Return to the Citadel (open RP)

[Theotaz]

Theotaz carfully removed his armor and considered whay had happened. Azuregos had looked at the artifact and refused to even talk any further with the the lady Aitana. The shimmer of blackness where she showed it to the dragon had triggered old memories from his life before, and from his training as a Death Knight. He had felt its wrongness. He has asked the lady if he might look at it. The lady Aitana had gardedly handed the object to him. The moent he touched it he knew what it was. The dark iron just a cover for what lay within. A shard from the Demon Soul that Krasus had destoryed so many years before lay within the dark iron. All of the rumors, the quiet talk had come together
and he knew. He had felt fear for the first time in years. Lady Aitana knew what had to be done. An old wrong righted and vengence taken. Onyoxia was the scource of this evil. The party had quickly made its way to Orgrimaar while messengers were send to Under City to inform Queen Sylavannus Windrunner, and to Thunder Bluff so that Lord Cairn would know what had accoured. The Lady Aitana had consulted briefly with War Chief Thrall. Very shortly a decision was made and the group went strait off to Duskwallow March and that foul den of a mountain Grim'Bator. The Guild had gathered and in company with some of the finest warriors, priests, mages, hunters, death knights, warlocks, and a lone palidan we stormed the gates of Grim'Bator and had teken Onyoxia in her den. Such was the power of the party that none fell to Onyoxia or her brood. Onyoxia is dead, her head taken, her eggs shattered. Onyoxia had bathed the artifact in flame and its remains washed in her blood and cast in to the fiery depths of the volcano called Grim'Bator. Afterwards the Lady Aitana had taken me aside and told me what I had not known. I am troubled. Deeply troubled. How this will effect the Lady Nyx I do not know. I think none of us do. I will repair the damage to my armor and weapons and stand ready for what may come next. I fear our troubles are not over and can only hope the the fragment of the demon soul has been utterly destroyed or at least lost for all time as we know it. The next chapter of this sage may not be so easily solved.

[Eyesore]

The image of the dragon was complete. Eyesore knew it was some of his finest work, yet it was a struggle, an agonizing struggle, even to look at it. Onyxia was portrayed in all her radient beauty...Onyxia! The pain was intense, his eyes seared by the awesome image. He fell hard to his knees, but still clutched the doublet, still strained to focus on the beast. He. Must. Focus. The dragon, Onyxia, it was O-nyx-ia...he screamed as his mind burned, engulfed in dragon flame. And still, and still...

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[Aitana]

Aitana reflected on the recent events. It had happened so fast. The original plan was simple enough; talk to Azuregos to find out more about the trinket. In the event that he became hostile, she came prepared with an escort that would hopefully be able to prevent a painful death. She was not prepared at all for his glare and stony silence at the sight of the trinket.

“Watch where you’re going, you big cow!”

That brought Aitana out of her reverie, and she mumbled an apology to the Forsaken that she had almost run over in the busy road in Ogrimmar. The comment irritated her; she was no cow. But it brought her back attention to looking for Eyesore’s shop. She knew it was around here somewhere.

Eyesore. He had not been himself lately. He was elderly and prone to being forgetful, but he had been even more forgetful than usual lately. She had heard from Barefoot that he didn’t remember much of anything about his archeological findings. Still, she felt the need to talk to him. Something about his presence was calming to her and she wanted to talk. The new information about the trinket disturbed her. Theotaz had recognized it as being a shard of the Demon Soul encased in dark iron. They were very fortunate that in his previous life he had learned of this matter. They destroyed it by throwing it into the cracks of the volcano in Onyxia’s lair, after they killed Onyxia. There was something from a letter Eyesore had found that disturbed her even more than the discovery about the nature of the trinket.

Abruptly Aitana stopped and rummaged through her bags and the orc that had been behind her let out a few imprecations as he swerved to narrowly miss trampling her. Yes, the letter was still there safe and sound. She let out a sigh of relief. The librarian had been very reluctant to let her take it with her because it was irreplaceable. She glanced over it.

“My Lord, per your esteemed instruction, I did manage to observe young Lady Nyx following her apparent retirement to her bedchambers last eve. The candles she lit gave sufficient light to resolve much of her activity, but even so, the viewing through the hidden eye was, by its very nature, somewhat obscuring. Fortunately, the panel does not inhibit sound, and it was without any difficulty that I can confirm our charge communes through the stone she possesses. As we feared, in spite of the cautions we have drilled into her, she spoke her birth naming, Onyxia, in her chanting. Even worse, and potentially more dire, I believe her magics were an attempt to communicate with her namesake, Onxyia herself.

