Immermnemion
03-10-2009, 06:37 PM
Full Name: Immermnemion Dawnbringer
Nicknames: Immer (for races with less-than-nimble tongues)
Age: The rough equivalent of 29 in human years.
Race: Sin’dorei
Sex: Male
Hair: Fine, lengthy. Platinum.
Skin: Fair
Eyes: Deep emerald
Height: 6’1
Weight: 173
Place of residence: Revantusk Village
Place of Birth: Southern Eversong
Known Relatives: Condensed list:
Mother’s side: Mother, Syreena Raybearer – Whereabouts unknown, believed dead
Grandmother, Allesta Raybearer – Small apartment in Silvermoon
Great-Grandfather, Lord Emerron Raybearer – Dead by poison
Father’s side: Father, Jayeth Dawnbringer – Small apartment in Silvermoon
Mentor: Kul’dilev – Whereabouts unknown, believed alive.
Religion/Philosophy: The well-governed will prosper.
Occupation: Judge
Enemies: All who oppose the Kingdom, Doblivar, the Trias family.
Likes: Arguments, bodies of water, wine and cheese, Trolls, fine Elven men.
Favorite Foods: Cheese! Many types of fruit – mostly berries, and deviate fish.
Favorite Drinks: Wine, juice, and water.
Favorite Colors: Scarlet and gold
Weapons of Choice: The Light itself
Dislikes: His enemies, ambiguity, waste, falsehood.
Hobbies: Reading (law), meeting new people, sampling new food and drink.
Physical Features: Medium-Tall, smooth skin, sub-par muscle, mischevious grin.
Special Abilities: Minor arcane manipulations (think 0th level spells), moderate telekinesis, can manipulate the Light to illuminate at will, likes Bloodthistle – though eats without addiction.
Positive Personality Traits: Well-mannered when he feels like it, flirtatious, open-minded, thorough, extremely strong-willed.
Negative Personality Traits: Cold-blooded, draconian, polarizing.
Misc. Quirks: Toys with his ears when in thought, likes toying with others’ ears when he likes them, spends quite a bit of time fussing over neatness – even with battlegear.
Theme Songs: Battle: Hindemith – http://www.imeem.com/people/kJG9QP/music/ry86hmKg/hindemith-march-symphonic-metamorphosis/
Coronation of a new king: Victor Ewald – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkcbB4g693k&feature=related
History:
Currently young for an Elf, Immermnemion grew up in the peaceful forests of Eversong before the great war began. In youth, both his mother and father were nothing amazing to him – at least in his eyes. In truth, Syreena was the granddaughter of a powerful Lord, being potent in terms of land, money, and political influence. However, her line was a strict one; when she disobeyed the wishes of her family by mating with Jayeth, whom they despised, they cut all ties with her. Jayeth was so disliked because he worked as a mere baker, just as his father before him did, selling his pastries and sweets to denizens of the countryside for but a common living. Immermnemion saw the three of them as just that in his youth – common. Nothing more, but he was happy.
However, in his schooling, Immermnemion was found to have difficulty with magic. In truth, the instructors were simply not teaching him – at least not well. Syreena , more apt with magic than her husband, began to tutor Immermnemion at home. Seeming to take to the magic extremely well, Syreena was puzzled. Why could he learn here, but not at school? She observed some of the class sessions from afar Immermnemion attended, and she noticed instructors were doing the bare minimum they could for him, nothing at all, ignoring him, or even teaching him wrong methods. Even more perplexing was the fact the same instructors taught the other pupils in a normal fashion. Furious, Syreena deduced Emerron, or her mother through him, must be tampering with her child’s schooling, trying to make things as miserable as possible for them. Such vengeance when they didn’t get their way! Syreena, while happy with her life with Jayeth, wanted Immermnemion to be able to choose whatever life he wished. However, she knew she would not always be there for him. Taking a trip for a while, she wished her son and husband a temporary farewell.
Her destination was the coast of the Hinterlands. She’d heard of the Revantusk tribe there from her days with her original family. They were supposedly more “civilized” than many other tribes – meaning they would talk to you before eating you. However, on her way to the Overlook Cliffs, Syreena stopped by the Elven lodge on the lake. Here, she confirmed what she’d hoped: many of the lodge’s population over the past few years right up until this very week had been felled by a Troll mage. The death cause was clearly arcane magic – no blood, charred or frozen skin, crushed skulls, or poisons were found. Syreena nodded with understanding to the news – her grandfather wished to claim the coast for himself in her earlier years.
She remembered the report she’d read while snooping around his study one day. His mercenaries, well-equipped with armor and weapons with the lord’s own name and insignia on them, were met with not just the standard resistance of Troll javelin flingers and shaman, but they had actual sorcerers – and not just the standard seer or two leading the town who’d chosen to manipulate the elements instead of following them. Instead, the forces were scorched from left and right, having to endure many casualties simply to come within sight of the village. The band had not expected heavy magical attacks. Once they got to the village itself, however, the resistance became stronger. The battle very close, the town should’ve been easily conquered – even if this attempt were a failure – by the next wave of Elves. The unthinkable then happened – the report read scouts attesting to pieces of the cliffs themselves began to break away, giant boulders being drug through the air to mow down the Elven forces. Dozens of them dying in mere seconds, the nimblest of the scouts fled, living to tell the tale – from which the report originated. The few of them who’d been observing much noted they saw a Troll in brightly colored robes wielding a glowing staff in one hand, his other emitting the unmistakable arcane missiles. Some said when the missiles were not coming from his hand, the arm was making swinging, encompassing motions. By the terminology used, Syreena believe these too grand for incantations – rather, this was the Troll’s way of exacting his telekinesis – moving the cliff’s face at will. Furious at the failure of his mercenaries, Emerron no doubt fired them in short order. However, the solidity of their ominous report made him stay his hand at another attempt – the man was temperamental, not stupid.
