A Tale of Two Mages

[Rosemerta]

((Because its not directly relevent to my other story, but I'm bored and wanna give a backstory to Lydon Dragonsbane outside of the Confessions post, here goes. Warning: its a work in progress.))

Lydon Dragonsbane was a High Elf. He had worked alongside the others within Queen Azshara's inner circle of magic wielders. He had in his younger years sat beside the Well of Eternity, studying its never ending energies, learning and growing in power. He had been one of the lucky ones to survive the sundering and travel across the rift, to settle within the northern reaches of Lordaeron.

He had sat beside the precious sun well, had traveled to Dalaran and taught his magic to the humans. He was old, ancient by most standards. He was also ailing, ill with age and effects of the plagued when he had returned to the human city of magic. Any notion of immortality that he perceived to have ever had was long gone by the time he had taken his latest batch of students.

He was tall, lean, and fair skinned. Even his hair was pale, silvery and flowing. He didn't look aging, but that was all part-and-partial to the curse of his race. He did in fact believe that the length of ages the elves lived, immortal or not, was a curse. He blamed the long years of his people for their foolishness and addictions.

He was never quite sure if he had forgiven his queen for the things she.. they, had done. He always chose not to dwell on it, because that would mean he also had never forgiven himself either, and what sort of life would that be?

The newest batch of students assigned to him looked just as promising as always, and he assumed he'd be just as disappointed when they turned out to be flops, just like always. He looked around his workshop, kindly given to him by the heads of the community, and signed.

Two males and a female, all human. The female was red-haired and fair, but not much to look at. The first male was thin and angry, the second large and tan. The second male looked to have been plucked from the farmstead, while the first looked to be royalty of some type, confined to his studies and shooed away from hard labor and a tan.

"Alright, state your names and ages, and why you believe I should let you stay" Lydon said, rather bored. He'd grown rather bitter since contracting his illness.

"Aimee Di'Graca, and I am.. Fifteen...sir." Said the homely red-haired girl, and nothing more, her voice failing her.

"Thomas William Marshal, the Third. Age Fourteen, though why its your business I don't know. I should be here by birthright, and should you chose to remove me, I will surely have your head." said the thin male with an arrogant smirk.

"Lawrence Blanchette, sir, and I am Eighteen." the larger of the two males spoke, his voice confident.

Lydon looked at each of his students. He paused at the answer of the third, the one that looked to be a farm-hand. "Eighteen? Aren't you a bit old to be going to school, lad?"

"Yessir, my family came here when word of the plague began spreading. My mother thought it best that we get out of town, so to speak, sir." Lawrence said. He was rugged and muscular, rather common in features. Yet Lydon thought interesting about the young man was his eyes, they were so blue that they were nearly purple, almost violet.

It was to be only a few years before he would come to despise those eyes.

[Rosemerta]

Lawrence Blanchette was your average human. He had a mother and a father, and a small farm not more then a stone's throw away from the town of Brill. He had a girlfriend who lived in town, daughter of the magistrate. She had a pretty silver ponytail and her name was Blythe.

He liked to think of himself as ruggedly handsome. The very thought always made him smile, laugh. He was tall, muscular from years of work on the farm. His hair was dark and wavy, his skin tanned. His eyes though, if he were to admit to his vanity, were his favorite feature about him. They were violet. Not blue, or grey, but purple.

He was simple and happy, and had plans on marrying Blythe and making a family of his own some day. Yet when talk of the plague swept through town, his mother suggested they pack up and move to some place a bit safer. Lawrence protested, saying that he would not leave with out first making Blythe his wife.

After a bit of persuasion, the two managed to convince their parents to allow the marrage. Blythe and he were married just outside the town hall of Brill at dawn. Blythe said her goodbye's, and the piled into the cart to make their journey south.

Lawrence sighed, pulling himself away from his thoughts. He stretched his hand, trying to remove the cramp that had began forming. It had been three years since they had come to Dalaran, and it hadn't been long before the Elders had seen the spark of magic within him.

