(RP) the Scent of Lavender and Madness

Emerald Dream
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

Xetvenen leaned on the railing that ran along the ship's deck, staring at the faded peach color of his skin. He flexed his four fingers and thumb, lightly tapping their tips on the salt-water damaged wood with some difficulty. He was still trying to adjust to his Human form, which he thought of as physically inferior to his preferred shape.
The wind shifted, blowing his smell back into his face, causing him to wince with a mix of shock and disgust. With a sigh, he resisted the urge to reach for the small vial of Lavender Oils in the sack at his shoe-confined feet (another thing he was getting used to, but still held contempt for), lest he risk being found out. Perhaps he was being a tad paranoid, but why risk being exposed over something as trivial as a pleasant scent?

With a huff, he looked towards the western horizon, planning his actions for the next few days...

The bright sun was Extinguish'd, and the stars did wander darkling in the eternal space, rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; morn came, and went - and came, and brought no day, and men forgot their passions in the dread of this their desolation; and all hearts were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light...

Two days now, since his own reek offended the weaker sense of smell this tiny man-form granted him. Two days now he had spent standing at the same spot, with time away for rest and scant food. He began to wonder, was the smell of the great tree of the Elves dancing lightly on the marine air? Oh, how he wanted to change his shape and find out. This pitiful form still gave him an itch.
He counted in his head the months which he had been away. Three, give or take a week or so. This was the second time he had done something like this. This time, however, it was deliberate, and he still had the same mind. Yes, the same manipulative, yet honest, mind. He chuckled wearily as he thought of what he had abandoned: the Holdings, the carefully crafted alliances, the spies that gave him a claw in every notable organization on Azeroth, Alliance and Horde alike. He grinned wolfishly as he thought of the dependent girl he had planted as a spy in the pack he was to originally co-manage. He gave fanciful thought as to what may have happened to her, though it no longer mattered...

Lastly, he sighed with sadness at what he had not wanted to sacrifice...

And they did live by watchfires - and the thrones, the palaces of crowned kings - the huts, the habitations of all things which dwell, were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, and men were gathered round their blazing homes to look once more into each other's face; happy were those who dwelt within the eye of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch: a fearful hope was all the world contain'd.

though she and he had not traded many words, they had an understanding between them. They had both been subject to cliché let down and heartbreak and manipulation by the other sex. He had fallen for her, but he was unsure if it had been mutual. With how little they spoke, did she even realize he had been missing? He remembered the blue-black of her tangled-but-neat hair and the glowing silver of her Elven eyes. To her, was he dead or alive? Did it still matter? Would his secretive return make a difference in the limitless anthology of her conscious?
No, it did not matter. Despite what she thought behind those glowing eyes, her knowledge of his return was purely business. She would be the only one who would know for certain if he was alive or dead. She was necessity, not desire...at least not outwardly.
Once again, his thoughts coalesced into a different shape...

Forests were set on fire-but hour by hour they fell and faded-and the crackling trunks extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits the flashes fell upon them; some lay down and hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled; and others hurried to and fro, and fed their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up with mad disquietude on the dull sky, the pall of a past world.
In the crowded streets of Stormwind he had heard the fallen priest slip. He stumbled into the alley which the destitute man had met this small misfortune, as Xetvenen was still adjusting to the small-shape at this time. The man had been high on some substance, and had seemingly seen the curious, hidden-Worgen as some kind of spiritual omen, and began to chant.
Xetvenen made a detour to one of his old safe-houses to stow the fanatical wretch. As he did this, he listened to the addicts mad chanting, and grinned as a new contrived plot formed in his warped mind. For six days Xetvenen molded the vulnerable, delusional mind of this shamed priest. One week from discovering the pathetic creature, he had released the man back into the streets to gather a flock, a new set of canaries and speakers and ignorant souls. Bravely, the puppet stepped back into the world, under the Alias "Envoy".
The new web was being spun as the Worgen made pilgrimage to Teldrassil...
And then again with curses cast them down upon the dust, and gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd, and, terrified, did flutter on the ground, and flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd and twined themselves among the multitude, hissing, but stingless- they were slain for food: and war, which for a moment was no more, did glut himself again; -a meal was brought with blood, and each sate sullenly apart gorging himself in gloom: no love was left...

A few more days on the boat now, and the branches could now be seen, the arms of Teldrassil, in the distance. He was glad, as he was weary of the flat horizons that stretched infinitely around the compass points. He was anxious to finally be rid of this Human shape to which he had imprisoned himself. Only a few more hours would he have to tolerate it. With a white grin, he readied his belongings.

All earth was but one thought-and that was death, immediate and inglorious; and the pang of famine fed upon entrails-men died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; the meagre by the meagre were devoured, even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, and he was faithful to a corse, and kept the birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead lured their lank jaws; himself sought no food, but with a piteous and perpetual moan, and a quick desolate cry, lickign the hand which answered not with a caress-he died.

He had contemplated using his skills of obfuscation to hide from the eyes of others, but where was the fun un that? No, he would stay visibly hidden in the same way a Zhevra would hide from one of the Barrens many predators. With a mask of carelessness, boredom and dull-wittedness, he walked the streets of Darnassus, careful to stay at distance from those who might somehow know his human form. With a smirk, he walked under the arch of what had once been the base of operations for the Ravenguard, an organization which had been lead by the would-be-Lord, Razshiru Ironwing. He dwelt on this nostalgia of past manipulations and exploits as he left the prying eyes of Darnassus proper, and set foot into the wild tangle of foliage that was the crown of Teldrassil, his eyes changing to a vicious purple color as he once again became recognizable as Xetvenen ashenwolf.
It was not much longer until he would be stalking Azeroth once again, leaving nothing but paranoia and the smell of Lavender in his wake

((the quoted text is a series of excerpts from "Darkness" by Lord Byron. I do not own a single bit of those fore-mentioned words (though I wish I could legitimately claim as such). ))
((Mwhahahahaha! Welcome back and do post this lovely little piece at emeralddrama.com, where all us crazy kids have gone :D))
((yeah, I just got filled in about that. doing that ............now.............))

Join the Conversation

Return to Forum