Final

Karazhan was almost silent. The wind still whistled through fractures in the thick stained glass windows, and rats of all kinds chittered and gnawed their paths through old bookcases and bedchambers. In some deep, silent corners and corridors, fleshy abominations growled at each other and ghosts whispered silently. Ethereal lips mumbled "Am I hearing things...? Is there someone there?" No one answered.

The heavy, thick wooden doors were shoved open slowly, the sound echoing loudly through cavernous rooms, corridors, and crevices of the ancient mansion. It slammed shut on it's own, and slow, deliberate footsteps began to trail up a wide set of archway-straddled stairs.

These rooms had once filled with music, dancing figures long dead would clap and skip their way through merry waltzes and jigs. Now, in the wake of metallic footfalls, the stagnant air stirred, picking up dust and grit.

Up and around, whispers of ghosts and specters still filtered through the air, adding a sense of creepy mystique to the slowly fluttering tapestries. The heavy plate boots paused for a moment, shifted from side to side as the owner contemplated her choices, her dedication to a certain journey suddenly challenged.

A scrape and the path changed, the footsteps taking a right turn, away from the balconies overlooking the dance hall, away from the cavernous opera hall ahead. Not only the undead inhabited this corridor, but demons as well, making their beds with the wisps and wraiths. The smell of rotting flesh mingled with the already musty scent of animated corpses.

Cast out your corrupt thoughts, she said. A great stone and metal creature lay on her back, a marble face staring off into nowhere. Dust has already begun to collect on her body, a soft dusting of grave clutter. The words still rung in the ears, your impurity must be cleansed.

Dragging her metal-gloved fingers over the metallic surface of the Maiden's robe, Eithyne Beoulve approached the stone head with its emotionless face. The gauntlet was tugged away and tucked into a belt as she brushed bare fingers over the frozen marble, trying to wipe away the neutral beige particles from the solemn white skin. So strange to feel such a chill coming from a being that radiated fire and holy wrath when angered. She sighed and cleaned free the blank eyes, "Huk—!"

She sucked in a breath, coughing hard as her knees went out. An arm wrapped around her stomach as she hacked into her bare hand, the dust tickling her nose, a sneeze punctuating the fit. "Not yet." She stared at the floor, sticking her hand straight out to press hard against the dead statue, "Not yet. Not yet."

Her breathing slowed and she was finally able to catch her wind, the air almost setting off another fit. She glanced down at her hand as she pulled it from her waist. For a moment, a split second of fear, the fingers were threaded with strings of gore, dark clots caught between the folds of her gauntlet, blood coating the small, innocent creature cradled so carefully.

She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to open them until she had pulled herself to her feet. She was afraid to move her fingers, just in case, if there was a chance it could be real. Eyes still closed, seeing the faint flickers of torchlight muffled by darkness, she took the chance, flexed one finger...

...and passed through air. The rest of her fingers followed until she was sure, positive. Then she opened her eyes.

Greeted but nothing but the sight of the Maiden of Virtue and the halls of debauchery, a moment passed before she felt well enough to stand on her own. But she did, eventually. And though her hand was clean, she still wiped it off on her cloak, again, just to be safe. Her fingers left smudges of dust rather than ichor.

Eithyne flexed her hands, fingers frozen solid after only a few moments of...what? Hallucination? Imagination? Premonition? It didn't matter, it chilled her to the bone. She did not have time to ask questions, she had to continue on. She stumbled for a moment as another sharp pain passed through her abdomen, but, catching herself, she was soon on her journey again, heavy bootfalls echoing loudly through the dead tower.

Back to Home

The crumbling ramps and steps of the Winding Stair groaned and creaked in protest, stone scraping against wood as she climbed the rickety staircase. The broken pillars ahead marked the entrance to the Menagerie, the realm of the Curator, whom she knew rested in peace just ahead.

