Because almost every night elf focused discord I'm in suddenly has people talking about the Druid of the Flame (current, former, reformed, evil, not-really-evil) OC they're planning for 10.2...
(And maybe I shouldn't be quite so snarky since Kyuusei also has ties to the Druids of the Flame - but I've been alluding to that for four years now...)
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No Agreements With Fire
[ Photo by raquel raclette on Unsplash ]
“There, that should do it.”
Deep within Sor'theril Barrow Den, Ymalius stepped back, kicking aside discarded bandages stained with blood and ashes to examine his handiwork. In front of him, a kaldorei sat on a low stool, stripped to the waist with her back turned to the healer's work. Burns and cuts littered her shoulders, back, and arms, each wound carefully cleaned and even now fading as the green dragon’s potent magic sped the healing process.
“You ought to rest, you know.” He stepped close again to trace a burn along her left arm where the flesh had once been seared to black. It was almost recovered, well ahead of her other wounds, the swirled markings on her skin clearly visible once more. “This healing’s going to take a lot out of you.” He snorted, visage turning to a wry smile. “But you should know that by now”
“What am I supposed to do, hrm?” Kyuusei half-turned, silvered gaze looking sidelong at the dragon. “Rest in the Dream?” Her laugh was humorless. “We’re already here. They’re already here. And I told her I’d protect it. You knew what you were doing when you dragged me out of Val’sharah and asked me to come to the Isles. Don't tell me to rest now.” She leaned forward again to rest her elbows on her knees, long, unruly hair obscuring her face.
“I suppose,” Ymalius mused, “I did.” Of all the healing wounds on Kyuu’s back, one old scar had resisted all attempts at mending. Between her shoulder blades, the skin was warped in a palm-sized circle, twisted like clay beneath the hand of some cruel potter. “What about this?” he asked, lightly touching the disfigurement.
Kyuusei jerked forward as if shocked. She glared over her shoulder, lips pulled back in a fanged snarl, and Ymalius quickly stepped away to raise his hands in placation. The druid reached for her tunic with an abrupt motion and stood to pull it over her head, back still turned as she became engrossed in the act of lacing the leather garment. “There’s nothing about it,” she snapped back. “I don’t have time for this, Ymalius. I need to get back out there.”
“You forget what I am, Kyuu.” Still circumspect, he moved to the opposite side of the small barrow, leaning against the wall with affected nonchalance. “I’m a dreamwarden, and I slumbered in that meadow outside your cottage for years. Long before you arrived there. I knew your dreams while I slept.” Ymalius sighed ruefully. “And I know your nightmares as well. I know how you came by that scar. Are you going to tell anyone before it comes back to burn you?”
With a last tug at the laces of her tunic, Kyuu turned to face him. Her eyes were still set in a glare, but with a slow exhale of breath, her gaze softened and her shoulders drooped. “Tell them what? The Circle already knows about Delyra, knows she went to the Flame, knows I was the one that killed her at Hyjal. I loved her since we were children, Ymalius. What am I supposed to tell the Circle now, that I was so heartbroken when she left that I tried to follow her, and the Druids of the Flame wouldn’t even have me? That they just... marked me and cast me back out? That I slunk back to the Circle to join the assault on the Firelands instead?”
She took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders. “No. That’s the past. I’ve been lost and burned and found myself again since then. This is what matters now. “ Kyuusei gestured to the passage that led out of the barrow and back to the Emerald Dream. “Amirdrassil. That tree, that – hope.”
“You’re not afraid someone will come forward?” The dragon pushed off the wall and gathered the discarded bandages for a waste bin. “That some disciple of Flame will speak up under interrogation? Her!” Yamalius abruptly took on a self-righteous cast as he leveled a taloned finger at Kyuu in mock accusation. “She came to us in the past! You can’t trust her!” He lifted a brow in question.
Kyuusei’s response was flat and sure. “No. The ones who cast me out? They’re dead. I remember that clearly enough. And these... zealots? Cultists? They’re something different. I thought I was the only one left to remember until you opened your mouth. Besides,” a lopsided grin, the expression familiar and comforting, crept across her features, “I was recruited to defend the Dream by a member of the Green Dragonflight. You. That has to be worth something, dora dor.”
