Tarlithion
08-10-2006, 08:45 PM
The wind howls... it's always furious, here.
Savagely, the gnawing cold ripped at his flesh. Huddled on his perch high above the frigid ground of Wintersping, Tarlithion drew his cape tighter around his shoulders against the cold. Mail forged in the deepest bowels of Blackrock Mountain did little to protect against the cold. Around him, the Frostsabers native to the northern region ignored him, content to sniff at the Hunter's companion.
Images of her still tore through his brain--sneering at him, mocking him, hating him with her eyes, desperately loving him with her heart. The raging torrent of complexity that was Snowstorm Frostlune still burned within him, rending the pompous braggart from the coward. Every painful jab, every vicious word, every deadly swipe of her daggers towards his neck echoed in the Kaldorei's memory. It was agony.
There he had knelt, before a shallow grave in the Hidden Grove. Strangely, the normally hostile Moonkin had left him be as he scraped a shallow recess in the frozen dirt and lay her lifeless form to rest. Tarlithion still remembered brushing the tears from his eyes as he etched her small, elaborate gravestone in Mythril. There it sat, propped up in the snow, mocking him with her death.
Wind whipping his hair, Tarlithion rose from his perch in the snow. Elinarr, his faithful Frostsaber, uncurled from his legs to crouch at his side, and make an inquisitive rumble in her throat. Stormreaver only scratched lightly behind her ears in response. The two of them stared out into the whirling snow for what seemed like forever...
... until at last, a figure approached from out of the distance. Wrapped tightly to protect against the cold, it was almost unrecognizable. But still, both the Hunter and his companion knew their quarry. Elinarr let loose a growl, but Tarlithion cut her off, and tucked a finger under her chin to look into the Frostsaber's eyes. "Not this time, my friend," he said to her quietly, kneeling, "This time, I'm going in alone."
Elinarr sitting, bewildered, on Frostsaber Rock, Tarlithion leapt from its height to land on a cushion of snow. Rising from a knee, the Night Elf drew the Ice Barbed Spear from his back, gripping it tightly in his right hand. "Nice of you to show up!" he shouted through the roaring wind. The encroaching figure advanced silently.
"It's been a long time," Tarlithion continued, twirling the spear deftly about in his hand, "and to be honest, I was amazed when they told me you were still alive." The figure, now one hundred yards away, halted, reaching into its cloak. Taking note, the Hunter took the spear in both hands, lowering himself to a readied position.
"I've been waiting for this," the figure howled over the storm. From within its cloak, it drew a short sword, ablaze with enchanted fire. "You took everything from me, and now I'm finally able to settle the score!" Knocking back his hood, Stalvis Ravencrest glowered at the Hunter from across their standoff. Silently, the two stood in quiet contemplation of the--...
...Stalvis charged, howling. Tarlithion wasted no time; with a sweeping strike, he knocked Stalvis from his feet. Ravencrest tumbled into thet snow, and Stormreaver leapt upon him, thrusting the spear into Stalvis' stomach...
... only to groan as pain wrenched through his gut. Red pooled from underneath the other Hunter, but all Tarlithion could see was the blinding pain of a sword through his gut. He coughed and spat up blood; Stalvis flinched, wrenching the sword harder.
They lay there, staring at each other for what seemed like forever. The cold wind was ignored--the searing pain was forgotten. "... you took her from me." Stalvis finally spoke; his voice was quiet and defeated, "She was everything to me, and you took her."
"She came to me, Ravencrest," Tarlithion panted, blood seeping from his wound, "because you were nothing but a weak little child of a man." Stalvis snarled at him, using what little strength he had to wrench the sword around in Stormreaver's stomach.
Roaring, Tarlithion thrust his mail-wrapped fist into the younger man's face. Repeatedly. Over and over, the steel-mesh hand bashed against Stalvis' skull until at last, the bloodied mess spat blood, wheezed, and breathed no more.
Gasping, the Hunter threw himself from the lifeless body of Stalvis Ravencrest and onto the snow. The cold ate through him--bleeding onto thet snow, Tarlithion moved to rise, only to collapse onto the freezing ground. From the promontory, Elinarr prowled into view, nuzzling against her dying friend. Tarlithion looked up at her and smiled, mustering the strength to rest a hand on her neck.
"I always thought my end would be more spectacular," he said weakly; the Frostsaber nuzzled her face into him, mewing sadly. He scratched her neck, still smiling at her. "Fare well, my friend," said the Hunter, "I'll miss you."
Frosty... Rhowen... I'm sorry. But I'll be with you soon.
As the life left his body, Elinarr curled up against the side of him, trying to warm her dearest friend's form against the stinging cold.
Let us no more contend, nor blame
Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but strive
In offices of love how we may light'n
Each other's burden in our share of woe,
Since this day's death denounc'd, if aught I see,
Will prove no sudden, but a slow-pac'd evil,
A long day's dying, to augment our pain,
And to our seed (O hapless seed!) deriv'd.
