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Trell: Searching for Jandercia [Aug. 17th, 2009|10:47 am]
The Warcraft Columnist
Snow blew silently across the barren landscape, covering ice and black earth alike in thick layers. Snow, Trell reflected, held a trap for small children and men new to the tundra alike; it seemed soft, as if it would caress the skin upon touch, but, in truth, when touched, felt like a burn.

A golden glow covering up her eyes’ natural red, Trell peered over the black mask that covered her face. She was thankful for it, as the wind was piercing – so much that even she could feel it. Exposing her face would not have been pleasant.

She had been traveling through this part of Northrend for weeks, following bits and pieces of magical residue left behind by her friend, ever searching for Jandercia. Having stopped at the closest Argent Dawn outpost, she had discovered the general direction in which Jandercia and her regiment had disappeared; no one new the location for certain, as no search parties had been sent to hunt the corpses down. In the north, the threat from the Scourge was simply too urgent to bother with searching for lost comrades. The rule of the camp Trell had stayed with had always been simple: if the didn’t return for three days after the date they were due, they were on their own.

About a week ago, part-way through her search, she had felt Jandercia’s aura change. She hadn’t felt her die, exactly . . . but her aura was faint, so faint she could hardly make it out; perhaps Jandercia was on the verge of passing on, but was clinging to life with that incredible tenacity that Trell had always admired, even when they had been dire enemies?

Somehow, deep inside, she doubted that. It was more likely that what Trell felt was, in itself, also residue, like the light of a burnt-out star reaching the Twin Planets’ surface. She wondered what could have possibly happened to Jandercia; the warlock had been immensely powerful, even outside her demonic form. What kind of monster did it take to destroy her so utterly? One of Arthas’ Flesh Behemoths? A Death Knight? Trell didn’t think Arthas would have bothered sending any.

Suddenly, Trell felt something, like the prick of a needle against skin, but in a magical sense; a remnant of an aura bouncing against hers. Turning her head sharply to the right, she observed the massive ice caves rising up a cliff side, dozens upon dozens of openings staring up at the white sky like hungry mouths. She hadn’t looked at them before, having been lost in thought, memories, and peering inward at her sense of the area's life. There wasn't much of it.

She paused to focus clearly on the caves, and, moments later, there it was: Jandercia's aura. Weak, strange, but there. Surprised and relieved that her search had actually yielded results, Trell almost ran forward, but something about how Jandercia's aura presented itself made her slow to a walk, practice caution.

The caves were vast. The passageways seemed beautiful to Trell, like a maze of crystal mirrors; but, like any maze, she was sure danger and terror lay somewhere within. She walked slowly along the dusted, frozen earth, running her hand against the slick surface of the see-through wall to her left. Her fingers hidden in padded gloves, she didn't feel the unpleasant cold, nor the sharp ice barbs that broke off as she touched them.

She followed the snippets of magical residue like a blind man, all senses turned inward rather than outward, seeing that which was surreal and none of that which was there physically; and so, it was almost a shock when she actually found what she was looking for, within a great, open cavern.

Taking in the size of this enclosed space before anything else, Trell eventually saw the chunk of glacier in the center. Every magical sense she had screamed danger, though the glacier seemed harmless; and every magical sense, too, told her that Jandercia was trapped within that ice.

She stepped forward.
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Trell: Interest in Archeological Forsaken [For Storyline] [Jul. 19th, 2009|09:13 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist
Once again in a seedy cantina in the Lower City of Shattrath, Trell moved to the bouncy, erratic tune blaring through the crowded, alien-filled room. Smoke hung above the heads of the patrons, some chattering in countless languages, others stoned from some Ethereal-imported drug. An Arrakoa squaked over the din, and a bar fight began but a few meters away from the main bar counter, but everything continued as it had. Over the years she had spent getting hammered in this particular tavern, Trell had learned that people losing arms and getting black eyes was all in a day's work to the barkeep -- himself a burly, wart-covered Mo'arg.