Standing at the edge of the cliffs now, overlooking the sea, Syreena knew she was no match for such an arcanist. However, she was no mere apprentice. Summoning an image of herself – and some courage – she marched the image down the cliff face to the town. Her training in magic was quite extensive, courtesy of her own mother, and her grandfather had convinced her to join the reserve regiment of Silvermoon’s battlemages. She did not hope to fight the man. Encountering some of the town’s hunters on the way – who tried futilely to ensnare and cripple the image – she told them her purpose, and continued on to the village. They sped in front of her; hopefully her studies of Troll in youth were sufficient for their understanding. Arriving at the town, she bowed to what was apparently their tribe’s leader and his mate – awaiting her with fury on their faces.
[NOTE: I have left accents out of the story; however, I frequently use them in dialogue.]
“I am Syreena. I have come to you to make a request of a great mage of yours.”
The elders laughed. The wife spoke: “We have many great mages.”
The image nodded. “I am aware of their power. I realize they stopped an attack many years ago by our people.”
The mirth evaporated. “How do you know of that?”
“Reports of the few who survived. I am seeking the mage who moved the cliffs.”
The man smiled. “You will find him.”
Then Syreena blacked out. When she awoke, she was surrounded by a score of the Tribesmen, roped to a stake. Behind the circle of fighters was the pair of elders, sitting on a hut, being able to see over the Trolls to her eyes. The man grinned.
A voice from behind her spoke - in Thallasian! “Knowing I move cliffs, why would you stand on one?”
Putting the pieces together, Syreena felt a pulse of pain as a throbbing headache became apparent. She’d little doubt the man hit her with a rock to knock her out, though she’d even less clue to how he’d known she was there.
She tried twisting her head around to look at him, but she couldn’t move it enough. Her hands bound, she could perform nothing but the simplest of cantrips. She was doomed. Her heart sank. She’d not been expecting to risk her life here, instead sending a messenger while she stayed out of fireballs’ and arrows’ range.
The Troll spoke again, this time in Troll. “What did you want from me?”
Syreena fought the pain. “I wanted help for my son.”
Chuckling behind her, the voice was deep. Then: “And why did you need me, a lowly Troll?”
“He needs to be trained in magic. It seems only I can do it, and I cannot always be there.”
The male elder spoke, amused. “How would he help then?”
Syreena’s shoulders slumped. “None of the Elven instructors will teach the boy. I thought –“
The female elder cut her off. “Enough. We are finished with you. We’ve no reason to help you. It is late. We would have new meat tonight.” She began to give a hand signal.
“Wait!” Syreena said a silent prayer to a god she didn’t believe in. “Do you know of Emerron Raybearer?”
A few gasps could be heard, and many of the warriors, in addition to the two elders, could be seen whispering to themselves.
The male elder stood. “You dare taunt us with the past? I’ll kill you myself!”
As much as she could, she shook her head, the ache pulsing. “No! I am his daughter’s daughter, I –“
The stake and Syreena shot up out of the ground, then lowered violently to hover a few feet above the soil, having rotated totally around. It was then she saw her would-be tutor. The standard hair and skin of Revantusk features were found on the mage, his crested hair eking him out as perhaps the tallest of the circle of Trolls. His tusks were long and seemed quite sharp, the face-paint adding to his fearsome appearance. The wooden staff he carried was twisted in a loop at the end, and it glowed a brilliant lavender, a sharp contrast to the setting sun. Of all the Trolls except for the Elders, he was the only one wearing a robe.
“No!” he growled “The brood of that bastard? I will burn her alive!”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she raced against the mage’s incantations to explain. “Emerron hates me as well! He disowned me years ago, and he is using his power to make life miserable for my son and I!”
The mage’s incantations slowed briefly, but then continued, the stake bursting into flame at the bottom. Syreena became desperate “We all want revenge! We can work together against him!”
The mage stared at her, making no attempt to move. The heat under Syreena became instense. “Please! Wouldn’t you do the same for your child?!” she cried.
Slowly, the mage raised his hands as the back of Syreena’s dress and cape caught fire. The male elder shouted from behind her. “Stop! Let the wretch burn like she deserves!”
He stopped his incantatimons. The wife then stated very soundly, after a few moments and burns on Syreena’s lower body. “Kul’dilev, release her.”
Working quickly, the mage again lifted the stake from the ground, bringing it over, then into the seaside. Giving a second for the flames to be doused, he then planted the stake into the ground where it was – but facing himself this time. The woman commanded the circle of fighters away, except one to carry Syreena. The Elders, Syreena, and Kul’dilev went to a high hut on the second story. The fighter laid Syreena on one of the cots there before leaving, and the three stood over her.
There was a long silence. Kul’dilev did not face her.
The woman spoke. “You have been spared for one reason: to kill Emerron.”
Syreena nodded meekly.
“Your son may come here for training. He may not return until Emerron is dead. We demand his body as proof.”
That was nearly an impossible request, Syreena knew. The man would likely have a funeral with hundreds in attendance, the body buried in an ornate tomb. But she was desperate.
She nodded.
With that, the Elders left, Kul’dilev gazing out of the hut over the sea. The sun was sitting on the rim of the water.
Somberly, in Thallasian, Kul’dilev spoke: “I lost my own son to Emerron when he struck us many years ago.” Syreena couldn’t tell from the way Trolls normally stood if he was just standing, or if he was hunched over in sadness. He continued, “But I understand you are your own person. Many in the tribe do not. “
A cool breeze through the hut gave her the energy to speak over the painful scorches and headache. “I am not my grandfather; I rather despise the man.” She looked at the tall figure. “How did you know I was on the cliff?”
He turned around, the facepaint smeared around the eyes. “I have an arcane fence in place along them – I know when people pass by.” He found the power within him to smile. “Maybe I’ll teach your son.”
Syreena returned home rather quickly after that. Not wanting to endanger Jayeth in the plot she’d created, she spent a few romantic nights with him before enacting her plans. Using some last, vestigial contacts from her youth, she used her favor with them to land Jayeth a job as a courier for the politics of the city. While not wanting to abandon his full-time interest in baking, Jayeth was a practical man, and the gold won him over in the end. Immermnemion was meanwhile sent off for instruction – an interracial academy was the cover-up story. Looking down on humans (which they assumed were the “inter”), the people she told laughed it off as a lower-class education. She opened a portal, wished Immermnemion the best of luck, gave him a hug and a kiss, and watched him walk through.
The Trolls were told not to the boy of anything regarding Emerron. They bided by this, but he was still scared to death at first. Trolls were depicted as vicious killers to be avoided whenever possible. Here he was in a whole town of them! Kul’dilev embraced the boy though, and his Thallasian helped to sooth his nerves. They got down to business right away, and what a good student Immermnemion was. Before long, he was one of the best apprentices Kul’dilev had – the main rival being Stra’tos.
Back in Silvermoon, Jayeth found himself enjoying the job. In fact, he was coordinating make events, setting up decorations, sending messages, and arranging food. In this, Syreena saw her chance. One day, a request was made to bring some human fare to a banquet. Jayeth selected the Trias family to cater wine and cheese to the dinner. Syreena knew Emerron would be present – he always was at dinners. She also knew he had a weakness for Alterac swiss. Not wasting the opportunity, she poisoned the swiss before it was served. Emerron, being the eldest who deigned to partake of it, got his first. He died moments afterward.
As expected, the funeral was a grand affair. Many people were present to pay their respects and see the body whisked away into the family crypt. Family members, by tradition, were allowed to spend a few final moments with the deceased’s corpse inside – in order of relation. As she was at the end of her line, Syreena was last. Opening a portal to Revantusk inside the Crypt quickly, she shoved the body through it, closed the portal, sarcophagus, and left the chamber. Smirking, she noticed the family which hated her didn’t even stay to watch her lock the entrance – which she did.
Unexpected, however, were the ramifications the death of the lord had. Tensions between the Elves and the Humans had grown very tight, and the poisoning of Emerron – by the Trias family, it was assumed – didn’t help matters. In fact, Jayeth became one of the chief proponents of a splitting of Elven and Human diplomacy. Allesta, in her grieving after her father’s death, ended up siding with Jayeth’s views. The bad blood between the two began to decline. Rapidly. Before long, they were forming political events of their own, Jayeth becoming more of a coordinator for his mother-in-law, heiress to the lord’s spoils, than a simply courier. Not being able to stand her husbund’s increased association with her mother, perhaps the reason behind the entire debacle, Syreena opted to go on some field excercises with the reserve. Not long after she did, the Elves did break from the Alliance (mostly), and she was put to actual military use as part of the Horde.
Meanwhile, in Revantusk, the Trolls had taken to the Elf as one of their own. Though not as strong as they, Immermnemion took well to the hunter’s training in lances and axes, and he became a fair cook himself, learning many ways to cook the meat and fish they hunted. Nobody enjoyed his company more than Kul’dilev, however, who seemed to have adopted him as a surrogate son. His wife had also perished in the attack, and he’d not found another mate. The excessive doting on Immermnemion made Stra’tos jealous, however, and the Troll apprentice became bitterly disposed towards him. Not oblivious to the rivalry, Kul’dilev instead used it to foster competitive learning. Stra’tos became intensely devoted to the manipulation of the raw energies influencing temperature while Immermnemion delved into the intricacies of the arcane. In fact, the Elf didn’t learn much of anything focused on combat. Instead, he was much more fascinated with portals, telekinesis, and conjuring. Scoffing at these applications as weak, Stra’tos felt himself the better of the two, often challenging Immermnemion to duels which Kul’dilev forbade. Immermnemion knew he wouldn’t stand a chance, so he declined each time. Kul’dilev knew Immermnemion’s potent will would lead him to great potency later in life, perhaps even surpassing himself, but Stra’tos was very volatile in mood. Kul’dilev considered kindling the Troll’s respect of Immermnemion by relaying the story how the attack by Emerron was resolved – neither pupil had been around for it – but decided against it, not wanting to over-engage Stra’tos’s lust for power over magic. For these reasons, when the body of Emerron arrived in the town, Kul’dilev was thrilled, relieved, and saddened. Thrilled for vengeance to be dealt, relieved the rivals would have time apart before they hurt one another, and saddened to say goodbye to his second son. But say goodbye he did about a year after the body arrived– Immermnemion was off to Silvermoon.
