OOPS! I accidently read this story. One tiny question. You speak of Galin (of the Scions of Azeroth). He was a Human mage here on Ravenholdt. Were you Alliance with him? He has been "retired" from WOW for nearly 4 years. So that would be before you could play Alliance and Horde on the same realm. Which would make this one of the most romantic stories ever.
Someone once told me the dead and the living can never coexist for long. They were right.
It seemed like an eternity past until I saw Galin again. When I finally did, I could see he was Forsaken. Everyone else in Silvermoon could see he was Forsaken. They might have cared, I did not. They saw protruding bones and a variety of decomposing features, I could not. All I could see was the man I had known, the man I still loved.
For the longest time neither of us spoke but when he said "Have I ever told you you have the most beautiful eyes?" I buried my head in his shoulder and began to cry. Realizing I had never kissed him before, I made up for it then.
And that brothers and sisters was the beginning of the end. The crowd that had gathered around us began to do more than stare. Gossip and rumors - all of it true - began to fly around the city. Before too long those that I had known my entire life would no longer talk to me, some refused even to look at me. It was then that I realized not all who are forsaken are dead.
I felt like an exile. When I learned in fact that was what I was too become I left the city of my own accord. I left and went to the only other place I might call home...the Undercity.
However I was mistaken when I thought I would be accepted there. Welcomed, yes, most certainly but I technically was still alive regardless of how empty I felt inside. As long as that remained true there would always be something between us and that I could not accept. Since Galin could never walk again as one among the living it was clear to me what needed to be done. I would need to die.
I could not take the same road as Galin, I would need to find my own. I soon realized where my salvation lay. I went to the Royal Quarter to see another High Elf that had not turned her back on Silvermoon, one who had never forgotten her people. I went resolved to see the Banshee Queen and beg the privilege of joining Her court.
To my frustration I could not obtain an audience. Word of what I had done had already reached Ambassador Sunsorrow who told me in no uncertain terms he would not introduce me to the Dark Lady lest I bring more dishonor upon the children of the blood. Without a proper introduction I could not plead my case; one of the living I was damned to remain. Devastated I turned to leave. I had barely made it past the entrance when I collapsed, unwilling, unable to go on.
"Stand up priest" said an unknown voice.
Although I would eventually learn to call them Bordois and Cenegar, at the time all I could glean was that their tabards heralded them as members of the Order of the Forsaken. They were in the Royal Quarter seeing to business of their own and asked the purpose of mine. The story gushed out of me.
I'm not sure why they agreed to take my plea directly to Sylvanas, but for their kindness I am forever indebted. When they returned they brought with them a sliver of hope. Within the archives of the Royal Apothecary Society were writings that may grant me the passage I sought. Together we rushed to see Master Faranell.
He confirmed that yes, research had been attempted in the past in ending the lives of elven women in such a way as to facilitate their return to the horrible, spectral existence of banshees. I briefly contemplated to what end this research had been conducted but then forced such thoughts from my mind. It was clear this was the only road left to me, and it was a road I had already started down. It was too late to turn back now.
Faranell also cautioned that all of this research had come to naught, that all of the participants had passed beyond the veil never to return. He suspected it had to do with a lack of will. In any event, he was forthright in his opinion that I would meet the same fate but if the Queen had sanctioned the attempt...
It was then I remembered what Galin had done on the Night of Fire, teleporting me out of harm's way and back to his Demonic Circle instead of himself. Where there is a will there is a way. Without hesitation, my voice firm, I asked "So how do we begin?"
Cenegar and Master Faranell conferred for a moment and then to Brill we set out. For three days and three nights I was to remain in the mausoleum that stands in the graveyard there. That night, and each subsequent night, I was to consume an Ichor of Undeath so as to "loosen" the hold my spirit had on my body and thus prepare it for what lay ahead.
It was foul, vile stuff but I drank it down. For three days and three nights I endured a living nightmare, drifting closer and closer to the infinite dark. What I saw horrified me. And the cold. My god the cold.
On several occasions both Cenegar and Bordois came to check on me with Bordois, caring soul that she is, saying a prayer each time over my weakening form. By dusk on the third day they found a body all but dead, one whose eyes held only the tiniest flicker of life. Seemingly too weak to make it on my own they escorted me to Deathknell where I was to meet a Val'kyr and my destiny. On the way Cenegar, who sounded so distant, explained what remained to be done...
Using his powers as a warlock he created a Soulstone with my essence and handed it to me. Faranell had indicated something was needed to guide my spirit back to my body after it had been ripped out, so I kept this on my person. He also gave me a Ghost Elixir and an Essence of Undeath. In front of the Val'kyr these I were to combine and immediately consume. This would constitute the finishing blow that would sever the already frayed cord binding my spirit to my body. The final reagent was an Eternal Life which Garham had obtained for me.
