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I've Got a Beautiful Feeling
Jan. 15th, 2019 07:11 pmSure there's havoc in the Nexus, sure there's chaos, but even in the worst of times can't a good soul find a bit of joy? Can't a wonderful feeling persist despite the darkness? Oh, what a charming notion! A little spark of Light. Of justice, righteousness, things going rightly. All is as it should be, every piece in its pla–
Where's he at?
Zandros stands in the quiet street with his hands on his hips and looks left, then right, then left again. There are people out tonight, but no sign of the glowing eyes of the man he's looking for. Down the way the orange cherry of a cigarette catches his eye, but the silhouette of the man smoking it bears only a passing resemblance to Harrowheart.
But he should be here! His family is here! He said he'd be there to protect them! Zandros had been told that not once but twice, by Harrowheart and by his brother. Matthew? A rather plain name, wasn't it? He began to wonder what Harrowheart's real name might be when a flare of lichfire startled the Light into his hand.
The runeblade.
There it was, propped up against that brick wall, alone and unguarded. The eyesockets dimmed when he looked its way and he couldn't deny his curiosity. When might he next get the chance to see a thing like this so vulnerable, so far from its master? He'd never seen Harrowheart leave it before. For the span of a single thought he wondered – with an embarrassing little twist of worry – if something unfortunate might have befallen the knight.
I could dispose of it myself, right now, he thought with confidence. He would only have to drown it in holy water. Just take it by the hilt and...
He found his hands suddenly, distractingly itchy. By the time he'd removed his gloves and scratched away he'd lost his train of thought. Where was he?
Ah, yes! Harrowheart.
"I'd ask you where he is, but I suspect you aren't one for conversation," he says with a laugh that in an instant falls to silence when he sees the blade's runes lighting to the tempo of his laughter.
Sober as he's ever been he steps closer to the sword and asks, "Do you know what I'm thinking?" But the blade does not respond. Zandros tilts his head as if to look at it in a new light, but it remains unchanged.
"Do you know what I'm here for?"
No response from that cursed thing, but stronger than it had ever been he heard in his heart the voice of the Light. It spoke to him and he knew: My path is right. My plan is just. Walk with confidence and do not stray, and all will be exactly as I want it.
Zandros stands a little taller and smiles a little broader with those words in his head. "And indeed I shall. Now abide your master's rule and remain at your vigil. I have the Light's work to do."
As he knocks on the nearest boarded window of the rundown storefront Zandros calls to the people inside. "You need not grab your weapons. Your guest is Zandros Alter. I am a friend of Harrowheart and a son of Stormwind. In days past I met Matthew and made a promise to him before departing. Is he here?"
Only seconds pass before the door is unbolted and a familiar face reveals itself from the darkness within. It was Matthew, the young man whose chest is now scarred despite the aid of the Light that Zandros himself wielded. Matthew's eyes brighten at the sight of Zandros, who can't respond to a smile but with one of his own. Beckoned inside, Zandros follows into the dimness.
It seems the family has taken up residence in an uncomfortably tiny liquor store. Most of the inventory is gone, and what was not already taken has been stacked neatly on the only shelf that wasn't shunted outside. The area hardly has room enough for the dozen or so adults to lie, and it seems the children are sleeping on the lowest levels of that last remaining shelf. Packs of supplies are stacked as pillows, clothes are strewn across the floor as beds, and all people in the room have wrapped themselves in thin blankets. The clutter of their food leaves hardly an inch to walk. All eyes are on him and his flowing, fur-lined cape. Twelve faces of plain country folk, weary and suspicious, watch with him exhaustion and doubt.
"Light," Zandros exclaims in a whispered sigh. "Desperate times."
Matthew wilts with embarrassment, and Zandros scrambles to reply.
"I mean no offense. It is not judgement in my words, but sympathy. Despite it all you all are lucky to have made it here with your lives. You especially, Matthew. In these trying times we need, more than anything, camaraderie and the trust of our fellows. Truly you are blessed to have one another's presence, regardless the circumstances."
The words warm Matthew and bring a smile to his mother's face as well. Zandros claps a hand to Matthew's shoulder and turns to the family.
"I made a promise to your son and brother, from one Light-worshipping man to another. If none of you mind his absence, I should like to make good on it."
Matthew stands with a touch more confidence. "He's the man that healed my wounds," he tells the ones who didn't know. "With the Light. And he's going to teach me to use it, too. The next time we need it, it'll be there for us."
Zandros strains a humble laugh and, smiling, shakes his head. "Give your connection time to grow, but do not doubt that it is always with you. Even when you could not wield it, it guided you to safety. Now, Matthew. Shall we start our lessons?"