His wife was pregnant again, very pregnant in fact, their second child. The first was a dark haired little girl. She had her mothers eyes, emerald and full of playfulness. He had named her Jewel. He hoped for a boy this time, and mouthed the chosen name while he sifted endlessly through the box of Crystals and Precious stones he had been ordered to cataloged.

"Michaela"

He smiled. He had little to complain about. He was the personal apprentice and assistant to Lydon Dragonsbane, one of the oldest and nearly most powerful wizards in the city, if not the world. The others who he had began training with had all gone the way of the rest of the city. Sure, they trained their spells and magic’s for a year or two, and then either settled down, or went about nobles duties.

"Lawrence! Stop rifling through those stones and go home boy, your wife is in labor!" the voice of his Mentor, Lydon, came screaming into the room, the man himself following only moments later. Lydon swatted Lawrence upside the back of his head to snap him from the daydreams he had been having.

"What? OH! Thank you sir!" he said with a grin. He grabbed his things quickly and ran off.

[Rosemerta]

Lydon sighed. He'd never finish his experements with his apprentice off checking his wife every few minute. He looked around his study, vials of things smoking and boiling. He sighed again, lifting his pen to the ink well.

"She's doing fine, sir! Mother's looking after her and taking care of Jewel and Saphire. I really hope this one is a boy, think there's any way to tell?" Lawrence asked his mentor as he strode quickly into the room.

"Sorry lad, we've access to wonders and magics beyond imagniation.. but even Uther himself couldn't tell you that one." Lydon laughed, never taking his eyes off the bit of parchment he was making notations on. Lydon liked his apprentice, he was a good man with a good heart.

"Hand me the firebloom, Law?....Lawrence? Awe damnit boy, you've run off again haven't you." Lydon sighed heavily.

He had been traning Lawrence for nearly five years at this point, the lad had always been a quick study. It was part of the reason he had asked him to stay on after his initial training. He wondered why no one had ever seen the gift in him as a boy on the farm.

Because he was on a farm tending pigs, you fool. Lydon felt the edges of his mouth curl with laughter.

A wave of hacking coughs swept over him, and he dropped to his knees. The ailment had grown worse in the last few years, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to black out durring his coughing fit. He whiped his mouth with his hankerchif, comming away with blood.

"Damnit boy, get back here.." he whispered horsely, losing the fight. He landed face first upon the floor as the darkness overcame him.

[Mynikens]

:D I like this back story.

[Rosemerta]

((thank you <3))



They still hadn't found a cure. Lawrence shook the test-tube, the liquid inside changing from clear to a foul looking lime color. He sighed, and jotted some notes down in his mentor's journal. He glanced over at Lydon, who was resting quietly in the bed across the room.

He was worried, there were so many things wrong lately. Lydon's illness was spreading so fast, and his wife, his precious Blythe, was ill as well. Blythe's illness worried him nearly as much as the one threatening to steal his mentor from him in the night. She was pregnant.. again, their 4th child.

His girls, Jewel, Sapphire, and Lilly, were staying with his dear friends at the abbey in Northshire while he worked day and nights to cure his ailing wife and dieing friend. He sighed again and stood, stretching his back. He looked about, spying the bookshelf.

He walked over to the shelf and ran his fingers down the spines of the books. Alchemy for Novices, Fire Spells: When not to use, and several others that he had read over and over during his apprenticeship. Yet, one stood out among all the others. A black book with no writing on the cover.

Lydon had told him time and time again to never, ever read this one, that it was in his library simply to keep it out of the hands of the masses. It was full of dark magic, necromancy and demon-control. Lawrence looked back at his Mentor, Lydon hacked, coughing hard even in his near comatose state.

He was desperate. He grabbed the book of the shelf. He sat at his workbench, sweat beading on his forehead. His fingers itched.

Should I open it, and go against his teachings to find a cure?

"What are you wait.. *coughcoughHACK!* waiting for boy, open it." A voice said behind Lawrence. He jumped. Lydon stood behind him, gripping a cane in a very pale and shaky hand. "You'll never find a cure for either of us unless your willing to go all the way"

"But sir.. you told me never to look in this book.."