Although you have trained me well to appreciate the forms of magic, I have to believe a mage, or even a mage scholar, would be a better choice for clarification as to the actual ceremony she employed. Her chant called to the laws of similarity, as she repeatedly evoked, ‘Like to like, dragon heart to dragon heart, Onxyia to Onxyia.’ Her hands moved in a steady, and repetitive, twisting motion, and there was an enveloping crimson haze about her arms and the stone. At one point, the light pulsed and flowed, as if her blood itself fed cords of crimson light. Then her hands ceased moving and the light stilled, but remained. Lady Nyx was as if in trance for the passage of two turnings of the glass, then the light faded. She sat back as if weary, then stood and put out the candles. I could hear her retreat to her bed, and can attest that no sound or indication existed as to her disposition of the stone.

Unless ordered otherwise, I will continue to monitor her arcane activities, as well as seek the hiding place of the calling stone. As to the risks she appears to court, that is above my station.

~Shade”

The words of the letter sent a chill down her spine. Carefully she stowed it back in her bags. Yes, the stone was destroyed, but what were the implications? If it had been the same stone that had brought the wrath of Onyxia down on the Twilight Umbrage, what affect would it have had on Lady Nyx? Could she have been influenced by Onyxia? Had Lady Nyx been intentionally delaying their investigations into the stone by keeping them busy as Gorehorn had suggested while they were looking for Azuregos? Maybe she could coax some information out of Eyesore.

Aitana quickened her pace until she arrived at the Eyesore’s shop. She froze for a moment the sight that met her eyes. The old orc was writhing in pain on the floor holding his head. In a flash there was a tree in the room and a green glow surrounded the elderly orc. She cast a few more spells and took a moment to assess the results …

[Eyesore]

Eyesore strained to take a breath, then another, but the pain was too overwhelming. Still, he resisted a return to the fog, and a new wave of pain took him...and somewhat eased. A warmth had begun coarsing through his body. He forced his gaze back to the image on the doublet, now on the floor beside him. She, she had done this to him, a white hot flame in his mind...and an answering wave of relief. He was dazzled as white and green clashed in his mind, agony and solice...dragon and druid? In ragged breath he fought to voice her name, to break her hold. "Onyxia" he barely voiced. Then, verdent warmth lending him strength, he struggled back up to his knees and yelled, "Onyxia!" And again, more quietly, "Onyxia." Tears were flowing along the deep wrinkles in the old orc's face as he whispered, "Onyxia." Exhausted, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree, then thought, tree?

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[Aitana]

The orc was breathing much easier now. The name of Onyxia coming from him brought still more questions to her mind, but there was no time for them. The first order of business was still not finished. She shut the questions out of her mind to focus on the the orc leaning against her trunk. Aitana could feel his breathing slow and become stronger as his body relaxed. She returned to her Tauren form.

"Eyesore?"

Aitana knelt carefully to keep him from toppling over in his weakened state.

"This is Aitana. What happened?"

On closer inspection, his body seemed well enough given his age. He was still conscious and that was a good sign. He seemed to smile weakly. Perhaps her spells had been sufficient to heal him.

[Eyesore]

"Aitana, merciful gods, thank you."

Looking up at the tauren, the orc felt the same awe he had experienced when first they met, and that had been for Mythrael's healing. If anything, he thought, she was even more impressive now. She had clearly grown in power, as befitted one holding significant office in the guild. He owed her so much, mayhap even his sanity. His gaze dropped to the dragon's image, so meticulously worked into the doublet he held. Onyxia.

"Aitana, I have been...confused. I am not sure just what happened." He rubbed a rough thumb gently over part of the wyrm's image. "It has been as if my mind were in a fog. And Warburn, something about Warburn, I don't know. It has been some time, I think. Then, a while back, the cloud lifted." He paused as his thumb passed over the dragon's finely etched talons.

Looking up at the druid, he saw she had arched an eyebrow.

"Aitana, I found there was a hold on my mind, like a claw, ready to grasp if my thoughts strayed toward, toward dragonkin, or their treasure." He shook his head, relieved it caused no pain. "I fought it, carving this image, using this image, trying to break free, but it was clutching my mind. It was so cold. A fiery, bitter cold." He looked back down. "Had you not been here, I fear I would have been destroyed."