Having started and finished puberty in Revantusk, the people he knew hardly recognized him. This included his father, who only recognized his son because he heard Immermnemion asking for Jayeth’s whereabouts to a local clerk. Embracing him, his father noticed the boy’s eyes weren’t quite normal – instead of the bright, shining green, they were a deep, glowing emerald. His father told him of the events that had transpired. Irate, Immermnemion demanded to see the body of Emerron – he’d never so much as seen a picture of his great-grandfather. Granting his request, Allesta took him to the crypt. In shock, they discovered the missing body. Attention of the Court of the Sun itself now, the national scandal incensed Immermnemion immensely. Demanding to be filled in on every detail of the past he missed in the city, he pledged himself to destroy the Alliance which desecrated his great-grandfather’s grave (or so it was said) and murdered him in the first place!
But how? He’d shunned most spells applicable to combat in his training. He wasn’t dexterous enough to be a ranger. However, his driven will was beyond comparison. He was the embodiment of his people’s disposition just then. His father saw this in him, and Jayeth told him the best way he could fight the enemy would be to convince those who were good at fighting to fight. There were some still who weren’t as devoted to their cause as he. Seeing the wisdom in this, Immermnemion began to read the laws of the city, convincing skeptics of their part in the war where the Elves had been wronged, the iniquities the Humans had committed, and how they could help. He became an expert on Elven law, and, before long, his efforts became well-noticed in the town. Vacancies having ensued in the Ghostlands after the attacks on the city being plentiful, Jayeth pushed the in-term lord to grant Immermnemion a judgeship there. Grant it he did, exalting his deeds as the ideals of the people.
The position was mostly title though – there wasn’t much to judge in the Ghostlands. Nobody stayed there anymore. However, a recently captured Naaru provided much interest to Immermnemion. A few of the Elves had learned to tap into its power, supposedly being able to manipulate the Light to their advantage. This wouldn’t have mattered to him normally, but a letter came to his father not long after attaining his judgeship; it said the company which contained his mother had not been heard from in the weeks following an assault they had attempted. His father was broken with grief, for Syreena had given him everything in his life – his happiness, his current job, and his son. Immermnemion, while also struck with sadness, was trumped by his rage. In theory, the commander of the opposing forces was a paladin – Colonel Doblivar Silversmith. By the sunwell, he would see that man brought to justice! He also wanted to do it personally – and what more satisfying way than to best someone with their own power?
Immermnemion requested of the blood knight matriarch to try and bend the power of the Naaru to his will. Granting his request, she and some other students watched him attempt to draw on the energy. Focusing all his furious vengeance as best he could, he felt the power flow into him like a lightning bolt. When the matriarch asked him to test out his power on a training dummy, he asked which one – his question accompanied by a gesture. Astoundingly, the gesture was accompanied by a beam of light pointing to the target in question. Knowing that was enough to see the manipulation, the matriarch made the young man a blood knight apprentice there. He went on to become a full knight, setting off to aid in the destruction of the alliance – especially paladins – whenever he could.
For a time at least. News reached Silvermoon Kael’thas had betrayed their people. Evidence was lacking though – supposedly he’d given into demon lords. Refusing to believe this conjecture without proof, Immermnemion quickly became unpopular with many of the town. At most, he felt, the prince simply fell under a mind control bewitching of one of those demons; he did not believe the prince would willingly betray them. Instead, he felt it much more likely the magisters were simply throwing a power coup. Immermnemion had noticed upon his arrival the potency to which magic addiction commanded Elf’s lives – especially after his reprieve in Revantusk. Vowing not to accept a false kingdom, Immermnemion turned away from the battlefield directly – instead attempting to convince people they were being led astray by the magisters. However, his fanatically lawful nature and loyalist perspectives alienated him from most of the people.
With news of a new threat in the North however, he hoped to make a fresh start to his arguments. In Silvermoon, the people listened to the propaganda of the magisters day-in, day-out, and in Outland, many were convinced the “misdeeds” of Kael’thas had happened right next to them. In Northrend, however, the Lich King sought to end all life, and people would put their misconceived notions behind them in order to combat the greater foe, so Immermnemion felt convincing others of the truth while he helped them with their endeavors would be much easier. Well-suited to vanquishing the undead, Immermnemion had lost muscle mass, but he felt tenfold stronger as he augmented himself with the light, his sword becoming a feather in his hand, his shield an emblem on his arm. He headed to Northrend, absolutely certain of his purpose. He had many enemies now – Alliance, undead, disbelievers, but it did not matter to him. Those who could not be purified by his word would have to be purified by his wrath.
