((An attempt to resurrect my Mage from WoW))
The sun was rising over the near silent shores of Stormwind. A brisk wind hit his face as he walked out of the Mage Tower. Haze mixed with the clouds this morning added an eerie mist to the already uneasy landscape. Months after the devastating attack by Deathwing, the human capital still showed signs of strife. Smoke and fires continued to burn in the area that used to be home to the Barracks and Park. Marcalo gazed beyond that and into the sea. His assignment in Deepholm barely finished, the mage had already been given an assignment to continue his work against the Twilight Hammer elsewhere. The silver locks of hair blew into the stronger winds as he thought about all that had transpired in the realm of the Earth-Warder and before that on Mount Hyjal.
Gone were the simple days of study and contemplation. He had spent years in seclusion on the Isle of Quel’Thalas. Almost hermit like in its solitude, he had fought long enough the old wizard thought back then. Marcalo had seen the deaths of too many friends, seen the fall of too many heroes. Surviving both the Second War and Third Wars. He also raced to rescue the realm against the Legion as it tried to break through the Dark Portal. He then helped stop the traitor Illidan from sending his dark forces out on a culling that would have destroyed both Outland and Azeroth. He had reached the end of his rope in Icecrown Citadel...where the Lich King was unleashing an undead wave of destruction that was going to end in tragedy for the Alliance had not they rallied in unified arms against the former Prince of Lordaeron. That insane battle that cost scores of lives for every inch gained. He remembered the white ice stained in crimson with the blood of the fallen, only to melt in a green pool of undead horror. Marcalo lost much that day…his entire regiment of mages and warriors, and one of his oldest friends, the night elf ranger Juraviel.
He watched as the Lich King was finally defeated, a bitter sweet victory that had drained so much that he could barely conjure a glass of water after the battle. He decided to skip the victory celebrations and the presentations of medals and all the ceremonies that came with a war won. He ignored the summons of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran. After weeks of insisting he sent an owl to them, stating his leave of the Order and his exile into the land of the blood elves. A land already accustomed to being absent from relevance, he found solace and peace. He already had helped the elves fight against the Scourge that remained a near constant in the region. So it was easy for him to find a home deep within the Eversong Woods, from there he was not far from the capital Silvermoon. He used travelling Troll merchants as a source of trade and supplies. He never lacked in the basics, and that was all he needed to sustain his studies and seclusion. The magic arts had aided his recovery greatly. With the occasional procured text Marcalo had tapped into both the arcane magic he learned at an early age and the healing magics of the druids. He was granted by the Aspect Ysera herself access to the Emerald Dream, here he acquired more knowledge and respect for the powers he had always thought were mere tools. Old wounds were gone, scars disappeared, and even his overall appearance seemed to have gained what looked like decades off his façade. Five years plus a pair of seasons he calculated was all the time of peace he was awarded before Deathwing returned with a vengeance that shattered the world as he knew it.
Marcalo started walking down the spiral path that lead from the top of the Mage Tower to the ground, his mind still replaying that moment when he was in his cabin far to the north in Eversong and received a visitor. He had just finished cutting wood for that evening. Sweat mixed with the cool water he had just poured over himself fell freely from his body. The summer simmered down through the crimson and golden trees, the mage was using his wand to start stacking the wood pieces next to the eastern wall of his abode when all of the sudden a green light cast itself over the entire clearing. At once he recognized the source of this light and dreaded in the reality of he being the recipient of this sign. He quickly grabbed his shirt, doing his best to look presentable. It was not every day that a Dragon Aspect came calling. At first he wasn’t sure of what he heard, but soon enough it was clear. A melodic laughter, sweet and soothing at the same time greeted him. The emerald light closed in and focused on a spot in front of him. The wise mage dropped to one knee in reverence as a figure began to manifest before him. Slender and curved, it could have easily been mistaken for a night elf priestess save for her increased size and obvious emerald aura around her. She coalesced into a near physical form. The Aspect rarely appeared fully in this plane. Yet here she was, draped in elegant green robes that were heavily adorned with emerald gems, her green hair shining with a brilliance that cast shadows behind her, a hood that did little to hide her beautiful features. Her eyes remained closed as she walked towards the kneeling mage, her teasing laughter ending as she spoke. “Arise Marcalo…surely we are past such formalities.” He stood up, watching as the dragon elf pulled her hood back and opened her eyes. The colors of the infinity revealed themselves to the elder mage. It was rare enough to have an audience with Ysera, for her to open her eyes was an even more amazing experience to any that lived and breathed. To any except Marcalo.
With a smile he approached her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her gently to him. “This is true…” he said with a wink. The Aspect rewarded his brashness with a tender poke in the chest. “My, my aren’t we feeling a bit…physical.” She said with a smirk. They kissed then, passionately, and with a purpose. It had been in his days within the Emerald Dream that Ysera had taken a not so customary liking to the human. She consoled him when he felt lost, recognizing his achievements done in the name of his people and also for her Flight during the battle against the Lich King. The mage was pivotal in helping her escape the Nightmare. They spent days walking along the Emerald Dream, she would mostly listen to him speak of his life, his hopes and dreams. In all her existence the thought of falling for a mortal were beyond folly, yet it happened. At first they merely flirted with the idea that a dragon could fall for a human or vice versa but that precarious line was crossed and it blossomed into something both were tempered to fully enjoy but neither could ever deny. The kiss continued for what seemed an Eternity…not far from the truth as both slipped in and out of the Emerald Dream, a practice they were thrilled to share with one another. They awoke the next morning in each other’s arms inside Marcalo’s cabin.
“Our time together draws near its end my love…” she whispered into his ears. He was asleep but aware of everything inside the Dream. There in a land untouched by the mortal races all was pristine and full of life everlasting. “What do you mean?” he replied back, eyes closed but walking hand in hand with her through a forest, a strong stream pushing its way down to a not too distant waterfall. “Surely you have sensed something stirring, an ancient power starts to awaken and all on Azeroth stands on the precipice of disaster.” Ysera said, her slender fingers caressing the mage’s sleeping form. “Such doom and gloom my love…I have sensed troubling powers yes, but something so all encompassing?” Marcalo replied his pace slowing a bit so that he could take in the scenery around the two. The two continued to talk of this unseen danger long enough to reach the waterfall. At first it seemed tranquil enough, the water crashing down below with a crushing sound against the rocks. Soon that changed as more water seemed to fall. The stream became a river, and the pristine view below turned gray. The tranquil landscape soon came to life with forces of nature that heralded a storm.
“We must prepare for it Marcalo…prepare for what is to come…” she said as she kissed his lips ever so gently, rising from the bed to look down at the only mortal she would ever love. “Wait! Ysera!” he called to her as the raging river beside them sprayed mist over his form. “You own my heart Marcalo…I will always love you…” she said as she vanished from view…a silhouette of a dragon taking her place as she flew off into another part of the Emerald Dream. The mage opened his eyes to find himself alone in his cabin. He looked around, futilely hoping that she was still inside. Then the ground shook, at first a slow rumble, then a loud crash of earth and rock. He quickly grabbed his staff and robes, summoning his Dragon Aspect mount, a gift from Ysera, to him. Taking flight he rose into the sky. The experienced mage looked down at the expanding chaos with an unshakeable amount of dread. “By the gods what madness is this!?” he exclaimed, pushing his mount forward towards Silvermoon City.
“What madness indeed.” he whispered to himself as he finished his walk down the spiral. Soon he would learn where he was needed next, in a quiet corner of his heart he hoped it was Hyjal…but now was not the time…
The sun was rising over the near silent shores of Stormwind. A brisk wind hit his face as he walked out of the Mage Tower. Haze mixed with the clouds this morning added an eerie mist to the already uneasy landscape. Months after the devastating attack by Deathwing, the human capital still showed signs of strife. Smoke and fires continued to burn in the area that used to be home to the Barracks and Park. Marcalo gazed beyond that and into the sea. His assignment in Deepholm barely finished, the mage had already been given an assignment to continue his work against the Twilight Hammer elsewhere. The silver locks of hair blew into the stronger winds as he thought about all that had transpired in the realm of the Earth-Warder and before that on Mount Hyjal.
Gone were the simple days of study and contemplation. He had spent years in seclusion on the Isle of Quel’Thalas. Almost hermit like in its solitude, he had fought long enough the old wizard thought back then. Marcalo had seen the deaths of too many friends, seen the fall of too many heroes. Surviving both the Second War and Third Wars. He also raced to rescue the realm against the Legion as it tried to break through the Dark Portal. He then helped stop the traitor Illidan from sending his dark forces out on a culling that would have destroyed both Outland and Azeroth. He had reached the end of his rope in Icecrown Citadel...where the Lich King was unleashing an undead wave of destruction that was going to end in tragedy for the Alliance had not they rallied in unified arms against the former Prince of Lordaeron. That insane battle that cost scores of lives for every inch gained. He remembered the white ice stained in crimson with the blood of the fallen, only to melt in a green pool of undead horror. Marcalo lost much that day…his entire regiment of mages and warriors, and one of his oldest friends, the night elf ranger Juraviel.
He watched as the Lich King was finally defeated, a bitter sweet victory that had drained so much that he could barely conjure a glass of water after the battle. He decided to skip the victory celebrations and the presentations of medals and all the ceremonies that came with a war won. He ignored the summons of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran. After weeks of insisting he sent an owl to them, stating his leave of the Order and his exile into the land of the blood elves. A land already accustomed to being absent from relevance, he found solace and peace. He already had helped the elves fight against the Scourge that remained a near constant in the region. So it was easy for him to find a home deep within the Eversong Woods, from there he was not far from the capital Silvermoon. He used travelling Troll merchants as a source of trade and supplies. He never lacked in the basics, and that was all he needed to sustain his studies and seclusion. The magic arts had aided his recovery greatly. With the occasional procured text Marcalo had tapped into both the arcane magic he learned at an early age and the healing magics of the druids. He was granted by the Aspect Ysera herself access to the Emerald Dream, here he acquired more knowledge and respect for the powers he had always thought were mere tools. Old wounds were gone, scars disappeared, and even his overall appearance seemed to have gained what looked like decades off his façade. Five years plus a pair of seasons he calculated was all the time of peace he was awarded before Deathwing returned with a vengeance that shattered the world as he knew it.
