I do not appreciate being surrounded on all sides by possibly hostile citizens.
Bloody fel, there are times I wish I didn’t travel about on my own. I wish I wasn’t alone, now. But this seems to be the course of my life, at the moment.
Surrounded by rogues, by a paladin and…
I have a feeling… I will be stalked in due time.
It’s on days like this, when the sun is warm and the world is quiet, that I truly do miss my father. He was a good man who’s time was cut so drastically short.
Sure, he was old. He lived his life, and lived it well. Raised me when my mother all but abandoned me, thrust me in my father’s arms and left for parts unknown. He took care of me, clothed me, loved me. Taught me that the world is a glorious place, and that people— no matter the race, nor their upbringing or wealth— should all be treated as equals. Beloved, cherished, and given at least one chance.
He was a… Cleric of the Sunwell when he met his demise. I daresay, that memory has been burned into my memory forever, scalding my soul to this very day.
They rush towards us. The scourge barreled through the streets, crushing our defenses. The shouts of the rangers as Arthas’ army pounced upon every living soul within their short distanced radius…
My father, he was a pious man. Caring, tenderhearted, but to a fault. It was the reason he was felled. He was stubborn, deciding it was best to be on the front lines. To aid and tend to the wounded, to be a figurehead of renewed morale.
Those beasts. Those feldamned beasts! He couldn’t get away. He was dragging a dying ranger to safety when they pounced upon him.
"Ann’da," I screamed, my vocal chords threatening to give out on me. "Ann’da, father! Anar’alah, get away!"
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The ghouls, they grabbed at him, pulled him away into their disgusting throng.
By then we were forced to retreat. I was merely a citizen, a fledgling magi, I had no right nor reason to properly fight amongst the brigade of battle magi. I could only watch on, in horror, as I was dragged away by commanding officers.
"Shindu fallah na! Shindu fallah na! Fall back!"
Those words rang in my ears, the shouts all around me. The words were crisp, but the calls were tinny, and faraway. Distanced, as if listening to them throw a can of some sort, or a tube.
My father. I could see his pained expression as the ghouls tore into his stomach, his chest! I could hear his cries of agony as the ghouls took fistfuls of his skin, his intestines, and…
No. The memory. I see it in my nightmares at night, sometimes, when the world is cold, and dark and as unforgiving as the blasted void.
Those ghouls were devouring him. His inner organs! Their filthy heads buried in the cavernous, gaping hole in his body. Mouths sullied with his gore, his life’s essence!
I was pushed back. I couldn’t see him any longer. The scourge were encroaching. Our men were falling back.
Despite it all, despite the chaos and unfathomable turmoil; despite the screaming, the shrieking, the wails of agony and the death rattles of those tortured beyond rationality, I heard one thing.
One yell as the voice faded out.
Be strong, my son. Light bless you. I love you.
I GOT IT! FINALLY! After a year, the shoulders dropped. Taviast can now wear his properly put together Timelord’s Regalia!
Thanks, Walnut! Thanks to everyone who helped!
Lineart for a thing
oh look more male belves