Nicknames: Immer (for races with less-than-nimble tongues)
Age: The rough equivalent of 29 in human years.
Race: Sin’dorei
Sex: Male
Hair: Fine, lengthy. Platinum.
Skin: Fair
Eyes: Deep emerald
Height: 6’1
Weight: 173
Place of residence: Revantusk Village
Place of Birth: Southern Eversong
Known Relatives: Condensed list:
Mother’s side: Mother, Syreena Raybearer – Whereabouts unknown, believed dead
Grandmother, Allesta Raybearer – Small apartment in Silvermoon
Great-Grandfather, Lord Emerron Raybearer – Dead by poison
Father’s side: Father, Jayeth Dawnbringer – Small apartment in Silvermoon
Mentor: Kul’dilev – Whereabouts unknown, believed alive.
Religion/Philosophy: The well-governed will prosper.
Occupation: Judge
Enemies: All who oppose the Kingdom, Doblivar, the Trias family.
Likes: Arguments, bodies of water, wine and cheese, Trolls, fine Elven men.
Favorite Foods: Cheese! Many types of fruit – mostly berries, and deviate fish.
Favorite Drinks: Wine, juice, and water.
Favorite Colors: Scarlet and gold
Weapons of Choice: The Light itself
Dislikes: His enemies, ambiguity, waste, falsehood.
Hobbies: Reading (law), meeting new people, sampling new food and drink.
Physical Features: Medium-Tall, smooth skin, sub-par muscle, mischevious grin.
Special Abilities: Minor arcane manipulations (think 0th level spells), moderate telekinesis, can manipulate the Light to illuminate at will, likes Bloodthistle – though eats without addiction.
Positive Personality Traits: Well-mannered when he feels like it, flirtatious, open-minded, thorough, extremely strong-willed.
Negative Personality Traits: Cold-blooded, draconian, polarizing.
Misc. Quirks: Toys with his ears when in thought, likes toying with others’ ears when he likes them, spends quite a bit of time fussing over neatness – even with battlegear.
Theme Songs: Battle: Hindemith – http://www.imeem.com/people/kJG9QP/music/ry86hmKg/hindemith-march-symphonic-metamorphosis/
Coronation of a new king: Victor Ewald – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkcbB4g693k&feature=related
History:
Currently young for an Elf, Immermnemion grew up in the peaceful forests of Eversong before the great war began. In youth, both his mother and father were nothing amazing to him – at least in his eyes. In truth, Syreena was the granddaughter of a powerful Lord, being potent in terms of land, money, and political influence. However, her line was a strict one; when she disobeyed the wishes of her family by mating with Jayeth, whom they despised, they cut all ties with her. Jayeth was so disliked because he worked as a mere baker, just as his father before him did, selling his pastries and sweets to denizens of the countryside for but a common living. Immermnemion saw the three of them as just that in his youth – common. Nothing more, but he was happy.
However, in his schooling, Immermnemion was found to have difficulty with magic. In truth, the instructors were simply not teaching him – at least not well. Syreena , more apt with magic than her husband, began to tutor Immermnemion at home. Seeming to take to the magic extremely well, Syreena was puzzled. Why could he learn here, but not at school? She observed some of the class sessions from afar Immermnemion attended, and she noticed instructors were doing the bare minimum they could for him, nothing at all, ignoring him, or even teaching him wrong methods. Even more perplexing was the fact the same instructors taught the other pupils in a normal fashion. Furious, Syreena deduced Emerron, or her mother through him, must be tampering with her child’s schooling, trying to make things as miserable as possible for them. Such vengeance when they didn’t get their way! Syreena, while happy with her life with Jayeth, wanted Immermnemion to be able to choose whatever life he wished. However, she knew she would not always be there for him. Taking a trip for a while, she wished her son and husband a temporary farewell.
Her destination was the coast of the Hinterlands. She’d heard of the Revantusk tribe there from her days with her original family. They were supposedly more “civilized” than many other tribes – meaning they would talk to you before eating you. However, on her way to the Overlook Cliffs, Syreena stopped by the Elven lodge on the lake. Here, she confirmed what she’d hoped: many of the lodge’s population over the past few years right up until this very week had been felled by a Troll mage. The death cause was clearly arcane magic – no blood, charred or frozen skin, crushed skulls, or poisons were found. Syreena nodded with understanding to the news – her grandfather wished to claim the coast for himself in her earlier years.
She remembered the report she’d read while snooping around his study one day. His mercenaries, well-equipped with armor and weapons with the lord’s own name and insignia on them, were met with not just the standard resistance of Troll javelin flingers and shaman, but they had actual sorcerers – and not just the standard seer or two leading the town who’d chosen to manipulate the elements instead of following them. Instead, the forces were scorched from left and right, having to endure many casualties simply to come within sight of the village. The band had not expected heavy magical attacks. Once they got to the village itself, however, the resistance became stronger. The battle very close, the town should’ve been easily conquered – even if this attempt were a failure – by the next wave of Elves. The unthinkable then happened – the report read scouts attesting to pieces of the cliffs themselves began to break away, giant boulders being drug through the air to mow down the Elven forces. Dozens of them dying in mere seconds, the nimblest of the scouts fled, living to tell the tale – from which the report originated. The few of them who’d been observing much noted they saw a Troll in brightly colored robes wielding a glowing staff in one hand, his other emitting the unmistakable arcane missiles. Some said when the missiles were not coming from his hand, the arm was making swinging, encompassing motions. By the terminology used, Syreena believe these too grand for incantations – rather, this was the Troll’s way of exacting his telekinesis – moving the cliff’s face at will. Furious at the failure of his mercenaries, Emerron no doubt fired them in short order. However, the solidity of their ominous report made him stay his hand at another attempt – the man was temperamental, not stupid.