Edging towards him now, Trell sat down on the only open stool at the bar, and, raising her voice to be heard over the people talking around her, said, "Derg! Derg, have you heard anything about--" She was cut off by a sharp screech from where the bar brawl had been occurring, evidently the Arrakoa being hurt. When the level of noise subsided some, she tried again: "Derg, have you heard anything about that Fargul fellow? You know, the skeletal Forsaken that was waiting for someone in here last night . . ."

Derg glanced up from scrubbing a grimy glass with an equally grimy rag, and answered, "Aye. Some other dead folk like him wandered in a few minutes after you left, and, well, took him out to an alley . . . I doubt it ended well for him. Whatever he did to 'em, they didn't like it." Trell frowned. Fargul wasn't strong, from what she knew about him, and had indeed made a number of enemies when he had saved Regranaam from certain death at one of his faction's large excavation sites.

"Any chance he'll be coming back, do you think? Did he talk to you at all?" Trell placed both of her elbows up on the tall bar, and braced her chin on a fist, looking off to the side at a number of purple-skinned hobgoblins dancing some strange Kezan shuffle. The Mo'Arg behind the counter shook his head, and spun the contraption attached to his left arm: part saw, part spinning orb. Trell had never gotten a chance to discover what it was for, and was glad for that.

After a moment of relative silence -- between the two of them, at least, as the cantina continued to rumble -- Derg spoke again, voice its usual low growl. "You know, if you're that interested in their archeology group, you could ask Bimmle. He's a Kobold that hangs out hearabouts . . . one of the back rooms, which he's renting. Rich bugger, and smart, for one of his race."

At that point, the noise level rose another notch, and, unable to continue conversation with Derg any longer, Trell simply offered him a nod and wandered off towards the hallway, searching for Bimmle's private room. The rooms in the back of the cantina were of a curious sort; for the sentients that couldn't -- or wouldn't -- get drunk on liquids, they released noxious fumes pleasant to some Draenor and Ethereal types. Locating a rack Legion-style gas masks at the beginning of the hallway, Trell endeavored to search for Bimmle, door after door . . .
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And So We Draw To The End [Jul. 4th, 2009|01:50 am]
The Warcraft Columnist

A scream of terror rang through the Dawnsky home. Lights were going on, and feet ran down the long, dark hallway leading to the bedroom at the end. The door was flung open to reveal a black-haired woman half-hanging out of the large window, tears running thick and fast. She just screamed one word, over and over again.

"Eleanea! Eleanea!" the woman shrieked, every syllable dripping with pain and horror. A red-haired woman ran into the room, as well, to stand next to her shouting sister.

"Malendria, what's---" But Athela didn't need to finish. Laying on the ground, beneath the tall window, was a white figure. It was a young woman, with long, auburn hair and wearing a shimmering gossamer dress. Her hair was spread out around her pale face, which had a look of bliss upon it. However, dark crimson soaked the cobblestones she lay on.

"Light," Athela whispered. "Oh, no...Eleanea!"


What life had been like for Eleanea before the dark curtain was drawn back over her face was all a blur. She remembered those important in her life -- her family, Anoralei, Kelazuri, Trell, Jandercia, Casim, Ladran -- but one person in particular stuck out; Renais. And that's who occupied her mind for the months she had been gone away from those who cared about her. She thought about him so much that, eventually, her mind shattered. Everything she saw was gray, and life didn't truly feel like it was worth living.

She had cut her hair
in a jagged, unappealing way; it was short and choppy, as she had just used a kitchen knife. She secluded herself, hardly ever leaving her bedroom and just conjuring very small amounts of food and water for herself, just enough to keep herself alive. She had been in denial that Renais was even dead, writing letters to him and then burning them, throwing the ashes out of her window in hopes that the words would get to him. Her family was at a loss at what to do, but truly, there wasn't much they could do.

Eleanea started to not feed herself two weeks before she fell from the window. She sat at her piano for hours on end, playing the lullaby she had written for Renais over and over again.
 However, some of her old self was still there, at times. She would play with Anoralei, or else make sure someone was there to take care of her. That was all she retained -- the intense love she held for her daughter, Renais's daughter, and the urgent need to make sure she was well-cared for. That was all she had to live for, and the only thing that mattered to her.

