Ebon Legacy
From EFWiki
The ogre crashed into the wall with a grunt, and Thalos slowly forced himself to calm, the sounds of battle ringing in his ears, moans of the injured combined with cheers of the jubilant survivors. Yet, as the blood lust fell, a hollow feeling came across him.
He looked around at the faces, and saw loyalty. He looked around at the floor, and saw dead foes. Why then this uneasy feeling?
A rustling at his side marked the arrival of the pink one. Turning, he knelt, looking into the youthful face that nonetheless held so much wisdom. As he searched his heart, he knew the problem. They were two, not three.
"Where is Maelor?"
She pointed. A solitary figure stood leaning on his shield some distance away, not joining in the cheers of the others. His armour is unmarked, a holy light surrounding him, shielding him from the death throes of their recent opponent. Thalos nodded, and walked over, leaving the gnome to distribute the spoils to the army.
"Something troubles you". It was not a question.
A shrug. "Something always troubles me, Lord Thalos. I rarely feel at ease, never rest, always seeking improvement for our people."
Thalos nods. "True, and that is something I sometimes lack. My power is in the burst, the rally, yours in the long enduring pressure which ultimately brings us to the right place. It is why you are appointed to do what you do, to shape my army into what I need it to be. But this is something deeper than the usual discomfort." His voice falls. "You have disconnected yourself. Why?"
Maelor's voice turns bitter. "What is the point? We face the same foes. Occasionally we stumble across some new passageway that leads to more suffering and death, spiced with occasional victory when our troops come together properly, as they should do. In our cities, I see great warriors... and it disturbs me how little we are among them. I see them come back with tales of glorious battle against the forces of Illidan, hefting weapons forged of the ages, and I ask... why are we not among them? "
He pauses. "I am old, Thalos. You do not see it, being so long lived, but we humans burn but brightly and then fade." He indicates the others. "Many of them are the same. You have brought us to the brink of greatness, we have survived the opening of the portal in a way that so many others did not, with our spirit intact. But where now? Will we fade? I know that the Ebon Flame rises and falls with the needs of the land, but in this cursed land I am concerned whether the calls of our people are strong enough to us. I disconnected myself from the spirit because it felt thin... weak... false.. does that make any sense? I cannot bear it."
Thalos frowned. He had not thought it possible that another could feel this, yet it had worried at him for some time. At first, he thought it was the confusion of the Malchezaar devil, but that was far too trivial to have affected the prophet also. Was something amiss in the spirit of the Flame? Never had this happened. But then, never had the Flame fought on a distance world, connected by dark magic and spread so far from their spiritual homes. Was there a limit to the distance and strength of the spirit which he was not aware?
This was terrifying. Could he have been responsible for the death of the Flame spirit? Taking it so far from home that it could not renew and nurture between battles... relying on it less and less so that it became disused, powerless. He recoiled in horror from the thought.
Only a few seconds had passed, he knew, but he suddenly felt what Maelor was talking about, the weight of time passing. Sighing, he removes his helm, the dark locks falling around his face covered in sweat. Golden eyes surveyed his friend.
"You are right to be concerned. I do not know why, but our strong purpose has been somehow corrupted by this land. We have become part of it, rather than travelling through it. Our spirits look to its cities and places as their home... forgetting our noble beginnings. We hunt like mercenaries in these places... " he indicates the cave, "and seek trinkets instead of experiences and victory. And with that loss of purpose, so it saps our strength. Once, the rallying call before every battle shone out - For the Flame!"
He shakes his head. "I cannot remember the last time I heard it."
The eyes blaze, and there is a stir of movement, as everyone in the room turns as one, sensing his anger. Spinning on his heel and replacing his helm, he walks toward the passageway that leads on to the pit of Gruul. Drawing [Sulfuras, Hand of Ragnaros] from his pack, he holds it double handed, softly wrapping his fingers around the hilt. Then with a blaze of red light, he hurls it skyward, striking the ceiling of the chamber with a crash. Rocks hurtle down, and pummel all around him, yet such is his anger and strength, they do not push him to his knees. He steps free of the growing rubble, the passageway now blocked, and addresses them, yelling with a voice fuelled by an ancient force:
NO MORE!
Such is the terrible command in his voice that even the most proud ones bow their heads, some of the newer ones sinking to their knees in terror. Amongst the wave of confusion, a small presence becomes known in the back of his mind... in all their minds. A paladin... human... strong... old... sad, but hopeful. A pulse of hope spreads among them, and they yet look up, the ending of the world seeming less close, yet still fearful of what is about to happen. Thalos pauses, letting the ripple of the prophet rejoining them calm down, then speaks to the assembled throng. He paces, his words coming quickly and well, explaining the danger to their spirit and the troubled land that has caused it. Slowly, there are nods among them, then murmurs of agreement. They stand taller, their movements sharper, and from elf and gnome, human and dwarf, a strong feeling of ancient brotherhood starts to well up. The warmth... so long lost, so preciously recovered, spreads among them, and some of the newer ones, especially the Draenei, gasp at its strength, having not felt it in its troubled and weakened state.
Finishing his explanations of the past, Thalos turns to the future.
"You feel it now, feel a small shadow of what we were. Aye, a small shadow, for we are far from home still and our months of mercenary work have sapped much strength. But it will return. We will return it by our deeds. If we are cut off from the ancient legends of home in this place, then so be it - we shall forge our own deeds for our spirits to feed upon. If legends and history are the power of the Flame, then we shall not let it fall. We shall instead create it - smite our foes on the anvil of our spirit and watch it forge anew, carrying us flying forward from each dark fortress and creating an imprint for us in this land. I shall not let the Flame exist without the hallowed walls of our spirit guiding and protecting us... yet nor shall I let us skulk back to our homeland where it is ancient and strong. Here is where the battles of tomorrow must be fought - and we will fight them."
He kicks the head of Maulgar at his feet. "This scum... they hit hard, but are they true evil? Do we fight evil here? What have they done? They are nothing but a training ground for us, not our end goal." He gestures toward the passageway. "Once that beast has dug himself out again we will kill him, for sure, and pick clean whatever treasures we find in his lair. But our eyes must always be focused onward, to the deeper, more buried threats that lie underneath this land.
From the caverns of the snakes, to the castle of the blood elves, we will bring their fortresses down. And who are we that can do this? Why will we succeed where others fail?
Raising his arms, he roars to the assembled crowd. "We are FLAME."
Echoes fall around the chamber, then suddenly a crescendoing wall of responses spring forth:
FOR THE FLAME!
He holds aloft his arm, and from his clenched fist, an almost palpable energy flows forth.
"From this point forward, we carve our home in this land. No more visiting, no more easy tourism. Let our blood fall thick upon its stones, and our victories create legends for our souls to bind. Then, my people, will we have fulfilled our purpose for this age. We are the greatest host to ever serve the spirit of Flame, and the reason why is now clear to me. We must forge its legacy across the mists of space to this broken land, so that all those who follow us can act within its boundaries, protected by our deeds in the days ahead and blessed with the wisdom of our strength as those of might in earlier days helped us in our early battles."
A silence settles on the chamber. Smiling, hopeful faces look back at him, some already thinking hard about what needs doing, others caught up in the moment. A few think darkly of the trouble ahead, but nowhere is there dissent or dischord. He nods, and looks at the gnome, standing with a wry smile on her face.
"It'll be hard".
She nods, then shrugs. "Need more spikes".
He grins, and nods. Then, starting toward the cave entrance, he gives them one final look, before striding out into the light, his calm footfalls commanding them to follow once more.
