Emizaels' Bio

[Windfoot]

((Well done Emi. Keep writing ))

[Emizael]

"...And while you were off doing Goddess knows what, all hell broke loose!"

This yelling has been going on for some time now. I'm used to it, *I think*...anyway. She's mad, and she's a right to be.

I haven't been taking my duties as a married elf all that seriously, I think, what with having vengance, and things of that nature on my brain.

I haven't been taking a lot of things seriously. Annasha goes on and on in the background, trying to make me see the light, I expect, and she is telling all the truth. It's not that I'm not listening, either. I'm devoted to her, really. I'm devoted to the two tiny babies in their cribs in the next room. I would do anything, anything at all for them.

I tell Anna everything. I tell her the what, the why, and the where. She fills me in on what I missed, while I was gone.

I get the cold feeling in the pit of my stomach, when she gets to the part where the Defenders fought the demon, and...where...Windy...Windfoot....fell.

I curse myself for being a fool, but then I remember. Heroes were there with him that day. The bravest and strongest and brightest souls I have ever met. Together, they were, and they were with him at the last, when limb gave out, and blood was cold. This is probably the best thing I can think of ...for a hero like him.

Now, I know, Ol' Windy wouldn't have called himself a hero. He took a band of ruffians, so I hear the tell, and made himself a legendary band. Legendary. Anybody says different, is getting a visit in the dead of night, by me.

Annasha is yelling at me again, and is near tears, 'cause I'm *not * listening. I am listening, but...I'm listening to alot of voices...looking at a lot of different paths, like...in that Dream that Sorcha'Rei showed me. Its starting to make sense now, why I saw that, why I saw what I saw.

I stand up, and kiss Anna goodbye. I tell her that I won't be long, and she's just gonna have to understand, or ..hit me with a frying pan. The last is more likely, but...there are things we all have to do in this life. Some of us have to stand up and be in the spotlight, like ...Windy did. Someone has to be in charge.

Kinda a great testiment to a guy like that, that he could assemble such a group like the Defenders, and hold them together for so damn long, even given what most of us are like.

I'm glad to have known him, and...I...pray...for the first time in a long time, that the 'Verse takes it easy on him, and shows him some kinda heaven for all he did.

In the meantimes, it takes a guy like me, to do the other things that need doing. I'm not a leader, and ...I'm not the one in charge, thank the 'Verse. The ones in charge, though, the ones that have to fill Windy's shoes, so to speak...they're gonna need all the help they can get. So...

First things first, I gotta find all the Defenders, and make sure they're okay. I've been doing my own thing for far too long, and I don't know these guys half as well as I oughta.

The biggest flag I can wave, is that ...as long as we wear the Tabard..and as long as the Houses stand...then...D'ana'no will live on forever.

[Kalmorith]

*claps*

Emizael, good friend...I have missed you. Do tell more!

[Emizael]

Chant says, "Travel the world long enough, and eventually, you will run into your own footprints." This may be true, but, the Chanters don't say what to do when you run into yourself, literally.

So, there I am, surveying Ratchet. Some monster or another decided to go rampaging, and did a bunch of damage there. 'S funny, locals say it was an elf girl, but everyone gives a different description. The damage though, goes way beyond anything that I've seen outside of Feralas...

And the demons there took decades to wreck it.

Whatever happened, happened in a day. Bad day for Ratchet, worse for me. There I am, doing my thing, running here and there, chanting at berks and laying some coin about, when, all of a sudden, I round the corner near the Blacksmithy, and bump into somebody wearing mail armor. This, I know because metal hurts when ya bump into it. Also, the tabard the bastard was wearing. So...

Its a Defender, and I pick myself off the ground, and I'm yapping..

" Hey, damn..Finney?" Coulda been, only, the armor he's wearing, the Cadin'sor wrapped around his head, used to be mine. The bow, a bow I string every night before I go ta bed. The fiery blade he's unsheathing, is my blade...

So...we look at each other. A long, long minute passes. I'm so scared right now, I dun know what to do, other then pull out my sharpened knife, and stare myself dead in the eye.

He talks first.

" We've got this covered here, go back to Darnassus, and tell Llyramanion *not* to go looking for trouble."