Standing at the edge of the cliffs now, overlooking the sea, Syreena knew she was no match for such an arcanist. However, she was no mere apprentice. Summoning an image of herself – and some courage – she marched the image down the cliff face to the town. Her training in magic was quite extensive, courtesy of her own mother, and her grandfather had convinced her to join the reserve regiment of Silvermoon’s battlemages. She did not hope to fight the man. Encountering some of the town’s hunters on the way – who tried futilely to ensnare and cripple the image – she told them her purpose, and continued on to the village. They sped in front of her; hopefully her studies of Troll in youth were sufficient for their understanding. Arriving at the town, she bowed to what was apparently their tribe’s leader and his mate – awaiting her with fury on their faces.
[NOTE: I have left accents out of the story; however, I frequently use them in dialogue.]
“I am Syreena. I have come to you to make a request of a great mage of yours.”
The elders laughed. The wife spoke: “We have many great mages.”
The image nodded. “I am aware of their power. I realize they stopped an attack many years ago by our people.”
The mirth evaporated. “How do you know of that?”
“Reports of the few who survived. I am seeking the mage who moved the cliffs.”
The man smiled. “You will find him.”
Then Syreena blacked out. When she awoke, she was surrounded by a score of the Tribesmen, roped to a stake. Behind the circle of fighters was the pair of elders, sitting on a hut, being able to see over the Trolls to her eyes. The man grinned.
A voice from behind her spoke - in Thallasian! “Knowing I move cliffs, why would you stand on one?”
Putting the pieces together, Syreena felt a pulse of pain as a throbbing headache became apparent. She’d little doubt the man hit her with a rock to knock her out, though she’d even less clue to how he’d known she was there.
She tried twisting her head around to look at him, but she couldn’t move it enough. Her hands bound, she could perform nothing but the simplest of cantrips. She was doomed. Her heart sank. She’d not been expecting to risk her life here, instead sending a messenger while she stayed out of fireballs’ and arrows’ range.
The Troll spoke again, this time in Troll. “What did you want from me?”
Syreena fought the pain. “I wanted help for my son.”
Chuckling behind her, the voice was deep. Then: “And why did you need me, a lowly Troll?”
“He needs to be trained in magic. It seems only I can do it, and I cannot always be there.”
The male elder spoke, amused. “How would he help then?”
Syreena’s shoulders slumped. “None of the Elven instructors will teach the boy. I thought –“
The female elder cut her off. “Enough. We are finished with you. We’ve no reason to help you. It is late. We would have new meat tonight.” She began to give a hand signal.
“Wait!” Syreena said a silent prayer to a god she didn’t believe in. “Do you know of Emerron Raybearer?”
A few gasps could be heard, and many of the warriors, in addition to the two elders, could be seen whispering to themselves.
The male elder stood. “You dare taunt us with the past? I’ll kill you myself!”
As much as she could, she shook her head, the ache pulsing. “No! I am his daughter’s daughter, I –“
The stake and Syreena shot up out of the ground, then lowered violently to hover a few feet above the soil, having rotated totally around. It was then she saw her would-be tutor. The standard hair and skin of Revantusk features were found on the mage, his crested hair eking him out as perhaps the tallest of the circle of Trolls. His tusks were long and seemed quite sharp, the face-paint adding to his fearsome appearance. The wooden staff he carried was twisted in a loop at the end, and it glowed a brilliant lavender, a sharp contrast to the setting sun. Of all the Trolls except for the Elders, he was the only one wearing a robe.
“No!” he growled “The brood of that bastard? I will burn her alive!”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she raced against the mage’s incantations to explain. “Emerron hates me as well! He disowned me years ago, and he is using his power to make life miserable for my son and I!”
The mage’s incantations slowed briefly, but then continued, the stake bursting into flame at the bottom. Syreena became desperate “We all want revenge! We can work together against him!”
The mage stared at her, making no attempt to move. The heat under Syreena became instense. “Please! Wouldn’t you do the same for your child?!” she cried.
Slowly, the mage raised his hands as the back of Syreena’s dress and cape caught fire. The male elder shouted from behind her. “Stop! Let the wretch burn like she deserves!”
He stopped his incantatimons. The wife then stated very soundly, after a few moments and burns on Syreena’s lower body. “Kul’dilev, release her.”
Working quickly, the mage again lifted the stake from the ground, bringing it over, then into the seaside. Giving a second for the flames to be doused, he then planted the stake into the ground where it was – but facing himself this time. The woman commanded the circle of fighters away, except one to carry Syreena. The Elders, Syreena, and Kul’dilev went to a high hut on the second story. The fighter laid Syreena on one of the cots there before leaving, and the three stood over her.
