Zavvii
08-22-2007, 10:05 PM
(This was supposed to be done months and months and months ago. I rerolled blood elf in the expansion, and my wonderful lady-friend Vandya was kind enough to wait for me to hit 58 so we could go through the dark portal together. This is how it happened)
The dark portal loomed like an canker on the horizon. Cascades of shimmering lightning cast down from the glowing sky to scorch the dry, corrupted earth
Vandya looked to her traveling companions. The female corpse, who had introduced herself as Countess Aloivia of Arathor, giggled happily as she skipped along to a melody only she could hear, while a group of Blood Elf magisters joked and talked amongst themselves in Sin’darin. Occasional they’d flick their eyes to her or subtly point and laugh. Three mornings in a row now her she’d found flecks of ash in her tail, and was beginning to suspect that blood elven humor involved practical jokes, a slumbering companion, and liberal use fire magic. All in all, it was not the ideal traveling party; she longed for the solemn dignity of Oraias, Taknar’s good-natured cackling, or even Zavvii’s psychotic friendliness. Alas, they had either gone on without her or left her behind.
Days passed. The portal drew ever closer, the stink of it’s corrupt magics making her teeth itch. At long last, she made her way through the armed camp of alliance and horde, who stood guard ready to repel invaders from the portal, and finally came to stand at the very threshold, staring into the raw essence of the twisting nether. She mustered her courage and prepared
“Vandya my dear, I was wondering if you could answer something for me.”
She turned her head in surprise. Only one of the magisters, spoke orcish with any fluency, in spite of it being the common language of the horde. The blood elves might be less murderous than their vicious kaldori cousins, but they were no less aloof. “Mmm?” she replied.
“You are a druid, yes? Your garb is that of an ancient Cenarian sect, your staff is wrapped with healing vines and herbs, and instead of a dagger, your belt carries a traditional totemic focus carved of oak.”
Vandya nodded silently. She wasn’t aware of her equipment’s history. Most of it had been salvaged from battlefields, discarded by it’s previous ownor or looted from their perforated corpse. Not that she was about to admit that to the haughty blood elf.
“So I must ask, why the pink shirt?”
The question caught her off guard. Beneath her robes, barely visible, a few threads of a tattered silken shirt was visible, dyed a garish pink. “I… when I was very young”, she began, “my family came across a caravan that had been sacked by centaurs. They had carried off the weapons and the food and burnt the rest. They missed a few trinkets though, this shirt was one of them. It was wondrous to me, because I had never seen material so soft, or a color so vibrant. I thought it akin to the color of sunset”. She gave a small sigh and continued “Silk is not a good material for life in the Barrens, so my elders did not mind me keeping the it. As I said, I had never seen it’s like, and so it came to have a meaning to me. The shirt symbolized adventure and the outside world. I wore it when I left the tribe to pursue my calling as a druid”
The elf… Scytale, that was his name… nodded thoughtfully and turned to his fellows, relaying the story in Sin’Dorin. A few in the group smiled. When he was finished, as one they closed their eyes and began chanting, flickers of arcane magic tracing across them. The spell took nearly a minute to complete, but when they were done the magisters had somehow changed the color of their robes to the exact pink of Vandya’s shirt. She reeled at the use of so much magic for such a trivial thing.
“We admire your spirit, noble Tauren, and wish to do it honor” he said, as if in answer to her unasked question. “Come! Outland awaits!” And with that, the blood elves stepped through the Dark Portal. Aloivia skittered through, apparently chasing an invisible mouse.
With a heavy sigh, Vandya followed…
And gasped. Before her lay stretched the mindbending wasteland of the Hellfire Peninsula. Ahead, a pitched battle was waging between a ragged line of Azeroth defenders and an enormous horde of fellguards, fellhunters, infernals and more; demons she couldn’t even name. The shear scale of the battle was terrifying.
For a long moment she simply stared, before finally noticing that the blood elves were standing still, as if waiting for something. Curiously, their robes had returned to their previous color. A confused look crossed her face.
Grinning, Scytale stepped forward in an exaggerated effeminate pose. In the high nasal tones of a spoiled Stormwind primadona he intoned “Pink? By. The. Light. Pink is like, so Azeroth”. He and his companions bust out laughing, before turning to find shelter and a safe place to observe the battle, leaving Vandya to wonder how it was that the elves managed to garner their reputation for dignity and wisdom.
