Conquest of the Horde

The First Tormentor - Yui

Three... Two... One...

Crash.

Three... Two... One...

Crash.

Late hours of the night, early hours of the morning, long hours of midday. It all made no difference in this wretched valley. Every few moments the pitch-black sky alit with a new spurt of demonic flames, whose very image in the sky drove another stake of pain into the woman’s heart. At every florescent flash of light, another old memory writhed with her head. Images of a peaceful home, of sweet-smelling pastries, of meditations in budding gardens and celebrations in great halls. What pain wrought was not of her yearning for the times past, but simply that they would not cease to leave her in peace. As sleep encroached closer and closer upon the weakened woman, so did terror swell within her heart. She did not want to face them again, yet still she drifted to rest with a smile on her lips. The fleeting image of Gantrithor and Orvisha working together was enough to ease the woman’s encroaching fears.

“How sweet...”

A cold breath brushed along her exposed neck, the woman’s head slowly turning only to see that there was nothing to be seen. Looking up from her person, Andra found no others around her, no Orvisha, no Ganthrithor, no one other than the sightless spirits that haunted the temple. Once more the cold breath pressed upon her pale skin, this time playing upon her sickly cheek. Her sight turned towards the source of the breath, yet as she turned a darkened visage crowded her sight and struck terror into her weakened form. With a hard smack against the stone she fell, eyes pointed up at the dark cloud that formed the visage’s figure. As it condensed and contorted, a voice all too familiar filled the otherwise dreary air.

“Hello mother.” It called simply, yet even with the gentle tone the aged woman could feel her heart strings wither with dread.

“It’s so good to see you again...”

The darkened figure shifted closer, not an ounce of light shining upon it’s person.


She drew closer and closer until finally coming into the light of the nearby brazier.


As she came into clearer vision, Andra’s own eyes widened in the horror of thew view. The figure’s skin was covered in patches of discolored rot to the point that any original color was discernible. Despite the smile along her lips, the sight of the woman’s visage nearly brought Andra to illness. With her neck snapped and head cocked awkwardly in result she called once more to her mother with a tone of clarity that betrayed her appearance.

“What’s wrong mother..?”

At every word spoken by the rotted horror, there seemed to sound a chorus of other ghosts speaking with her. Desperately Andra shuffled backwards, her hoofed feet scraping against the stone in hopes of furthering her from the horrific visage.

“Where are you going..?”

The innocent voice suddenly began to grow more and more panicked, still accompanied by the chorus of spirits. Her tilted visage began to crease and fold, the rot festering to the point of seeping unsightly ichor. The shuffled of her hooves increased, shambling ever closer to Andra, who in turn moved quicker away.

“Mother?”

The ghoulish vision howled out desperately, shambling ever closer to the woman. No words stuttered from her dry throat. No comforting embrace seeped from her person. Instead Andra did all she knew how to: Run away.

As she fled unto the terrace of the outer temple, the wails of the spirits grew only louder. No matter how much further she drew from the haunting visage it’s voice was clear in her as if it was right on her flank. However it no longer carried the panicked innocence. Instead the ghoulish voice grew as oppressive as the dark clouds that swirled above, as coarse as the sundered earth that pieced together the forsaken planet of Draenor.

“Help... help.”
“No friend.”
Visions coursed before her eyes as a bolt of lightning courses through the sky. In quick succession she saw the others; friends and family, all desperately crawling away from the orcish assault, each meeting their end and the edge of a blade. The visions halted just in time for Andra to crash into the towering, ghoulish figure. Once more planted upon her back, the woman was wrought with terror to the point of immobility, instead only looking on as it drew closer.

“Your child...”
“You don’t know where!”

The vision’s voice reached a screeching peak, now wrought with a stinging anger that grew apparent upon it’s visage.

“I could be dead.”

Try as she may to move, it became impossible. Wrists and ankles were bound by an encroaching darkness. All the while the ghoulish image of her daughter looked on, a wry grin along her rotted lips. This would be the image she carried on in her head until the darkness snuffed out the entirety of her vision, swallowing her person whole.





With a soundless scream the woman awoke, her tired eyes wide with terror and panic.

“Yui..!” She muttered with worry, soon coming to rise upon her feet and cast her covering cloak away. Coming upon the threshold of the house, there was nothing to be seen other than the normal sight for the valley: Complete despair.

