[RP] Dayne - The Penitent Rogue

92 Blood Elf Rogue
I remember my embrace, my baptism into the Living Light, like it was yesterday. In truth it was probobly a decade or more. A handful of years so starved for normalcy that my mind tries to treat them like lifetimes, if only to fool itself into remembering quiet moments of reconciliation between upheavals. We had only recently set foot onto the broken remains of Farahlon, and I remember we were in complete awe of the Netherstorm it had become. The sky bled mana, it was on the tip of our tongues, it was in the air we breathed. It was everything the Prince promised us, and beyond everything else the place hummed of potential. Not the acrid magical tang that buzzed in the bottom of our ears, it was the rock-solid feeling, the instinct that this was ours. Our new home, our new Kingdom, Fallah'thalas. Our Broken Home.

We marched into the Netherstorm islands like conquerers and we played our parts righteously. When we met demons we enslaved them, when we met Draeneish camps we destroyed them, and when we met the echos of the old Alliance that had spit on our blood we burned them with the Elven magic they thought they could ignore. In those days, it was as if the Prince truely earned his crown and we eagerly took to calling him our King. Anasterian would never be forgotten, but his son was the truest heir and we followed him with honor and loyalty that I will never regret. His decisions were final, some brutal. It hardened many hearts to him, when we burned the mage's village, but a good soldier does not pick and choose when to honor his oaths. My bond to his crown was unbreakable, even if my heart wasn't.

The final goal, was a place I can barely describe now. Even having been inside of it, I can hardly sum the Tempest Keep into words. It was a breathtaking crystalline palace of light and dripping magic, a timeless machine suspended on the pulsing beams of chaos that laced across the endless sky like arternies. Taking the enchanted fortress was hard, the hardest fighting we'd experienced since our land on Draenor, but we all knew what had to be done. We needed a throne to build a kingdom, and that throne needed a keep under it's legs. I had been a scout, informally trained by the priestesses to harness and devote myself to the shadow and the darkness the Light within me innately created. I was their midnight hand in that glittering place. I was a knife on the edge of every prayer, a cleansing blackness that the priests behind me could reilluminate. My shadow leapt from throat to throat, the cycle between the dawns. We had no idea the true prize we'd gain in the raid. They said it's name was M'uru.
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92 Blood Elf Rogue
The creature was a being of Light, the priestess told me. The cloth had formed a cabal in it's chained presence and for days they stood in the flickering light of it's arcane prison in whispered thrills of what to do with it, what it's implications were. The answer was shocking, even to the obedient dog they'd taught to hide in the vast shadows they spilled. They were going to eat it.

The feast was something I choose not to remember, the looks within my shepherd's eyes when they devoured our god. The screams and the jubilant moans echoing around me as I refused to watch, my eyes seared by the ropey tendrils of animate brightness they bled from the divine wounds they speared into it's side. The way the world around us dimmed, then flared into perfect illumination. No, I remember it perfectly, another dawn had come from my nightfall.

Cora Shin'diel, our Bishop and the highest ranking member of our surviving congregation, came toward me. Her eyes roared with a fire I'd never beheld before, brighter than the memory of burning Silvermoon behind us, brighter than the world-cracking death of The Bomb, and she stared into me. My eyes could do nothing to impede her sightless vision as she stripped away my shadows with the dawn of the sun she had sucked into her belly. I felt myself become lighter, looking into her bottomless eyes, and I wondered if this is what righteous elves feel the moment they go to commune with the afterlife of Lights and lost friends. I spun in her vision, the thoughts in my mortal head turning end over end in a place of shadowless luminescence that had neither beginning nor end. When she spoke to me, it was the voice of every answered prayer I'd never heard,

"Arise child of the blood," the words set fire to the inside of my skull and I prayed to her for more, "You have served us well. You have helped the new dawn to rise, and the Elves claim their rightful place in the Cosmos." I tripped over myself trying to find the words to say, but I found the feelings plucked from my mind and tossed between the phalanx of impassive priests like dust scattering to their winds.

"I live to further the Light." I offered them words they already knew. They smiled.

"We are the Light." They declared in a horrifyingly calming chorus. My heart bounded inside my chest. I believed them.
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