The dark portal loomed like an canker on the horizon. Cascades of shimmering lightning cast down from the glowing sky to scorch the dry, corrupted earth
Vandya looked to her traveling companions. The female corpse, who had introduced herself as Countess Aloivia of Arathor, giggled happily as she skipped along to a melody only she could hear, while a group of Blood Elf magisters joked and talked amongst themselves in Sin’darin. Occasional they’d flick their eyes to her or subtly point and laugh. Three mornings in a row now her she’d found flecks of ash in her tail, and was beginning to suspect that blood elven humor involved practical jokes, a slumbering companion, and liberal use fire magic. All in all, it was not the ideal traveling party; she longed for the solemn dignity of Oraias, Taknar’s good-natured cackling, or even Zavvii’s psychotic friendliness. Alas, they had either gone on without her or left her behind.
Days passed. The portal drew ever closer, the stink of it’s corrupt magics making her teeth itch. At long last, she made her way through the armed camp of alliance and horde, who stood guard ready to repel invaders from the portal, and finally came to stand at the very threshold, staring into the raw essence of the twisting nether. She mustered her courage and prepared
“Vandya my dear, I was wondering if you could answer something for me.”
She turned her head in surprise. Only one of the magisters, spoke orcish with any fluency, in spite of it being the common language of the horde. The blood elves might be less murderous than their vicious kaldori cousins, but they were no less aloof. “Mmm?” she replied.
“You are a druid, yes? Your garb is that of an ancient Cenarian sect, your staff is wrapped with healing vines and herbs, and instead of a dagger, your belt carries a traditional totemic focus carved of oak.”
Vandya nodded silently. She wasn’t aware of her equipment’s history. Most of it had been salvaged from battlefields, discarded by it’s previous ownor or looted from their perforated corpse. Not that she was about to admit that to the haughty blood elf.
“So I must ask, why the pink shirt?”
The question caught her off guard. Beneath her robes, barely visible, a few threads of a tattered silken shirt was visible, dyed a garish pink. “I… when I was very young”, she began, “my family came across a caravan that had been sacked by centaurs. They had carried off the weapons and the food and burnt the rest. They missed a few trinkets though, this shirt was one of them. It was wondrous to me, because I had never seen material so soft, or a color so vibrant. I thought it akin to the color of sunset”. She gave a small sigh and continued “Silk is not a good material for life in the Barrens, so my elders did not mind me keeping the it. As I said, I had never seen it’s like, and so it came to have a meaning to me. The shirt symbolized adventure and the outside world. I wore it when I left the tribe to pursue my calling as a druid”
The elf… Scytale, that was his name… nodded thoughtfully and turned to his fellows, relaying the story in Sin’Dorin. A few in the group smiled. When he was finished, as one they closed their eyes and began chanting, flickers of arcane magic tracing across them. The spell took nearly a minute to complete, but when they were done the magisters had somehow changed the color of their robes to the exact pink of Vandya’s shirt. She reeled at the use of so much magic for such a trivial thing.
“We admire your spirit, noble Tauren, and wish to do it honor” he said, as if in answer to her unasked question. “Come! Outland awaits!” And with that, the blood elves stepped through the Dark Portal. Aloivia skittered through, apparently chasing an invisible mouse.
With a heavy sigh, Vandya followed…
And gasped. Before her lay stretched the mindbending wasteland of the Hellfire Peninsula. Ahead, a pitched battle was waging between a ragged line of Azeroth defenders and an enormous horde of fellguards, fellhunters, infernals and more; demons she couldn’t even name. The shear scale of the battle was terrifying.
For a long moment she simply stared, before finally noticing that the blood elves were standing still, as if waiting for something. Curiously, their robes had returned to their previous color. A confused look crossed her face.
Grinning, Scytale stepped forward in an exaggerated effeminate pose. In the high nasal tones of a spoiled Stormwind primadona he intoned “Pink? By. The. Light. Pink is like, so Azeroth”. He and his companions bust out laughing, before turning to find shelter and a safe place to observe the battle, leaving Vandya to wonder how it was that the elves managed to garner their reputation for dignity and wisdom.