"I did. It is only for desperate and depraved eyes... which are yours Lawrence?" Lydon leaned forward as another wave of coughs wracked his body. Lawrence thought of his wife, of a life with out her.

He opened the book.



Lawrence paced outside his wife's birthing room. He was so worried for her. She had been so weak the last few months. Screams of childbirth came wafting through the door, and he brought his fingers up to his mouth, chewing his nails to the point of bleeding.

The book had told him much of the ways of the warlock, the necromancer, and the soul-stealer. Yet the only cure he could find for his masters illness, for his wife's illness, was so horrible, that he couldn't bring himself to think of it, even now.

Lydon had been right about him, he wasn't ready to go to the end the spectrum of power to cure them. The idea of such horrible magics terrified him far more then the thought of raising three little girls, and a new baby all alone.

The screams of his wife stopped, and the house stood silent. His mother came through the door and asked that he come in to see her. He nodded and followed, his worry jumping in leaps and bounds.

His wife, Blythe with the pretty silver hair, she lie there holding an infant. She was sobbing. The child made no sound or movement. He moved closer, reaching to touch his new child, but the soft skin was cold, as if there was no life flowing beneath it.

"She has no soul.. she has no soul!" His wife wailed. The room dimmed around him, everything going grey and black. He reached to grab for something, anything. Yet as he felt himself black out, a single image flashed into his mind.

To Create a Soul for the Soulless

His vision cleared. He leaned forward and kissed his wife, then his still-born child. "I will bring you what you need."







Lydon lie sleeping in his study. He knew his time was coming, and he knew his apprentice didn't have the stomach to do what was needed to save his life, to remove the soul of someone and replace it with his. His mine wandered from thoughts of his own mortality, to thoughts of Lawrence.

Lydon smiled, seeing his student and friend playing with his three little girls, all dark haired and green eyed. He saw the pretty Blythe coming through the door with her swollen belly, carrying a basket of warm goodies for him and his student to eat...

He saw a little girl with silver hair and purple eyes. Who are you, little girl?

The little girl just giggled, her silver hair blowing in an unfelt wind.

Are you lost? Maybe we can find your parents, what are their names?

She giggled again, bouncing from one foot to another, “I’ll never tell my secrets, you'll never tell all yours. You'll never know your freedom, and I'll have a brand, new, soul." She sang at him in a sing song sort of way, grinning wickedly. He reached out to grab at her, and she ran off into the mist.


Lawrence looked at his mentor, whispering dark incantations from the book he held in his right hand. His left held a large milky opal, the vessel in which he would seal the deed. Lydon shifted in his sleep, mumbling as if talking to someone, "Wait, little one"

He didn't stop, though he felt the full weight of what he was doing in his chest. Tears rolled down his face, but he kept right on reading, whispering the demonic phrases just loud enough to be heard.

Lydon's body began to spasm, falling into seizure. A fist sized glowing orb appeared out from the quaking body, it dark and slightly menacing. Lawrence palmed the large stone, letting the soul float into it.

The body screamed, the final wail before death, the strength of Lydon's will, his soul, being the only thing keeping the body alive. As the soul fully entered the stone, Lawrence sealed it within. The body lying before him fell into ash, the weight of its age crumbling it into nothing.

Lawrence closed the book with a snap, dropping to his knees. He let the sobs wash over him, and he pleaded with what ever god would listen. "Forgive me.. forgive me, she's my child.. Forgive me"


He entered the birthing room, to see his wife still cradling the unliving infant, a pretty little baby with her mothers silver hair.

"It will be alright now, love, you will get to know her." He said, slipping the necklace around the child's neck. He waited. After what felt like years, but was really more like seconds, the child, the unliving husk of a baby, took a deep breath, and began to wail.

"Welcome to this world, Rosemerta"

[turen]

(( Awesome! Good enogh to make me change my vote, even.))

[Tillna]

((Wow...Creepy witht he kid...Makes Shig liek you even more...))