Climbing carefully over and under and around the two arcane constructs that lay so randomly on the ground, Eithyne slowly made her way through the short hall. Where one had fallen, the other had scattered, a joint that did not remain connected after termination leaving one of the creations limbless.

The rugs and carpeting were lavish, muffling her footfalls as she approached the golden statue that warned against entrance. She remembered crouching in this lobby, hearing the ever so ominous ‘thoom…thoom…thoom…’ from the next room, fading, then growing in volume and fading again as the enormous arcane golem walked its never-changing patrol.

This curator is equipped for gallery protection, the creature uttered in a male voice, almost soothing as the gigantic feet threatened to stomp her flat with one well-placed attack. She remembered the fear that gripped her the first time she saw him, looking up at the massive being that swooped down with massive hands. Gallery rules will be strictly enforced. Failure to comply will result in offensive action.

Now, the object of her terror lay on the burgundy marble, cold and silent, much as the Maiden herself did as well. But this creation never burned with the hot fury of fire and divine wrath. He had once hummed with electric arcanum, discharging his power off in an effort to protect what now looked to be so silly.

“You were protecting something, just like I am.” She rapped her knuckles lightly on its visor, the bright blue shimmer gone forever. She splayed her fingers against its skull, looking at the designs between her fingertips, searching for some meaning to the reason it lay here instead of still standing, patrolling, speaking in that calm voice.

The Menagerie is for guests only, was she now a guest? She did not know to be sure, but the door to the truly limitless Library beyond was open, waiting for her, and the construct called the Curator could no longer block her way. A soft pat on the head-plate and she turned to the hall ahead.

Back to Home

Massive statues stared down at her with their eyes burning green, colossal birds that would swoop down and attack if only they could break free from those stone bonds. Overhead, the golden chandeliers still shone so hot, so bright, after all these years. Would they still glow, either of them, if the Curator were not here to serve in their care? As she kept walking, the shattered remains of a pillar to her right shifted, grit falling from the ceiling.

Her footfalls sped up a little as she trotted forward, hoping against her own fears that the ceiling would hold for long enough. It was solid, it would remain so for hundreds of years to come, but it still worried her. The scent of burning wood and paper wafted up from the gigantic library ahead, in the back of her mind she prayed that, if there was something here that could help her, that it had not long ago been consumed by flame.

There, beyond a balcony scorched by dead embers, a wealth of knowledge opened before her. Thousands upon thousands of records, spellbooks, ledgers sat silently on shelves, some scattered across the floor, with an unfortunate few singed and torn, their pages scattered wide. She could see signs of meddling in many sections of the lower bookcases, her own investigations nearly finished in this room.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked deeper into the shadows, where a soft glow shimmered. Again, a creature glowered in the corner, attended with three small wyrms, drifting in the air, shimmering in the soft flickering of the torches. Slowly, as if asleep, the glimmering beast reached out to pet one of the scaled worms, a triad of claws scraping over the silvery scales.

Still there, as they always were. The work would have to be quick, silent, as it had been before. The chance that the books she was searching for were in that certain, occupied corner was growing with each visit, but they never moved.

The ramp took her down and around, onto the main floor of the great room, where the dulled corpses of the wyrms’ brethren lay scattered and hacked to pieces by sword and axe, smashed by maces and staves. Eithyne eyed the devastation for a moment, then glanced up, hoping that her approach was unnoticed.

The creatures huddled in the corner were so far away, absorbed in their own chittering and cooing. Releasing a sigh of relief, she approached one of the bookcases that she had not examined before, brushing free cobwebs and dust. With a touch of surprise she noticed a spattering of black over a couple of the shelves. Looking down at the handful of skulls that littered the corners, she shivered, a tremor of sadness and a tinge of fear.

The first title: Charge of the Dragonflights. This was not what she needed. The Waking World and the Well of Eternity, perhaps…she tugged the book from the shelf.