Ymalius gave a low chortle. “It might be, a little bit. I’m sorry, Kyuu. I just don’t think there’s room for doubts out there anymore.” He canted his head. “I had to be sure.”
“You say you’ve seen my dreams,” Kyuu snorted, “but you still needed to be sure. So much for the storied wisdom of Dragonkind. Come on, we need to get back out there.”
A few-score paces took them out of the barrow den, followed by the thunder of broad wings striking the air as Ymalius bore them north to the Wellspring of Life, where the fight against Primalists, Djaradin, and Druids of the Flame was fiercest.
And if the torches that lit the barrow den were dimmer, their flame guttering lower with Kyuusei’s departure, there were no eyes remaining in the barrow to notice...
References
Influences – Delyra
A Repressed Memory – The Firelands
A Dream of You
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Turning Tides
(( DWC November 2023, Day 3, Inspiration/Unresolved, CW: combat, violent death; @daily-writing-challenge ))
Lorellai rolled away from a blast of flame launched at her by a flame-scarred druid, barely avoiding the worst of the heat even as the caster began another incantation. She drew up to one knee, and put her fingers in her mouth to let out a sharp whistle.
The druid sneered at Lorellai, the cruelty on her face plain to see. "No one will stop us from recovering our perfect immortality!" the druid shouted, the flames flaring bright in her hands. Lorellai coughed.
"Yeh won't be seein' it!" the girl shouted back, as a form loomed up behind the druid. The smack of a wet sticky tongue caused her to lose concentration on her spell, and the look of fear and confusion on her face was almost comical as Stroganoff pulled her into his mouth, biting down hard. Her legs kicked twice, and then stopped while the mighty hornswog burbled, bathing his victim in his molten juices. Stroganoff was not one to play nice when his dwarf was in danger.
"Good boy, good, good boy!" Lorellai said, pulling herself to her feet and leaning on Stroganoff to steady herself. Her arms felt like jelly, and she didn't need a mirror to know she was covered in soot and minor burns. She'd had to toss her bomb pouch for fear of it cooking off, and the rest of her gear was in rough shape from the hours of fighting for the Wellspring. She pulled her goggles down, wiping the lenses clean as she scanned the battlefield for her friends. Down the way, Ghorren, Edmund, Shansii and the rest were holding back a swarm of primalists and fire elementals with everything they had, while further down the line she could see the Kaldorei and the Dragons being hard pressed. She'd been tasked with helping knock out the ritual towers the primalists had created to block arcane spells, and she had done her part of the job, but it had taken everything she had. Lorellai was exhausted. They all were.
A pained roar interrupted her reverie. She gasped as she saw Alexstrasza fall, struck from the air by Fyrakk, both taking their visage forms down below, out of her range. She zoomed in, seeing them speak, seeing Fyrakk raise his axe... and then she saw the smile on the dragonqueen's face. Zooming out, she saw the portals opening, and the smile that grew on her face threatened to split it in two. Their friends from the dragon isles, the Kirin tor, and the heroes of the Alliance and Horde emerged, and forced Fyrakk to retreat. A horn blew, and she saw the banner of the Argent Crusade flying, and knew that her uncle Dolraan was down there as well.
A burst of arcane energy flared from the other side of Stroganoff, catching her attention. She had barely moved to look and see what it was when she was grabbed and pulled into a familiar hug. "Och, lass, there yeh are! Oh I'm so proud of yeh!" Drogar yelled, holding her close enough she worried she might not be able to breathe. Well, she'd held her breath for worse reasons, and she just gripped him tight, burying her face into his beard like she had when she was little.
"Oh da," she said when he loosened his grip, "it's been real hard out here, harder than any of your stories!" Drogar beamed at her as he continued to hold her, feeling her shudder as she tried not to cry.
"I know lass. Some things the stories can never get across. But you've done so bloody well, and I'm so bloody proud of yeh. But there's more t' do, so why don't we get on down and finish up this fight so we can catch up proper, aye?" he declared, stepping back and pulling a rifle and one of his combat mecha-squirrels from their place on his back. He tossed his daughter a potion that was caught and eagerly gulped down, restoring her stamina.
"Alright dad, let's do this." Lorellai declared, hefting her spear, and shouting a warcry as she charged down the hill, Stroganoff at her side and her father at her back. They had a battle to win.
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