Nefarian's Victory

"All that glisters is not gold ..."

"How often have we heard that, Mezzy, heard it and smiled, as if we were once again hearing an old wive's tale, ato smile as if we knew what was once an insight had fallen into disuse?

"And yet, even now, have we sold ourself, bartered our soul, but for what is only outside to behold?

"In the tombs of glory, is it accolades or the whispering of gilded worms we hear,

"Have we been more bold than wise?

"Have our limbs reached, like those young, for empty achievements at too dear a cost, having forgotten to temper our greed with the wisdom we should be old enough to know?

"And certainly old enough to remember."

Quietly the little warlock hugged herself, deep in the bottom rooms of the tavern. And once again, having been brutally shown, the only companion she could depend on, one of blue cobalt, of magic, of dreams.

"The true answer is not in the scrolls recorded ...

"It lies haunting in the depths of Blackrock mountain.

"He fairs us well, because he, in the end, still holds the truth in broken talons cold."

A deep breath was taken in, let out, taken in again.

Green eyes narrowed, threatening to become cold, calculating, to chose the path where the end justifies the means, and there is no looking back, as if that finish could some how wash away the hurt that it was built on, that the glitter could somehow wash away the inequity that was triumphs foundation, that somehow a head upon a spike could balance values that forgotten in the blind drive for a taste of blood.

And she just could not. Her heart would not let her.

"Have we forgotten who we are. What made us strong?

"Or have we changed, somehow, somewhen, became hard and accepted that being this hard, this cold ... and aye, to use a so apt term, so draconic as the only way things can be. Hard, so that it is the victory that matters and not its cost?

"Hard, that we would abandon what we have held true since the first turtle was sewn on a tabard."

Green eyes close then, quiet.

"I used to be so proud. So proud to wear this tabard. Because I could say, true, we might take longer, take longer, to reach the same triumphs as those whose way is by the sword and the cold equations of steel and spell. but we do so on our own terms, learning how to use who we are, play to our strength, and reach the same end without compromise - as a team, as a group, as a guild working together?

"How did that get forgotten, lost, discarded, between the halls of Northrend and the lands lost in Cataclysm."

"I can't say that any more.

"Because it isn't true."

Quietly, she looks up to Mezzy.

"Why do I keep answering the clarion call, when I know that the only reason I will get called up is when one of the chosen has business elsewhere or when they themselves have chosen to take an eve at rest? Chose to take an evening at rest; do they even realize the difference, the hurt, the callous cruelness in that - when it is everyone else who gets told they must step away?

"Oh, sometimes its called asking, but what sort of question is it, truly, when it is a question that has only one answer, only one choice.

"Do they realize how hard it is to put a happy face on it, knowing that it is a harsh truth that they never have to face? Do they realize how lucky they are, to never have to worry for their place among those who stand for the Guild? That what they take for granted others cannot even wish for? Do they know what it feels like to be made to realize, that your only value is, to the Guild, that your only value is as a replacement?

Letting out a long long breath, the warlock shook her head.

"Do they even realize how predictable it is, that anyone, everyone, else can watch their chance to step into the depths, to fight with our compatriots, to share our time together, fade away as the hall fills, one by one, by those who have that golden ticket, whose place is a given? How demoralizing it is, to know that it is not a place within the ten who shall venture forth that is being considered, but that the truth is that the competition is only for the one or two places within the ranks of those who position is assured?"

Eyes closed again, red pigtails slipped back and forth.

"It is the way things are, the way they are seen, the way they are perceived.

"And even if it is not actuality, it is a brutal reality.

"Is it a coincidence, that as this ... appearance ... became more and more solidified, those who used to answer the call have vanished to the shadows? They are not as stupid as gnomes, I guess.

"Is it a coincidence, that when things were seen as more fair, as if there were true opportuities to work together, when the make up of an evening's adventures were not set in stone, we found ourselves with enough stalwart warriors than one could shake a pointed stick at, where we could enter the fortress of our enemies in full force.

"I don't know Mezzy."

She leaned against the cold stone, looking then into the fire.

"I like these folks. They are my friends. I want to share these victories, I want to be a part ...

"We used to know how to do that ...

"And I cannot see myself stopping, answering the call to arms, knowing that I am just a replacement, living through the hurt of being told to step down, knowing that is my fate, seeing it come like the fall of dominos, my lack of value to our Guild, time and time again.

"Wishing it could be my choice ... just like it is for them."

Her head ducks, and a foot scuffs across the floor.

"He knows, you know.

"He knows, even though his bones lie scattered in his carven arena.

"Last night, a select few slew Nefarian.

"Yet against Veritas ...

"Nefarian was the victor."