“Ten thousand years before the orcs and humans clashed in their First War, the world of Azeroth cradled only one massive continent, surrounded by the sea. That landmass, known as Kalimdor, was home to a number of disparate races and creatures, all vying for survival amongst the savage elements of the waking world. At the dark continent's center was a mysterious lake....” Eithyne shook her head and shoved the tome quietly, carefully back into its place.

Nothing here spoke of curses, only history. She had come to assume many days ago that this library was divided up much as any other was, into genres, disciplines, or literature. Moving onto the next bookcase she found more histories, some of places she had never heard tell of before: Ethereals of K’aresh, The Nathrezim, Shao’din. These words were familiar, but not enough to spark an interest.

Back to Home

Her latest forays into the silent halls of Karazhan had revealed nothing and waiting for Magden’s results had made her more and more restless. If there was something to be learned, it would be here. All she had to do was find it.

As she worked her way over each bookcase, she began to draw closer and closer to the corner where the softly glowing creatures rested, slipping around a heavy table, records and ledgers scattered over its surface. Four bookcases away, and one of the wyrms turned.

She froze, dropping to one knee, pressing her shoulder against the bindings. She tried to make herself small, unobtrusive and, hopefully, unthreatening. The tiny eyes circled by incandescent scales searched curiously. The larger beast that lumbered behind the delicate creature cooed in concern, following its gaze.

Under her breath, Eithyne prayed quickly and silently, eyes wide as she froze. Slowly, carefully she began to scoot backwards, back towards the history section, back towards ‘safety.’ The creature started drifting towards her, squeaking.

In a moment of panic, Eithyne felt herself slipping backwards. In her haste, the edge of her thick, plank-like weapon had caught on the wooden table, tugging her body off-center. The shriek of the chaotic sentience as it spotted her sent her reeling backwards, fighting to regain her balance. She spun, slamming her hand onto the table to push herself up, to run.

Sharp teeth snapped at her plate armor, trying to drag her back but finding no purchase. Her boots skidded over loose paper as she ran for the ramp, not looking back. One of the creatures leapt forward, she batted it away violently with a cuff to the side. It chittered in anger and spun around, calling for the larger beast.

There! She slid around the corner, grabbing at the low edge with her hand to pull herself up the ramp faster. One of the wyrms dove at her back, finding grip on her purple tabard. Eithyne bit her lip, biting back anger, as she swung around, grabbing the creature’s tail.

A shock sent her into the wall, her pauldron clanging against the stone. Another wyrm, the one she had beaten away before, latched onto her wrist, sharp spines of fangs penetrating the seams. She closed her eyes for a single moment.

She was free, the little creatures were thrown back by a shimmering wall. Struggling to her feet, she began to run again, as fast as she could, though she could feel herself weakening. Up another ramp, the Curator’s hall! She could lose them on the Winding Stair, she was sure of it. All she had to do was make it…

Back to Home

“Watcher, do not abandon me…” A sick feeling churned in her gut, but Eithyne glanced up for a second to see the shield about her still holding. Its time was short, and the roar of the angered sentience was close, too close. She skidded past the fallen guardian, the beasts right on her heels. A second of distraction slowed her as she scrambled to reach for her hearthstone.

“Balbanes! I am in Karazhan, the tower. I need you, I need your help!”

“I am coming now.”

The edge, so close! She dove as the last glimmers of light faded around her, as a heavy fist came down on her back, knocking her over the edge. The wood broke away under her weight. Falling, she could see the blue beasts already searching for a way after her.

She hit dusty stone, hard, her helm protecting her head, but making the impact no less stunning. Winded, she could not move. Then the sound of skittering, panicked rats and old rotted boards made her stagger to her feet. Her prayers came swiftly as she recognized the law of the Watcher. She had to forbear, to survive without his help, for a moment at least. Her words aimed differently then.

“By the Light, please, do not forget your once-faithful,” Eithyne whispered quickly, her hands out, praying for the only healing she knew, “I beg you…”

The spell came, and passed, like a sick joke. Still weakened, the edges of her vision were tinged red from the head crack. The Light had not granted her close to the amount of healing she needed to survive this. The sounds of pursuit drew closer, she staggered towards the ragged hole in the floor. Glancing over the edge, she knew she would not survive another fall.

