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It felt as if she slept for millennia, her eyes fluttering open, batting her eyelashes to accustom her eyes to the new daylight. Except… Something was off… The daylight was a hue of clear green and she was no longer in her bed. She awoke on hardened soil, she stood, the scent of eagerness and restlessness in the air. She could hear people shouting in the language of her ancestors. A couple of High Born elves mocked her as they passed by, scoffing at her dress which had been dirtied by the soil she knelt in. The Well was not far in the distance, Queen Aszhara’s Temple lay just aloof. Delilah rose to her feet and began to walk.
“Need to find the Sentinels. Anyone.” She talked to no one, her own words falling on the inanimate trees, grass, and the misunderstanding wildlife, never having cared for the language of the forests.
Days went by as the young priest followed Elune’s guidance in her footsteps, searching. She avoided as many Burning Legion camps as she possibly could. When Delilah reached the camp where Tyrande and Malfurion, they were just ending the explanation of their plans to storm the Temple. Illidan already having disappeared from the area. Delilah walked over to a tent and sat before it on her knees, watching Tyrande and her gracefulness, although never wanting to be in her position.
Weeks later, maybe months, Delilah wasn’t fully sure, they began their march on the Well of Eternity. She was aware that Malfurion’s plan to destroy the Well will also destroy the Night Elves immortality, but she was ready. As they entered the commons room, blood soaked from murdering the Queen’s elites, the sight of the ritual seen cannot be unseen and Azshara shrieked as the battle commenced, most of Deiliah’s companions falling beside her. Traumatized and scared, the young priest falls to her knees as Tyrande falls; Malfurion entering a lover’s rage. One of the Queen’s elites approached Delilah, knocking her to the ground and raising his sword above his head, finalizing his swing.
Delilah’s eyes shoot open from her slumber, her body coated in sweat and her hair in tangles. Her hands trembling, she sit ups in her bed, pushing the warm blanket off her. Delilah sits there, still, placing her ivory hands over her face, weeping softly without a voice.
She can hear the ramblings of some Worgen in the distance, their accent apparent. Her green locks flowed freely across her pillow, which she nudged with her elbow, tucking her arm beneath it allowing her head some support as she laid back down and returned to her slumber.
Edited by Delilàh on 1/13/2013 1:30 PM PST
((Thank you very much. I'm also looking forward to where it goes. I'm writing one piece after the next and sending them off to my English major cousin to find any errors. haha! ))
Visions. Part two.
The floor creaked as Delilah placed the lightest pressure onto the wooden planks. Her delicate ivory toes flexing against the cold wood. She hushed the creaks under her breath and leaned forward. A jolt of pain wreaked her bodice and she gripped the right side of her ribs, near tears in pain. She felt a weird sensation with her left ear, like it was lighter. She slowly reached up to touch her ear and realized that half of that ear… Was missing. Gone. Thoughts raced through her head, what else was she missing? Toes, fingers, limbs, an EYE?! She counted each finger on her hand twice, same with her toes. The air was normal again. Did the Legion retreat? Were they sent back? What in the name of Elune happened at the Well.
More importantly; where was Delilah? She stood, curiosity taking the better of her. Limping, the priestess walked down the ramp way to the first floor of the building. She was greeted with a smile from what looked like a nurse.
“How are you feeling, Lady Delilah? You are healing quite well.” The soft spoken elf nodded to her as she spoke.
“I feel well despite a missing ear and what feels like a broken side.” She nodded in return at the nurse and the nurse moved on to the next injured elf.
Delilah looked around, the floor riddled with healing elves and their nurses. She made her way out of the building, tiptoeing past sleeping soldiers, careful not to step on anyone or anything. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment, taking in the fresh air, she wondered why she was alone on the top floor and the other elves on the bottom floor. She was unhappy for a moment and then she opened her eyes. For there, she looked upon a great tree. A tree that was so magnificent, so tall, the branches looked like they reached far into the heavens that anyone could even muster.
A male night elf crept behind her, standing next to her silently admiring the tree with Delilah. “We’ve begun to call it Nordrassil.” He said stoically.
“It’s fitting.” She replied, already having sensed him next to her.
“The dragons, they gave it to us. As long as that tree stands, we will not age or fall sick.” He paused for a moment, and Delilah looked at him. He had green hair, just like her own. His eyes glowed and she wondered if hers do the same. He did not look at her, but just continued to look at the tree, a smile forming on each of their faces as Delilah looked back to the tree. “Elune-Adore.” He walked away after that and Delilah never seen him again.
Delilah put forth her feet and began to remove herself from the town. She went back to the building with the nurses and asked if they had anything of hers. She received a pouch with a solitary gold coin and some silver pieces. She thanked them for everything and they offered to change the dressing around her bodice, she politely refused and exited.