With Aitana's hand to steady him, Eyesore stood. He looked up into her eyes, so full of compassion, and placed his hand on her forearm, gently squeezing. "I owe you my life," he said. Then smiling, "I will not forget."
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[Aitana]

Aitana reached to steady Eyesore. She was relieved to see that his mind seemed clear, but still alarmed at the danger that had just passed. What if she had arrived just a few moments later? She shuddered at the thought. Warburn would surely want to know about this. He had been worried about Eyesore. She reached out with her thoughts to him.

"Warburn, please come to Eyesore's shop quickly."

[Warburn]

The smell of pine, the cold air, and the sounds of jinglebells were senses Warburn relished every winter. Seeing everyone go out of their way to spread merriness was heartwarming to the old troll shaman. Even though war was waged every day on every continent of two worlds, he felt there was still hope for life and things will be getting better.

He was back in Orgrimmar to check in with Thrall, and see if any more help was needed following Varimathras failed coup. Fortunately all the Forsaken refugees were more then eager to return to putrid Undercity after it was re-taken, and no work Org peons couldn't do was left.

As Warburn was leaving Thrall's stronghold, Aitana's call sounded in his mind. He put away the pipe he was holding, and ran the 4 chain distance to Eyesore's shop. Inside he found his two dear friends sitting on Eyesore's work bench, talking.

Eyesore seemed glad yet drained, as if he didn't get enough rest in the past week. Aitana looked as she often does - proud, healthy and in thought. Warburn noticed concern in her eyes.

"Taz 'dingo mah dear friends, waz goin' on? Everyting okyday?"

Warburn walked up to the pair. Standing between the two sitting, he put one arm around Aitana's massive shoulder and one on Eyesore's shoulder and gave them both a squeeze.

Then he noticed the mithril work of art on the table.

"Woah mon, what be dis ting?"

[Eyesore]

Eyesore had a slight smile for his old friend, but it faded from his face as he looked at the image engraved into the leather. "A young hunter, name of Sunrise, commissioned me to make her a doublet. She wanted a dragonkin image worked into the leather." The old orc picked up the piece and handed it Warburn, who held it to catch the light. As the supple leather shifted in his hands, the dragon almost seemed alive, the light reflecting from the many tiny scales etched into the leather. The shaman looked thoughtful as he handed it to Aitana, who returned it to its artisan.

The troll pulled a longish pipe from a pouch, went through his familiar ritual preparing the herbs, then drew a flame to the bowl of the pipe from a candle on the workbench. Several puffs later he lowered the pipe and looked intently at Eyesore, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

The leatherwork still in his hands, the orc looked at his friends and said, "You could say that she got more than she bargained for, and you would be right. As you both probably know, that's Onyxia, in all her glory. Working her image into the leather, scale by scale, talon by talon, I could focus on the parts, and not the whole. I let my art guide my hands, not my thoughts, because for some time now, any thought of dragonkin brought a haze to my mind, and if I fought it, pain. I needed something to hold my focus, and the commission served that purpose. In essence, I let my hands do what my thoughts could not. Even so, many times I would find myself setting the work aside, forgetting it. For reasons beyond me, something changed recently and I could finish the dragon's image. But her name? Saying her name brought more pain than I could imagine."

Looking at his friends, he shrugged, "I don't recall the meal, but I dare say I must have bit off more than I could chew."

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[Warburn]

Warburn listened to the white haired orc's tale. His eyes kept being drawn to the leather doublet and the embossed Onyxia image the hunter had so skillfully created. The in-ability to talk about all things relating to the Black Drogonflight resonated in the Shaman's mind.

"Ey' mon, jah know... I tink I heard of somting like dis, once. It's from a very ancient legend. One from before orcs even came to dis world, before the Dark Portal ever opened. And it relates to de Dragon Soul, and it's maker - Darkwing, Onyxia's fathah. Mon.

"As de legend goes, when Malfurion discovered de powah of dis Dragon Soul artifact Neltharion made - he was discovered by Neltharion himself, and had a curse put on his mind. For whenever he even thought of saying anyting about Black Dragons, Neltharion's coming betrayal or the Dragon Soul itself the curse would activate- preventing him from speaking, thinking and even cause him pain in de brain.

"Dis curse sounds just like what yah's been describing. And since we just discovered dat de ting we'z destroyed was a shard of the Dragon Soul, perhaps de two are related. But why hasn't anyone else who examined de artifact we had get yo's curse?

"Has yah's curse been lifted since we destroyed dat ting?