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Post by anitor on Feb 17, 2007 22:06:05 GMT -5
The old druid stood alone atop the rocks of Cul’D’Anathi, the jagged rock formation overlooking the calm waters of Elune’Ara, Moonglade lake of the Druids. The wind gently caressed his face, blowing his unhelmed hair behind him. As he stared out over the waters, the memories came flowing through him, bringing that feeling of age once more that had taken to the Chambers of the Claw, where he had spent so many years in the Emerald Dream.
Anitor remembered the awakening, seeing the world bright and shiny like a child again. He remembered discovering the new magics – and rediscovering the old ones that still slumbered in Azeroth. He remembered the day he first met those of Lunari Meridia, the joy of finding companionship, and the adventures into the reformed lands that were his home.
But with these memories of the awakening also came the memories of the rise of House Lunari Meridia. The times of trouble, when the floods drove the Lady Squeelet from her home, the fall of Lord Panamon to the Doppelganger who tried to enslave his soul. And his election as lord of the House, and it’s rise from a band small enough to gather in the Southgate Pass about a campfire to a great army that filled the Guild Hall of Stormwind, and thundered across the plains, striking terror into the hearts of the enemies of that Great House. He remembered the battles fought at the Core of the World, where the Fires of Creation still burn, the slaying of the Great Dragons, the desperate battles against the Horde as they encroached again into Elven lands.
But the strongest memory, what burned brightest in his mind, was that of the shining joy of his reunion with the Great Lady, Lindaterra, the beauty of their marriage, the love between them that had grown so strong. He thought of the strength and wisdom that he had received from that Lady of the Hunt, the times shared of strife, of joy, of tears, of laughter, of sacrifice.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder. As though she had heard him – and perhaps, given the bond they shared, she had. She had come to him once more. He turned, and his old eyes looked into hers – both young and old, shining and wise. “My love,” he murmured, “You have come again.”
“Yes,” she said in her soft voice. “I have. Is it time?”
“Almost,” replied Anitor.
“There is work here, still, yes, m’lord. But no longer is it our burden, our task. Once more, things fall to the younger races for a time. We must trust in them to carry on. We have given what we have.”
“I know. I fear for them, for the perils both within and without that they will face. But you are right, m’lady. Once more, the world turns.”
“What shall you do now, m’lord? You know that my tasks here are not done. Elune has not released me to the Sleep. There are still evils that stand before me.”
“I shall rest, but I shall not take the Final Sleep yet. That time is not yet come. I shall still be with you – always - and when you need me, I shall arise to stand at your side when you call.”
A gentle smile crossed the Lady Lindaterra’s face. “I know, my Love. Go with the Gods, and I shall await you.”
For another moment, Anitor stood facing his Lady, then embraced her fiercely. An age seemed to pass. Then, he turned once more to the waters of the Lake, and muttered a final magic. “May Cenarias and Elune watch over those who have been my people. May they be guided to wisdom, to friendship, to love, to honor, and may their paths be filled with joy.”
Anitor embraced his Lady once more, then, his head high and his back straight, the old druid walked towards the entrance of the ancient barrows, entered, and disappeared once more into the darkness.
With a slight smile, the Lady Lindaterra retrieved her bow and quiver from the tree where she had left them resting. “See you soon, m’lord. Be well.”
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Post by anitor on Feb 17, 2007 22:06:39 GMT -5
(By Lindaterra)
With the words of "Be well" floating on the air behind her, Lindaterra concentrated on fastening her leather quiver and trusted bow onto her back. Focusing on the beauty around her and the sounds of rippling waves on Lake Elune'ara, she was able to control the rush of emotions thundering in her soul. Sighing, Lindaterra walked to the cobbled road, calling forth her faithful Frostmoon and with a swing of her legs and swirl of her cloak she mounted him. Turning to face the lake, she bowed her head and whispered, "Rest well my love, my heart is with you."
Leaning forward, Lindaterra said to Frostmoon, "Carry me away from here faithful friend." With a gentle lope the frostsaber began the journey away from the barrows by Lake Elune'ara. As the two began to pick up speed, the wind blew the green hair of Lindaterra to become like a flag waving in the wind. Frostsaber and Night Elf Huntress moving as one found their pace and at that point she could no longer control the flood of memories that came to her mind.
Lindaterra recalled the joyous times spent with her guild family and close friends. With pride she thought of how her Lord Anitor had selflessly served the needs of his guild family. His joy in seeing them grow in knowledge and strength to become trusted champions of the Alliance working to rid the lands of Azeroth from the evil that had touched it. His pride in knowing they were well prepared to face whatever the future may bring because of the lessons well learned from the past.
