Alacardia

A way back..

Recommended Posts

Night had fallen over Hillsbrad, the clouds raged. Lightning continually forked over the dalaran crater. The very air hummed with remnant energies. A low wail seemed to emanate from the very air as the sky began to rip. It's torn edges quickly forming a perfect circle in the sky. A swirling vortex of pure arcane, swirled in it's pool like surface. Another low wail emanated, seeming to come from the portal.

In a bright flash of dark purple light, a robed figure quickly plummeted to the earth. It's blue robes flapping violently, as it reached a withered pale hand to the sky. In moments the almost wraith-like being stopped, halted by the rocky floor in a bone shattering thud. The storm clouds refused to recede. A massive bolt of lightning struck one of the nearby ruins of the once great city as the portal vanished.

On ground level, the soft Russel of the humanoid creature's robes covering up the horrible damage the fall had brought. Every bone shattered, it's limbs bent at impossible angels. With a blood curdling snap the monstrosity raised it's hand once more. A large blue crystal, embedded in the center of it's palm glowed brightly. Sending a ripple of energy throughout the surrounding area. Just like that the hand fell back to the earth, It's claw-like fingers curling into it's palm. the large crystal vanished as if it never was.

On a rocky outcropping overlooking the basin. A lone magi stood, his blue robes waving violently in the storm. His attire nearly identical to the poor creature who's lifeblood stained the mana rich soil. Hands wrapped tightly in bandages, Hood pulled low over his face. Covering him from head to toe and shrouding his head in darkness. With a heavy sigh it turned it's head to the viscous display the storm was bringing. His voice hallowed, drained and devoid of any emotion. "There is always a way back..."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The sun began to rise over Lordamere lake, creating a mellow gold reflection on the water. A large turtle with a jigsaw back emerged from the clapping waves to greet the sun as it rose eastward, stretching its leathered neck from his shell. A hasty male voice cut the serene quiet of the early morning, a flurry of white and purple silk chasing the echo of his call. The rider and horse tore through the shallow water of the shore, causing the clumsy turtle to snap his head back and sink effortlessly beneath the waves.

From a distance he appeared to be an old white-haired man, though he sat youthfully upright and with fluidity of joint. His face was dark, almost charred in comparison to his hair which hid its length under his violet and gold vestments.

The great crater lay unexpectedly against the mossy grass and tall mountains, though he resided in the enchanted metropolis it still surprised him every time he visited its old nesting place. The rider and horse came to a slow jog, nearing the jagged quarry which still emitted a magic vapor. He looked around cautiously, hoping no syndicate followed. Rogues were like mages in the sense that they could conceal their presence whenever they wished. Menion always feared rogues more because they were not impeded by the emission and draining of mana energy.

After scanning the scant trees that bordered the mountain range he brought his leg over the back of the horse and stepped down onto the barren cracked dirt. He let loose a rich sigh and prepared himself for work; his face youthful indeed and no longer belied by mere hair color.

The white mare neighed at him indignantly as he wandered away from her, "be still Rosemary", he corrected softly, kneeling in front of his vial case, "your 'father' doesn't want to get a knife in his back while he collects samples, hm?" The horse seemed content with his response and hesitantly lowered her muzzle to the grass, though she too seemed wary of the quiet surroundings.

The area around the crater was usually deathly still, the wild life seemed to instinctively avoid it. If anyone occupied the area it was usually a few suspicious magocrats from Dalaran. This morning there was no such activity, or so it seemed.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The weary mage sat in a ruined building. The bandages that once adorned his hands layed in a carless pile a short distance from the arcanist. The figures refused to blink as he looked to his hands, his eyes no longer holding the fel green they once did. Instead the irises resembled pulls of mercury. As he ran his right hand over his left. The tips of his fingers gentle brushed over a blue gem embedded in the flesh of his palm. Carved into several smooth facets, he stared in wonder at his creation. As his fingers came into contact the contents of the gems began to swirl violently. The small storm abating as his hand broke contact once more.

His ear flicked at the sound of some horse. Growling as he feared his experiment to be in danger once more. He slowly rose from the ruins. Pulling his hood over his head once more. The act not only hiding his identity, but covering the silver marking that extended from the ends of his eyes, turning a ninety degree angle at his cheekbones and arching slightly as they descending down into his robes. Spotting the older gentlemen he slowly exited the ravaged building. His footsteps almost light as a feather, barely making an impact. Making it seem as the spellcaster almost floated toward it's target.

A soft hiss emanated from his sleeve, the small head of a mana wyrm soon appearing. Floating midair a moment. The wyrm was much longer then others of it's kind. Glancing around quickly it slowly slithered up the frail caster's arm and nestled on the shoulders of the once powerful mage. A dim glow began to emanated as it leeched from the weak elve's energy pool.

He knew this other man, where and when he couldn't recall. But he defiantly knew him, that voice. As feint as it was he heard it clear as a bell. A name, just on the tip of his tongue. A school, long since pushed from his mind. Friend or foe he couldn't recall. Who are you, he thought to himself. Mercury eyes unblinking and almost unfeeling as he advanced.

"Identify yourself or flee now.." he ordered shortly stopping suddenly no more then twenty feet from the individual. A stray gust of wind caught his hood. Throwing it back and revealing his face to the world. . Given the other mage's eyesight well enough he would be able to make out who he was. The arcanist didn't care, all he wanted was to keep his project safe. He worked to hard to have some charlatan come along and take it from him. He would kill this man without a second thought if it came to it.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

"Identify yourself or flee now."

