Acherus: The Ebon Hold
May. 15th, 2020 09:47 pmAs the sun sets on Azeroth, the valley town of Lakeshire is touched by the shadows that stretch out of the Redridge mountains. High on the cliffside, Ademar's manor has long since chilled in the absence of the sun.
Zandros and Isidor arrive in the gazebo at the heart of the darkened garden. He steps ahead and calls to the Light, and with its guidance they navigate the winding garden maze. The home ahead of them is dark already, apart from the faintest candle glow from the upstairs windows and a pair of cyan lights at the manor doors. When Zandros notices the dead man's eyes, another set of blue lights flash in a vertical line.
As they approach the entryway Zandros snuffs the Light with a shake of his palm. The gesture calms the blade, which goes dark, but Ademar, standing stiffly at the door with his hands behind his back, remains unmoved -- figuratively and literally. He may as well be a piece of scenery for how little he reacts to the presence of his guests. It isn't until Zandros speaks that he moves at all.
"I hope we didn't keep you waiting long," Zandros says quietly, punctuated by a small, polite laugh.
Ademar remains silent.
Quietly, Zandros presses on. "Only, I didn't see you step out, so I thought you might have been waiting for some time, and--"
"I have," the death knight interrupts.
Zandros pulls a face. Ademar's eyes fall on him, then drift to Isidor.
"Let us enter, so that I might critique your guises before preparing the way. Lord Alter... I should hope you do not intend to arrive as you are."
Zandros feigns some confidence and raises his voice. "Isidor has a plan for me, I'm told."
Sufficiently assuaged, Ademar leads them into the foyer of his home, and with a businesslike quickness that his conversational manners belie he sets about lighting candles on the walls. Just inside the doorway an ornately-framed, full-length mirror has been propped against a wall. Zandros catches a glance of himself in it, but he's swift to look away. Narcissism just doesn't hold the same joy it once did... And besides, he can see Isidor in it.
Zandros and Isidor arrive in the gazebo at the heart of the darkened garden. He steps ahead and calls to the Light, and with its guidance they navigate the winding garden maze. The home ahead of them is dark already, apart from the faintest candle glow from the upstairs windows and a pair of cyan lights at the manor doors. When Zandros notices the dead man's eyes, another set of blue lights flash in a vertical line.
As they approach the entryway Zandros snuffs the Light with a shake of his palm. The gesture calms the blade, which goes dark, but Ademar, standing stiffly at the door with his hands behind his back, remains unmoved -- figuratively and literally. He may as well be a piece of scenery for how little he reacts to the presence of his guests. It isn't until Zandros speaks that he moves at all.
"I hope we didn't keep you waiting long," Zandros says quietly, punctuated by a small, polite laugh.
Ademar remains silent.
Quietly, Zandros presses on. "Only, I didn't see you step out, so I thought you might have been waiting for some time, and--"
"I have," the death knight interrupts.
Zandros pulls a face. Ademar's eyes fall on him, then drift to Isidor.
"Let us enter, so that I might critique your guises before preparing the way. Lord Alter... I should hope you do not intend to arrive as you are."
Zandros feigns some confidence and raises his voice. "Isidor has a plan for me, I'm told."
Sufficiently assuaged, Ademar leads them into the foyer of his home, and with a businesslike quickness that his conversational manners belie he sets about lighting candles on the walls. Just inside the doorway an ornately-framed, full-length mirror has been propped against a wall. Zandros catches a glance of himself in it, but he's swift to look away. Narcissism just doesn't hold the same joy it once did... And besides, he can see Isidor in it.
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Date: 2020-09-07 05:32 pm (UTC)"Come on," she mutters, keeping her eyes fixed on Ademar. Tugging at the paladin until she can hook her arm through his. Fumbling around she finally gets to her PINpoint and hits the button to send them back to her apartment.
In the familiar surroundings of her home, she allows herself to take Zandros' lead, finding a wall to lean against as she lowers herself to the ground. Everything aches. Her mind feels fractured, her veins burn with magic, and now that she's safe her body lets her know just how many knocks she took.
Only after a minute or two has passed does she look to Zandros. "Are you ok?"
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Date: 2020-09-07 06:49 pm (UTC)"I -- I do not know," he admits, his voice cracking under the weight of everything they've seen and experienced that night.
He looks down at his right arm to see that when the illusion was dispelled, it too disappeared. Overwhelmed, he collapsed onto her sofa. He sat up, hand on his knee, and stared at the floor.
"Horrid place," he muttered. "I never would have -- Light, I'm so sorry for what I did in the forge room. We ought to have escaped unnoticed. But I took the blade in my hand and I--"
He considers his quaking palm. With great difficulty he drags his attention away from it and up to Isidor.
"Do you not feel it? When you hold it? When you held the other?"
no subject
Date: 2020-09-08 07:06 pm (UTC)Only at his question does she realise she still has Harrowheart's runeblade, some part of her insisting that it and the blade are the same, insisting she mustn't let go of him again. But reason kicks in and she drops the handle where it rests on the floor. Is that why her arm feels like it's throbbing? Was that why she chose to fight instead of try diplomacy? Or instead of knocking Zandros out and dragging them both to freedom? It wasn't like she raised the dead. It wasn't like she made wretched abominations and puppeted them around. It wasn't like she was the same as Felix.
When she looks up at Zandros again, she shakes her head and then shrugs to offer some weak consolation. "Maybe it doesn't affect people who aren't from Azeroth."