[Writing] King of Ashes

[Mithaniel 66]

"Of the tales spun by the kings and queens,
And the tales treasured by those memories and dreams.
You must forever not succumb to the darkness of the void,
For the most darkest of all creatures fathomable and cruel,
Of all things despisable and distastablely true,
He is the king of the void and the god of death.
And he most certainly is coming for you."

 

Far away from Azeroth lied a sundered world that had long been at the mercy of the Burning Legion. All that remained was ashen plains and twisted mountains. It was a planet now abandoned, or so that the denizens of the dark thought. Among these ruined plains walked a man clad in silver robes that cascaded down a broken body. A staff of oak, enhanced by mithril coverings, was used as a walking stick rather than its full purpose. Moonlight white hair was tied back into a singular ponytail to keep hair from the face of a man who almost looked as if he should not be alive. Fel green eyes blazed while pale flesh twisted with brows furrowing and scars scrunching by facial gesture. Feet stopped pressing forward and the lone figure looked around.

"...I wonder if any wept for this world. Perhaps the draenei." mused the man as he coughed soon after. He made a gesture with his left hand and a dim violet light formed through an orb-like shape. It floated near him as he continued his path. Above him, the Great Dark Beyond twisted and churned with stars and fallen planets alike. The Burning Legion had been relentless, and the lone sorcerer could see it still held true this far from Azeroth. Corrupted eyes darted around, studying the distant ruins and countless scorched elements of the planet. The dead world reeked of death that had long settled, and it reminded him of what he had seen in his time since his journey began.

Sadness settled in his visage and eyes often passive filled with sorrow that came with empathy. Unlike most of the warlock kind, he felt for those who had been lost in this crusade of monsters. He came to another stop as the source of light showed him what he needed to see. A scorched rock with hints of blood spatter long dried out. He reached with his left hand to touch the rock, and ran his thumb over a particular spot. There had been a slaughter here, and he looked around. The area he stood had been where defenders had tried to hold back infernals and fel guards both. He then let out a sigh and continued on his way, his staff touching to ashen soil barely as if his foot steps were now light. It was almost as if he was gliding along the ruined land now.

He eventually came to what was likely where any survivors had lasted for mere minutes. Towering like the broken mountains was a strange temple of architecture unknown to the galaxy. It was ancient, alien, and most of all it was forgotten. Steps were broken and carved down by erosion. As he ascended these stairs and towards the temple's shattered doorway, he could see the hints of remains on his path. He wondered how quickly the demons cut through them when they reached the temple, and he wondered what this dead race was like.

He came to a stop as he entered the temple and looked up at the shattered statue that stood in the main area of the religious building. It had likely been of some great figure in their history. The design was too worn down for him to find out, but he didn't seem to make a fuss over it. He walked around, eyes darting around, until he found himself back at the door of the temple. Looking one last time, he sighed and shook his head with sadness in his mannerisms. As he stepped outside of the temple, he looked at the ashen fields that surrounded it. Something about the sight reminded him that this could be Azeroth, and that tightened his grip upon his oaken staff.

Perhaps my exile is over.