But soon, it was too much. All she heard in her head, most of the time, was Renais's voice, simply conversing with her. Sometimes they would argue when Eleanea was thinking about what she could do to take the pain away. He would scold her and tell her not to think about that; and then he would wrap his arms around her and hold her to him, murmuring words of comfort. She would spin around her room, thinking she was dancing with him. But when she opened her eyes, no one was there.

And then, one cool, breezy night, Eleanea heard Renais calling to her from across Eversong Woods. She smiled, slid out of bed, and walked to the window, sticking her head out into the darkness. She was amaciated, and her blood was already starting to slow and cool. It was only a matter of time before she would be with him; why not make it sooner? 

Stepping up onto the windowsill, Eleanea spread her arms out, the wind picking up fast. It blew her hair -- which was now nearly to her hamstrings -- behind her head. Her long-sleeved gown shimmered in the moonlight, and she closed her eyes, smiling. She reached her arms out to the tree next to her bedroom window and took enough leaves to make a crown, which she did, and placed it on her head. She wound more leaves into her hair and looked up at the starry sky, breathing in the fragrant night air deeply.

She took a small step forward on the wide windowsill and, without a second thought, leapt from it. She felt like she was flying through the air, which was wooshing past her. She just smiled as she fell in what felt like an eternity. Renais was calling to her, his voice getting louder and louder as she got closer to the ground.

And when she hit the cobblestones, she cried out -- not in pain, no, but in joy; indestructible, beautiful joy. The back of her head was becoming warm and wet, but she just laughed and let her eyes flutter open and closed until, finally, all was black. All was peaceful. All was wonderful.

"I'm coming, darling," were her last words, spoken in a fervent and adoring whisper. A few seconds later, her soul left her body and went to join her beloved's, because that was what she had wanted all along, and what she had needed. She wasn't going to be truly happy without him...And now that she was with him, everything was perfect. For once, she felt at peace, because death was the only thing that could bring that to her.

She died for love,
She died for need,
She died for him,
She died for nothing.

She flew through the air like a dove
Just as she always wanted
She found no peace in the world of earthly things
She found no joy in material possessions
She no longer found happiness among her friends
So she found the one solution that was best

Eleanea Dawnsky, rest in peace
Angel in white
Eleanea Dawnsky, it was before your time

But no more dreams of darkness will enter your mind
So sleep softly, sweet Eleanea,
And join your darling man.

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An Ending [Mar. 5th, 2009|09:41 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist
[Current Mood |gloomygloomy]


Nothing but silence, now. At least, in the shadowed night terrain about him. But within his mind, there was no silence. There never would be, really.

Brako stood by a pack of monstrous wolves, all of them motionless, quiet. The half-breed's lanky figure resembled mostly that of a tauren, but the straight-backed posture, the head lifted high, a body toned in lean muscle, hinted that another race's blood ran in his veins. A short tail flicked out behind him, thick braids rested against the chainmail armor locked around his chest, a mane of dark hair falling across his back. Two relatively short horns, anchored to the skull, raked forward over his maw. All that could be seen of the bull-like face, however, was the lower jaw, chin and lips, curved down into a frown. The rest was covered up by a slightly yellowed, cracked skull, that of a chimaera, locked immovably down upon his face by chains. These chains further kept this skull-mask in place by linking both his horns to the one prominent horn of the chimaera; from a distance, he might resemble some grotesque unicorn. The lower jaw of this chimaera skull-mask, still hanging on by some resilient tendons, hung on either side of his neck, daggerlike teeth adding to his silhouette, making it appear demonic, as though this deformed unicorn's head had split in two and its jaws were gaping open.

Brako was standing over a prostrate body, one hoof pressed down into a collapsed, brittle chest. This skinny, rotted body was ripped, broken, its head gone completely, chest torn open with insides askew, shattered bones jutting out at random angles. A Forsaken; it had to be. It was proven to be, as this creature had been seen, two days prior, riding on an undead steed across the grasslands of Hillsbrad. And now, here, his race had run short. This Forsaken lay motionless, the last of his unlife snuffed out along with the distant mound that was his undead horse. And Brako, standing over him...felt no sense of accomplishment, despite everything.

