Voltulio / Voltaere

[Voltaere]

((Seeing how the prodical son Voltulio again finds himself in the service of Nyx with his brother Voltaere, I though I would repost these, I hope you enjoy!nnVoltulio BiographynnDreaming at Sunstrider LodgenI lie awake again…staring into the night sky, full of trepidation. Eventually, exhaustion will take hold and I will dream. It will be the same dream I have had every single night since the Fall. It is a dream I dread, lying awake in the dark…nnI am on a precipice, overlooking the grandeur of Silvermoon City. My long time friends are laughing and practicing swordplay and magic on the deck below; beauteous in their form and grace. How I admire what our people have done…it is hard to put it into perspective, our civilization has accomplished so much. I lean upon a flagpole carrying our glorious standard, taking in all its serene majesty. nnThen in one violent instant I am engulfed in Blackness, the Eternal Void …and complete emptiness fills me. It is a terrible drowning sensation…the very air I breathe disappears. I can not catch enough air to take a breath…through fading vision I look for a place to come up for air…still not able to breath…gasping for air…I crumple to the floor…choking on nothing…fading to blackness …n nAfter a period of time I can not calculate, I awake somehow, a last death-roll before my final rest. There is still no air and I am still drowning. I try to focus my mind and lie still, accepting the inevitable end as dignified as possible, still wondering where the air has gone to… then I realize perhaps it is not the air that has gone…something else… the lifeblood is gone. Something has happened to the Sunwell, I can feel the emptiness in my soul. I recover from the blackness long enough to see my friends below – they are drowning and dying like me. The end is near. No, they are not like me; instinct has taken them. They lose their minds, devouring anything magical within reach. To my horror, they even devour each other’s magic – leaving a wretched and soulless shell. I think what must be happening at my homestead…knowing the same scene has played out with my family. I find enough breath to let out a cry of mourning and horror… nnI wake again from the recurring dream…sweating and screaming. I can not go on this way. The constant drowning sensation is too much to bear. I have seen many of my people fall to darkness. I decide to make one last attempt to recover before I kill myself, or worse, join the ranks of the wretched. I must try. I leave the hospice of SunStrider Lodge, no longer willing to just die, and join the few of our people who have heard the call. Holy Power may yet fill the void the Sunwell leaves behind in me. I begin to focus on helping my people and not wallowing in my pain. The pain does not go away, but the Holy power gifted is enough to sustain me. It is enough to fuel me. It is enough to save our people. It is enough to let my heart fill with rage - and retribution - and damn the world to get it!nnThus my service to the Blood Elves as a Paladin begins…nnnnVoltulio – The First Lesson and Regarding MurlocsnnMy first tasks for my service have me honing my skill against some of the pests in and around Silvermoon City. I know the lessons I am learning will help me to be ready to take on the Scourge. I do not fear, for the power granted to me is great enough to defeat these denizens. I even learn to kill The Wretched with impunity – mercifully ending their sorry existences.nnThen it happened…a lesson I shall not soon forget: I was ferreting out some Mana Wraiths near a translocation device. It was tough work, but I was more than ready for them. They fell to my mighty blade and holy magics. As I slay them and approach the device, several appear out of nowhere and surround me! I take one down, but suffer grievous wounds, and decide to call upon Holy Protection and heal myself with divine favor. As I enter the battle anew, more spawn in and join the fray. I fell a second foe, but at the cost of my own safety. My magic was depleted and my wounds were deep and sore. I reach for a healing draught just in time and I make a break for it… I was running away, for the first time since the Fall, I was running for my life. I ran up a hill, 2 wraiths still behind me. An ordinary lynx happened to be behind a rock up the hill…it was startled by the commotion and pounced on me in reaction. I lost my footing and the wraiths caught up. My life quickly slipped away under their attacks.nI died. But I did not die the true death…not the death of the Wretched…not even undeath…something else. My spirit lived on and a Spirit Guide brought me back to the world of the living. Had it not been for this Divine Intervention, I would not be relaying this tale, nor would I ever go on to fight the Scourge and save our people.nDying has a profound effect on a person. I realized that I had died twice now; once at the Sunwell, where my soul was ripped asunder, and now again as a physical death. Yet I survive both deaths! Why? Why would I survive? Why would my spirit be led back to the world of the living? The answer was obvious. I have a Destiny. I have a Greatness that can not be denied.nThat being said, it is an altogether humbling (and painful) experience to die while fleeing combat. It helps put things into perspective. Clearly my powers had not been unlocked. I needed help from a group that could help me unlock my potential. Thus I joined the wise and powerful group known as Nyx. In time, who knows how powerful I might become with them! I met up with my first friend from Nyx and enjoy cleaning out the rest of the denizens around Silvermoon City (except for the fish heads! Not roly-poly, just YUCK!!). I know in my heart I have made a wise decision.nnnRegarding Murlocs and Fish heads: nI bet you would never have guessed this, but the murlocs’ heads are very easily damaged. I normally kill my foes with precision, but I swear on the Sunwell I had to cut off over 50 of their heads just to get 6 intact ones! And why would someone want them anyways!?nThis leads me to another somewhat embarrassing subject... I have been trying to learn the murloc language with some limited success. After killing 20 or so, I spoke to them, ’Muragglllrrwaorrg gur mrrglr’ which I thought translates to, ‘you may as well line up and let me cut off four more of your heads nice and clean before I kill every member of your village’. I thought I was being merciful. Later on, my murloc language instructor corrected me and said I really told them, ‘you may as well line up and let me cut off more nice and clean members from everyone in your village’ …the word ‘members’ referring to their…<ahem>… genitalia.nnnVoltulio – Hidden TruthsnnMy defense of Silvermoon City and our way of life draws me to the Ghostlands. It is there that the effects of the Scourge have become all too apparent. For it is there I make a number of shocking realizations that chill me. I am told that we are allied with the Undead and the rest of the Horde. Allied with the Undead? How could this be? I then am told the truth of Lady Sylvanas. The truth, that without Undead allies, our border to Silvermoon City is still in jeopardy. nAs I hear the tales of the other Horde races, I realize that the Horde is built on the legacy of different peoples and races who have lost all, yet rise up and continue to fight. The legacy of the Horde are those who have endured genocides, slavery and true catastrophe. The Alliance has not known true tragedy like the Horde. Yes, they have fought battles, but losing a city here or there means nothing compared to losing life to undeath. It means nothing compared to being enslaved and bred to fight for demons cruel will, it means nothing compared to the loss of the light of one’s soul! The Alliance knows nothing of true tragedy; one can not possibly compare the ridiculous situation of Gnomeregan to that of the loss of the Sunwell! While I am out tearfully killing my former comrades turned to the Wretched, the humans battle their own little band of homemade Defias Thugs…What a joke! Perhaps if they had true tragedy, they would embrace themselves to us against the Scourge. This is their weakness, and the Horde strength. Only through true adversity is one tested and pushed to greatness. I can feel my hatred for the Alliance growing. Where were they when we needed help? As I learn more about them, I hate their ignorance and arrogance. I know they are not all to blame and a part of me wishes they would join us. Perhaps I am jealous of their innocence, since mine was taken from me.nAs I am tested in my Paladin order, the source is revealed to me. The emptiness that the Sunwell left was filled with something else…it was holy light…gifted to us. I can not say more, for doing so would violate my oath. I gladly soak in the holy power, sated and content.nnVoltulio – UndercitynnThe defense in the Ghostlands leads me to Deatholme, where I battle mighty foes. The very earth there is defiled. The great Scar leads from Deatholme right up to Silvermoon City. What great powers fought to make such a Scar! Slaughterhouses, ziggurats, and Necromancer Halls make up the city. Putrid pools of ichor fill the air with the stench of blight. I am among a group assembled to assault the city, kill the generals, their leader and rescue captives. Along the way I find a locket which I later learn belonged to Lady Sylvanas herself.nAfter accomplishing our mission, my next task is to travel to Undercity and deliver the news of our victory. Undercity…are the tales I have heard true? Every fiber in my being dreads the visit, but the thought of speaking to lady Sylvanas and returning her locket fill my heart with joyful anticipation.nUpon arrival, my feelings of dread toward Undercity are fully realized. All manner of abomination share this city. Its putrid rivers and dank catacombs sting my eyes to tears, nearly choking me at every turn. True monstrosities guard every turn. This is no place for an elf. I bring my kerchief up to my mouth and nose and make my way through the city. nAs I pass through the center of town I see something strange; a group of Undead, not miserable and mournful, but dancing and laughing! They were even telling jokes! I stopped and stood before them, not sure what to make of the scene. Then one of the rotting rascals sized me up, came over and told me a joke…the kind of hilariously inappropriate joke you would never put into writing. I burst into laughter! I could not stop! Perhaps it was the whole tragic thing of the Fall, fighting Scourge and then to be in this awful place being told jokes by undead! The laughter was release of all the tension since the Fall. As I laugh and try to catch my breath, I drop my kerchief and breathe in the full rot of the sewer, and vomit! The Undead all start laughing at the scene! I am still laughing with them…an understanding passes between us that can not be easily expressed. The Undead rascal offers me a drink…one we all know I can not consume without continued vomiting… more laughter…nI continue my way through the catacombs to Lady Sylvanas’ sanctuary. My anticipation of this meeting is great. First the official business: I deliver the news of the Blood Elves’ victory in Deatholme. It is met with the normal bureaucratic response and further tasks. Then the unofficial business which was what I truly was anticipating, I offer her the locket. The next few minutes I share with the Lady are very personal; I did not expect to find such a thing in Undercity. Beautiful, simply beautiful…nnnDiscourse on Dishonornn I can feel my honor and power growing. Each day brings with it new adventure and new challenges. It also brings many new foes. The denizens of Azeroth can be dangerous, but their defeat brings honor. Much more dangerous to the path of honor is the impeding of the Alliance. They are dishonorable at every turn, and their dishonor is contagious. Like a disease you can catch, spreading and malevolent.nn All too often, there are Alliance scum lying in wait to pounce when we are most vulnerable. Battling Dragonkin, Ogres, and true horrors in Azeroth means nothing to them. They lie in wait, their intention is cruelty. They would rather see the Horde defeated than the terrors of Azeroth! Their pretense makes it murder. And how does one react to murder? The temptation of the old Eye for an Eye comes to mind… n nWhen I hear Crossroads or Tarren Mill are being attacked again, my heart sinks. Many attacks come from our former allies (the humans)! They attack with forces that the towns can not hope to repel. They go on murderous rampages through them. What does this make me want to do? I will admit that I want to take revenge! Not just honorable revenge, but the temptation is strong to take revenge on everyone calling themselves part of the Alliance. Revenge in such a cruel manner as to take out my anger on those not yet even ready to face me! Fortunately, so far, I have behaved with honor and have fought my many duels with integrity. Yet more often than an honorable duel, the Alliance member choose to attack from the dark, or to attack with overwhelming force, or to face the dishonor of killing those not yet even worthy of attack. nnI don’t know if I can maintain my honor in the face of such cruelty, but I will try. It is my calling as a Paladin to know the truth of things, and not stoop to my enemies’ cowardice. Thus my honor is the greater, and I shall take solace in this. I shall take my vengeance in the Battlegrounds of Azeroth with enemies worthy of my efforts.nnSpeaking of which, the alliance really are a bunch of selfish cowards. Their lack of teamwork in the Battlegrounds demonstrates this consistently. I almost feel bad for them, but then I remember the injustice at Tarren Mill and Crossroads. Their cowardice and selfish manner lead them to defeat time and time again, and will continue to do so.n nOne hope (I would say prayer, but I do not answer to a ‘higher’ power anymore) I struggle with is hoping that the Alliance can find more true honor. Things could be different. I struggle with this hope because if they did, my hate could not be as easily justified…nnnnVoltaerennVoltaere, younger brother of Blood Knight VoltulionnVoltaere was a prized student for his skill in magic. His parents saw to it that he received the best of training to hone his natural talent. He was sent on seminary across the land to study abroad. He felt the ebb and flow of the magic tides around the world. He surrounded himself in artful magic, preferring the use of magic for aesthetic beauty that magic could provide the senses and mind. Silvermoon City was a marvel of creative mathemagics in design and form – one day he hoped to help construct marvelous architecture. Not for the purpose of being great or productive, but for the purpose of enjoying the act of creation – a purpose that only the true artist can understand.nnDuring his time away, he thought of his elder brother Voltulio, still in Silvermoon