Zavvii
03-15-2006, 11:25 AM
Sins of the Father
The change had been almost imperceptible at first, but as Zurrii watched his daughter at practice, even his untrained eye could see the difference. Vijen, the Darkspear arms master, loosed another volley of lightning fast strikes, only to be rebuked again by his student's timely parries and brilliant counterattacks. Zavvii had always been a competent fighter, but she lacked that essential spark, that feel for combat that separated a rank and file soldier from a potential champion. Like everything else she tried, Zurrii’s daughter had mastered the basics so quickly as to greatly impress her teachers. And like everything else she tried, she’d stopped there. The one thing she shown exceptional potential for she’d rejected, a fact that caused her father no small amount of grief. The old troll sighed heavily and slowly turned away from the sight of the practice grounds. She certainly has the spark now, thought Zurrii. After all, hadn’t that been the idea in the first place?
Though his home was humble by the standards of most magi, it was far from modest. Perched on the bluffs above Shadowprey village, it afforded him a spectacular view of the ocean, and ensured a reasonable degree of separation from the village proper. Given that this was the third house built on the spot, the other two leveled by errant magic, Zurrii supposed this was probably for the best. Normally the kind of mood Zurrii was in would draw him to stare out to sea in quiet contemplation, but he found himself too pensive for such complacent activity. Making the appropriate gestures to the wards and runes that surrounded his place of work, Zurrii withdrew from the world into his study, swiftly burying himself in his researches.
It seemed only moments later when a sharp knock on his door broke his fevered concentration, though the fast-fading light outside suggested it had been hours. He quickly stood up and dashed out of his study: it wouldn’t have been the first time a villager had made the mistake of crossing the threshold of his home uninvited. Most homes in Shadowprey were of traditional design and had no doors: Zurri’s was no exception, he felt it leant a feeling of community he gladly welcome. That didn’t mean his home wasn’t practically encrusted with magical protections designed to keep unwanted guests from entering his sanctum without catching fire first. As it turns out he needn’t have worried, for patiently waiting outside his front door was Vijen, who knew full well the dangers of this particular abode.
“We should have words, you and I, about your daughter” he said, speaking in the old tongue with a particularly formal tone.
I know this part, Zurrii thought as he sighed. Deliberately avoiding any sort of formal speech, though still speaking in the old tongue “You want to make her your apprentice, put her through training that would kill most anyone else, and forge her into a true warrior of the Darkspear tribe. And in exchange for this, you’d like fairly hefty sum of gold.” Vijen looked faintly scandalized, but Zurrii continued “Forgive me, I’m in no mood for tradition today. You’ll get your gold, train her well.”
There were still some small arrangements to be made of course, some traditions could not be ignored, regardless of how a cantankerous old troll might feel about them. But it was not long before Vijen was descending the dusty path back to the village, ready to claim his new apprentice, while Zurrii stood standing still beneath the gathering dark and watched the stars wink into view, one by one. If you meddle with fate, you must be prepared for consequences, he thought. This would be the least of them.
Zurrii felt very old as he returned to his study. His mate, Zavvii’s mother, was consulting with the other Shaman’s in the Valley of Spirits in Orgrimmar. She was not expected back for at least a week, and knew nothing of his meddling anyway. His gaze moved slowly around the darkened room, watching shadows drift across the piles of books, moving the hanging cords talismans and charms, finally settling on a child-sized desk in a dusty corner, long abandoned by it’s owner. Memories filled him, and for a moment he was watching Zavvii with her spellbook, the look of wonder on her face as her first cantrip managed to pull a glimmering mote of magical into existence, sending flickers of golden brilliance across the room.
The vision faded and he returned to the present. Zavvii had been born to magic, it came to her so naturally, and yet Zurrii knew for all her talent she would never make a great mage. The distain most adolescents seem to feel for there parents became in her a distain for her parent’s art, and no amount of aptitude could make up for that. Nor could even the most diligent instruction, by both her parents. Nor could years of coaxing and encouragement, exposures to the great wonders the art could produce. Zavvii insisted she would find her own path, even as she faltered once again in yet another profession that did not suite her. The life of a warrior was the last thing Zurrii would have chosen for her daughter, but it was the first trade she’d shown any real passion for, even if she lacked the natural aptitude of a prodigy.
That, at least, was one thing Zurrii could do for his daughter, though he greatly feared the day she would come to hate him for it. Just as her potential was no longer entirely her own, nor was her fate. The old mage shuddered slightly and set about the sorrowful task of packing away his daughter’s spellbooks for the very last time.