(Paradise Lost: Book X, 958-965)
Savagely, the gnawing cold ripped at his flesh. Huddled on his perch high above the frigid ground of Wintersping, Tarlithion drew his cape tighter around his shoulders against the cold. Mail forged in the deepest bowels of Blackrock Mountain did little to protect against the cold. Around him, the Frostsabers native to the northern region ignored him, content to sniff at the Hunter's companion.
Images of her still tore through his brain--sneering at him, mocking him, hating him with her eyes, desperately loving him with her heart. The raging torrent of complexity that was Snowstorm Frostlune still burned within him, rending the pompous braggart from the coward. Every painful jab, every vicious word, every deadly swipe of her daggers towards his neck echoed in the Kaldorei's memory. It was agony.
There he had knelt, before a shallow grave in the Hidden Grove. Strangely, the normally hostile Moonkin had left him be as he scraped a shallow recess in the frozen dirt and lay her lifeless form to rest. Tarlithion still remembered brushing the tears from his eyes as he etched her small, elaborate gravestone in Mythril. There it sat, propped up in the snow, mocking him with her death.
Wind whipping his hair, Tarlithion rose from his perch in the snow. Elinarr, his faithful Frostsaber, uncurled from his legs to crouch at his side, and make an inquisitive rumble in her throat. Stormreaver only scratched lightly behind her ears in response. The two of them stared out into the whirling snow for what seemed like forever...
... until at last, a figure approached from out of the distance. Wrapped tightly to protect against the cold, it was almost unrecognizable. But still, both the Hunter and his companion knew their quarry. Elinarr let loose a growl, but Tarlithion cut her off, and tucked a finger under her chin to look into the Frostsaber's eyes. "Not this time, my friend," he said to her quietly, kneeling, "This time, I'm going in alone."
Elinarr sitting, bewildered, on Frostsaber Rock, Tarlithion leapt from its height to land on a cushion of snow. Rising from a knee, the Night Elf drew the Ice Barbed Spear from his back, gripping it tightly in his right hand. "Nice of you to show up!" he shouted through the roaring wind. The encroaching figure advanced silently.
"It's been a long time," Tarlithion continued, twirling the spear deftly about in his hand, "and to be honest, I was amazed when they told me you were still alive." The figure, now one hundred yards away, halted, reaching into its cloak. Taking note, the Hunter took the spear in both hands, lowering himself to a readied position.
"I've been waiting for this," the figure howled over the storm. From within its cloak, it drew a short sword, ablaze with enchanted fire. "You took everything from me, and now I'm finally able to settle the score!" Knocking back his hood, Stalvis Ravencrest glowered at the Hunter from across their standoff. Silently, the two stood in quiet contemplation of the--...
...Stalvis charged, howling. Tarlithion wasted no time; with a sweeping strike, he knocked Stalvis from his feet. Ravencrest tumbled into thet snow, and Stormreaver leapt upon him, thrusting the spear into Stalvis' stomach...
... only to groan as pain wrenched through his gut. Red pooled from underneath the other Hunter, but all Tarlithion could see was the blinding pain of a sword through his gut. He coughed and spat up blood; Stalvis flinched, wrenching the sword harder.
They lay there, staring at each other for what seemed like forever. The cold wind was ignored--the searing pain was forgotten. "... you took her from me." Stalvis finally spoke; his voice was quiet and defeated, "She was everything to me, and you took her."
"She came to me, Ravencrest," Tarlithion panted, blood seeping from his wound, "because you were nothing but a weak little child of a man." Stalvis snarled at him, using what little strength he had to wrench the sword around in Stormreaver's stomach.
Roaring, Tarlithion thrust his mail-wrapped fist into the younger man's face. Repeatedly. Over and over, the steel-mesh hand bashed against Stalvis' skull until at last, the bloodied mess spat blood, wheezed, and breathed no more.
Gasping, the Hunter threw himself from the lifeless body of Stalvis Ravencrest and onto the snow. The cold ate through him--bleeding onto thet snow, Tarlithion moved to rise, only to collapse onto the freezing ground. From the promontory, Elinarr prowled into view, nuzzling against her dying friend. Tarlithion looked up at her and smiled, mustering the strength to rest a hand on her neck.
"I always thought my end would be more spectacular," he said weakly; the Frostsaber nuzzled her face into him, mewing sadly. He scratched her neck, still smiling at her. "Fare well, my friend," said the Hunter, "I'll miss you."
Frosty... Rhowen... I'm sorry. But I'll be with you soon.
As the life left his body, Elinarr curled up against the side of him, trying to warm her dearest friend's form against the stinging cold.
Let us no more contend, nor blame
Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but strive
In offices of love how we may light'n
Each other's burden in our share of woe,
Since this day's death denounc'd, if aught I see,
Will prove no sudden, but a slow-pac'd evil,
A long day's dying, to augment our pain,
And to our seed (O hapless seed!) deriv'd.
(Paradise Lost: Book X, 958-965)