The corrupted

I met a girl in Shattrath, once.
She held a tapestry in her hands
with scenes of years gone and past
where the Light was found for the first time.

She held a tapestry in her hands
and walked slowly down the path
where the Light was found for the first time.
It was her smile that I envied.

Walking slowly down the path,
we were headed to my shop to eat.
It was her smile that I envied -
I told her that I missed my family.

We were headed to my shop to eat.
She told me that she missed her sight
when I told her that I missed my family.
Her smile was sweet.

She told me that she missed her sight.
She's just a memory, now,
but her smile was so sweet
stuck in the past.

She's just a memory now
and this temple has become my reality.
Stuck in the past
with the rest of my demons.

This Temple has become my reality.
Filled with ghosts and shades
in addition to my demons.
But it's as worn as my tired mind.

It's filled with ghost and shades
but I continue along in these halls
that are as worn as my tired mind.
Demons on my flank, darkness on my wing.

I continue along in these halls --
Bones litter the floor. Blood bathes the walls.
With demons on my flank, darkness on my wing,
I stand with the Corrupted.

Bones litter the floor. Blood bathes the walls.
Fire stirs in my weary old heart.
I stand with the Corrupted
for but a little time.

Fire stirs in my weary old heart.
She held a tapestry in her hands
for but a little time and
I will walk where the Light was found for the first time.

A big thanks for Caravan for all her help in the correct formatting!

Facing Snow

The ghosts of the newly dead
lament for their lost battles

and I, an aging codger,
mumble my litany of woes

the swirling wind conducts
a mad dance of snowflakes

the clouds, confused by it all,
crowd toward the sunset

what good is this serving ladle
next to an empty wine pot?

the embers in the stove are ashes
their heat is mostly my imagination

no news comes in
from the outlying provinces

no sense in all of this,
no sense!

The Second Tormentor - Vereth

Low mutterings grew silent as Andra turned her eyes from the shard within her hand. Slowly, gracefully she would rise upon the both of her hooves. Easily the shard slipped between her lithe fingers, clattering to the ground with an echoing crackle. Looking about would show the woman’s surroundings; A grand hall that even in the pinnacle of it’s decay was something that inspired awe from toddler to elder alike. High above hug chandeliers of crystal and gold, dancing at the whim of the stale air that flowed through the halls like blood through veins. After a long moment of sightseeing the woman’s eyes snapped back towards that laid before her and much to her surprise the slightest waning apparition appeared in the distance. With a mind naturally led by curiosity she stalked on to give follow.

As she began to move, the shift in her person was hard to ignore. Strands of once-blue hair have now succumbed completely, taking after the appearance of stark white snow. Her pampered and youthful visage have given away to an unnatural tone of age, gathering crow’s feet about her eyes while her cheeks grew slim. Just as her visage, her form began to lose its whole shape. Plump flesh has withered away at the constant movement and low rations. Now instead of the air of a well-off baker she grew humble in both form and demeanor. Her steps were long, calm strides even as she approached the curious sight. Yet as she finally saw that the spirit took a form, it was off and away, fading into the darkness of the hall only to appear a good number of yards away. At first she thought nothing of it, yet at approaching once more it faded and appeared in the same fashion as before. Repeatedly she chased and repeatedly the spirt faded, goading the frail woman on with growing frustration. Irritation grew apparent on her brow as her stride’s pace increased. Clattering closer and closer she would finally call out.


Before Andra could finish her words, she came clattering into the apparition’s person, now solid. It fled no more, instead a figure clad full in armor that stared dutifully ahead. Still darkness surrounded but she had no mind of it, instead focusing entirely upon the mystery that stood embodied before her. After a moment her frantic breathing gave pause, her calm and cooling demeanor returning over due time. Still she asked question after question, met only with silence from the tower of ghastly plate. Finally she grew tired of the silence and reached high for the spirit’s helm, yet as it was whisked away the rest of the armor clattered to the floor with an endless echo. With armor giving away she was left staring flat ahead, seeing the spirit’s shimmer off in the distance. Frustration, once calm now fumed higher than ever. As she took a strong step forward to give chase the broken stone gave way beneath her to a ramp, sending her rolling down to the spirit’s feet. Once more it was unmoving, and such brought further curiosity. She reached outward, a finger touching at the base of it’s hoof. At the finger’s contact the room alit with a ghostly hue. Blue rays of magic streamed from cracks in the stone, striking the woman with surprise and fear. Her own hooves scatters against the floor, easing back in time for her eyes to catch the spirit’s sight. From where she touched shackled form upon the spirit, a chorus of wails roaring where once only silence previously prevailed. In just a moment’s time darkness was burned away by light and silence was cast away by anguish.

Look up to the ghostly figure would show a face all too familiar. As fit as it was the day they parted, it would be none other than the spirit of her passed mate that stood before Andra. Their shared glance would only be shared for a moment, as quickly his mouth would open to bellow in rage. His posture shifted, muscles tensed, and within a moment’s time he sprinted ever-closer to the awe-struck woman. Yet just as he neared the cold shackles pulled on his very spirit , forcing the man to fall short of reaching his love. Much the same Andra reached to part the gap, yet her wrists were soon bound much the same. An eternal picture was painted, the two lover held back by chains forever attempted to reach one another. Sadly it would not be. Eventually Vereth’s spirit was thrown back, his cries of anger joining the chorus of spirits that swirled throughout the chamber, each shackled here much as he was. Friends, family, all tormented until the end of all things. Despite all of it all Andra could do was sit and weep, her chains shortened to the point that she could not wipe away her own tears.

Try as he might, the spirit could not break his bonds. With each ghastly roar he faded further and further away until he joined the swirling mass of spirits that rounded the chamber. Slowly they would all converge before the woman, forming a mass of spiritual energy. Once again she strained to reach it, to join with her people. To be dead, it didn’t matter to her, so long as she was with those she cared for, those she loved.

Crash.

Still, try as she might, it was out of reach. Soon ghostly bounds shot out from the walls, encasing the spirits in bone and binding them with a lock that would be chained to each of the imposing guardians that brooded within the chambers.

Crash.

With a jerk her bonds grew tighter, soon forcing her against the floor, her eyes pointed down into one of the cracks where the energies ebbed from. What laid within left her without words. Souls, by the thousands, millions, burning in anguish, reliving every pain in their broad lives. Every death, every loss.

Crash!


The skies above the temple roared as a meteor struck near. A groan parted from Andra’s lips as she stirred from her sleep, a hand running through her milky white hair and down onto her cheek. There is paused for a moment, fingers plucking at the flesh.

A Life so Beautiful

Fires filled the skies as they always have, alighting the blackened clouds with crashes of flaring green. From every direction a heated wind rolled over the corrupted earth just as the corruption had so many years ago. Amongst it all a small, insignificant figure stalked down the carved-stone pathway. As the heated winds blasted her from the front she found herself stumbling back, her hat fluttering back a few steps further. With a aggravated breath she tracked a few steps back, gathering herself and her hat before pressing on.

The unnatural darkness crawled about every inch of corrupted soil, surrounding the eyes and blinding them to the point where a mile’s view may be the best she could manage. However with yet another crash in the high sky she managed the slightest glimpse of her far-off goal- The Temple of Karabor.

Even the slightest sight of the once-magnificent structure was enough to bring the woman into reminiscence of measured time well-spent.

- - - - - - - - - -

Shuffling onto the stage, Andra found her ancient heart pounding with anxiety. Ten-thousand years and she never had enjoyed presenting before a crowd, not once did she find entertainment from it... save for this moment. She wasn’t even quite she why she preferred to keep her face a secret for now, but it was well worth it if anything to spark confusion within the minds of her friends. Her robe-clad and gourd-masked figure soon took center stage with her heat still pounding away beneath the layers of horribly sweaty cloth. Once the crowd was quieted to a hush she would begin her act, a simple poem mocking the Headless Horseman’s speech. Every line slithered out of her mouth with a chilling hoarseness to the tone. As the final lines slipped out she reached high and plucked the pumpkin off of her person, revealing her visage, grin and all.

A slight gasp came from the few that knew her, followed soon after by various cheers and calls. To end her show she tossed the pumpkin helm over onto the young Kapre shortly before bounding off of the wooden stage.

The following hours were spent in merriment, glasses clinked together full of fair drinks and good food all amongst friends as close as family. As the Sun drew low and the hours ticked on, the crowd eventually found themselves standing amassed before what was known to the humans as the Wickerman. Andra tilted her head at the figure, unfamiliar with the giant’s nature. For the longest time her eyes were glued upon the mass over twine and grain, contemplating the giant’s every purpose. Yet, before she could come to a conclusion, the human Cristovao would begin.

His words rang out over a (mostly) silent crowd, explaining to an umpteenth detail the history of the Wickerman, a nature that drew Andra’s interest. It was an opportunity for redemption, in a sort. It provided the slightest chance to set the past where it belonged and to turn to a new year, a new life with a new meaning. At this moment it struck her, the intention of her ousting from the temple. The Spirits that ousted her so quickly did so to spare the woman time to learn not from the past, but from the present. Wordlessly she took the offer of a branch, taking her place beside a number of others that hoped for a new life. Where some muttered and mumbled their words while Cristovao finished his explanation, Andra herself was lost in her thought. In the blink of an eye she recalled hundreds, thousands of years spent with her lover. Years spent together, even as they fled those she once called friends and family. Another blink of her eye and a tear shed later, she would toss the flaming branch into the Wickerman and matched him as the flames rose.

From there on Andra sat before the flaming monstrosity, watching it- and her haunting past- burn away. Once more she winked away a tear, though this time it was with a few muttered words.

“Good night, my sweet Vindicator.”

As the tear ran down her cheek, the little child sitting in her lap turned her own attention to the aged matron.

“Why Anda crying?” She chirped out curiously.

- - - - - - - - -

The woman stood tall upon a hill of ash. The black, corrupted ground simmered beneath her, yet she did not flinch. Her form grew thin from the weeks without proper food, yet still she stood strong. Another heavy breath and the woman’s mind wandered on to the man she once loved, the one she once clung to. As she did tears did not over run her as they once had. The sorrow did not stack onto her shoulders until she could not walk. Instead she held her sights to the night sky and gave a wistful sigh.

Walking along the ragged and aged ramparts, she was no longer walking alone. At her flanks were ghosts and spirits both seen and invisible. Even in their suffering they smiled to her, regarding her with respects and cheers. As she came upon the cusp of her previous home she peered within to find the familiar spirit within. A man that was clearly once known as a ‘broken’. He fought for his people and in turn they forsake him as the fel withered at his heart. Even with such on his mind, he turned to Andra and smiled.

“Why are you crying?”

- - - - - - - - -

From the cleavage of her dress the woman plucked a small flower, presenting it before the young Kapre as she spoke in mutters.

“From the ashes of Shadowmoon Valley this arose...A glimpse of life where it was thought impossible. If you need not hear my ramblings any more, I can heartfully understand... but if you wish to move forward, then perhaps you might find luck presenting this to her.”

The man beside blushed a bright blue, hesitantly reaching out for it. “What exactly is this?”

In stark contrast against the man’s blushing nature, Andra kept her expression solid as stone. “It’s... as they call it, ‘Dreaming Glory’.”

“This surely is beautiful.” He muttered, eyeing the weak stems and deformed pedals. “... She is fond of flowers, I hope she likes this...”

The woman spared a slight nod. "It is beautiful, just as is love. Just like love it may bloom even where thought impossible... Kapre, know that wherever you walk, the Light will be on your flank. Approach her and speak your heart... Start low... an offer for her to explore. If you meet with growing hearts then understand that this is not something to shy from."

- - - - - - - - -

For a time she remained still, struck, but soon she eased forward to regard the spirit. As the ghostly flames flickered to reveal her tear-ridden visage she muttered.

“Because life is so beautiful.”

Goodbye

A chilling wind, a shudder. The woman looked over her shoulder to those few she called friends. Each of them shared the embrace of lips or the embrace of arms, seeking to warm one another in the hellish Shadowmoon nights. Even though she felt happy that her friends were finding love, she could not help the twitch of jealousy yearning for someone to warm her spirits. Wish as she may, there would be nothing waiting for her within the cold caverns of Karabor’s bowels. It was a feeling like no other that filled her bones and paled her skin, a need to return to the temple even after the long night’s journey. Even as her robe dripped with filth from the stagnant waters she worked through the sewers with haste. There would be no patience in her actions, no time for her to see the sights of her once-beautiful temple. Instead she rushed and waded through the waters for a reason she did not know.

Through stagnant waters and up steep inclines the woman trekked until coming upon a sight that was familiar from just a few hours prior. A monstrous naga, from where it came she did not know. All she did know was that it was unfortunate their conflict had to come to blows. Even though the urgency still pulsed through her blood Andra saw to the corpse, observing the layers upon layers of scale that formed on the what must’ve been ancient beast. For a short time she saw to the beast, simply observing it all of her nature. However it would be with another bone-chilling wind that the urgency flooded back into her mind. Overcome by the supernatural senses, she soon scampered away from the mound of scales and instead make her way up the damaged pipeline.

