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 [RP story] Lullaby - by Nimarae

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Number of posts : 2810
Age : 42
Location : Warrington, UK
Registration date : 2008-03-10

PostSubject: [RP story] Lullaby - by Nimarae   Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:50 pm

Dream of glory, my darling, the day is done...

Muffled steps amongst detritus, silent feet striding over dashed marble, robes flowing behind the silhouette of a former Priestess. Onetime clad in silvery white, now wrapped in rich gold and red, the end of her staff colliding with the shattered streets of the once idyllic avenue of New Silverdawn.
Once, brooms had swept these lanes, and quel’dorei children had chased young dragonhawks on them. Now the pavement was decorated with naught but debris; remains of a once quiet and peaceful town.

Collapsed buildings had bended their backs under the unforgiving march of the Scourge, and the sin’dorei lady slowly, yet determined, stepped over the pieces of her past, without as much as a single glance at the cadavers that still lay scattered around.
Those fortunate enough to have been mutilated beyond utility, had been left to rot on the Light-forsaken streets by the Scourge, if not dragged onto meatwagons to be used as a repellant weapon.

At the end of the broad street, a chapel stood, still proudly. A sharp contrast against the ravaged town were its silvery walls, its leaded light still casting colorful shadows on the square as the setting Sun was kissing the high windows of the Chapel of Holy Light. The bell tower still stood, head held high, although she perceived the pristine bell, made of the purest silver and gilded with palladium, had gone absent. She did not give more than a blink as she recalled the fabled bell; when at dawn it would ring, the fair, vivid sound reached all the way to the hills.

The evening has come to say goodnight to the Sun...

Oh, it had been breached, that much was certain. As the silent steps of the sin’dorei sorceress lead her into the chapel, previously built on holy ground before the ley-line it was built on required it to be moved, so the Arcanists would be provided with the most attuned place to study their spellwork.
The rich carpet that lead to the altar.
The broken-white candles, the open tome on the escritoire.
The holy water.
The maimed body of most likely an altar boy, clad in a cloth of the Church of the Holy Light.
They all indicated there had even been a sermon at the very moment the march of the Scourge had breached the heavy chapel doors and had rained their mayhem of destruction and decease upon those praying.

She walked up to the altar, slowly, patiently, and her sight wandered over the candles that were tipped over, the holy water that was oddly enough left alone, the few signs of resistance against the animated corpses.

A gloved hand was raised, but it was not filled with prayer beads as usual when she had been standing there, at that very altar. It was a hand filled with fire, flames licking the cloth greedily, burning away her luxurious glove before it combusted and slowly charred the very skin and nails of her bejeweled hand.
A spell ominous and the magnitude not completely mastered by the caster yet, called upon in fury and anger; it consumed herself as much as it would then incinerate the beautiful silver tapestries on the wall upon release. Her lips pressed forth the words, her eyes narrowed in concentration on the incantation, and then, she unleashed the fury in her. Molding the flames she had called upon with wide gestures of her hand, they arose as if fueled by the deepest emotion one could ever feel. Torment.

Let golden slumber kiss your eyes...

The vengeance, the ire, the perfidy of the Light, she burned it all in intense, devouring flames. She strode over the aisle, through the flames of retribution that soon would consume the chapel whole, and walked to the vicarage; the residence in the back of the chapel she once called home.

The door hung from its hinges as a sadistic twisted grin welcoming her to her former home. She merely shuddered as she saw the bookshelves behind the door, that clearly just had not sufficed as a barricade to those that had sought their sanctuary there.
As if drawn to it, her steps, dimmed by the luxurious carpet, lead to the back of the small, once comfortably decorated living, passing by the little fireplace, kitchenette and the collection of hymn books that was once her pride.

Her breathing increased, not merely due to the heath coming into the vicarage from the chapel; no, it was the breathing of anguish, of suffering, of a dying innocence and a crushed, mutilated heart.

It had fallen over.

And sleep until the beauteous Sunrise...


The beautifully handcrafted silver gilded crib had fallen over. It struck her soul seeing it so worthlessly on its side and she sank to her knees, her hands quivering as she carefully picked it up and placed it on its delicately carved feet again.
A silent gasp was formed by her lips as a soft blanket found an opportunity, as if sent by fate to torment her more, to land on her robed lap. Her lips trembled when she carefully picked it up, not managing to keep her gaze off the silk baby cover, on which she had embroidered a silver steed of the quel'dorei, a fall of a people ago.
Driven by despair, her now burned hands brought the delicate, princely blanket to her face; a soundless sob evolved as she breathed in the scent the cloth held, deeply.

The warmth forced upon her from the roaring flames in the chapel reminded her of how once she had pushed her face into a soft and warm neck, too, breathing in the sweet scent of new life she was smelling now, as well. And for a moment, nothing had changed.
Eyes were blue and days were peaceful. A chapel still stood and a town did not burn. A Sunwell was. She sat on her knees next to the crib and cradled the little blanket; her lips moved softly on the sound of torment.

Dream of glory, my darling, the day is done
The evening has come to say goodnight to the Sun
Let golden slumber kiss your eyes
And sleep until the beauteous Sunrise


As she blinked, the blanket started searing, the beautiful fabric writhing in her touch as her words of soothing and goodnight twisted to those of destruction, and swiftly, the silk cover was set aflame. The remnants clinging to her bleeding, scorched hands, her lips were already mussitating an ominous intention.
Had there been any tears on her cheeks, they would have been vaporized immediately by the overwhelming heat coming from her hands as she now let the flames of torment she conjured, consume the whole of the silvered baby crib. Weeks had it taken to craft the beautiful crib, yet mere seconds as it now melted and writhed as it was soon to become mere ashes.

The lady's back sank against the wall in the corner of the room, and as she looked around, naught but flames surrounded her. Cleansing fire.
Against the roaring fire, a shadow materialized, eyes came to be that saw before the Sorcerer himself had fully stepped into the lit building, his hand still raised in his incantation of teleportation.
Eyes calm, long, wavering hair thick and blonde, his hand swiftly outstretched to her.

"Priestess."

"I am no longer that." She shook her head and stood up slowly; where the fire avoided the sorcerer - it still seared her.

"The Promised Land awaits."

She nodded as she extended her hand to the man in return. "I am now ready."

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[RP story] Lullaby - by Nimarae
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