Marcalo started walking down the spiral path that lead from the top of the Mage Tower to the ground, his mind still replaying that moment when he was in his cabin far to the north in Eversong and received a visitor. He had just finished cutting wood for that evening. Sweat mixed with the cool water he had just poured over himself fell freely from his body. The summer simmered down through the crimson and golden trees, the mage was using his wand to start stacking the wood pieces next to the eastern wall of his abode when all of the sudden a green light cast itself over the entire clearing. At once he recognized the source of this light and dreaded in the reality of he being the recipient of this sign. He quickly grabbed his shirt, doing his best to look presentable. It was not every day that a Dragon Aspect came calling. At first he wasn’t sure of what he heard, but soon enough it was clear. A melodic laughter, sweet and soothing at the same time greeted him. The emerald light closed in and focused on a spot in front of him. The wise mage dropped to one knee in reverence as a figure began to manifest before him. Slender and curved, it could have easily been mistaken for a night elf priestess save for her increased size and obvious emerald aura around her. She coalesced into a near physical form. The Aspect rarely appeared fully in this plane. Yet here she was, draped in elegant green robes that were heavily adorned with emerald gems, her green hair shining with a brilliance that cast shadows behind her, a hood that did little to hide her beautiful features. Her eyes remained closed as she walked towards the kneeling mage, her teasing laughter ending as she spoke. “Arise Marcalo…surely we are past such formalities.” He stood up, watching as the dragon elf pulled her hood back and opened her eyes. The colors of the infinity revealed themselves to the elder mage. It was rare enough to have an audience with Ysera, for her to open her eyes was an even more amazing experience to any that lived and breathed. To any except Marcalo.
With a smile he approached her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her gently to him. “This is true…” he said with a wink. The Aspect rewarded his brashness with a tender poke in the chest. “My, my aren’t we feeling a bit…physical.” She said with a smirk. They kissed then, passionately, and with a purpose. It had been in his days within the Emerald Dream that Ysera had taken a not so customary liking to the human. She consoled him when he felt lost, recognizing his achievements done in the name of his people and also for her Flight during the battle against the Lich King. The mage was pivotal in helping her escape the Nightmare. They spent days walking along the Emerald Dream, she would mostly listen to him speak of his life, his hopes and dreams. In all her existence the thought of falling for a mortal were beyond folly, yet it happened. At first they merely flirted with the idea that a dragon could fall for a human or vice versa but that precarious line was crossed and it blossomed into something both were tempered to fully enjoy but neither could ever deny. The kiss continued for what seemed an Eternity…not far from the truth as both slipped in and out of the Emerald Dream, a practice they were thrilled to share with one another. They awoke the next morning in each other’s arms inside Marcalo’s cabin.
“Our time together draws near its end my love…” she whispered into his ears. He was asleep but aware of everything inside the Dream. There in a land untouched by the mortal races all was pristine and full of life everlasting. “What do you mean?” he replied back, eyes closed but walking hand in hand with her through a forest, a strong stream pushing its way down to a not too distant waterfall. “Surely you have sensed something stirring, an ancient power starts to awaken and all on Azeroth stands on the precipice of disaster.” Ysera said, her slender fingers caressing the mage’s sleeping form. “Such doom and gloom my love…I have sensed troubling powers yes, but something so all encompassing?” Marcalo replied his pace slowing a bit so that he could take in the scenery around the two. The two continued to talk of this unseen danger long enough to reach the waterfall. At first it seemed tranquil enough, the water crashing down below with a crushing sound against the rocks. Soon that changed as more water seemed to fall. The stream became a river, and the pristine view below turned gray. The tranquil landscape soon came to life with forces of nature that heralded a storm.
“We must prepare for it Marcalo…prepare for what is to come…” she said as she kissed his lips ever so gently, rising from the bed to look down at the only mortal she would ever love. “Wait! Ysera!” he called to her as the raging river beside them sprayed mist over his form. “You own my heart Marcalo…I will always love you…” she said as she vanished from view…a silhouette of a dragon taking her place as she flew off into another part of the Emerald Dream. The mage opened his eyes to find himself alone in his cabin. He looked around, futilely hoping that she was still inside. Then the ground shook, at first a slow rumble, then a loud crash of earth and rock. He quickly grabbed his staff and robes, summoning his Dragon Aspect mount, a gift from Ysera, to him. Taking flight he rose into the sky. The experienced mage looked down at the expanding chaos with an unshakeable amount of dread. “By the gods what madness is this!?” he exclaimed, pushing his mount forward towards Silvermoon City.
“What madness indeed.” he whispered to himself as he finished his walk down the spiral. Soon he would learn where he was needed next, in a quiet corner of his heart he hoped it was Hyjal…but now was not the time…