Menion stopped dead in his tracks, a vial in each hand and a loose burlap case slung studiously across his chest. "Arianray?" he said the name before his mind had a chance to catch up with his mouth. His intense features softened for a moment, almost glad to see that his former colleague was alive, but then remembered their last meeting...

Professor Leah relaxed his shoulders defeatedly, "Alacar, what are you doing out here?" gesturing to the massive crater behind him. " You do realize this area is restricted..." he squinted at the blasted earth, shaking his head at the obviousness of his question and then back to Alacar. He looked... surprisingly healthy actually, his threat even commanded a level of gusto that Menion had never seen before.

The question hung in the silence as Alacar stared him down, the wraith's level of hostility almost tangible. Menion's eyes hardened, it becoming blatantly clear that Alacar didn't even recognize him, " where have you been, Professor?"

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The arcanist stared blankly at his former colleague a moment. His ears flicking at the sound of his name. Flashes assaulted his mind, past memories he had of the other mage. Remembering his time at the university, his eyes softened momentarily. Cocked his head slightly, he clenching his fist to hide the focal point of all of his power. A single name rang through his mind at the realization.

"..Menion.." he muttered mostly to himself. Why did he have to run into him now. He felt so weak, he was hoping to avoid menion for some time. He had always viewed the older mage as his rival. To run into him now, in such a weakened state that he was currently in. He needed time to rest, time to grow. So much ground to cover just to clear this gap between their abilities.. The wary spell-caster fumed inside before making his way over to Menion.

"I've had, minor setbacks..all that matters though is that I'm back..and that it's good to see you, old friend."

He couldn't afford any complication. Couldn't afford to have him become hunted for what he had become. What he intended to do. Stopping, no more then feet from him. He tryed his best to appear rather relaxed and even a tad excited to see his friend. His slid his hands into the opposing sleeves, crossing his arms inside of his robes.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Menion kept his distance, though clearly gave off a distinct vibe of distrust, "good to see you alive and well, yes?" Menion was a bit surprised, extending his hand out of courtesy and habit more than a genuine sentiment, still he'd never wish the man death. "Old friend indeed...", at least it seemed that way.

Alacar was the sort of antagonist that could turn a man against himself, even the most simple conversations were often hidden under a veil of psychological warfare. Menion knew this full well as his hand stretched from its silk cuff, prepared to call a truce once again.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The arcanist looked off a moment. His ears flicking idly like he'd heard something far more interesting. His short search turned out in vain. Looking back to Menion and nodding his hed slightly. Never letting his eyes wandering from his colleague. "Yes, I'm quite well actually" he responded softly, almost in a whisper.

Cocking his head slightly as the older mage extended his hand. A minor setback, that's all this is. The mage thought to himself as he extended his own hand. Grasping Menions rather gingerly. Got to be careful with these old folks they break easily.

He let go of the mage's hand. Sliding his own into their opposing sleeves. "Restricted, good one." he commented idle on the Cryomancer's earlier statement. "I suppose your part of the crater patrol then..Wouldn't want a hole in the ground to fall unto enemy hands." he nodded to himself as he looked back to the great pit.

His pet wyrmling began to grow rather curios. Drifting over twords Menion, hovering just inches from the other spellcaster. It's long forked tongue tasted the air several time. Gracefully slithering along the mages shoulder. Slumping lazily and yawning as it's underbelly began to glow a soft light blue.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Menion watched the withered hand as it's cold skeletal grasp withdrew from the warmth of his. Alacar's eyes accosted the Professor, pulling his gaze upward and holding it. He felt a magic tingle emanate from the white robed waif and his air glider. His eyes followed the thing as it caressed and slithered over its master seductively, making Menion ill at ease. The quip was mostly ignored due to the unsettling and mysterious nature of his colleage's appearance, and the familiarity of his voice.

The wind picked up and howled menacingly through his hair, amplifying his rousing tension.

"Right. Now, as to the matter of your wherabouts, current and..." he inflected his tone downward, "former." Regardless of what Alacar said, he knew that something exceptionally profane had occurred.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The arcanist seemed lost again. Pulling a hand from his sleeves he began to count. His thumb touching each of his long delicate fingers as he counted. No words seem to come to the mage's lips. Regardless the worm picked his head up. Slithering along Alacar's shoulders once again. His gaze suddenly fixed on the spellcaster before him. His demeanor changing suddenly, as if he had become aware of Menion's true purpose here. "What did they tell you...friend.." his voice hissed as he took a step back from the older mage. His face changed again, as if he were constantly battling with his view on his surroundings. "Where have I been, ha, you'd never believe me anyway..." he narrowed his eyes "No my friend, you'd laugh like most of the populace would.." he ranted on before he clutched his chest in disbelief. Suddenly wracked with a horrible coughing fit the put him to his knees. He seemed to disappear in his robes. The material seemingly far to large to accommodate his small lithe frame properly. The wyrm floating off a short distance, accustomed to his master's outbursts it knew to be far away from him till it was safe once again. Suddenly taking an interest in the old mage it slithered over to the Cryomancer. It's long forked tongue tasting the air about the mage. Before attempting to lazy about and idly feed of of any residual many the mage might be producing.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead