A puff of breath frosted in the air.
The soft colored lights of the Thunderbrew Tavern sent swaths of red and blue across the white show banks, adding a shimmer of ruby and sapphire to the silver sparkle of the winter's moonlight.
Inside, the happy voices, they echoed with the clink of ceramic mugs and polished drinking horns, the clatter of trays upon the wooden tables, the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
The little warlock was most comfortable, here, on the porch. Both hands wrapped her own cup, stealing the warmth of the camoline tea, smiling as the subtle scent drifted in the evening's breeze. Mister Inflagrante suggested she try the tea, and it was a kind suggestion.
And inside, the voice of her Guildmaster, Chelydra, could be heard weaving its way through the revelers. Of course Miss Vamira was there, probably dancing with her husband Ellundus ... well either that or hooting ... yes,that was most certainly a hoot ... followed of course by the children's giggles and laughter too, her moonkin dance could bring a smile to even the hardest of hearts. How could you count them all ... Miss Wynilla and Miss Addiena ... so many times she would have been spirit plain bound without them ... Miss Uinen and young Gwyne, the best healers between here and the heavens. And there, teasing always, poor Master Chelydra ... that was the fiery Miss Sethlenara ...
The little warlock couldn't help but giggle.
They already sound like a married couple.
But truth ... when it came to lockery ... Miss Seth ... mistress of curses, Kurby - who knew more about the craft than even she, and Zyvier, so fast and sure ... Miss Abmerlenia and Miss Menew and of course that fel named Darkterror, who followed in her schooling ... well one couldn't ask for a better coven of alliance warlocks ...
She took a sip of her tea and shook her head.
And it wasn't a dragon hunt or to once again cripple Nefarian in his lair, until Bromoran came a'looking for his healthstone. Vernatir strong, and one can never, never ever overlook Miss Xastra. Especially when that awful Skeram took her over and she bopped you with that big sword of hers.
And few mages fought ever like Mystere or were as soft spoken as Starlinus ... and poor poor Ra ... it must be very hard being Mister Anubas' kitten ... though Nilos could have found a smarter snake ....
Mcaplan ... stalwart Cloudstryder ... and the pretty Miss Leah with her bright holy armor and sure Logangrimnar, always lookin' out for her ... and mister Alexlight, he always knew just where to find her when things went wrong and from the spirit realm she needed to be returned.
Leaning a shoulder on the stone, she slowly closed her eyes.
It is strange, having a family. So many names, and in a nights revelry, of course someone's forgotten ... not named, but held in ones heart, for sure.
And somewhere out there, as alone as her, Fubuki walked beneath the trees. At least, if he looked to the night skies, they were both looking at the same stars. That they still shared, no matter how much time or how many leagues kept apart.
Those to whom she could never speak, too much blood, to sharp an edge, too much a misguided politic ... how could she even think of a troll minstrel ... an orc tailor ... as her enemy?
Slowly raising her eyes, she swallowed. A sip of her tea then, a moment of quiet silence, a heartbeat of stillness.
For those lost.
Miss Freyara and Jellypeppy ... paths never to be crossed again.
Vanished like snowflake caught for a moment in the palm of your hand.
The tea was finished, and carefully the lil' warlock set it down upon the granite carven railing.
"You will never leave me, will you?"
A simple question. It didn't need an answer.
She looked to the side, a gentle glance upwards.
Her protector matched the midnight sky, a swirl of cobalt, magic and dreams ...
"Walk with me?"
Side by side.
As the sounds of the winter's revelry faded in the night, the stars alone bore witness.
To Nellisynthia leaving small footprints in the gentle powder.
Her best friend didn't.
Chronologically ... this story is out of order. It was well before The Cost of Karazhan and most certainly before a certain Boomkin's song.
ReplyDeleteThe roll call brings deeply mixed feelings now. Heraclitus was correct; one can never step into the same river twice, and Veritas is no longer the same guild that it was when this story was written.
Some of the names on that roll call have vanished, new ones taken their place, new roles taken on. Mister Inflagrante is now our Guildmaster - allowing Chel to take on the mantle of Founder Emeritus or something latin-ish like that. One is much more likely to see Thiazi instead of Ellundus. Giacomo is our battlemaster tank, there's Kat - one of the few bears I could never pull off of - and Sweet Chardonnay ... our warlocks have now become Nelli and Kay. Vern's still here, and of course some old faces have joined the Deathknight ranks.
The first major problem with a story like this are the names left out. Only so the story would not have gotten lost in some rostering. Those not spoken of, I hope, know they are equally treasured.
The second is reading the names of those we have lost. Some to time, some to the conflict that created the need for A Song for Vamira.
For the latter, I would hope that a tale like this would remind folks of what we had, and that it was good, and that there was true value there, something more substantial than any pixelated rewards.
If this was a perfect world it would be nice if there be a second thought that followed, so that when paths cross next it is not so easy to steal a tall giant from a little warlock ... but remembering what we had, offering a companionable wave instead.