city. Voltulio was a natural born leader – athletically gifted, well spoken, and generally liked by all. Being everything Voltulio was not, Voltaere often resented his elder brother. Voltaere retreated into his magical studies and often isolated himself because he felt inadequate next to his elder brother. Voltulio wanted his brother to be with him, to enjoy and excel as he did - but Voltaere was happier alone, lost in magic. On the day Voltaere went to study abroad – Voltulio and Voltaere exchanged parting words,nnVoltulio sighed and admitted, “I would have you stay and study here in Silvermoon. I don’t understand why you want to leave. We have so much. And so many good times”nn‘I know’, Voltaere paused to reflect on the words he was about to choose, “it is hard to see the ground when you are a star. I can’t be a star like you. I will forever be on the ground. It can be lonely here on the ground, underneath the stars”nnVoltulio was saddened to hear this, but tried to make light of Voltaere’s feelings, “You can’t stop trying. Perhaps they can teach you something at seminary that will get through your thick skull, you dramatic goon”nnVoltaere smiled weakly, “Yeah…”nnVoltulio continued his rally, “A star?! A star! For goodness sake, you need to get into life! Take the bull down by the horns and never give in. I know you are good with magic, you just need to realize what you can do with it.”nnVoltaere shook his head and resolved, “I think its time for me to get going”nnVoltulio tried to keep some cheer, “Take care, come back soon. We will have some grand fun when you return”nn“Sounds great” Voltaere again weakly said, and with that was off abroad.nnOn the day the Sunwell was destroyed, Voltaere felt the tidal wave across the world. A tidal wave of emptiness that completely crashes, engulfs, and surrounds. He knew there was a problem with the Sunwell, and wanted to leave seminary to attend his family and people. His instructor at the time, a quirky gnomish mage named Faeboo warned him not to go…for only pain and darkness awaited him. Faeboo knew that Voltaere was too young and impressionable to deal with the events of the world. Faeboo knew that the talented and artful Voltaere could be destroyed by the tragedy. He urged him to stay, and to learn, so he would be ready to face the challenges and help rebuild when he was ready. Voltaere listened and considered – he knew in his heart of hearts that Faeboo was right.nnVoltaere thought that Voltulio must be suffering greatly. Voltulio never had the magical aptitude that Voltaere did, and was not sure that Voltulio would not be driven to madness at the loss of the Sunwell. This is what spurred him back to Silvermoon City, even at the warnings Faeboo gave him. Unsure that he could even help, Voltaere knew only that he must find his elder brother – to help the only ‘star’ he ever really knew – one he would not allow to be extinguished, despite any personal resentment he had.nnUpon returning home, he was waylaid by the Wretched. His own people, disfigured and corrupted, turned against him. Using a little trick call Blink he was able to escape their clutches and proceeded on to Silvermoon City.nnAs Voltaere approached the gates of Silvermoon, the extent to which the city was damaged became apparent. The Dead Scar was a symbol of the destruction wrought…mindless undead still roamed toward the city. Half the city was destroyed! Could Voltulio have survived? As he passed through the gates, he realized that his people were forever changed in mind, body and soul.nnVoltaere made inquiries about his brother, but no one knew where he was. Could he have become Wretched? Perhaps he had died after all. Days of searching graves and vanquishing wretched turned up nothing. Days turned to weeks turned to months. Often Voltaere was feeling quite depressed. He had taken up a humble residence in Silvermoon to continue his search while affording him some measure to continue his magical studies. nnTime went on…and he became aware that he was becoming less concerned with finding his brother than he was with his magic. His magic…its all he took solace in anymore. Everything else was dust. He did not see that he had become a magic addict and was headed toward becoming wretched. Each day dragged on the farce…wake up, drain some magic energy from one of the many mana worms he had cooped, walk to the town square and ask the authorities if there was news, walk home, pick up more worms, meagerly study the arcane the rest of the day – or just stare at the wall, maybe eat some bread…maybe, then drain another mana worm before bed. nnThe addiction took its toll. Voltaere lost weight and became pale and sickly. He had almost lost all sense of care he ever had. He had even stopped asking about Voltulio.nnOne day he caught his reflection in the water basin and wept. Wept at the horrible truth staring back at him - that he hated himself. ((to be continued))

[Aitana]

(( Very nice! Looking forward to the next installment. ))