Lindaterra remembered the day Anitor told her he could no longer lead Lunari Meridia. He spoke of being tired and weary. Passing the mantle of leadership to someone else was both a relief and a sorrow. Acknowledging that sorrow now, Lindaterra realized that her love had long been preparing her for his need to seek the rest of the Emerald Dream. She remembered their retreat to the small cottage near the Shrine of Aessina, a month spent in quiet contemplation with Anitor needing to write within his leather journal of all that had come to pass. The day of their last walk within the peaceful wood about the cabin, when he gifted her with the journal telling her to keep it safe for him and her promise to do so until he needed it again. Reaching within her mooncloth pack now , she gently caressed the the leather of the journal knowing that she would carry it with her always as a way of keeping him with her.
Lindaterra thoughts continued to the final two weeks, of returning to the arms of the guild. Sorrow touched her heart as she recalled that what little advise they could offer in times of strife seemed to not be needed. Finally there was the moment that would be forever sealed in her heart and mind, the day that tears of sadness and loss filled the eyes of her love Anitor when he realized he could no longer guide or offer his aid to the guild that he cared so deeply for. Leaving those he had cared for, his life energy seemed to be no more and the pull to seek the Emerald Dream became so strong he could no longer ignore it.
Lindaterra looked towards the west and saw the setting sun send tendrils of orange and red flame across the darkening sky, heralding the end of yet another day. It was then that Lindaterra realized just as this day was ending a chapter in her own life was closing. As the sun sunk further into the horizon, she began to make decisions for her future. It was time to seek the comfort of friends outside her guild. She knew that she could not walk the halls of Lunari Meridia without her love by her side. She would seek the refuge of kindness and friendship among the Knights of Verus.
As the moon began to rise, Lindaterra brought her beloved frostsaber to a halt. Looking to the moon hanging silver bright within the night sky she began to say a prayer:
Elune,
I ask for you to bless and keep all those of Lunari Meridia. May you guide them well and give them the protection of your blessing on their journeys in these lands. May you remind them of where they have been and of how they came to be so that they may face the future with hope.
I ask you Elune to give me the grace to be thankful for the comfort of friendship among the Knights of Verus. To be true in purpose and in heart. I ask for your wisdom to guide my heart and mind so that I might give to them what is needed.
Finally, bless my love Anitor as he sleeps the Emerald Dream. Give him gentle dreams so that one day he might return to my side filled with hope, joy of life and a burning desire to rid these lands of Azeroth from the evil tearing it apart.
I thank you Lady Elune for all your blessings and guidance.
Once again Lindaterra urged Frostmoon forward, bending low to whisper against the fur of his neck, she said this vow:
My arrows shall find their mark, my swords shall be quick. This is my oath, to fight honorably to keep evil at bay until the day my love Anitor returns to me.
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Post by anitor on Feb 17, 2007 22:07:14 GMT -5
Life. Everywhere the essence of life. It swirled about him, not good or evil in terms of the Light and it’s opposite, but primal, living. Vague leafy shapes moved through the misty emerald nothingness that surrounded him, was one with him. He did not know his name, his past, his future. And there was death here too – but not the death that sunders the spirit from the body, or forces it to remain in a rotting corpse – that which is called undeath - but the death that itself is part of life, the tree that falls and becomes the soil for the sapling. It was the essence of things that grow, that life that surrounded him, and he was part of that cycle, primal and living, without reason, without memory or sorrow. Ages past, yet there was no time; time had no meaning here.
But slowly, things changed, and he realized that he was no longer surrounded by the emerald essence of that which lives, but rather, was walking across a great plain of lush green grass under a starless sky. Ahead of him was a great mountain, that would have touched the clouds had there been clouds, its slopes covered with great forests and cascading waterfalls. The same primal power that was at the heart of the emerald dream ran through this land, but it was not the pure essence of that which lives, but the beginning of the manifestation of that power. And as he became aware, he also realized that he had form, and that he had a name, and that name was Anitor.
Without haste, for there was no need of haste in this timeless land, Anitor began his ascent of the mountain. As he walked through the forests of the mountain, memories and true sentience began to return. First came the memories of the Elves and the One tree, of the beginning of the Elves when all Elves were one race, before the coming of the mortal races. Memories of joy, of love, of his first meeting with the Lady Lindaterra.
With the naming of his love in his mind, the world changed with a wrench. He was at the peak of the mountain, and the lands below him were no longer the lush green plains of that he had traversed. Now, stretched out before him were all the lands of Azeroth, torn with strife. But the world he had known had grown, and he beheld that the gateway that had been sealed so long ago had been torn open once again. He saw that corruptions that had been held at bay for so many ages had tricked both the Horde and the races of the Alliance into not only opening the gate, but entering, inviting that which dwelled beyond to enter back into their own lands. He saw the poisons of greed, envy and pure selfishness that had turned the once great brother race known as the High Elves into beasts more vile than the walking undead. He saw the Draenae ship descend to Azeroth, pulled there by powers that he could not understand as a counterbalance to the new evils that walked the land.