This had been his last target. This had been the one creature, above all, who had created a complete hell on Azeroth, a special hell reserved and created just for Brako before the half-breed even knew how to speak. A slight snarl passed over the half-breed's maw, jerking his halberd again, ripping further into the destroyed body. Surely, he had to feel the elation! He had to feel truly free, now! He had destroyed his last major enemy, fufilled his life goals in destroying this creature! But...the elation did not come. All he heard...was silence. The wolves remained solemn, the dark night sky had nothing to say...only the breeze spoke, rustling the grasses around him. Silence, around him. But in him....

Within his mind...Brako could not feel freedom. He would never know it. Even now, with this last goal taken out, he couldn't truly focus. Images jerked past his sight like electricity; hundreds of words, voices spoke at the same time, confusing him, control continually being wrenched from his grasp as a deeper calamity continued to shake his mind apart, wrack it, a hurricane of noise, activity, a tidal wave that continually kept Brako from truly seeing the world, waking up. He was trapped within his own mind, within his own insanity. And he realized this, now...his last, vain hope, a desperate hope of a desperate creature...his last attempt to try and find peace in his own mind by destroying his lifelong tormenter had failed. As his body jerked and shuddered, grasping onto a nearby wolf for balance, Brako himself fell deep into the confused whirlpool of his own mind, and despaired.


His left hand; a hand visibly missing a finger even beneath the heavy full-body armor; grasped tightly at the brown wolf's thick ruff. "Kedai..." Brako gasped, his voice broken, agonized. The sound seemed to alarm the wolf, and he whimpered, turning anxious golden eyes on his master. "Ke...Kedai....I cannot...ask you to stand...by my side, any longer..." The half-breed sank to his knees, unable to see, his mind a violent lightning storm. He was barely holding onto his sanity. "You've...helped me through all of it...ever since the forest...you helped me find my mother...helped me hunt down every relative of Lyenae, and that scum she was with...helped me destroy every last one of those monsters that made my life hell..." He had unintentionally pulled Kedai's armored head further down to the grass, but the wolf was leaning close anyway, ears pricked, trying to listen, a faint whimper constantly in the back of the wolf's throat. "He was the last one...Zarroth. We got him." Brako's mismatched eyes, one a crimson, dulled for the time being, the other a vibrant acid-green, each of which only the glow was visible - both focused on the Forsaken's crumpled figure. "I have...nothing left, now. Peace...is not for me....this torment, Kedai, is not for you. You have been loyal...so very loyal...my friend..." The half-tauren creature leaned forward, set his forehead against the wolf's for a moment, trying to clear his mind. Kedai stayed close, long tail hanging, ears half-drooped, as the wolf silently listened to Brako's good-bye.

"Now, go...with the pack, Kedai, go to your own hunt. G-..." Brako twitched, shuddered; the one crimson eye blazed vibrantly for a moment, and a bloodcurdling growl rose slowly from the tauren's chest. An internal battle seemed to take place, fanged teeth flashing in the dimly moonlit night. But then, the crimson glare flickered and then faded, like a failing lightbulb. "Go. I may never be...free...but you, and the wolves, can," he finished in a whisper, and then let go of the scruff of Kedai's neck, and pushed the wolf away with surprising gentleness. The brown, armored wolf hesitated, a whimper again in the creature's throat, but upon a glance from Brako's mismatched eyes, the wolf instead looked to the lupine images grouped around the area. Kedai lowered his muzzle again, licked Brako once on the side of his face, bumped his nose beneath the half-breed's chin as a wolf would do to its leader. And then, the pack left, in silence, and Brako was left to the night, both eyes closed, his hope lost.

The silence around him grew deeper. Brako only wished he could say the same for his own mind.
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When a Man Hopes for Hope [Feb. 11th, 2009|04:26 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist

Renais had sat for days with his left hand holding the bones of his right hand in places. When he slept, he had viced his two hands together using torn remains of his shirt. But in a few days time, he had forced his bones back into place, though his knuckles still ached when they clenched.

That will have to do, he thought grimly.

He had managed to subdue his rather negative side that both feared and hated the thought of Renais ever escaping from this prison, and now, he finally clung to the idea that he might be able to escape. It was a pitiful, half-lived hope, but he knew he must try nonetheless.

