Post by ambrus on May 30, 2006 1:12:15 GMT -5
Ambrus sat there, helpless for what seemed the first time in his life. His wife was getting more and more critical as the seconds passed. Her royal blue hair was matted with sweat and the pale color that had taken her face like a storm cloud takes the blue skies did not diminish her beauty; nothing would ever do that. Not this sickness that had suddenly taken his wife and not those damned trolls.
“Ambrus . . . I’m afraid.”
“My love, you need not worry. Everything is going to be fine,” he lied.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
It had been just as any other day, out hunting with his wife. Their chosen ground this day was Stranglethorn Vale, a lush, forested area infested by all manner of beast, be it raptor or be it troll. Charged with various quests, Ambrus and Wyntah had set off early that morning, hoping to get done with their adventure and return to their sacred spot near Astranaar, where they sat and talked the hours away.
A loud coughing noise brought Ambrus from his sleep deprived daydream. He reached beside the bed in their home in Ironforge and produced a bowl of water sitting on a table nearby.
“I am weak, Ambrus. That troll poison has really begun to take its toll. I . . .”, but Ambrus placed his finger over his wife’s lips, partly to soothe her, but mostly because he did not want to hear what was coming out of her mouth, did not want to face the possibility of life without her. The troll’s poison was spreading quickly. Already she had lost feeling in her legs.
“Many times I have bandaged you, and this shall be no different.” He tried to give her a reassuring grin. “We will get through this, and you will be ready to don your battle garments once more.”
Wyntah seemed to settle at this, a weak smile on her face.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
The smell of the sea at Booty Bay was invigorating as they both prepared their trusty mounts for the short ride through the jungle. Leaning over to kiss his wife, he became intoxicated by her scent. She was always intoxicating; her scent, her vigor, her general demeanor all screamed for his soul. He assisted his wife onto her mount, then straddled his own, and they were off, flying across ground as fast as the spotted saber cats could take them. The wind felt free in his hair, made him feel free, as if the whole world were there for his taking. He had put his past far behind him.
Ambrus opened his eyes to check on his wife. This beautiful creature had changed him. Every civilization has souls that simply fall through the cracks. It is not the fault of society, but the mass scale by which populations in any given district grow makes it nearly impossible to save every one of those souls. Ambrus was one of those souls. He was orphaned at a young age and taken to Ravenholdt Manor to train to be an assassin by human masters. But, since he met Wyn, he had no need for that life. He no longer needed to randomly take orders, to kill at the will of others. He was beholden to only himself, and that was the way he liked it.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
The ambush was a complete surprise. The trolls had come from nowhere, it seemed. There were three of them, snorting like wild beasts. One had a nasty looking spear, and before they could react, he had stuck Wyntah through a weakened place in her plate armor, driving the tip of the spear into her side. With a wild look that bordered madness, he twisted the spear. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide as Ambrus sunk his dagger between the shoulder blades of the wretched soul. The troll fell to the forest floor, Wyntah following close behind, the spear still lodged in her limp body. The other two trolls saw the anger flaring in the elf’s face, and decided to run in fear. Ambrus rushed to the side of his beloved; he unstrapped her breastplate and removed the spear from her side. It was not a deep wound, the plate kept the spear in place more so than any depth did. Ambrus noticed right away that the troll had used a poison, and a very deadly one. Working quickly, he tried to bandage his wife, tried to neutralize the poison . . .
“Ambrus?” the weak voice called. “What were you dreaming of, love?
“Nothing, my dear. Just rest. You need your strength.”
“Ambrus . . . will you recognize me . . . no matter what form I take in my next life?”
“Do not talk of such things, love. You will always be here with me. We will always have Astranaar, and the Tram, and the library in Stormwind. These will always be us and we will always be together.”
Wyntah’s breathing became terribly shallow. She opened her eyes, staring up at the man that was her strength. She opened her mouth to speak, but a breathless whisper was all that managed to escape.