As she approached the dimly-lit pipeline, enough sense snapped into the woman to control her hooves' pace. While it was not easily seen, the worn metals were coated with a thick layer of grime and moss, making it a potential for injury if one is not careful with their steps. At first the pipes were nearly impossible to transverse, however over the weeks Andra had grown accustomed to the dark passageways and steep inclines. With her staff in one hand and hat in the other she scaled further and further along the pipeline until she stood at the cusp of the temple’s courtyard. Despite the sight being one seen many times before she still reflexively tipped her head in reverence, eyes carefully looking over the bones that dotted the corrupted ground. With a slow, measured grace to oppose her urgent heart the woman trekked on, mindful not to crush any of the fragile bones beneath her hooves.

Even in the night’s low light the Temple of Karabor still held the air of a world Wonder. It’s walls climbed high into the skies, blotting out sight of the falling fel-meteors that seemed to constantly assault the clouded skies. At the pinnacle of its corruption, Karabor still commanded awe from worshipers and invaders all alike. Eventually Andra would make her way off of the bone-littered field, instead stepping upon cobble-paved road. Once more her pace grew into a sort of jog. Her heart raced with further and further panick as she drew further and further into the darkened depths of the temple. Yet even as she did, she remained clueless as to why she responded so eagerly to a causeless whim. Stumbling she would make her way up the stairs. There was no more restraint to this woman, instead she was left to raw emotion to propel her forward. Shifting through the darkness she soon clattered up a smaller set of steps, her untended hooves catching on the corner of one to bring her crashing down to the floor. Not even pain was enough to snap her to sanity. Quickly she scrambled up and onto her hooves yet again, bounding forward to make up for time lost.

Suddenly the oppressive darkness gave way to a hue of moonlight. As the beams of shimmering light ran along her panicked visage, all seemed to be at peace. There was no more urgency in her mind, no more panic pulsing from her heart. Instead she stood at the peak of the final staircase, looking to Azeroth from a planet’s view away. However as the worry gave way it was instead replaced by an awareness of her surroundings. Awareness of the darkness, of the oppressive heat, of the sound of voices. Wait, voices? Slowly she eased towards the odd murmurings, curious to the nature of such voices. Maybe someone split off from the group and remained? It was soon to be proven otherwise. As she turned the corner her eyes were immediately glued upon the odd scene laid before. Two ghostly figures stood in the midst of the circular floor, their images shimmering with the light of Azeroth’s beauty. Inching closer, Andra would come to realize that one of the familiar voices was -hers-.

One over the other their arms curled together, pushing each into the other with a beaming smile pulling along each of their lips. Just as she drew close the woman came to watch as their lips pressed close against one another. It was not a brief embrace in any manner, but one shared by ones truly in love. Even as they parted lips, their foreheads gently pressed against so they they can lose eachother in their glowing gaze.

Try as she might, Andra was unable to cast herself into the memory. She could not return to those years long gone to give her love one last kiss or one last love. Instead all she could do is watch in horror as the vision twisted and distorted with the land’s corruption. Her own image faltered away suddenly, falling as if struck a deathly blow. The man’s spirit, try as he might to, could not bring her back to life. As he sat there, struck by horror, his form soon gave way to but a husk of what he once was. He was no longer the proud vindicator, no longer the loving husband or tender father. He was forsaken, outcast. He was now the image of a Broken one’s spirit, which turned ever so slowly to the white-haired woman. Few words were spoken, as few words were needed. His voice called out in a hoarce nature.

“You are... So beautiful, my dear.”

A blush quickly grew along her cheeks, the woman struck by the spirit’s sudden sentience. While it took a few moments, the words came bubbling out of her mouth as if she were a nervous child.

“V-vereth, is that really-...”

She seemed unable to finish her words, stumbling forward a step only to be caught in the embrace of the Spirit’s broad arms. There was no need to utter any more. After years of separation she was once again whole with her lover. Wish as she did for this moment to last forever, it sadly did not. As she clung to the spirit, his hoarse voice arose once more.

“All I needed... Was to see you one last time... To see you beautiful face...” A ethereal finger rose, gently brushing along her pale cheek.