The change had been almost imperceptible at first, but as Zurrii watched his daughter at practice, even his untrained eye could see the difference. Vijen, the Darkspear arms master, loosed another volley of lightning fast strikes, only to be rebuked again by his student's timely parries and brilliant counterattacks. Zavvii had always been a competent fighter, but she lacked that essential spark, that feel for combat that separated a rank and file soldier from a potential champion. Like everything else she tried, Zurrii’s daughter had mastered the basics so quickly as to greatly impress her teachers. And like everything else she tried, she’d stopped there. The one thing she shown exceptional potential for she’d rejected, a fact that caused her father no small amount of grief. The old troll sighed heavily and slowly turned away from the sight of the practice grounds. She certainly has the spark now, thought Zurrii. After all, hadn’t that been the idea in the first place?
Though his home was humble by the standards of most magi, it was far from modest. Perched on the bluffs above Shadowprey village, it afforded him a spectacular view of the ocean, and ensured a reasonable degree of separation from the village proper. Given that this was the third house built on the spot, the other two leveled by errant magic, Zurrii supposed this was probably for the best. Normally the kind of mood Zurrii was in would draw him to stare out to sea in quiet contemplation, but he found himself too pensive for such complacent activity. Making the appropriate gestures to the wards and runes that surrounded his place of work, Zurrii withdrew from the world into his study, swiftly burying himself in his researches.
It seemed only moments later when a sharp knock on his door broke his fevered concentration, though the fast-fading light outside suggested it had been hours. He quickly stood up and dashed out of his study: it wouldn’t have been the first time a villager had made the mistake of crossing the threshold of his home uninvited. Most homes in Shadowprey were of traditional design and had no doors: Zurri’s was no exception, he felt it leant a feeling of community he gladly welcome. That didn’t mean his home wasn’t practically encrusted with magical protections designed to keep unwanted guests from entering his sanctum without catching fire first. As it turns out he needn’t have worried, for patiently waiting outside his front door was Vijen, who knew full well the dangers of this particular abode.
“We should have words, you and I, about your daughter” he said, speaking in the old tongue with a particularly formal tone.
I know this part, Zurrii thought as he sighed. Deliberately avoiding any sort of formal speech, though still speaking in the old tongue “You want to make her your apprentice, put her through training that would kill most anyone else, and forge her into a true warrior of the Darkspear tribe. And in exchange for this, you’d like fairly hefty sum of gold.” Vijen looked faintly scandalized, but Zurrii continued “Forgive me, I’m in no mood for tradition today. You’ll get your gold, train her well.”
There were still some small arrangements to be made of course, some traditions could not be ignored, regardless of how a cantankerous old troll might feel about them. But it was not long before Vijen was descending the dusty path back to the village, ready to claim his new apprentice, while Zurrii stood standing still beneath the gathering dark and watched the stars wink into view, one by one. If you meddle with fate, you must be prepared for consequences, he thought. This would be the least of them.
Zurrii felt very old as he returned to his study. His mate, Zavvii’s mother, was consulting with the other Shaman’s in the Valley of Spirits in Orgrimmar. She was not expected back for at least a week, and knew nothing of his meddling anyway. His gaze moved slowly around the darkened room, watching shadows drift across the piles of books, moving the hanging cords talismans and charms, finally settling on a child-sized desk in a dusty corner, long abandoned by it’s owner. Memories filled him, and for a moment he was watching Zavvii with her spellbook, the look of wonder on her face as her first cantrip managed to pull a glimmering mote of magical into existence, sending flickers of golden brilliance across the room.
The vision faded and he returned to the present. Zavvii had been born to magic, it came to her so naturally, and yet Zurrii knew for all her talent she would never make a great mage. The distain most adolescents seem to feel for there parents became in her a distain for her parent’s art, and no amount of aptitude could make up for that. Nor could even the most diligent instruction, by both her parents. Nor could years of coaxing and encouragement, exposures to the great wonders the art could produce. Zavvii insisted she would find her own path, even as she faltered once again in yet another profession that did not suite her. The life of a warrior was the last thing Zurrii would have chosen for her daughter, but it was the first trade she’d shown any real passion for, even if she lacked the natural aptitude of a prodigy.
That, at least, was one thing Zurrii could do for his daughter, though he greatly feared the day she would come to hate him for it. Just as her potential was no longer entirely her own, nor was her fate. The old mage shuddered slightly and set about the sorrowful task of packing away his daughter’s spellbooks for the very last time.