So if you’ve been following my blog you know that last week I was challenged with 7 role playing questions. I haven’t done role playing with Dueg before and haven’t really had a chance to do it in a while at all. I still skim the old books every once in a while, but that’s about it. So it was actually kind of nice to put on the old RP hat and wear it with pride. It felt so good actually, that I decided that on Saturdays, I’m going to try to have a running story line involving Dueg and some others. So if you’re not into RP that’s cool, feel free to come back any other day and see what I’m up to, but for now, I bring you the first part, Of Beginnings:
Duegathalas shifted uncomfortably as he stood at the railing of the gently swaying dirigible. His eyes wandered across the expanse of the ocean as his hands clenched tightly to the wind scored wood. A sudden gust caused the deck to roll beneath him, sending a shiver of fresh nausea up through his stomach. He closed his eyes and began to quietly chant a hymn to the light, allowing it’s melody to soothe his battered system.
How has it come to this? he thought, his mind roaming as the hymn relaxed him completely, I did my duty in Outland.
It had been a long year for Duegathalas, and circumstances had not been kind. After the portal to Outland had been breached, he had been one of the first to step forward and volunteer to investigate. True, it had been mainly to find his prince, to once more bask in his presence and receive his commands, but he had gone, and he had fought. Then he found the Scryers and they had educated him and at the same time shattered his entire perspective. Kael’thas was mad, his ideals thrown away so he could bow to the wretched demon Illidan, and he wanted to pull all the Sin’dorei down with him.
Duegathalas had spent an entire week in isolated meditation, listening to the light’s melody and trying to make some sense of it. Finally he left his chamber, steeling his resolve to take the fight to the mad prince himself. He joined up with a band of like minded adventurers and together they had investigated all areas of Blood Elf activity in Outland. Eventually the trail wound it’s way to the Netherstorm and on to the Tempest Keep. After much preparation, Duegathalas and his companions had penetrated the defenses of that dreaded fort and that was where he found her.
She had been a companion of his as they were growing up. They had trained together as a scouting team in their youth, before his calling to the light had brought him to the abbey in Stormwind City, back when the Alliance was useful. Many hours in the quiet solitude of the forest had brought them much insight into each other, and Duegathalas had assumed one day they would become husband and wife. He had written to her often until the wars came, cutting all communication lines between the Kingdom of Azeroth and Quel’Thalas were cut. Those days had been dark indeed as in the confusion after the city was sacked, Duegathalas had wandered with other refugees, forced live off what little was available. Eventually he found his way back to his beloved city, but by then she had left to join the military, her sense of duty to the Alliance and her king calling to her. He had always meant to try and seek her out, but then the second and third wars came so quickly, and she had disappeared along with all the other troops under Kael’thas.
Until Tempest Keep, when his party had rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with a patrol. The skirmish was quick and brutal and at one point, Duegathalas was rushed by one of the enemy. As he raised his staff in defense and shielded himself with the light’s power, she had stopped for a second, confusion giving her pause. That was when he had recognized her and at the same moment, she saw the insignia of the Naaru emblazoned on his tabard. She recovered first, rage burning in her green eyes as she completed the charge and shattered his divine shield, plunging the sword deep into his body and drawing darkness over his consciousness.
The resurrection was a quick job, done by an inexperienced shaman more use to speaking with elements than spirits. But he had heard the call and felt compelled to return, to know if his final moments had been true. And when he opened his eyes, her face greeted his. The jaw slack and her eyes dull, she lay next to him where she had fallen, exposing her back to his companions and inviting death in order to ensure his. His spirit was broken and the mission was aborted, setting the offensive back weeks. But he had lost his stomach for the fight, and returned to Silvermoon in disgrace.
Then the missive had come for him. A request from Grand Magister Rommath himself to come to his private study in the Inner Sanctum. The master mage had informed him that his talents were still needed and he had been appointed to the vanguard of a new offensive in Northrend. Apparently the fallen prince had begun to stir in his icy tomb and it had been decided among the leaders that the horde would move to end his presence once and for all.
His objections had been waved away and he was informed that there had not been any sort request made. And so he had packed his belongings and made his way to the raised port in Tirisfal. He opened his eyes once more as he felt a slight twisting sensation, marking against the angle of the sun that they were turning to a northwestern tilt. He frowned as he noticed a slight smudge on the horizon, beginning to grow larger and sharper.
“Light preserve me,” he whispered.