The sound of surf and ice, the gentle rustle of nets being retied, of hooks and fat blowed up fish buoys being set for the next morrow, these are the sounds of the village as night descends. The glowfish glow, and the hearth in the sunken tavern dances orange and yellow, the occassional pop and snap accenting the white-bound solitude.
Against that, against the welcome of refugees, if two could be alone in that, they were. Small hands rubbed and warmed at the fire. Cobalt and blue shadows swirled at her shoulder, frustrated, talons of dark magic snapping at the air, not understanding and not knowing what to do when there's no Scourge to protect her from, where there's no dragon to be saved.
"What was I supposed to say, Mezzy?"
Teeth pressed her lower lip until it paled as the little warlock hugged herself tight.
"I didn't lie. It's the truth, this is where we rest, and we can easily busy ourselves with the intricacies of walrus mail and the shuffling of our supplies twixt here and Ironforge.
"But how could I tell Mister Chelydra, whose looked out for us all these years ...
"That I just can't figure out what happened, how it could happen ...
"And how broken it feels."
Green eyes closed, tight, a long silence following.
"Do you remember ...
"Do you remember the first time we stepped into Nefarian's castle, into Blackwing Lair, to face the chaos that was Razorgore? When we learned the spirit healer's first name? How long it took, how hard we worked, how absolutely impossible it felt.
"And yet we never gave up.
"Do you remember ...
"Do you remember the blood of Karazhan, that cut us so deep we were torn asunder? And yes, it made things harder, it stumbled us greater than any Naga or Demon Prince ever could.
"And yet we never gave up.
"We did see the Naga fall, her fel schemes broken, we did look down upon a fallen prince in his temple."
Wiping her arm across her eyes the small gnome nodded her head, sure and even.
"Turtles, I've said, always know where they are going. And they might be slow and sure but they never ever stop. No matter what. Sometimes, sometimes I think Master Inflagrante calls forth his words of power not because the hour is late, not because we are tired and worn, but because he knows some of us just won't stop, we'll shake off the blood and the dirt, mend our broken bones and wrap bandages about our arms, and keep on going, knowing that we can triumph and that you can't get there without trying as hard as you can. That's not the question, the only question is when."
A moment, and the warlock steeled herself, as if her own words might cut her like the undead claws or the frost called down by a Liche King's mage.
"And last night, with Her life held by us, with Her calling for our aid ... we left her for bones and sinew, left her for Arthas Menethil to claim her brave soul and raise her shorn of all she cared for into his service. "Not because we lost or were beaten ...
"Because we gave up."
Eyes close tight then, her words colder and as torn as her spell woven armor.
"I could live with losing, having tried and tried and tried. That's how you learn, that's how you temper a blade; and you know, the more difficult it is, the better it feels when you can look to your friends and say not that evil has been slain, but that we ... we ... triumphed. Together.
"I have heard our valiant cohorts speak of Putricide's falling and how bitter a conflict it was. How many times they stood and fell and stood and fell. It has been said that the valiant is proven by hanging on but one minute longer, by trying that one last time.
"They are true heroes."
Eyes close, quiet.
"So what does that make us. Roo and I, You and me, Mezzy?
"Hearing Her cries and turning our backs?
"Are we simply not good enough? Are we the other folk, the not as strong, the not as skilled? That if we cannot fell a foe in a single over powerful blow that the gauntlet is not worth taking up, that it is simply too hard for us?
"I know ... in my head, that can't be true. And I would hope our friends believe in us as much as we believe in them.
"But in my heart, as I listen to the fire snap and try to figure out what happened, that's exactly how it feels."
The warlock looked into the fire for a long, long time.
"Being beaten is bad enough, but being beaten before we even start?
"That's not the Liche King, Mezzy.
"That's us."
There we were ...
ReplyDelete... learning the Dreamwalker encounter in Icecrown Citadel. For better or worse this fight was our current stumbling block. It happens, it's a natural part of the learning curve. It's a great fight, a true flip flop - instead of trying to kill a bad guy you are trying to save a captured dragon's life. Which, from a roleplaying perspective, after killing 80 levels of endgame bosses, is absolute gold.
And it had been a good night. We had one shot Marrowgar, Lady Deathwhisper, won the gunship battle, defeated Saurfang; we had even one shotted Festergut and Rotface.
We were on a roll.
We were dusting ourselves off after Rotface - rolling on loot, drinking and eating and restoring our buffs We had a good hour or so of play left before the tolling of our traditional end of raid, last call. We hadn't even stepped out the Rotface's room ...
That was when the Raid Leader said don't worry, we are only going to do a couple tries against Dreamwalker, no need to drive up our repair costs for nothing.
You could hear the silence.
Before we had even seen the Dragon, before we had cast our first heal, drew forth our spells, send our warriors in to break the Dragon's captors it already had been decided that it was a fight we couldn't win.
It was as if the previous two hours had never occurred, that somehow we had taken down all our previous foes in one shot, somehow that meant nothing.
You could feel the pall fall over the Raid. We had been defeated before we had even stepped one foot into Dreamwalker's room, we had been defeated before we were even given a chance to try.
Because the moment you give up ... that's it ... you've given up.
Our guild's other ten man group finished up the night a half hour late, and with Doctor Putricide - a much harder fight - dead on the floor. Why? Because it never crossed their minds that they couldn't not win.
I haven't entered a dungeon with that Raid Leader since.
This happened on a Monday night; Tuesday morning the Citadel instance reset ... and Tuesday night Nelli rescued Lady Dreamwalker.
Silly gnome just keeps trying.
Because its not a matter of if ... its just a matter of when.
Oh yah .. the techy stuff:
ReplyDeleteRoo (short for Thoroon) is Nelli's Felguard, her favored minion in the endgame dungeons. He doesn't show up to much in Nelli's stories, mostly because he is a very big demon with a very little brain ... see that ten story tall undead skeleton with three heads and a scythe the size of four Traveller's Mammoths? Yah, him. Go hit him with your axe.
The Turtle is the symbol of our Guild, Veritas; our first Guildmaster (and good friend) loves turtles.
Last, Atychiphobia is the Fear of Failure