The touch of the Light was beyond compare, but the eagerness in his new pupil's eyes was nearly as warm. Truly it was as the Light had told him: He walks the virtuous path.
~ ~ ~
(( Harrow's Companion Piece ))
Where's he at?
Zandros stands in the quiet street with his hands on his hips and looks left, then right, then left again. There are people out tonight, but no sign of the glowing eyes of the man he's looking for. Down the way the orange cherry of a cigarette catches his eye, but the silhouette of the man smoking it bears only a passing resemblance to Harrowheart.
But he should be here! His family is here! He said he'd be there to protect them! Zandros had been told that not once but twice, by Harrowheart and by his brother. Matthew? A rather plain name, wasn't it? He began to wonder what Harrowheart's real name might be when a flare of lichfire startled the Light into his hand.
The runeblade.
There it was, propped up against that brick wall, alone and unguarded. The eyesockets dimmed when he looked its way and he couldn't deny his curiosity. When might he next get the chance to see a thing like this so vulnerable, so far from its master? He'd never seen Harrowheart leave it before. For the span of a single thought he wondered – with an embarrassing little twist of worry – if something unfortunate might have befallen the knight.
I could dispose of it myself, right now, he thought with confidence. He would only have to drown it in holy water. Just take it by the hilt and...
He found his hands suddenly, distractingly itchy. By the time he'd removed his gloves and scratched away he'd lost his train of thought. Where was he?
Ah, yes! Harrowheart.
"I'd ask you where he is, but I suspect you aren't one for conversation," he says with a laugh that in an instant falls to silence when he sees the blade's runes lighting to the tempo of his laughter.
Sober as he's ever been he steps closer to the sword and asks, "Do you know what I'm thinking?" But the blade does not respond. Zandros tilts his head as if to look at it in a new light, but it remains unchanged.
"Do you know what I'm here for?"
No response from that cursed thing, but stronger than it had ever been he heard in his heart the voice of the Light. It spoke to him and he knew: My path is right. My plan is just. Walk with confidence and do not stray, and all will be exactly as I want it.
Zandros stands a little taller and smiles a little broader with those words in his head. "And indeed I shall. Now abide your master's rule and remain at your vigil. I have the Light's work to do."
As he knocks on the nearest boarded window of the rundown storefront Zandros calls to the people inside. "You need not grab your weapons. Your guest is Zandros Alter. I am a friend of Harrowheart and a son of Stormwind. In days past I met Matthew and made a promise to him before departing. Is he here?"
Only seconds pass before the door is unbolted and a familiar face reveals itself from the darkness within. It was Matthew, the young man whose chest is now scarred despite the aid of the Light that Zandros himself wielded. Matthew's eyes brighten at the sight of Zandros, who can't respond to a smile but with one of his own. Beckoned inside, Zandros follows into the dimness.
It seems the family has taken up residence in an uncomfortably tiny liquor store. Most of the inventory is gone, and what was not already taken has been stacked neatly on the only shelf that wasn't shunted outside. The area hardly has room enough for the dozen or so adults to lie, and it seems the children are sleeping on the lowest levels of that last remaining shelf. Packs of supplies are stacked as pillows, clothes are strewn across the floor as beds, and all people in the room have wrapped themselves in thin blankets. The clutter of their food leaves hardly an inch to walk. All eyes are on him and his flowing, fur-lined cape. Twelve faces of plain country folk, weary and suspicious, watch with him exhaustion and doubt.
"Light," Zandros exclaims in a whispered sigh. "Desperate times."
Matthew wilts with embarrassment, and Zandros scrambles to reply.
"I mean no offense. It is not judgement in my words, but sympathy. Despite it all you all are lucky to have made it here with your lives. You especially, Matthew. In these trying times we need, more than anything, camaraderie and the trust of our fellows. Truly you are blessed to have one another's presence, regardless the circumstances."
The words warm Matthew and bring a smile to his mother's face as well. Zandros claps a hand to Matthew's shoulder and turns to the family.
"I made a promise to your son and brother, from one Light-worshipping man to another. If none of you mind his absence, I should like to make good on it."
Matthew stands with a touch more confidence. "He's the man that healed my wounds," he tells the ones who didn't know. "With the Light. And he's going to teach me to use it, too. The next time we need it, it'll be there for us."
Zandros strains a humble laugh and, smiling, shakes his head. "Give your connection time to grow, but do not doubt that it is always with you. Even when you could not wield it, it guided you to safety. Now, Matthew. Shall we start our lessons?"
The touch of the Light was beyond compare, but the eagerness in his new pupil's eyes was nearly as warm. Truly it was as the Light had told him: He walks the virtuous path.
~ ~ ~
(( Harrow's Companion Piece ))