Taking a dagger, which he had stolen from the corpse of one of the guards, he imbued the tips with a molten fire. Using the mana-burning spell, he turned the entire blade into a torch that could cut through stone.

Then he began.

Taking the dagger and aware of the prodigous amount of strength taht the spell was taking from him, he took the dagger and began to slowly rend apart the stone below the 'window' of his cell. The dagger barely cut halfway through the wall, and only at a rate of an inch every second or so, so that the progress numbed him. His spell was a continued fireball that danced along the edge of the blade in a concentrated form, but soon it wore on his strength too much and he pulled back the spell, gasping as he did so.

Examining his work, he had cut about half a foot out of the seven-foot tall wall on one side - he would need to cut a total of four-and-twenty feet before he would be able to work on the bottom, another six feet total.

Wiping his brow, he resigned himself to the cold, hard, miserably work of a slave.

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Sweet Dreams [Feb. 6th, 2009|11:05 am]
The Warcraft Columnist

The sun shone brightly into Eleanea's bedroom, pouring onto every surface. It had been a while since she was awake during the day, and it felt odd -- wrong. She had remembered the sun being warmer than this...When Renais had been here. His arms around her. His lips soft against her skin. The sun reflecting off of his hair and sparkling in his eyes. Every perfect line of his face was burned into her memory, what she saw when she closed her eyes. When they were open.
     Eleanea no longer wore the mask and the black gown.  No. Renais wouldn't have wanted her to do that. However, the physical and emotional pain was stronger than ever, to the point it was nearly blinding her. She was sure she couldn't hold on for much longer. But, a dream she had -- one fantastic, unbelievable dream -- had stopped her from ending it all. It had gone something like this...

Eleanea stood in front of the Bazaar fountain, gazing at her reflection. It was radiant, perfect, but tragic. Her auburn hair was thick, shiny, falling in cascades down her back and to her waist.  Her cheeks were blossoming with color. The person she saw was a complete stranger to her eyes. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the sun shining down brilliantly. People bustled around, chattering and walking across the red cobblestones of the Bazaar. But one person in particular stuck out.
    It was a tall man in robes. His raven black hair was in spikes, his eyes crystal blue. His snow-white skin was nearly shimmering in the sunlight. His face -- handsome, beautiful, stunning, perfect -- was smooth, emotionless. But when he saw Eleanea, his eyes locked with hers, blazing.
   "Renais," she whispered and, then, louder, "RENAIS!" She sprinted towards him, shoving through the crowds of people. His arms were wide, and she leaped into them, twisting her legs around his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their lips met. The kiss was urgent, passionate. Eleanea felt light-headed, feeling like she had just taken her first breath of fresh air. She was crying and laughing at the same time, but unable to pull away from him. She was afraid that if she moved, he would disappear.
   "I love you," Renais pulled away long enough to whisper. "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you."
   "I love you, Renais," she murmured, pressing her lips to every part of his face. "I need you. Please don't leave. Please. Please don't leave me."
    "I won't," he said fiercely, putting his hands gently on either side of her face. "Never again. I will always be here, my dearest. My Eleanea." She was just crying, now, tears falling thick and fast down her face, burning her cheeks. Renais brushed the tears away with his lips, holding her to him. She noticed his now blue eyes looked watery, as well.
    "I love you," they whispered in unison.

That was when Eleanea woke up to Mithiri shrieking her morning call. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the dream. But that was silly. She would always remember it, no matter what happened to her. It was precious. But it had felt so...real. Oh, what she would give for that to be true. Her life, eternal damnation? Of course. Just for one moment with Renais, so she could say how much she loved him. How much she needed him, how much she missed him. But...she had no idea if she would ever get the chance.
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Do you hear the voices too? (Fine, Trell.) [Feb. 6th, 2009|06:46 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist

(( Here it is in the Columnist, since that's 'porntant." ))

"You scumbag. You maggot. You cheap, lousy, faggot."

What once had splitting silence now turned into a smooth cacophony of insults and slurs.

