Post by Aldrannath on Dec 8, 2009 13:08:13 GMT 1
Fevered and delirious, Aldrannath's troubled mind soared raging through a hundred memories of the ancestral hubris of the Kaldorei.
He wailed again at the sight of the endless hordes of demons brought to Kalimdor by the greed of Azshara.
He tore his hair again as he stood on Mount Hyjal and began to understand what Illidan had done.
He listened again, open-mouthed in silent astonishment, as Malfurion, too kind, too sure of his gentleness, pronounced the banishment of the Quel'dorei traitors.
He shook his head at the vast silhouette of Teldrassil and again fought back his tears, as a young Druidess sheepishly explained, "they took it on themselves..."
He shuddered once more with disgust at the mendacious smile of the Kaldorei warrior who stank of demons - but also at his people, who allowed their own to follow the dark path of Illidan, unmolested, in their very midst.
The fever was abating.
It was always pride, he reflected; pride, and arrogance. Even the very best of the Kaldorei always fought too hard to save themselves, whatever the cost; strove too fervently to remake the world in their own image - and forgot the tranquil wisdom of Malorne, first and truest lover of Elune. And if the Kaldorei should turn away from Her Balance in their pride, and seek for themselves a place alongside the very Dragons, what Balance then would there be for them to save? The hubris of the Kaldorei had almost destroyed the world, more times than he could number. Sooner or later it would spell their final doom.
His vision cleared, and he looked about him. The two Keepers glanced down at his sweat-soaked form, smiling placidly, and welcomed him back with a nod. He grunted in acknowledgement, and began to heave himself off the floor. Over in the corner, the young huntress was waiting and watching, nervously.
Nervously. Without pride. It was a beginning, at least.
He wailed again at the sight of the endless hordes of demons brought to Kalimdor by the greed of Azshara.
He tore his hair again as he stood on Mount Hyjal and began to understand what Illidan had done.
He listened again, open-mouthed in silent astonishment, as Malfurion, too kind, too sure of his gentleness, pronounced the banishment of the Quel'dorei traitors.
He shook his head at the vast silhouette of Teldrassil and again fought back his tears, as a young Druidess sheepishly explained, "they took it on themselves..."
He shuddered once more with disgust at the mendacious smile of the Kaldorei warrior who stank of demons - but also at his people, who allowed their own to follow the dark path of Illidan, unmolested, in their very midst.
The fever was abating.
It was always pride, he reflected; pride, and arrogance. Even the very best of the Kaldorei always fought too hard to save themselves, whatever the cost; strove too fervently to remake the world in their own image - and forgot the tranquil wisdom of Malorne, first and truest lover of Elune. And if the Kaldorei should turn away from Her Balance in their pride, and seek for themselves a place alongside the very Dragons, what Balance then would there be for them to save? The hubris of the Kaldorei had almost destroyed the world, more times than he could number. Sooner or later it would spell their final doom.
His vision cleared, and he looked about him. The two Keepers glanced down at his sweat-soaked form, smiling placidly, and welcomed him back with a nod. He grunted in acknowledgement, and began to heave himself off the floor. Over in the corner, the young huntress was waiting and watching, nervously.
Nervously. Without pride. It was a beginning, at least.