by all means, do discuss. It’s the least I could do...”

“Did you love us? Any of us?”

The question was innocent though weighted heavy between the two. His father stood quiet, staring long and hard at his son for the first time in what seemed like forever. It seemed at several moments that he was going to speak, eventually letting a heavy sound escape his lips. A stranger would of seen it as regret.

“All men seek to create a legacy. Isn’t immortality something his family can be proud of? Isn’t that more valiant then going off to die in some foolish war...”

“So you lead us to death based on your foolish pride?” screamed Sanrin, tears stretching the lines of his eyes as weariness began to set in. “That’s what this all is? Your fucking book, you took everything from us...all for what? For nothing?!”

“For this!” screamed Arviado, pointing frantically at the very tome in Sanrin’s hands. “For a world without pain, a world where we could live without boundaries. A world where your mother and I-“

Sanrin didn’t need to hear anymore, he felt the air pull away from him and knew instantly that Saiken had chosen to end their conversation prematurely. The world ripped between the two of them as a torrent of arcane energy threatened to pull them both into its clutches, pieces of rubble and shrapnel ripping through the vicinity to escape out the rift. He heard his father curse loudly, swore he saw the reborn man dash toward him in vain effort but his body was moving before his mind could begin to regret his action. Sanrin felt his mace slip from his fingers as he closed his grip around the Tome of Blood, bringing his newly freed hand into a tight fist as they both began to lose their footing. He felt the air blast from his fathers chest as a closed fist leveled itself into Arviado Zenafova’s stomach. They felt the tear of reality around them, the loss of depth and sense of awareness was horrible but short, replaced quickly by the sensation of falling.

He felt a hand clutch his arm and for a moment felt the sensation of pain envelop his face as the wind tore through his ability to hear. The sun was bright, almost blinding and it was through reflex alone that he brought a hand up to block a punch, and then another. He felt his hand slip from the book, heard the pages flap wildly in the wind and opened his eyes long enough to see his father let go and tear after it. Arviado flapped wildly in the air in an attempt to catch his written legacy, the mortal one attempting to gain his bearings as they fell through the wild skies. Floating rocks flew past in mockery, some far and wide others narrow and taunting in their distance from the two as their bodies cascaded through the skies of Nagrand. Sanrin heard a shout of victory followed by the curse of defeat. He was barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to see his father tear through the blank pages of his book, the last of its blood soaked pages used to bring himself back from the land of the dead. Empty, powerless as a human, and far away from the floating temple he had called home for so long Sanrin had managed to share with his father the only experience that he had felt for a long time. Arviado was far from home, and could not call for any help.

Sanrin drowned out his fathers angry cries, closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He was unsure where Saiken would have dropped him in the end, though he had understood the purpose and intent of the plan was to get rid of the single thing that had plagued him for so long. Every child looks to surpass their father in some way, and as we watch Sanrin fall from the sky now its clear to see that he never really grew up at all. All he wanted was a little recognition.

The paladin would hit solid footing first, his father would feel the fear of overwhelming desperation and regret for another few minutes before his life would end upon the rocky cliffs below. His Tome would be lost to the Twisting Nether, floating far and letting itself be torn asunder on the harsh winds of time.

[Sanrin]

“Why Nagrand?”

“I don’t ask questions about these things, it came to me at the time so I went with it. Not like he gave me much of a preference anyway.” we see a familiar face sigh.

“And that’s it? You didn’t see anything else?” A woman’s voice yearns for questions answered.

“Does it look like I followed him? Either way, he’s better off. Both of em got exactly what they deserved, good and bad. Just keep it quiet and let things play out I suppose...”

“You suppose? Others will want to know.” She snaps back with a frown, we can see soft long hair cover her shimmering eyes.

“Others might, most won’t. In the meantime I suggest you let him go. Like I said before, he’s better off this way.”

“And what if he doesn’t remember? His whole life he spent hiding, hiding things, hiding people, hiding from himself...”

“All that means is that he’s good at it. Let him be good. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ll check in later, I doubt many others will be searching for his corpse anytime soon.” Saiken smiled, “If you can, do let him know that my going away present to him comes at no charge.”

“And where are you going?” boggled Krilani, her white skin looking smooth and pure compared to the rougher exterior of the elf she guarded valiantly.

“Me? Home. It’s about time I went home.” the human spoke, his body shimmering away into a blend of color and texture before he disappeared completely.

She stood over the man a bit longer, leaning in to give him a soft kiss. Gingerly she took the medicinal herbs and oils that she had so carefully used to mend his few wounds and lay them across the tray she had brought them in on. She was not sure how long it would take before someone caught on to their hiding place, nor how long she could continue to take care of him. But they were together again, and for that she could stand lying for just a little bit longer.

Krilani’s footsteps were soft and polite as she carried work away from the sleeper, closing the door behind her.

[Kurohane]

(( Beautiful work, Sanny-pants! <3 <3 ))

[Lovely]

((Very nice!! Very good memories and perspectives.))