"You dull-eyed poor-excuse for a husband. You wouldn't be fit to marry a goat."

Renais stood alone in the center of his cell, his body tense. He was not slouched; defeated, with his head bowed and his hair a curtain in his eyes. Instead, he wore a demented grin and his eyes screamed without words. His teeth, still immaculately white, were clenched tightly together and his smile extended to show almost all thirty-two of them. His head was bowed slightly, but his back was vivid, tense, and erect, while his arms were like wires at his side. They were tensed as well, and his fingers clenched and un-clenched like claws, trying to grasp something that was quickly slipping between them.

"You liar! You LIAR! She said yes!" Renais shouted.

"To what? To you? Or your money? Maybe she wanted to steal that little 'trophy' of Scen you still have...the one you call your daughter!" the Old Renais growled back.

"You won't talk about her like that!" howled Renais in agony. He turned his head and closed his eyes sadly.

"Or maybe she just wanted to make you know how it felt...how it felt to be loved and left all alone to the vast emptiness you call your mind."

"I didn't want to," whimpered Renais.

"'I didn't want to, I didn't want to!' You rammed a sword through her, you half-wit!"

Renais shook inwardly, with shame and grief. If only I could take it all back...

"Look at yourself!" spat the Old Renais. "The last decrepit line of the Iceblood house and you sit snivelling in jail. Why don't you DO something about it? Go to that whore of yours."

"Shut UP!" Renais' hands were engulfed in flame as he prepared a spell, but there was no magick that could stop his own sanity from raving against him.

Laughter. "Oh, are you going to hurt me? Scen was a whore, Eleanea was a whore, every woman you've ever known was a whore, just using you to get farther in their own lives."

"But I wasn't even a Magister when I proposed!" roared Renais. "She knew it!"

"And so what if you weren't? You have enough money to hire Orcs and guards and 'babysitters' for that weakling you call your daughter. She could take. She wanted to take them."

"She misses me," whimpered Renais. His heart throbbed agonizingly in his chest.

"I bet she's strolling down the streets of Silvermoon right now...right as rain." hissed Old Renais. "She probably doesn't even remember your name."

That was too much for Renais. His eyes wide open, his mouth open in a cruel laugh that had not escaped him in years, he punched the wall - hard. His hand, burst into flame, began to melt the stone, but his strength quickly ebbed. Still chuckling maniacally, he slipped into unconsciousness, his sanity just as shattered as his hand.

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(no subject) [Jan. 17th, 2009|01:16 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist


The night was dark and unusually cold for a forest of eternal-spring. The wind was quiet, rustling the brightly colored leaves of the trees ever so gently. Eleanea was pacing restlessly in between the span of two trees, going from one to the other. Moonlight streamed onto her face, illuminating her already pale face to the point of being the color of porcelain. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, gleaming and glittering out from her face. She clenched and unclenched her fists, wrestling internally with herself.
   Something wasn't right. Certainly not. She was beginning to feel insecure, her heart pounding, her blood rushing. Every time she thought of him, she felt frightened. Insecure. She couldn't help but feel that, even if he could come back...He wouldn't. Had he loved Scen more than he loved her? Did he regret being engaged to Eleanea, hating the idea of being in the arms of anyone but Scen? It made her shudder, made her feel like pure ice. She tried not to think of it, tried to ignore that absolutely agonizing thought. But he could love anyone he wanted...Eleanea couldn't change that. 
  She hated everything that could possibly have put him in more torture than he may have been in. Surely, missing Scen would have done that, right? Surely...Missing Eleanea would have done the same. If he loved her. If he cared.
   Stop that, she thought angrily to herself. If he didn't love you, then why did he propose?
In truth, she hated the fact that he may have loved someone more than he had loved her. She had never loved anyone so passionately, so wildly, so sweetly, so truly than he had loved him. It made her shiver to think that he may not feel the same way.
    The times that she thought she hated him swam in her head, making her laugh a dark, humorless laugh. She would have so readily taken him back, if he had asked earlier. The only reason she didn't bring it up herself is because she thought he hated her. Of course he would be happy to have had Scen, who never said that she hated him, who was beautiful and strong. Eleanea hadn't known Scen, but she could probably guess that she hadn't run away with her emotions, was older, more mature...More deserving of him. She knew he had a chance to be happy...if he could join Scen in death.
    Eleanea despised how much these thoughts made her feel like a jealous, stubborn child. She knew he had loved Scen madly -- she would have given anything so he could have her again, if he would be happy.
    All she wanted was some assurance that he did, indeed, love her. But it was impossible to get, and it drove her mad. She didn't deserve him, she knew; he was far too beautiful, brilliant, kind, perfect.
    Suddenly, she laughed bitterly as she thought about how long Elves could live.
    "If one can live for centuries," she murmured, "then what do you live for? A songbird, the eternal sun...? Obviously, whoever or whatever created elves weren't aware what could happen when the core of their existence is ripped away from them...Obviously, they weren't aware of how torturous mere thoughts can be..."
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Lullabies and Adrenaline [Jan. 17th, 2009|01:15 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist


Eleanea sat in front of her large, ebony piano, staring blankly at the keys. The song she had finally perfected -- sweet, sad, lullaby-like, loving, soft -- rang in her ears. She closed her eyes, trying to block out any sound around her, though that didn't help; his face swam before her. 
    "I can't take it anymore," she whispered, opening her eyes. "I can't."  She rose in one swift, fluid moment. She had changed in the past few days. She wasn't happy -- no, hardly happy -- but she had pretended, because it was expected of her to get over it. But did one ever truly...get over it?  No. No, of course they didn't.
     Subconsciously had Eleanea written that lullaby for him. She didn't realize it until she had closed her eyes, when her heart felt constricted, when she finally knew that every note screamed her love for him, how much she missed him. She now refused to think of his name; everytime she did, the hole in her chest would burn and ache and make itself more than apparent. 
       She stood, frozen, in front of the window in her bedroom. Her blood was pounding in her ears, her thoughts shrieking as if they were in agony in her head. 
        I can't take it!
her mind screamed. I can't do this anymore! I need some relief...I need to get out of the situation all together. As much as I smile and try to make myself seem strong, I'm not! I need this to end. I want...No. I need to hear his velvet voice again. No matter what it takes, I will find him and hold him and tell him how much I love him. How much I missed him...If he doesn't want me anymore, fine, but he is going to listen to me. Hes' going to let me see him, hear him, touch him, kiss him, smell his aroma. 
       Suddenly, an idea hit her, square in the chest. She smiled faintly -- the first true smile in months -- and bounded down the steps into the living room, bursting out into the bright sunshine. If she couldn't have him with her...Well, she could at least her him speak to her. No matter what the tone was.

When Eleanea arrived at the steep cliff, she was unaware of where she had traveled to. All she knew was that the ocean was swirling beneath her, rain was pelting her face, and that she was going to hear him speak to her again.
    Her toes inched towards the edge of the cliff, and, suddenly, a voice filled her mind. It was as clear as if he'd been standing right next to her, whispering a warning in his silken voice.
     "Don't do this, Eleanea," he said angrily, frustrated. "You're being childish."
      Am I? she mused to herself, shaking her head. She got even closer to the ledge.
       "Ele, please." His voice was pleading, now. Shaking. "Please don't. For me. Please." She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky. The wind whipped her hair around her face. She smiled and, walking to the very edge, plunged off into the ocean.
        "ELEANEA!" he shouted as she jumped. His voice rang in her ears as she fell, screaming. The screams weren't in fear, but in freedom. Adrenaline pumped excitedly through her veins, glad to be alive again. She did feel alive, for the first time. She felt completely and utterly free from everything, everyone. She was getting closer and closer to the swirling black water and, as she hit it, she smiled.
       She fell deep into the ocean. At first, she was fine, able to hold her breath easily. But as the seconds ticked by, her lungs became constricted, her throat closing.
       "Swim!" his voice begged. "Swim, Ele...Keep swimming." She tried. But she couldn't find the surface, and she didn't attempt to swim away from the rip tide. 
      Well, she thought in slight amusement. Dying isn't such an unpleasant experience...I rather enjoy the sound of the water. Besides, if the last words I hear are from him...Then, surely, it can't be so bad. 
      The mass of black was overwhelming, but she didn't mind. She was beginning to feel numb and light-headed, and the dying experience slowly eased in the uncomfortable department. 
      "Eleanea, no, don't die, don't die..." he said frantically. "Keep fighting. Find the surface, dearest, find it...Please find it!" She smiled slightly and, slowly, all was black, and the voice was silenced.