How was this to be used? Cenegar wasn't sure. The text explained only that I was to hold onto it literally for all that I was worth but that I was to grasp it mentally, not physically. I had no clue how I was to accomplish this, or for that matter what it truly meant, yet obviously I had but one chance to get right what no one had gotten right before.
Bordois, Cenegar, and I had stopped at the gates of Deathknell. Up the path, at the top of the hill, stood the crypt where the "lives" of all Forsaken begin. Summoning what little strength remained I rose determined to make the ascent myself and up the hill I tread. I drew additional strength from the fact that when I reached the top, one way or another, it would all be over.
At the top I met a Val'kyr. I looked into her eyes, and she in mine, and all was understood. Lifting the concoction to my lips I drank.
It's not death if you refuse it.
My vision blurred and things began to go dark. All faded out until only the Val'kyr remained, twinkling like a distant star. I let go of my body, let go of the life that I had known, let go of everything...almost. At that instant I felt the way one does right after they jump, when they cease to float and begin to fall.
At that moment I knew I was dead.
But I went to my second death with the knowledge that the Eternal Life was symbolic. Like those before me I had the desire to live but desire alone is not enough, I needed something more.
An instant later the Val'kyr's light itself began to tug on me until it became a hand that grasped my own, pulling me back to the world that I had known. Instead of slipping away into the infinite dark I slipped back into my cold, lifeless body.
As I repossed the body from my former life, my vessel now in a new one, it somehow still felt unfamiliar. It took a good bit of time to discover how to open my eyes - not that they needed to be open in order for me to see - let alone how to get up. Eventually I accomplished this feat, of which I was quite proud.
The Val'kyr smiled at me and pointed back down the hill.
I would gladly tell you the story of how I died but I would need to tell you two.
Looking back, on the events leading up to the first time, I probably shouldn't have slapped him - at least not as hard as I did. I knew even then he was being sincere but I didn't care. For over two thousand years I've listened to my own kind compliment me on my eyes only to have their words turn to ashes in the end, I certainly was in no mood to hear them from a human.
Normally Galin is nothing if not persistent but here patience turned out to be the better part of valor. Over the years indifference gave way to tolerance. Tolerance gave way to [grudging] respect. Respect gave way, eventually, to friendship. By the time of the infamous Night of Fire I think the only one I was still fooling was myself.
I'm not sure why I went. He warned me to stay away. I thought I could help him. I thought I could heal him. I thought he was only my friend. So I tried to remain out of sight yet still in view. Indeed, it was not until the supreme moment was almost at hand that my presence was revealed.
As he closed in on the one responsible for it all he stole a glance at me but the smile that began to form was erased just as quickly as his eye shifted to something behind me, to the threat I never even knew was there.
Now I am by no means unschooled in the ways of magic and the arcane. I've had the pleasure of conversing with a great many trainers besides my own and have seen warlocks teleport to their Demonic Circle many times. But I have never seen - no one has ever seen - a warlock transport anyone but themselves back to their accursed pattern. I would say that there is a first time for anything but the word 'first' begets the word 'second' and neither Galin nor anyone else of whom I am aware has ever been able to repeat what he did that night.
In less time than it takes to blink I found myself yards away, standing on *his* Demonic Circle, safe. I whirled around just in time to see him fall. Just in time to see him die. And as I watched him die I realized I was watching the man I loved die. The realization that the one I just lost was the one I never thought I'd meet extinguished my remaining desire to live, my light.
The Light. Either I failed it or it failed me. Regardless, what was the point in living if I could no longer feel alive?
Before I could answer my own question Garham, Galin's Imp, appeared at my side. Initially the news he brought did little to assuage my grief: Galin, although not yet passed beyond the veil, had passed beyond all hope. His time was practically at an end.
"He gave his life to save you Persephone," Garham shouted "I could do nothing more for him, nothing except see you safely away from here. It is what he would have wanted. Come, we must go while there is still time."
Wiping the tears from my eyes I repeated "while there is still time." Then, in barely more than a whisper I uttered "still time."
I had no time to think of the implications. I had no time to think of the consequences. I only had time for a single thought: the man I loved may still die but he did not have to be lost. Galin forgive me.
Reaching into my couriers bag I withdrew the vial I had been entrusted with. I was supposed to take its precious contents to Quel'Thalas for study in the hopes that a cure could be found. But which would be the greater betrayal? Without further thought I gave the vial to Garham.
"I will go," I said "but alone. I need you to give him this. Hurry, while there is still time."
"Is this..." Garham started.
"Garham now! Please!!" I screamed in near hysteria.
Many say demons have neither feelings nor emotions, but he looked upon me with an expression that conveyed both pity and sorrow. He knew what it was. He knew what I was asking. He replied simply "Yes Mistress."
Then we parted, Garham venturing back into the flames, myself continuing on ahead. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I knew I would see Galin again.
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