Rise of Madness
Tiene mucho que no posteo nada, habrá que rehacer el hábito. Mientras, les dejo un cuento que hice hace poco para un concurso.
Rise of Madness
We live in a world of great feats and achievements, where even the smallest goals are fulfilled by those who have decided to step up and inherit the role of actors and shapers instead of remaining as spectators, this is a world of constant motion that favors the bold and those that do not falter even on the face of adversity or even impossibility; great heroes have risen and fallen, whether they championed the standards of light and Darkness or dwelt within the myriad of tones in between, it did not matter, their actions always shone with a color of their own. The greatest champions of the world had left in their wake some of the most seemingly impossible and heroic deeds Azeroth has heard of. Even on their dying breath, great heroes saved their people and, on occasion, the shape of Azeroth’s face. The mightiest of foes have had to stop and flee from this world’s heroes. However, as change and victory became common to watch, a slow, but creeping darkness started to infect this world. Today, we finally get to hear the story of how this heroic plane of existence never got to be the same again.
Striding through the doorway of his favorite inn in Goldshire for the first time in five years, Garamond took a minute to see whether anybody he knew was around, after spending most of his waking hours trying to deliver peace in the barren wastelands of the north while trying not to fall victim to some opportunistic Horde knave, he found a warm and nice feeling to finally being able to relax and sleeping a full night’s rest. For the first time in years, the battle-hardened Paladin found a reason to smile. Then the night slipped away like a whisper.
Garamond was grateful the night didn’t bring the usual dreams of war to his tired brain. The mind of a man can forget whatever it chooses to, but the heart of a warrior saves the horror of the battlefield to inflict deep wounds upon the softest spots of a man’s soul when he’s the most vulnerable. But not this time, no, this time there was no blood, no screams, no dark feeling of his humanity slipping away. That night darkness and silence reigned, this was not the chaotic darkness his enemies wielded, this was peaceful and tranquil, almost as if he was embraced by the shadow cast by The Light. He let himself get lost within it…
Morning came and with it the fading of the unique comfort the night provided for him, it was, however, a welcomed awakening not to be in the middle of the battleground between the despairing living and the mindless undead. He straightened his clothes and then descended the flight of stairs to find something to sate his hunger. Funny, he thought, when a man faces mortal danger, his body can sustain itself for days without nourishment, with The Light as its only beacon and his weapon as his sail… But whenever the body feels safety, you can’t spend a moment without it reminding you of its needs. But Garamond felt it was alright to be softening; he felt it was time to return to his life before taking up arms. This was the time to finally let the boy, the one who was forcibly taken away from his family to fight, the boy who was still within him, to cry the horrors he had unwillingly witnessed after 10 long years of fighting. He did.
He grabbed some of the apples the flirty waitress brought him and smiled to her as she made her slow and seductive way back into the kitchen. He was destined to be a man of the cloth, one of many who know not of the ways of the world and the different promises each one of its paths carry. He always dreaded thinking about the circumstances that made him stir away from his promised path and take up arms… he didn’t welcome the memory, of how flame burned both flesh and wood, of how smoke hid the shapes of both his fellow villagers and their attackers, of how gnoll laughter and the smell of their festering manes got so engraved in his memory that it never failed to turn his otherwise righteous demeanor into a thirst for blood which can only be quenched when none of those foul and opportunistic beasts around him were able to draw breath… oftentimes he wondered how would his life turned out if he had become a man of the cloth and not a Paladin, had he indeed become a Priest, would he be alive? How would his days in the frozen wastes had come to pass? Perish those thoughts, Garamond, he thought, things transpired as they should, besides, since there were no vows of celibacy, he could joyfully correspond to the barmaid’s flirting.
“…then it was a matter of climbing to the deck of the ship… a giant ship built within the confines of a cave if you would believe it, then, after defending ourselves against wave after wave of Defias Pirates, we finally managed to make it to the top, there an overgrown Goblin and the final waves of Van Cleef’s henchmen awaited, after much struggle, we were able to take them down… then the coward struck from the shadows. –None may challenge the brotherhood- he said… pffshh, we’re here now, drinking our imported Cenarion Spirits with the money I collected from the reward the Nobles of Stormwind placed upon the swine’s head, cheers mate!” a young and obviously neophyte warrior clumsily yelled as he managed to keep the twin Night Elves within his drunken grasp.
Garamond approached him and told him “you forgot the part where I went to Baros Alexton and had an audience with Lady Prestor and Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, and presented me with this ring” He flashed his rather worn, though still impressive, Seal of Wrynn.
“Hey, how did you take my…” said the young Warrior, who instinctively checked his hand, only to find a newer version of the very same ring Garamond still held in front of him; suddenly, silence in the whole tavern reigned… more than one drunken adventurer checked their belongings, in the end, there were five versions of the same ring in the Goldshire tavern alone… The Light knows only how many more would be within Stormwind, let alone Azeroth.
The young Warrior was dumbstruck “does this mean, His Majesty deceived me?”, Garamonde was impressed to hear about the King being within the safety of Stormwind Keep again, he clearly recalled Lady Prestor quickly dismissing him, and when he turned to his superior Paladin, Highlord Fordragon only had a nod for his bravery and the service he had performed to his city. Then why are these young adventurers talking about the King and some events he has not heard about, and they’re oblivious to others, such as Marshall Windsor and him freeing the city of the invasion the Black Dragonflight planned against their beloved city. Had his own land forgotten about the heroic deeds her son had bled for? And what about these interlopers who claimed to be the ones who freed Stormwind of the menace of the Defias? How could they hope to get away with a lie of such magnitude?
Feeling he had to look for an answer, he left the petty brawl which had sparked within the Goldshire Tavern and headed north toward the Canal City. As fate would have it, all over the human city there were heroes, both young and veteran, whether still silk skinned or Battle-hardened, were claiming being responsible about acts of bravery, from the most epic of tales to the most mundane of tasks… he even heard about feats that he had just completed a few days before… but he couldn’t bring himself to waste more time. Somebody had to answer, and he had thought about someone who might.
Chaos began to spread from Goldshire to the farthest reaches of the Alliance, there were voices that spoke of the Horde, too, being enveloped in the same uncertainty. The leaders of both the Alliance and the Horde tried to keep their forces in check, tried to maintain the trust of their people, and to uphold both the strong and tenuous ties of brotherhood amongst races. The always quick-witted Gnomes retreated to their studies, making hypotheses and conjectures as to the cause of the Uncertainties… Wilfred Fizzlebang, Master Summoner and new to the arcane arts of divination, made assumptions about different “Realms” of existence, parallel universes that existed independent to each other, copies of the same world that allowed the existence of different people within the same plane without so much of a clue of the existence of the others; he devised a spell which, by the use of the Twisting Nether and his obvious expertise as Warlock Extraordinaire, he could manage to “disconnect” from the current world and “transfer” himself to another “Realm”… sadly, his arrogance became his undoing when he “deleted” his presence from the current “Realm” before “transferring” himself to the other… The sudden burst of laughter from Magni Bronzebeard and the way Varian Wrynn covered his eyes with his hand when they witnessed Wilfred’s miscalculation marked an obvious truth: There was no room for appreciation of gnomish inventiveness.
Meanwhile, true to their reputation as masters (and slaves) of the arcane, the Sin’dorei, too, began experiments as to the cause of the sudden unfolding of the dimensions. While some recurred to the manipulation of the nether, others leaned upon darker and more volatile magical sources. Many magical constructs which endangered their creators appeared within Silvermoon City, while the Horde leaders tried their best to bring a blind eye to the situation, the droplet that spilt the glass came when a group of Blood Elves tried to resummon Kil’jaeden into the Sunwell; they thought that it was possible that The Deceiver was behind the current crisis, and even if he wasn’t, slaying him would mark a new age of peace, rendering the current situation unimportant (and all of Azeroth would come to recognize the might of the Sin’dorei). While many voices within the Horde acknowledged the bravery of the elves, and others claimed that such a plan could only come from the brave hearts of Horde-kind… many more voices, however, agreed with the Warchief that the risk was too high. Not even the Banshee Queen with her silvery tongue could deter what was coming, since the treachery of Putress, the Forsaken hadn’t seemed so divided about pressing matters. So it was, then that both Gnomeregan and Silvermoon were the first cities to put on hold their affiliation to their allies… The others would soon follow, though.
Many of the common enemies for the Horde and Alliance tried to gain advantage of the turmoil the diplomatic changes brought to each faction and of the rising uncertainties, yet it seemed they were unable to, no matter how strong their attack upon the gates became, no matter how many denizens and guards fell on their raids, more and more came pouring out. Centaur, Gnoll, Pirate, Kobold and Trogg suffered the same fate. This madness seemed to protect while at the same time curse the higher races in Azeroth. Even the great Dragonflights, in their constant guarding of mortals suffered to some degree the Uncertainties. Even they could not determine the causes. Some blamed the Infinite Dragonflight, finally achieving permanent damage in the flow and ebb of time, some made the Black Dragonflight responsible, some even thought this was the trump card of Malygos, the final punishment for the mortal races for extinguishing the Aspect of Magic. The wisest among Dragonkind, however, were content with watching this crisis unfold before emitting their judgment.
Garamond kept striding through the chaos at Stormwind, his mind focused on The Light and his strides headed towards the pier; he knew someone in Northrend would be able to divine the truth from the haze that enveloped past, present and made the future a distant and uncertain promise.
The long journey through the sea was as expected, he seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his thoughts, his faith in The Light and the good within men waning ever farther away from the bounds of his soul. He knew it was not right, he could feel his sanity drifting away, yet he could only set his mind upon one thing alone. Get to Northrend, seek your comrades, talk with the Highlord. Afterwards everything would surely make sense.
He stepped down from The Kraken into the cold wooden steps that welcome all the heroes into Valiance Keep, the creaking sounds they made were almost libations to a destiny they would never get to see again, the faint smell of decay the freezing wind still carried through this land stung his nose at first but then seemed to welcome him into the fray. Its unholy embrace was the only thing that made sense in this barren wastelands. Welcome home Garamond.
He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to summon his trusty mount, he shielded his mind in a thick layer of prayer, paid Tomas Riverwell eightfold for his ride into Icecrown Glacier but it did not matter to him, with his purpose guarded in both his heart and mind by an ever-thinner wall of light, his only concern was to grip tightly to the saddle and make the beast fly as fast as it could… He was so distraught that he forgot to concentrate his thoughts on changing his Crusader Aura, praised be the light that the gryphon caught its effect and flew faster.
When the beast flew over the City of Dalaran, he heard more of the chaos he witnessed… deep down Garamond knew he had sparked it and blamed himself for it. Amongst the shouts of chaos that sprung from the Wizard city, he heard many voices going as far as to claiming victory upon the Lich King. He knew that could not be true, the Highlord would still be fighting the hated enemy and he could find truth amongst all the confusion. Perhaps, a Paladin as strong as the Highlord, surely would have found a more powerful way of concealing his sanity within The Light… and maybe he would be able to help him regain his own.
Sensing the presence of Lord Fordring within the deepest reaches of Icecrown Citadel, Garamond began crawling on the steps, each time his hands moved and pulled his almost motionless body, the darkness in the air seemed to chip the wall he had erected within his soul, as if time was using a mining pick, each movement, each breath were slow but steady strikes upon his sanity… he knew the wall was soon to crumble, but it did not matter, he felt kindred spirits within the walls of the Citadel, if he could only bring himself through those doors, he knew he could depend upon those within. He almost forgot the chill of the air, the current fight against frostbite and the stench of the undead… yet he forgot about something else, and as the Orc Death Knight and his great axe fell upon Garamond’s battered body, the thought sparked, he forgot about the ever opportunistic Horde knaves.
As he felt his life escape him, clarity penetrated the haze, it was clear for him what was happening with Azeroth… first came the epiphany, then the horror took over. Lying within the frozen steps, he tried to heal himself but the Orc used his control over the cold to freeze his mind, interrupting the holy light meant to bring him to his feet. He felt neither hate nor anger against the Death Knight, it was after all the expected reaction in times of war; As he felt the thread of his life was near to be cut he tried to speak to the Orc about the culprit behind Azeroth’s current state, but instead of words, gushes of his own blood came out of his mouth, desperation now accompanied the horror. The Horde Knight recognized the persistence and bravery within the Human Paladin and in an act of mercy he delivered a swift and painless death.
Hours passed and the whole world began to crumble, there was no village that didn’t burn, either by confusion or by spite. There wasn’t a city which wasn’t sacked and raided by its own citizens. No hero would survive. No hero would escape being murdered by one of his own over some petty quarrel. Azeroth would never again be the same.
Yet, there were some who still found reasons to smile and even laugh in this devastated and deceitful world. Hana’zua, Billy Maclure, Felix Whindlebolt and the Novice known as Elreth all ominously smiled; all of them suddenly burst into laughter; laughter coming from one thousand maws; laughter for the victory of The Lucid Dream.
We live in a world of great feats and achievements, where even the smallest goals are fulfilled by those who have decided to step up and inherit the role of actors and shapers instead of remaining as spectators, this is a world of constant motion that favors the bold and those that do not falter even on the face of adversity or even impossibility; great heroes have risen and fallen, whether they championed the standards of light and Darkness or dwelt within the myriad of tones in between, it did not matter, their actions always shone with a color of their own. The greatest champions of the world had left in their wake some of the most seemingly impossible and heroic deeds Azeroth has heard of. Even on their dying breath, great heroes saved their people and, on occasion, the shape of Azeroth’s face. The mightiest of foes have had to stop and flee from this world’s heroes. However, as change and victory became common to watch, a slow, but creeping darkness started to infect this world. Today, we finally get to hear the story of how this heroic plane of existence never got to be the same again.
Striding through the doorway of his favorite inn in Goldshire for the first time in five years, Garamond took a minute to see whether anybody he knew was around, after spending most of his waking hours trying to deliver peace in the barren wastelands of the north while trying not to fall victim to some opportunistic Horde knave, he found a warm and nice feeling to finally being able to relax and sleeping a full night’s rest. For the first time in years, the battle-hardened Paladin found a reason to smile. Then the night slipped away like a whisper.
Garamond was grateful the night didn’t bring the usual dreams of war to his tired brain. The mind of a man can forget whatever it chooses to, but the heart of a warrior saves the horror of the battlefield to inflict deep wounds upon the softest spots of a man’s soul when he’s the most vulnerable. But not this time, no, this time there was no blood, no screams, no dark feeling of his humanity slipping away. That night darkness and silence reigned, this was not the chaotic darkness his enemies wielded, this was peaceful and tranquil, almost as if he was embraced by the shadow cast by The Light. He let himself get lost within it…
Morning came and with it the fading of the unique comfort the night provided for him, it was, however, a welcomed awakening not to be in the middle of the battleground between the despairing living and the mindless undead. He straightened his clothes and then descended the flight of stairs to find something to sate his hunger. Funny, he thought, when a man faces mortal danger, his body can sustain itself for days without nourishment, with The Light as its only beacon and his weapon as his sail… But whenever the body feels safety, you can’t spend a moment without it reminding you of its needs. But Garamond felt it was alright to be softening; he felt it was time to return to his life before taking up arms. This was the time to finally let the boy, the one who was forcibly taken away from his family to fight, the boy who was still within him, to cry the horrors he had unwillingly witnessed after 10 long years of fighting. He did.
He grabbed some of the apples the flirty waitress brought him and smiled to her as she made her slow and seductive way back into the kitchen. He was destined to be a man of the cloth, one of many who know not of the ways of the world and the different promises each one of its paths carry. He always dreaded thinking about the circumstances that made him stir away from his promised path and take up arms… he didn’t welcome the memory, of how flame burned both flesh and wood, of how smoke hid the shapes of both his fellow villagers and their attackers, of how gnoll laughter and the smell of their festering manes got so engraved in his memory that it never failed to turn his otherwise righteous demeanor into a thirst for blood which can only be quenched when none of those foul and opportunistic beasts around him were able to draw breath… oftentimes he wondered how would his life turned out if he had become a man of the cloth and not a Paladin, had he indeed become a Priest, would he be alive? How would his days in the frozen wastes had come to pass? Perish those thoughts, Garamond, he thought, things transpired as they should, besides, since there were no vows of celibacy, he could joyfully correspond to the barmaid’s flirting.
“…then it was a matter of climbing to the deck of the ship… a giant ship built within the confines of a cave if you would believe it, then, after defending ourselves against wave after wave of Defias Pirates, we finally managed to make it to the top, there an overgrown Goblin and the final waves of Van Cleef’s henchmen awaited, after much struggle, we were able to take them down… then the coward struck from the shadows. –None may challenge the brotherhood- he said… pffshh, we’re here now, drinking our imported Cenarion Spirits with the money I collected from the reward the Nobles of Stormwind placed upon the swine’s head, cheers mate!” a young and obviously neophyte warrior clumsily yelled as he managed to keep the twin Night Elves within his drunken grasp.
Garamond approached him and told him “you forgot the part where I went to Baros Alexton and had an audience with Lady Prestor and Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, and presented me with this ring” He flashed his rather worn, though still impressive, Seal of Wrynn.
“Hey, how did you take my…” said the young Warrior, who instinctively checked his hand, only to find a newer version of the very same ring Garamond still held in front of him; suddenly, silence in the whole tavern reigned… more than one drunken adventurer checked their belongings, in the end, there were five versions of the same ring in the Goldshire tavern alone… The Light knows only how many more would be within Stormwind, let alone Azeroth.
The young Warrior was dumbstruck “does this mean, His Majesty deceived me?”, Garamonde was impressed to hear about the King being within the safety of Stormwind Keep again, he clearly recalled Lady Prestor quickly dismissing him, and when he turned to his superior Paladin, Highlord Fordragon only had a nod for his bravery and the service he had performed to his city. Then why are these young adventurers talking about the King and some events he has not heard about, and they’re oblivious to others, such as Marshall Windsor and him freeing the city of the invasion the Black Dragonflight planned against their beloved city. Had his own land forgotten about the heroic deeds her son had bled for? And what about these interlopers who claimed to be the ones who freed Stormwind of the menace of the Defias? How could they hope to get away with a lie of such magnitude?
Feeling he had to look for an answer, he left the petty brawl which had sparked within the Goldshire Tavern and headed north toward the Canal City. As fate would have it, all over the human city there were heroes, both young and veteran, whether still silk skinned or Battle-hardened, were claiming being responsible about acts of bravery, from the most epic of tales to the most mundane of tasks… he even heard about feats that he had just completed a few days before… but he couldn’t bring himself to waste more time. Somebody had to answer, and he had thought about someone who might.
Chaos began to spread from Goldshire to the farthest reaches of the Alliance, there were voices that spoke of the Horde, too, being enveloped in the same uncertainty. The leaders of both the Alliance and the Horde tried to keep their forces in check, tried to maintain the trust of their people, and to uphold both the strong and tenuous ties of brotherhood amongst races. The always quick-witted Gnomes retreated to their studies, making hypotheses and conjectures as to the cause of the Uncertainties… Wilfred Fizzlebang, Master Summoner and new to the arcane arts of divination, made assumptions about different “Realms” of existence, parallel universes that existed independent to each other, copies of the same world that allowed the existence of different people within the same plane without so much of a clue of the existence of the others; he devised a spell which, by the use of the Twisting Nether and his obvious expertise as Warlock Extraordinaire, he could manage to “disconnect” from the current world and “transfer” himself to another “Realm”… sadly, his arrogance became his undoing when he “deleted” his presence from the current “Realm” before “transferring” himself to the other… The sudden burst of laughter from Magni Bronzebeard and the way Varian Wrynn covered his eyes with his hand when they witnessed Wilfred’s miscalculation marked an obvious truth: There was no room for appreciation of gnomish inventiveness.
Meanwhile, true to their reputation as masters (and slaves) of the arcane, the Sin’dorei, too, began experiments as to the cause of the sudden unfolding of the dimensions. While some recurred to the manipulation of the nether, others leaned upon darker and more volatile magical sources. Many magical constructs which endangered their creators appeared within Silvermoon City, while the Horde leaders tried their best to bring a blind eye to the situation, the droplet that spilt the glass came when a group of Blood Elves tried to resummon Kil’jaeden into the Sunwell; they thought that it was possible that The Deceiver was behind the current crisis, and even if he wasn’t, slaying him would mark a new age of peace, rendering the current situation unimportant (and all of Azeroth would come to recognize the might of the Sin’dorei). While many voices within the Horde acknowledged the bravery of the elves, and others claimed that such a plan could only come from the brave hearts of Horde-kind… many more voices, however, agreed with the Warchief that the risk was too high. Not even the Banshee Queen with her silvery tongue could deter what was coming, since the treachery of Putress, the Forsaken hadn’t seemed so divided about pressing matters. So it was, then that both Gnomeregan and Silvermoon were the first cities to put on hold their affiliation to their allies… The others would soon follow, though.