" What the hells does that mean?!" I yell, and then, he calls a low whistle, and, Sathis...loyal, hardy Sathis, my worg, pads around the corner and comes to heel at his hand. Seeing me, seeing him! ...like that..

Everything just goes shaky, and I hit the ground again.

The Hunter I was leans in close, and whispers to me...

" When you're ready, you'll understand."

[Sorcha'Rei]

((Hey, Emi, do you know how to do one of those breathe-and-center exercises?

Good good stuff. *cheers*))

[Emizael]

Things have gone wrong.

Terribly, terribly, wrong.

I'd thought the worst of the world was behind me, and that all new adventures would be tempered with the permanency that I had enforced...

I put away my bow, and hung my ancient blade above the mantle, I left the Worg Sathis, my loyal companion, in the company of my wife, to protect her and my infant children.

Then I snuck out one night, and wandered around the forest. A chance meeting with a guild-mate, I guess, touched off a series of events that has now changed the entire world, and my position in it.

After Ratchet, I needed time to think, and to plan. To...unravel the mystery of this Elf-girl, a druid that is not a druid...

It was plain enough to see that after the devastation whatever it was left in Ratchet, it moved across the seas, with the other survivors, to Booty Bay, and ...to the entire new world.

But, there, in Ratchet, I met someone, who was...who is...
Another me?

Not possible. Some mage trickery, surely, some false glamor or enchantment laid on some new enemy...someone using my name and face to some nefarious end! With growing anxiety and dread, I hurled myself back across the seas, hiding aboard the first vessel I saw in the waves. I nearly ran the entire length of the docks, barely stopping to catch my breath as I vaulted to the Sky Platform, and throw coin to the Griffon Master and launched into the blue skies, heading for home.

I landed in Stormwind. The dread was freezing the marrow of my bones as I ran as fast as my limbs would take me, through the streets of the Trade District, pushing human and elf out of my way in my mad dash for home. Guardsmen moved out of my way, seeing the blue of my Tabard, the mark of the Alliance on my breast easily gaining my way through the busy crowds. Across the canals I raced, and finally, just off the Park, I came upon the apartments I had rented. The lights were dark, and the building seemed so very lonely and empty.

I can't explain even now why I scaled the walls, leaping up to the window of my bedchamber, and slipped inside like a living shadow.

Empty, and hollow. No furniture, no wardrobe. The smell of the place was of dust, and the previous human occupants. In all ways, this place had been empty for a very, very long time.

I tore through the apartments. The childrens' room, empty, and cold. No sign that they had ever been.

Had they ever been? My memories...

I don't know what's real. I don't know if the faces I see so clearly were dreamt of in some feverish madness, or, someone has taken them from me.

I thought I would be angry. I thought that I would howl, and rail, and tear the city apart in an effort to find my lost family, my wife, my children.

I just...feel hollow.

Sitting on the steps in front of the building, trying to figure out exactly what is going on...the Comm of the Defenders squeaks and pops into life.

A team of Defenders wants to go to Zul'Farrak.

I put aside my confusion. I need to act. I need to act now.

Summoned by magic to the warm sands, I lose my confusion in battle, crushing the Troll that dare to stand against us.

When the dust settles, a calm is upon me. I begin to understand something.

With the Twin Blades of Zul'Farrak in my hands, I feel the oppressive wieght of otherworldly influence begin to slip, and crack.

With enchanted armor won from enemies in Mauradon, strapped about my flesh, enhancing my mind and body, I know what my purpose is now.

The Hunter said..." When you're ready, you'll understand."

Oh, I understand, allright.

I was being prepared. I have become a weapon, a living breathing weapon.

The question remains, who did this, and why? The fact that some will or intent is behind all of this, is plainly evident. I am left with simple truths. Truths, that the 'Verse has shown me.

One, there is an enemy of great power loose in the world.

Two, I am stripped of all purpose, and responsibility other then facing some unknown enemy.

Three, I am now ready, to face that enemy. All I have to do, is find it.

I guess one chapter of my life has ended, and a new one begun.

[Emizael]

It is late, and the Halls are sleeping. Oh, there are a handful here and there who share the sleeplessness of those with the weight of the world on thier shoulders, those who have to put duty , and honor above just about every other facet of thier life, but I ghost amongst them anyways, not bothering anyone, and not looking to bother anyone.