“I could not pass with the sight... of orcs clouding my mind... I could not pass... without knowing my family survived...” The finger lowered onto her chin, tipping the woman’s head up to meet his eyes. “Andra... It is not your time... You do not belong with us... with the dead. You have life in you yet... that life is better spent on those with life to spend on you...”

The broken spirit flashed a smile to the woman that coddled so well within his arms. At the opening she bound forward, stealing one last kiss from the ethereal air that was once a vindicator. -Her- Vindicator.

As they drew separate the spirit’s vision began to wane in Azeroth’s light, and with him his voice grew further ghostly.

“One day... we will be one once more... That day is not today, nor tomorrow...”

With the figure faded, the white-haired woman collapsed to her knees, staring at the stone where her lover once stood.

“...Goodbye my Vindicator...

...My Light...

...My Love.”

“Are you so sure of yourself, Andra?”

“I have lived through harsher things in my life.”

“Harsher, yes, but this... you’ve never done anything like this before. You’re asking for injury.”

“I may be, yes, but it is something I must do before I leave... At least once.”

“And if you can’t leave after it?”

The woman paused, teeth gently gnawing at her bottom lip before she brought herself to return with a sigh. “I’ll be fine. Light as my guide, I will be fine.”

The spirit nearby huffed an ethereal sigh into the warm night’s air. For weeks he had played guardian over the woman, hiding her from demons and spirits all alike but now it was time to see her off. Both her mate and her mind had been freed of burden, yet even still she insists upon burdening herself further. As much as it pained him to watch he finally waved a dismissive hand.

“So be it... Walk with my blessings child.”

Andra’s cheeks curled with a smile, the woman bowing her head and person all before the spirit. “Until we meet again in the Light...”

With her final departing words, the woman looked down to her challenge, the darkened pipe that leads into the depths of Karabor’s bowels, and more importantly to the lands away from the temple. The woman took a deep breath, recalling all she had thought over in the recent weeks. All of the suppressed memories and reckless visions, the sacrifices made my the many so that the few may thrive. With these in mind she drew into a regular breathing, her lips coming to mutter a few words of prayer. At her call the Light responded, quelled from her depths and rising forth until it bounded forward to shape as she needed. Faithful as she may have become, still the woman was fresh to the priest’s callings and thusly her spells were not so great. Calling upon a shield formed no more than a small barrier that hovered before her, yet for the time being that would be all she needed.

A glance behind showed the spirit still behind her, smiling at the sight of her progress. It spared one last nod, nudging her on to the darkness beyond.

With the barrier of light propped beneath one hoof, she used the second to propel her forward into the depths.

For a few brief second her travels were slow and the woman needed a few more kicks to urge her barrier of light forward, yet as it tipped over the curve of the sewage pipe it was all up to momentum. Immediately she shot down the watery depths, her heart fluttering with fear and excitement all twirled together as she bolted down into the Temple’s deeper reaches. Sliding along the barrier of Light proved to be an aid in more ways than one. The murky waters glistened with a life not seen for years at the very least. Even beneath the layers of murk and grime the waters shined with a newfound glory, if only for a brief moment. Sadly the woman would only get a few second to appreciate the sight before running down an even more severe decline paired with a turn in the pipe. From either fear or adrenaline, Andra could not tell, but she simply could not hold back the long cheer as she skittered even further along.

Soon enough she would come shooting out of the pipe, her barrier of Light grinding against the stone grounding for but a second before she once more found herself sitting in water. With momentum alone pushing her along she swerved in the pool below, kicking up a massive wave in her wake. Once more time seemed to slow for her as she watched the water rise and fall, each drip and drop shimmering with the Light’s reflection and thusly casting rays into cracks and crevice that hadn’t seen such in too long of a time. Just as her pace began to slow, bogged down by her weight, she managed to steer herself on the edge of another ramp. With a deep breath she tilted further, landing the barrier of light into a jet of water that sent her rocketing further along. Unlike the pipe these declines were not as long as she found herself hitting another pool soon enough, which was just wide enough for the woman to carve another wave up before hitting the final decline.

As she rested herself along the border of the final decline her lungs gasped for a deep breath. A moment of clarity struck the woman from her pleasure-ridden haze. Slowly she peered about, taking in the sights of the Temple one last time. After a minute spent scanning she sealed the images in her mind with a deep exhale. Her eyes looked to the board of Light, weathered and worn by her play. Only after a nod of approval she would let out one last cheer before darting down the final decline.