Many of the common enemies for the Horde and Alliance tried to gain advantage of the turmoil the diplomatic changes brought to each faction and of the rising uncertainties, yet it seemed they were unable to, no matter how strong their attack upon the gates became, no matter how many denizens and guards fell on their raids, more and more came pouring out. Centaur, Gnoll, Pirate, Kobold and Trogg suffered the same fate. This madness seemed to protect while at the same time curse the higher races in Azeroth. Even the great Dragonflights, in their constant guarding of mortals suffered to some degree the Uncertainties. Even they could not determine the causes. Some blamed the Infinite Dragonflight, finally achieving permanent damage in the flow and ebb of time, some made the Black Dragonflight responsible, some even thought this was the trump card of Malygos, the final punishment for the mortal races for extinguishing the Aspect of Magic. The wisest among Dragonkind, however, were content with watching this crisis unfold before emitting their judgment.
Garamond kept striding through the chaos at Stormwind, his mind focused on The Light and his strides headed towards the pier; he knew someone in Northrend would be able to divine the truth from the haze that enveloped past, present and made the future a distant and uncertain promise.
The long journey through the sea was as expected, he seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his thoughts, his faith in The Light and the good within men waning ever farther away from the bounds of his soul. He knew it was not right, he could feel his sanity drifting away, yet he could only set his mind upon one thing alone. Get to Northrend, seek your comrades, talk with the Highlord. Afterwards everything would surely make sense.
He stepped down from The Kraken into the cold wooden steps that welcome all the heroes into Valiance Keep, the creaking sounds they made were almost libations to a destiny they would never get to see again, the faint smell of decay the freezing wind still carried through this land stung his nose at first but then seemed to welcome him into the fray. Its unholy embrace was the only thing that made sense in this barren wastelands. Welcome home Garamond.
He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to summon his trusty mount, he shielded his mind in a thick layer of prayer, paid Tomas Riverwell eightfold for his ride into Icecrown Glacier but it did not matter to him, with his purpose guarded in both his heart and mind by an ever-thinner wall of light, his only concern was to grip tightly to the saddle and make the beast fly as fast as it could… He was so distraught that he forgot to concentrate his thoughts on changing his Crusader Aura, praised be the light that the gryphon caught its effect and flew faster.
When the beast flew over the City of Dalaran, he heard more of the chaos he witnessed… deep down Garamond knew he had sparked it and blamed himself for it. Amongst the shouts of chaos that sprung from the Wizard city, he heard many voices going as far as to claiming victory upon the Lich King. He knew that could not be true, the Highlord would still be fighting the hated enemy and he could find truth amongst all the confusion. Perhaps, a Paladin as strong as the Highlord, surely would have found a more powerful way of concealing his sanity within The Light… and maybe he would be able to help him regain his own.
Sensing the presence of Lord Fordring within the deepest reaches of Icecrown Citadel, Garamond began crawling on the steps, each time his hands moved and pulled his almost motionless body, the darkness in the air seemed to chip the wall he had erected within his soul, as if time was using a mining pick, each movement, each breath were slow but steady strikes upon his sanity… he knew the wall was soon to crumble, but it did not matter, he felt kindred spirits within the walls of the Citadel, if he could only bring himself through those doors, he knew he could depend upon those within. He almost forgot the chill of the air, the current fight against frostbite and the stench of the undead… yet he forgot about something else, and as the Orc Death Knight and his great axe fell upon Garamond’s battered body, the thought sparked, he forgot about the ever opportunistic Horde knaves.
As he felt his life escape him, clarity penetrated the haze, it was clear for him what was happening with Azeroth… first came the epiphany, then the horror took over. Lying within the frozen steps, he tried to heal himself but the Orc used his control over the cold to freeze his mind, interrupting the holy light meant to bring him to his feet. He felt neither hate nor anger against the Death Knight, it was after all the expected reaction in times of war; As he felt the thread of his life was near to be cut he tried to speak to the Orc about the culprit behind Azeroth’s current state, but instead of words, gushes of his own blood came out of his mouth, desperation now accompanied the horror. The Horde Knight recognized the persistence and bravery within the Human Paladin and in an act of mercy he delivered a swift and painless death.
Hours passed and the whole world began to crumble, there was no village that didn’t burn, either by confusion or by spite. There wasn’t a city which wasn’t sacked and raided by its own citizens. No hero would survive. No hero would escape being murdered by one of his own over some petty quarrel. Azeroth would never again be the same.
Yet, there were some who still found reasons to smile and even laugh in this devastated and deceitful world. Hana’zua, Billy Maclure, Felix Whindlebolt and the Novice known as Elreth all ominously smiled; all of them suddenly burst into laughter; laughter coming from one thousand maws; laughter for the victory of The Lucid Dream.
posted by Francisco González Medina at
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