Centuries pass and all the Elves lived in peace, Delilah continued to study the arts of the priest as a traveler.
During her travels from town to town, she heard word from the Kal’dorei an Quel’dorei alike that the Elves should have rights to the Magics of the new Well of Eternity, forged false by Illidan after Azshara fell into the raging well, after causing the Great Sundering. Never to be free again. Illidan, greedy High Born and also brother of Malfurion, was sustained by jealousy of Malfurion and Tyrande’s love. Overwhelmed to the point of Malfurion and Cenarius having to bind him in an underground barrow prison where he remains powerless. Just like The Betrayer, the rest of the High Born grew restless and withdrawn from the magic source. The storys of great heroism she heard were magnificent and they humbled her.
The order was placed that any use of magic would be punishable by death and in arrogance, the leader of the High Born, Dath'Remar and his followers, unleashed a terrible magic-born storm on Ashenvale in an ill-fated attempt to have the druids repeal the law on magic. This also had effect on Delilah, herself being a priest; but she respected the law and connected the use of her powers through nature.
The High Born were sent in boats to find their own new lands, in exile and should never plague the Kal’dorei way of life again. Delilah did not seem to care what happened to them after that.
There were still questions to be asked, and she set herself on her journey into the past to answer them.
The sun shone into Delilah’s window and straight into her eyes. She muttered a small curse and covered her face with her hands, stretching out in her bed. The birds chirped and it was another new day. “I wonder what the Pandaren of The Golden Lotus will have me doing today…” Delilah groaned as she slowly began to wake up.
Visions. Part Three.
Time went by. New spells learned here and there. Healing, darker arts, it was all interesting to Delilah. By this time, she was a very mature elf, just a few hundred years younger than Tyrande herself. Her ear had healed and remains halved. A solitary scar adorns her ribcage. She spent her time in Nordrassil, finally settling down and making a home and name for her.
There was an unease approaching and Delilah and the other priest’s can feel it as well. The unease became nearer and nearer, messengers came to Tyrande, to warn of unusual movement and the high preistess realized that the Burning Legion had returned. She and few others left to wake the slumbering druids. Delilah began to prepare for more war. War. My did she hate the word. Innocent people fighting, innocent people dying. She cringed. The days seemed to merge.
Delilah followed her leader to the World Tree where they began to imbue it with their magic yet again. She sat at the foot of the tree, her ivory fingers stroking the silk-like grass as the magic flowed through her. After giving all that she could to the tree, spending many days at its roots, she rises and bows, hastily making her way to Hyjal to help her friends and foes defeat the Legion that once again threatened Azeroth.
The magic eradicates the demon forces, by this time the Humans of Lordaeron have found the Night Elven society and an alliance is formed. Delilah follows Jaina Proudmoore south to Theramore. There, she finished up what was left to learn of the healing arts and joined the assault on Durotar led by Daelin Proudmoore.
Proudmoore’s troops were brave, but not the bravest, or the strongest. There were many though, but it was naïve of them to think that the newly formed alliance of the orcs, now named “The Horde” wasn’t strong and prosperous in their new location. Delilah hated them. She hated how they came here and decided that this world was theirs to destroy. She found herself snarling savagely at them in battle. The troops were met and torn apart by the hefty greenskinned orcs. Daelin and their troops retreated and unfortunately led the Horde to Theramore’s footsteps.
The newly formed Horde ravaged Theramore and Admiral Proudmoore was slain in the scuffle. Delilah slipped into the shadows of the ever reaching marshes and traveled northward, leaving Theramore behind in its wake. She apologized to Elune, cursing the orcs.
More war. More deaths.
Delilah sat on the bench in the Old Town of Stormwind, her back leaning against the wall and her head tilted to the side. Her eyes are wide open and staring listlessly ahead, almost in a trance. Jake sits in his panther form in front of Delilah, curiously watching her. He waves his paw in her face, attempting to see if she is paying attention. She swats his paw away from her face and he shifts into his night elf form.
“Are you alright, Delilah?” He asks softly, sliding onto the bench next to her. Delilah shakes her head waking from her vision, rubbing her eyes. The green stands of her hair tousled as she shakes. The druid comforts her with his hand on her shoulder.
“These visions are draining me.” She replies, still rubbing her eyes. Jake smirks, clearing his throat slightly.
“Maybe you should rest?”
The priestess falls limp, entering into another vision. She feints and the druid catches her in his arms before she hits the floor. He shifts her onto his back before shifting carefully into his stag form, making it easier for him to carry her. He makes his way to the docks of Stormwind, eager to board the boat to Darnassus.
“Maybe Tyrande can help you…” He speaks low to himself.
Edited by Delilàh on 1/2/2013 12:09 PM PST
((There's much more to come. I haven't even gotten into the burning crusade era yet.))
((what are you waiting for, DOO EET!))
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