If she was to leave this place for a second time, she was not going to leave fearful and terrified as she was last time. This time about she departed with a mind at ease and joy in her heart.

- - - - - -

A brief respite was taken after Andra’s escapades, the woman nestling into her old house for one final time. For hours she drifted into a dreamless sleep, a rest free from the tormenting visages of demons that once haunted her. Yet upon awakening she found herself still not yet alone. Rising she found a woman’s spirit settled along the threshold to her abode, standing as if waiting conference with some king or queen. Slowly it padded forth, it’s ethereal hooves clacking against the floor as if as authentic as her own. As it neared, the woman spoke with a voice that was shockingly close to her own, though with a few thousand years more of age.

“There are many warnings to be spoken of the coming times. Of the pains that can, could, and may very well be. However, it is not my place to say them.” The spirit pressed a hand to Andra’s heart, the chilling fingers piercing down to the bone.

“Even still I bear not warning, but advice Little Andra. Keep death as much as you keep Life. Keep to the Shadows as much as you keep to the Light. It is as it always has been, the duality of not just our worlds but of our existence. Do not lose heart in the sight of the Legion’s power, my dear child. There will come a time where the Light will grow in strength once more and set all to balance once more.”

“That day is not today...”

“Nor tomorrow...”

“Nor the day after.”

“But it is coming quickly my child. All will be made equal, but once it is, all must remain equal."

Spoiler:

And She Wept

Andra sat out in the midst of the early morning’s mist. On Hyjal’s peak she gathered with companions new and old, greeting them all with the same mirth as she always had. Always smiling. Always cheerful. Always trying to help. When the opportunity presented itself she slipped away from sight in search of respite not from the worry, but from her facade. In truth she was tired- though she never would dare say it. At every instance her heart yearned to weep yet all she could afford was to smile. Smile a disgusting, traitorous, sickening little smile. Now beneath cover of the morning mist she laid out upon the tangle of grass, her robes as damp as her mourning. In teary respite she looked upon the shores of the well and in that instant it felt as if that mystic fog had pierced back into her. Like the slip of a dainty digit chilling wind snaked down the spine of her dress, forcing the woman to shift and shudder with discomfort. Those eyes of hers tore from the fount only to find that it’s shimmering fog had surrounded her, encompassed her wholly in pale sheets to the point that even her own breast was difficult to discern, though that worry was far from the first to register. Instead the woman, wordless other than her panicked murmurs, was left staring at the apparitions that had begun to take form. The first was simple. Just a little girl. However as the details came into view one could notice the lack of details. The girl’s visage was wiped blank, an expressionless vessel whose eerie presence was only magnified by the slight cock of her head. So entranced was Andra with morbid curiosity that she hadn’t taken notice the second apparition forming behind until it’s wisp of a hand was already set on her chin. The slightest and most effortless flick of it’s finger sent the woman’s head reeling back. Following the whole of her form toppled back, however she didn’t land amongst the morning dew.

Tumbed and tossed about the novice of a priest landed amongst chains and shackles. The pure mist had given away to a plume of smoke, the mystical glints of magic taken over by the flow of searing embers. The apparition whose hand had once tipped the woman over now wielded a scythe worn with age. The faceless girl was now headless whole, her ragdoll of a corpse toppling down to a graceless grave. Andra strained her eyes to brave the darkness, to try and see what had become of the girl- and true she would find her, yet she would see far more than she had hoped. Countless corpses sat draped upon the endless labyrinth of shackles. Some sat impaled by orcish blades, others lay limp with flesh flayed by crystalline shrapnel, others were no more than mere charred husks of their former glory, now the only flicker of life being the felfire that still ripples across their flesh. A monotony of horrors all familiar to the priestess’ eye. What stole the breath form her lungs was not the death, not the gore and the fluster, but with narrow eyes she saw feint silhouettes constantly trying to escape. It was not only the body that was left to suffer but the soul even more so, forever denied the respite of an afterlife. Overtaken by confusion and grief all alike she twisted back to the reaper. A gristly trophy, the blank visage was held aloft by the reaper’s tight grip. The perfectly round flesh began to shift and groan, beginning first with a broad slit that parted wider until a single bulging eye stared wide at the woman.

“Gain true sight.”

Whispered words were the last of her vision. In a sudden stir Andra leapt from the same grass she had settled in. It was only once her mind caught up with the wracking images that she paused to breathe.

And she wept. She wept in horror. In fear. In confusion.