Slipping into the library, I take a bit just to breathe in the "feel" of the room, the warm candles, and the slighty dusty, but, cinnamon sharp scent always present in the chamber. Many volumes are here, all lovingly tended by the hand of Gudran, our librarian. Just my luck, as per the usual, I pick the one time of night when Guds is either asleep, which is rare, or out fighting the forces of evil.

Servants whisper out in the hallway, and I slip inside, closing the doors behind me.

It takes a bit of looking, never being much of the bookish type, but I find the thing I was looking for, a precious thing, to me anyways.

Lots of books, tomes and manuscripts end up in the Library here. Many of the Defenders are avid collectors of written works, and many Defenders past and present have donated many tomes to the Library, the better to build the collective learning of the entire Family. Some might say that the Defender's Library rivals that of even the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind, or, Wrynn's own Royal libraries. I'd have to agree, sometimes.

I find the book, what has written in the musty old pages, a particulary powerful and nasty bit of summoning. Mages and Warlocks might kill for such a thing. Actually, I'm hoping that some might try. A little bit of the old violence to get the blood flowing, yeah, that would be just the thing I need.

I shake my head, and pull the Cadin'Sor tighter about my face.

Really, things are strange indeed, when I go veiled in my own house, the Home of my allies, and my blood brothers.

Too late to think on that now. Jo'Mal hasn't a lot of time left. Funny thing about them blood elfs. They don't take to healing magic too well, or at least, this one doesn't. Stupid Rogue really did a number on him, leaving his guts hanging in a bunch about his knees, and even beat me down in a draw! If we didn't need him to fight this Changing Beast chick...

Well, it's not every day you think about killing yourself, and I'm not talking suicide here.

Now I just have to convince Sorcha'Rei and Keilon to co-operate. They aren't going to like this one bit, but with all the players in place, and all the fun just waiting to happen, well, they will just have to fall in line.

Tucking the book into my backpack, I sling it over my shoulder and say the Words that Jo'Mal spent all those nights teaching me.

Stolen power washes through me, over me, and like a ghost, I pass unseen and unseemingly through the stone walls of my allies.

Maybe I should stop by Cel's room, see if she's in. She always knows how to make me feel better, more focused. Nah, shouldn't bother her with this. Better to just get on with the rush, and do what I set out to do.

The thing is, once you take a job, you gotta do it, no matter what.

Those words haunt me.

Out in the cool pre-dawn air, I speak some more spidery words, and I feel my soul shrink a little bit more as the ancient magic swirls and flows around me. I hate this stuff, but, I wonder if this is what men like Icillis feel, when they call fire, or curse thier enemies. One step, and a thousand and more leagues pass under my feet.

Time to hunt some Druids. Gods above, smile on your poor foolish child, and let me be faster then my enemies one last time.

[Emizael]

Sideways, we spin, and dance with the 'Verse.

I am three, or four, or five, and all at once, and still, still, I am me.

I remember, I remember when things were easy, and not so complex, when an enemy was fought with spear and knife and sword, and not with stolen words, or stolen books.

Or stolen lives.

The beginning and the end of things, the middle unimportant, and yet, I find myself once again staring up at the night sky, and wondering why I do these things.

I dream about Annasha, and the children. Lives, a life I tried to live with them, stolen. Not that she'd understand, or that I could even tell her, not that I can look on the faces of my daughters and say anything that would make my absence from thier lives meaningful, no. I couldn't tell her, I won't be around to tell them, and the only real legacy that I can leave them, are the questions that nobody will be able to answer.

Some day, they will ask, who was Emi'Zael? Some will say, a hunter, a rogue, a painter, an elf, a fighter. Some will tell stories of times and places and battles that will contradict one another. One will say that I was at the Walls of Ahn'Qiraj when the gates opened, and the horrors of C'thon were unleashed upon our world. Another will say, " Not so, for he was with us, fighting on that day in the bowels of Blackrock!"

Another will shudder and think, both are wrong, because that berk was holding a knife to my throat demanding I give more info about the slave trade out of Lakeshire.

They'd all be right, of course. In a way. In the way that makes the most sense, anyways.