His mind now sharp, his memories now complete, he turned his eyes towards those he had once led. He saw the House Lunari Meridia riding forth through the gateway, seeking adventure in the new lands. But it was no longer the house that he had led; though there were many of great worth and honor there, that House had changed greatly from what it had once been.
With eyes like those of one of the Great Eagles, he sought out those he had battled along side. Many of those from the ages past he knew still dreamt the Emerald Dream, but many, also, he realized, had departed the world known as Feathermoon to other realms like and unlike the world of his birth. Though his gaze could not penetrate the veils of the worlds, he could sense their presence beyond those barriers. Others he saw struggling against the evils of the world, against the corruption and rot that had entered, and inflicted even some who had once served the Light with their hearts and blades. With sorrow, he realized that some had truly fallen to this corruption, and that there would be no redemption – that they were truly damned, but knew it not.
Finally, his eyes found the one that he sought, the whose love that had stayed with him even as he had been in the throes of the Emerald Dream, the Lady Lindaterra. He saw her standing firm against the poisons that had entered the world, battling still for that which was right, her blades and arrows fierce, her heart kind. And as he beheld her from afar, once again and with a great flash of light, the world changed and Anitor found himself no longer in the scintillant refuge of the dream, but standing at the entrance to the Barrow Dens where he had rested, the beautiful Lady Lindaterra before him.
“Welcome back, my love. Are you recovered?” she asked in that soft voice he knew so well.
“I am.”
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Post by anitor on Feb 17, 2007 22:07:48 GMT -5
(By Bisan)
The creaking of the old wooden chair as he crossed his legs was the only way anyone would know he was there, through the thick fog of smoke flowing out of his pipe. Bisan was an old warrior, a man who had seen too much of the battlefield since he'd first answered Lordaeron's call to arms. He brushed aside a few strands of hair from his face, the heavy, leathery hand moving against the rough skin of his forehead, making him think back to his younger days, before the big sword had become as much a part of him as the hands that were once so much softer and youthful. Bisan was an old warrior, always had been. A soldier who followed his commander's orders without a question. After the fall or Lordaeron, with so many soldiers lost, Stormwind released the charter to sign a new kind of army. a system of private guilds, and Bisan took his order papers, and joined with the people who would form his new regiment, Lunari Meridia.
As this army grew stronger, larger, more influential within the ranks of the Alliance, Bisan always stood by, with his massive sword in hand, ready to act out his commander's orders, ready to slay any beast, charge to the front line of any conflict, regardless of the possibility of success. Sitting in this chair, in his private quarters in Old town, it seemed so far away. This room was bigger than he was used to, probably the biggest he'd ever been in, and yet it seemed so small, so confining. The walls, stained from years of smoke from the previous Masters of Lunari only helped to hide the stacks of parchment atop the worn, wooden desk in the corner of the room. He'd read most of thos parchments, orders in the handwriting of many different leaders past. Many held his name, orders for him to lead one group or another into battle, usually at the front of the conflict, usually with the least chance of success. The thought of those orders made his dry, chapped lips squeeze together into a half-smile. The old soldier hated war, but seemed to be too good at it, and so he knew he'd keep finding himself in the middle of the fray, walking out of a battle covered in his own blood, but more that of his fallen enemies. Then there was the one parchment that sat in the middle of the leather covering the middle of the desk. The one in the handwriting of his previous commander, naming Bisan the next Master of Lunari.
That parchment was the one that had taken him by surprise. He was a soldier, at his best swinging his big, gleaming sword with precision and ease when the odds were against him. But he'd never thought that would take him to a position of command. And of command over such an elite group as Lunari. He thought back to the men and women he'd served in the past. Those were leaders. This weathered, red-haired warrior never thought he had the abilites to command like those others. He was still unsure of his abilities, but he'd always followed orders out without question, and the last order he'd recieved was to command Lunari Meridia, and that's what he intended to do.
Standing from his chair, and putting the cherry pipe down on the desk he began to dress. Putting his arms through the heavy plate chest piece, pulling the leather straps on his bracers, tying down his shoudler plates, he picked up the big sword and strapped it to its comfortable place across his back. he looked around the room, then squeezed his eyes shut as he gave a quiet salute to all those leaders of Lunari who he'd served under, who had come before him. Nodding to himself, Bisan walked to the door of the master's quarters, opened it, and began to decend the stairs as Master of Lunari Meridia.
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Post by Celera on Feb 18, 2007 14:47:12 GMT -5
(Wonderful! Beautifully written, and an excellent shaping of actual events to the world of Azeroth. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. I hope there is more, to this tale or some other one!)
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Feb 18, 2007 17:05:23 GMT -5
((Wonderful! Great to have something to read again. Reminds me how much I need to stop being distrated by lvl 70 and get back to writing again.))
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Post by Vangelis on Feb 18, 2007 19:18:23 GMT -5
(( A marvelous introduction. Welcome! ))
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