“Ambrus . . . I love you.”
Wyntah closed her eyes.
She had always been the one that controlled the monster; she held the assassin at bay. But now she is gone, and someone was going to pay.
“Ambrus . . . I’m afraid.”
“My love, you need not worry. Everything is going to be fine,” he lied.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
It had been just as any other day, out hunting with his wife. Their chosen ground this day was Stranglethorn Vale, a lush, forested area infested by all manner of beast, be it raptor or be it troll. Charged with various quests, Ambrus and Wyntah had set off early that morning, hoping to get done with their adventure and return to their sacred spot near Astranaar, where they sat and talked the hours away.
A loud coughing noise brought Ambrus from his sleep deprived daydream. He reached beside the bed in their home in Ironforge and produced a bowl of water sitting on a table nearby.
“I am weak, Ambrus. That troll poison has really begun to take its toll. I . . .”, but Ambrus placed his finger over his wife’s lips, partly to soothe her, but mostly because he did not want to hear what was coming out of her mouth, did not want to face the possibility of life without her. The troll’s poison was spreading quickly. Already she had lost feeling in her legs.
“Many times I have bandaged you, and this shall be no different.” He tried to give her a reassuring grin. “We will get through this, and you will be ready to don your battle garments once more.”
Wyntah seemed to settle at this, a weak smile on her face.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
The smell of the sea at Booty Bay was invigorating as they both prepared their trusty mounts for the short ride through the jungle. Leaning over to kiss his wife, he became intoxicated by her scent. She was always intoxicating; her scent, her vigor, her general demeanor all screamed for his soul. He assisted his wife onto her mount, then straddled his own, and they were off, flying across ground as fast as the spotted saber cats could take them. The wind felt free in his hair, made him feel free, as if the whole world were there for his taking. He had put his past far behind him.
Ambrus opened his eyes to check on his wife. This beautiful creature had changed him. Every civilization has souls that simply fall through the cracks. It is not the fault of society, but the mass scale by which populations in any given district grow makes it nearly impossible to save every one of those souls. Ambrus was one of those souls. He was orphaned at a young age and taken to Ravenholdt Manor to train to be an assassin by human masters. But, since he met Wyn, he had no need for that life. He no longer needed to randomly take orders, to kill at the will of others. He was beholden to only himself, and that was the way he liked it.
Ambrus closed his eyes.
The ambush was a complete surprise. The trolls had come from nowhere, it seemed. There were three of them, snorting like wild beasts. One had a nasty looking spear, and before they could react, he had stuck Wyntah through a weakened place in her plate armor, driving the tip of the spear into her side. With a wild look that bordered madness, he twisted the spear. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide as Ambrus sunk his dagger between the shoulder blades of the wretched soul. The troll fell to the forest floor, Wyntah following close behind, the spear still lodged in her limp body. The other two trolls saw the anger flaring in the elf’s face, and decided to run in fear. Ambrus rushed to the side of his beloved; he unstrapped her breastplate and removed the spear from her side. It was not a deep wound, the plate kept the spear in place more so than any depth did. Ambrus noticed right away that the troll had used a poison, and a very deadly one. Working quickly, he tried to bandage his wife, tried to neutralize the poison . . .
“Ambrus?” the weak voice called. “What were you dreaming of, love?
“Nothing, my dear. Just rest. You need your strength.”
“Ambrus . . . will you recognize me . . . no matter what form I take in my next life?”
“Do not talk of such things, love. You will always be here with me. We will always have Astranaar, and the Tram, and the library in Stormwind. These will always be us and we will always be together.”
Wyntah’s breathing became terribly shallow. She opened her eyes, staring up at the man that was her strength. She opened her mouth to speak, but a breathless whisper was all that managed to escape.
“Ambrus . . . I love you.”
Wyntah closed her eyes.
She had always been the one that controlled the monster; she held the assassin at bay. But now she is gone, and someone was going to pay.
)