See...the way that Jo'Mal explains it...the Changing Beast...she made it possible for me to be in several different places all at once. Why? I dunno. How? Dunno that either. I know of at least three of me running around right now, and that's not counting the me that's writing all this down.

The bad thing is, One of me, the stupid one, I think...has decided not to play ball. The role he was designed for, the one the 'Verse said was the most important, kinda got hijacked. Side-tracked? Simple job, really. Go out, collect items of power. Bring said items to a time and place that is correct for the stabbing of the Big Bad. But, no! Noooooo...he couldn't do that, or I couldn't..and now...

Well. Not playing ball is bad. I think. So, now I have to go find myself. I know where I would hide, if it were me that was doing something against the rules. I also know what I would do if I knew that I knew and came looking for me. See how confusing this all is?!

Damn. Broke my pen. Have to write more later...

[embermoon]

((Emi, you have an incredible gift with words. Thank you, and keep writing!))

[Emizael]

Every now and again, we're reminded of some old saying, and how that old saying is still true and functional in our day and age.

Old platitudes like, " The more things change, the more they stay the same", or " The apple don't fall very far from th' tree".

I had one of those moments again today..the moment wherein I realized, " If something can go wrong, it will."

I dunno who said that first. Those things usually don't have an author to go to and strangle for being all smug and smarmy, and oh so secure in thier sayings, what with the generations and years gone by from speaker to speaker, but, that's not really what this is all about.

What this is about is killing myself, or at least, one part of myself.

Okay, maybe that would take some explaining, but, I find I don't really want to have to explain it. It's crazy really, and I don't know if I understand it enough myself, to explain it to someone.

Here's how it goes. Well, something like this...

Armed and armored, mail and heavy blade, the leather straps creaking and plates groaning in protest as I flip and tumble about my adversary.

Thrust, parry, block low as his knives aim for my knees, seeking my blood like I'm seeking his.

A puff of smoke, and he becomes an even darker shadow in the night, but to my senses, he might as well be standing neath the clear moonlight sky. I don't need Eyes to see him, nor ears to hear, he is prey, and I am a hunter.

His long knives are no match for my blade, and he is quickly on the defensive, backpedalling, leaping from tree to tree.

He depends entirely on stealth, and ambush, and subtlety, and today, I am none of these things. I am rage, and fury, and tooth and claw, his scent, my scent, firm in my nostrils and the sound of his heart, my heart, is so loud that the muffled wuffs of our exertions are drowned out by it.

I aim a viscious cut to his midsection, and he ducks so fast, just a bit faster then me, in his leathers. The cut swings wide, and the young tree behind him falls in the forest...making Elwynn just a bit less green with its passing. He sneers behind the mask, still crouched low, and aims a kick that bounces off the armor of my legs, but hurls him backwards into the night...which, to my dismay, is what he wanted.

Space, and distance, the marked lines of depth between us. I beging to sink into atrocity as this painted clown, this image, this...*Copy* of me leads me deeper into the woods. A small clearing, and some old friends.

I see the cat first, blindingly fast. Xavior, I know him well. As a younger man, I would hunt with this great cat for days and days at a time, learning the tricks of my trade from him, and his master, Arlon.

Knives blur from the left and the right of me, the rogue joined by another companion, as the great cat seeks to take my legs from under me. My sword whirls to the left, batting aside the seeking knives. but I pay full price for the right, as the copy scores a deep gash on my out-flung arm.

I hop across the back of the cat, rolling across his mighty frame, using him as a shield from my doppelganger. The copy joins his new companion, the two elves stalking into me, as Xavior roars his displeasure. I can see both of them now...Shryl and the copy. I am shocked to the depths of my soul. My sister is working with my enemy.

The butt of a rifle slams into my back, and I hit my knees seeing stars...

Arlon. I always forget about Arlon. Sneakier then any elf, meaner then a Blackrock Worg, and a master of the ambush.

His bearded face cracks a wicked grin, and he looks to his friends, and says...

" We got the imposter, Boyo! Now, what do we do with 'im?"

Which brings me to another old saying...

Out of the pan, and into the fire.

[Arlon]

((I was duped I tells ya! I would never hit me comrad in the back! Oh noes... what have i done... lol))

[Emizael]

The fight is all but over now.