There was a long silence. Kul’dilev did not face her.
The woman spoke. “You have been spared for one reason: to kill Emerron.”
Syreena nodded meekly.
“Your son may come here for training. He may not return until Emerron is dead. We demand his body as proof.”
That was nearly an impossible request, Syreena knew. The man would likely have a funeral with hundreds in attendance, the body buried in an ornate tomb. But she was desperate.
She nodded.
With that, the Elders left, Kul’dilev gazing out of the hut over the sea. The sun was sitting on the rim of the water.
Somberly, in Thallasian, Kul’dilev spoke: “I lost my own son to Emerron when he struck us many years ago.” Syreena couldn’t tell from the way Trolls normally stood if he was just standing, or if he was hunched over in sadness. He continued, “But I understand you are your own person. Many in the tribe do not. “
A cool breeze through the hut gave her the energy to speak over the painful scorches and headache. “I am not my grandfather; I rather despise the man.” She looked at the tall figure. “How did you know I was on the cliff?”
He turned around, the facepaint smeared around the eyes. “I have an arcane fence in place along them – I know when people pass by.” He found the power within him to smile. “Maybe I’ll teach your son.”
Syreena returned home rather quickly after that. Not wanting to endanger Jayeth in the plot she’d created, she spent a few romantic nights with him before enacting her plans. Using some last, vestigial contacts from her youth, she used her favor with them to land Jayeth a job as a courier for the politics of the city. While not wanting to abandon his full-time interest in baking, Jayeth was a practical man, and the gold won him over in the end. Immermnemion was meanwhile sent off for instruction – an interracial academy was the cover-up story. Looking down on humans (which they assumed were the “inter”), the people she told laughed it off as a lower-class education. She opened a portal, wished Immermnemion the best of luck, gave him a hug and a kiss, and watched him walk through.
The Trolls were told not to the boy of anything regarding Emerron. They bided by this, but he was still scared to death at first. Trolls were depicted as vicious killers to be avoided whenever possible. Here he was in a whole town of them! Kul’dilev embraced the boy though, and his Thallasian helped to sooth his nerves. They got down to business right away, and what a good student Immermnemion was. Before long, he was one of the best apprentices Kul’dilev had – the main rival being Stra’tos.
Back in Silvermoon, Jayeth found himself enjoying the job. In fact, he was coordinating make events, setting up decorations, sending messages, and arranging food. In this, Syreena saw her chance. One day, a request was made to bring some human fare to a banquet. Jayeth selected the Trias family to cater wine and cheese to the dinner. Syreena knew Emerron would be present – he always was at dinners. She also knew he had a weakness for Alterac swiss. Not wasting the opportunity, she poisoned the swiss before it was served. Emerron, being the eldest who deigned to partake of it, got his first. He died moments afterward.
As expected, the funeral was a grand affair. Many people were present to pay their respects and see the body whisked away into the family crypt. Family members, by tradition, were allowed to spend a few final moments with the deceased’s corpse inside – in order of relation. As she was at the end of her line, Syreena was last. Opening a portal to Revantusk inside the Crypt quickly, she shoved the body through it, closed the portal, sarcophagus, and left the chamber. Smirking, she noticed the family which hated her didn’t even stay to watch her lock the entrance – which she did.
Unexpected, however, were the ramifications the death of the lord had. Tensions between the Elves and the Humans had grown very tight, and the poisoning of Emerron – by the Trias family, it was assumed – didn’t help matters. In fact, Jayeth became one of the chief proponents of a splitting of Elven and Human diplomacy. Allesta, in her grieving after her father’s death, ended up siding with Jayeth’s views. The bad blood between the two began to decline. Rapidly. Before long, they were forming political events of their own, Jayeth becoming more of a coordinator for his mother-in-law, heiress to the lord’s spoils, than a simply courier. Not being able to stand her husbund’s increased association with her mother, perhaps the reason behind the entire debacle, Syreena opted to go on some field excercises with the reserve. Not long after she did, the Elves did break from the Alliance (mostly), and she was put to actual military use as part of the Horde.
Meanwhile, in Revantusk, the Trolls had taken to the Elf as one of their own. Though not as strong as they, Immermnemion took well to the hunter’s training in lances and axes, and he became a fair cook himself, learning many ways to cook the meat and fish they hunted. Nobody enjoyed his company more than Kul’dilev, however, who seemed to have adopted him as a surrogate son. His wife had also perished in the attack, and he’d not found another mate. The excessive doting on Immermnemion made Stra’tos jealous, however, and the Troll apprentice became bitterly disposed towards him. Not oblivious to the rivalry, Kul’dilev instead used it to foster competitive learning. Stra’tos became intensely devoted to the manipulation of the raw energies influencing temperature while Immermnemion delved into the intricacies of the arcane. In fact, the Elf didn’t learn much of anything focused on combat. Instead, he was much more fascinated with portals, telekinesis, and conjuring. Scoffing at these applications as weak, Stra’tos felt himself the better of the two, often challenging Immermnemion to duels which Kul’dilev forbade. Immermnemion knew he wouldn’t stand a chance, so he declined each time. Kul’dilev knew Immermnemion’s potent will would lead him to great potency later in life, perhaps even surpassing himself, but Stra’tos was very volatile in mood. Kul’dilev considered kindling the Troll’s respect of Immermnemion by relaying the story how the attack by Emerron was resolved – neither pupil had been around for it – but decided against it, not wanting to over-engage Stra’tos’s lust for power over magic. For these reasons, when the body of Emerron arrived in the town, Kul’dilev was thrilled, relieved, and saddened. Thrilled for vengeance to be dealt, relieved the rivals would have time apart before they hurt one another, and saddened to say goodbye to his second son. But say goodbye he did about a year after the body arrived– Immermnemion was off to Silvermoon.