It felt like a rock was smashing against her back, and water flew out of her mouth. Was she dying, again? Because, this time, she didn't like it. The rock hit her again, and more salt water came out. Oh, no. This wasn't pleasant at all. 
   "C'mon," someone muttered next to her. "Get it all out..." Eleanea realized a rock wasn't hitting her, but a very strong hand. She came around long enough to peer up at Arisseda beating the water out of her, and a dim figure hovering beside her. Water continued to pour out of Eleanea's mouth and, before she knew it, her lungs seemed to be clear. She gasped for air, her breathing uneven. 
     "I heard him, Arisseda," she murmured faintly. "He was talking to me. He was protecting me, even if he wasn't there...I heard him." 
     "'Course you did, Ele," she cooed gently. "Go back to sleep, now. We're going home."
     "I heard him..." Eleanea flashed a brilliant smile and was, once again, unconscious.
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Dreams to Haunt [Jan. 6th, 2009|01:28 pm]
The Warcraft Columnist


Eleanea was walking down a long, dark path. Yellow eyes glared at her from large, black bushes. There were hisses and roars she couldn't explain, but it didn't matter. She had somewhere to be, somewhere she couldn't possibly skip going to.
   Slowly and patiently did Eleanea walk down this path, her eyes set straight ahead. She strolled past a river and, when she spared herself a glance did she notice her hair was thin and lank and her eyes were a dull, muddy green. Turning away from the water, she quickened her pace, her heart beating uncomfortably in her throat. Black birds and beasts darted in and out of her path, clawing and pecking at her, but never quite meeting her skin. Her legs were starting to feel weak, and she broke into a full-on run. The sky looked as if it was simply a black and purple swirl, and there seemed to be two large fel-green eyes looking out from it.  
    "Have to get there," she muttered. "Have to." Soon, there was a nasty voice ringing in her head; No, no...Your prize is not there, little one...Oh no no no. It's long since gone.       
    "Liar!" she cried at the air. Now she was running so quickly it felt as if she was flying. She passed cemetaries and dead bodies hanging from trees, beasts that looked like mutants. Her heart felt like it was playing a rythym in her chest; thump, bump, thump, bump, thump, bump...Her hands were flaming, cold, cruel laughter in her head. Finally, however, she reached her destination. 
   She was standing in front of a tree. Nailed to it by his head was a man. He was ragged, blood trickling down his neck. His face was thin and pale, his eyelids drawn over his eyes. His black hair seemed to be turning slowly grayer as the minutes ticked by. His long robes her ripped and torn and bloody.
   Eleanea walked forward, hesitantly, and touched his face. His eyes flew open, but he said nothing for a few moments. He gazed at her sadly, a tear trickling down his face.
     "I'm sorry, Eleanea," Renais's corpse murmured. "I love you." His eyes closed once more, and he was still. Eleanea fell to the ground, sobbing.
     "No!" she shrieked. "No! No, please, no!" 

     Next thing she knew, she was kicking and screeching in her bed, her covers wrapped tightly around her. 
    "RENAIS!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "No, Renais! No! No! No!" Her bedroom door flew open, and Malendria rushed to her sister's side, attempting to restrain her. Eleanea collapsed on her sister's shoulder, crying and screaming incoherently. Malendria tried to shush her, comfort her...But there was nothing she could do. Finally, Eleanea wept and shrieked herself into sleep. Slowly, her sister lowered her onto her bed, covering her with her blankets. 
      Digging under Eleanea's bed, Malendria drew a vial filled with blue liquid from it and tipped it into her sleep sister's mouth, stroking her hair.
      "No more nightmares for tonight, dearest," she said softly, kissing Eleanea's brow gently. Glancing back at her one last time, Malendria exited the room and sighed, shaking her head.
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