She stumbled again, this time, her own body betraying her. Her prayers were interrupted by the pain in her stomach, the sharpness bringing tears to her eyes. Her arm wrapped around her waist, holding tight. A darkened corner looked promising, her knees scraped over scarred stone.

Huddling back into the shadow, she gasped in pain, her head throbbing, her abdomen burning. The sounds of pursuit grew louder, the insistent whines of the wyrms clashing with the incensed grunts of the mana elemental. She bit her thumb, teeth against metal, trying not to moan.

Back to Home

They seemed to be moving off, though she could not see to be sure. Breathing heavily, she grabbed a bandage from her belt, wrapping it quickly around her wrist. It fell to the floor with another shot of pain, and it was all she could do to not make a sound. The dust rose in clouds as she pounded her fist against the floor, the soft thumps a trade for her own cries.

“Please…do not do this…” She was not praying now, not to the Light nor to the Watcher. It was something else she cried to: the curse.

Another spasm. She knelt, one arm around her waist, her other hand pressed hard against the stone floor. With a growing sense of horror, she felt warmth on her thigh. She stretched her arm out, praying in panicked need. Trying to think, trying to concentrate, she mumbled out the prayer, but when the flash of light passed, she was only weaker. She knew she could save herself, save her son, all she needed was the Light’s help, just this once.

Blood seeped into a murky pool as she lay on the stone, in a forgotten corner of Karazhan. Eyes, unfocused, looked out over a tangled mass of stone and wood. Soon, her strength would return. Soon, she would be able to walk again.

To what end?

She was alone. There was no sound in the halls of Karazhan, only the wind whistling through cracked walls and glass. In one room, the chittering of wyrms and a grunting, frustrated elemental.

Sliding up to a sitting position, she looked to the heavens and prayed, sending a last attempt, a heart-worn plea of desperation.

No answer. Her fingers did not glow, there was no comforting wreath of light. There were no more tears left in her soul when she finally felt around her belt, searching for her hearthstone. It had fallen to the floor, skittered off into a corner.

A couple of cobwebs clung to the surface as she retrieved it, her hand heavy. Running a thumb over the surface, Eithyne stared at it for a moment, then whispered, “Balbanes…where are you?”

“I’m right outside, babe, where are you?!”

She sniffled back a sob, leaning her head back against the wall, “In the Winding Stair. I fell.”

“I’m coming now!”

No sooner had the words passed her lips than the hearthstone fell from numb fingers, thudding to the ground. Her vision turned black as she slid back against the stone wall, to the floor, her arms still wrapped protectively around her waist.

Back to Home

A familiar sound gave Eithyne something for her mind to focus on, brought her back half-way. It was that voice. She sucked in a breath, “Balbanes!”

He was there, kneeling over her, his hand on her cheek. He reached for her hand, the wrist that the wyrm had snapped down on. Through a half-dazed fatigue, she reached out for him, fingers closing around his tabard, awkwardly pulling him closer, clinging to him. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his hair made new tears come in a torrent.

Through her sobs, he softly shushed her, his hand in her hair as he held her tightly for a moment, “Shh…tell me what happened.”

“Corgan…they chased me, I fell from the balcony,” She buried her face in his neck, her fingers wrapped in his tabard. “I tried to heal myself, I couldn’t…and then he…I prayed, Balbanes, I prayed so hard, but the Light…”

“Eithyne, Eithyne!” He pulled away slightly, holding her face, “What happened?”

“I cannot feel the Light, Balbanes…I could not heal us.”

He frowned for a moment, then shook his head, “Let’s go home.” He slipped an arm behind her, another under her knees. She laid her head against his shoulder, shock replacing the adrenaline and tears, leaving her worn and tired. Lifting easily, he held her close, carrying her carefully, slowly from the tower.