I've walked into the perfect trap. The Rogue, he is safe now, with my old friends close by him, keeping a watchful eye on me.

He's not the only one with friends, though.

Not even close.

I hear the sounds of my rescuers even before the others in the clearing. Then, the world begins to explode in a frenzy of unleashed earth magics. Trees whip out thier branches and confound and slap at Arlon and Shryl, vines bursting from the ground and rooting them in place. Utter confusion falls on thier faces.

I roll across the ground, leaping to my feet as mighty trees uproot themselves, massive trunks forming a barrier wall between me and the others...

The Rogue is just as fast as me, though. Bounding through the air, he flings himself at me through the tumult as if he has wings. Maybe he does.

A large Elm blasts from the ground underneath the airborne Rogue. He catches the branches as emerald magics wreath his frame, outlining him clearly, but I can tell he doesn't care anymore. He has his eyes set only on one target; nothing will deter him.

He crashes into me, dashing us both to the ground. We wrestle briefly, and his knife hand is fast...so very, very fast.

I feel the knife sink all the way to the hilt in my belly.

This is going very bad indeed.

All of my rage, all of my frenzy, all my hate, my love, my anger and my last shred of hope explodes with white-hot power inside of me. There's nothing left, but this fight. This contest. My arms are busy, my legs busy...no weapons left.

So I use my head, literally.

I crash my forehead into his nose, hard. I roll him over, his back now to the ground, and as he twists his knife in my guts, I continue bashing my head to his. Over and over and over, until there are bits of gore and bone clouding my sight, and I can't see his face anymore. My face. Our face.

He stops moving, finally. I hear whatever is in him, rattle, as it leaves...his ruined face bubbling the last bit of air.

Then the trees part.

I hear Keilon's soft cry of shock as he sees the red ruin of us.

Everything is green then, warm and bright, and...so very tired, I am. Sleep...

Just...need...some...sleep.

[Fechak]

((Moved this here where it belongs.))

[Emizael]

The world is so soft and quiet here, its peaceful, restful. The wind blows through these trees like a lovers caress, sighing past me in the early dawn. There's a soft haze, over the meadow, and the dew, it kinda glistens a bit, so I don't dare look directly at it, I don't dare look away.

Its one of those perfect mornings. Everything has the sense of paused anticipation, this time, right now, just before the birds sing, and the world starts to breathe, and the cocks crow, and the whole world wakes up and starts the buisness of the day.

I'm home now, this place, the kind of home that I've always looked for. Green grass, and warm meadows, doe and deer and mice rushing about. A tiny cottage, full of peaceful things, and my memories.

This place, and this day, they're perfect. A just reward for me, for the things I've done, all the things you know about. I've had the full life, I think, a long age full of love and hate, sickness and death, and children smiles and perfect mornings, just like this one. I've had great deeds, and small ones, and everyday ordinary life.

And I've done enough. The world is changing. The world, is changed. Petty differences have been set aside, and Horde and Alliance alike, charge off to the poisoned Outland to seek fame and glory, and business as usual goes on here at home.

Oh, I had to see a bit of the Outland myself, and what little I did see of it shook me to the core, I tell you. Heroes and Giants walk there, children. Heroes and Giants like never to be seen here on Azeroth. Danger so numerous and foul that my simple tricks, and enchanted spears would have no purchase on them. I was out-classed. I saw in my folly, that my small life here, on Azeroth, well, that was what mattered.

My adventuring days are done and over with, I guess. I've taken to painting now, painting, and teaching some of the local kids how to hunt, and fish. Sathis cools his heels and sits down by lake, wuffing occaisionaly at passing fish, but I see in him too, that the fires have dwindled, and perhaps, burned out. I'll turn him lose in the next week or so; perhaps he will find a mate out there in the woods somewhere, and ...perhaps a new generation of worg will find its way into the world...and perhaps another young hunter full of fire and determination will kindle a spark with those worgs...

And the adventures will start again.

For now, for now I close this book, and retire it to the chest where all of my armor lies rusting away, and I will file it in my memories to be lovingly and perhaps a bit wistfully, reminisced over ...on another perfect day.

[Robbyn Jonathan]

/clap
Bravo!