Having started and finished puberty in Revantusk, the people he knew hardly recognized him. This included his father, who only recognized his son because he heard Immermnemion asking for Jayeth’s whereabouts to a local clerk. Embracing him, his father noticed the boy’s eyes weren’t quite normal – instead of the bright, shining green, they were a deep, glowing emerald. His father told him of the events that had transpired. Irate, Immermnemion demanded to see the body of Emerron – he’d never so much as seen a picture of his great-grandfather. Granting his request, Allesta took him to the crypt. In shock, they discovered the missing body. Attention of the Court of the Sun itself now, the national scandal incensed Immermnemion immensely. Demanding to be filled in on every detail of the past he missed in the city, he pledged himself to destroy the Alliance which desecrated his great-grandfather’s grave (or so it was said) and murdered him in the first place!
But how? He’d shunned most spells applicable to combat in his training. He wasn’t dexterous enough to be a ranger. However, his driven will was beyond comparison. He was the embodiment of his people’s disposition just then. His father saw this in him, and Jayeth told him the best way he could fight the enemy would be to convince those who were good at fighting to fight. There were some still who weren’t as devoted to their cause as he. Seeing the wisdom in this, Immermnemion began to read the laws of the city, convincing skeptics of their part in the war where the Elves had been wronged, the iniquities the Humans had committed, and how they could help. He became an expert on Elven law, and, before long, his efforts became well-noticed in the town. Vacancies having ensued in the Ghostlands after the attacks on the city being plentiful, Jayeth pushed the in-term lord to grant Immermnemion a judgeship there. Grant it he did, exalting his deeds as the ideals of the people.
The position was mostly title though – there wasn’t much to judge in the Ghostlands. Nobody stayed there anymore. However, a recently captured Naaru provided much interest to Immermnemion. A few of the Elves had learned to tap into its power, supposedly being able to manipulate the Light to their advantage. This wouldn’t have mattered to him normally, but a letter came to his father not long after attaining his judgeship; it said the company which contained his mother had not been heard from in the weeks following an assault they had attempted. His father was broken with grief, for Syreena had given him everything in his life – his happiness, his current job, and his son. Immermnemion, while also struck with sadness, was trumped by his rage. In theory, the commander of the opposing forces was a paladin – Colonel Doblivar Silversmith. By the sunwell, he would see that man brought to justice! He also wanted to do it personally – and what more satisfying way than to best someone with their own power?
Immermnemion requested of the blood knight matriarch to try and bend the power of the Naaru to his will. Granting his request, she and some other students watched him attempt to draw on the energy. Focusing all his furious vengeance as best he could, he felt the power flow into him like a lightning bolt. When the matriarch asked him to test out his power on a training dummy, he asked which one – his question accompanied by a gesture. Astoundingly, the gesture was accompanied by a beam of light pointing to the target in question. Knowing that was enough to see the manipulation, the matriarch made the young man a blood knight apprentice there. He went on to become a full knight, setting off to aid in the destruction of the alliance – especially paladins – whenever he could.
For a time at least. News reached Silvermoon Kael’thas had betrayed their people. Evidence was lacking though – supposedly he’d given into demon lords. Refusing to believe this conjecture without proof, Immermnemion quickly became unpopular with many of the town. At most, he felt, the prince simply fell under a mind control bewitching of one of those demons; he did not believe the prince would willingly betray them. Instead, he felt it much more likely the magisters were simply throwing a power coup. Immermnemion had noticed upon his arrival the potency to which magic addiction commanded Elf’s lives – especially after his reprieve in Revantusk. Vowing not to accept a false kingdom, Immermnemion turned away from the battlefield directly – instead attempting to convince people they were being led astray by the magisters. However, his fanatically lawful nature and loyalist perspectives alienated him from most of the people.
With news of a new threat in the North however, he hoped to make a fresh start to his arguments. In Silvermoon, the people listened to the propaganda of the magisters day-in, day-out, and in Outland, many were convinced the “misdeeds” of Kael’thas had happened right next to them. In Northrend, however, the Lich King sought to end all life, and people would put their misconceived notions behind them in order to combat the greater foe, so Immermnemion felt convincing others of the truth while he helped them with their endeavors would be much easier. Well-suited to vanquishing the undead, Immermnemion had lost muscle mass, but he felt tenfold stronger as he augmented himself with the light, his sword becoming a feather in his hand, his shield an emblem on his arm. He headed to Northrend, absolutely certain of his purpose. He had many enemies now – Alliance, undead, disbelievers, but it did not matter to him. Those who could not be purified by his word would have to be purified by his wrath.