… but legends never die.”

I had never seen Darnassus so lush and green before. Even with the corruption flowing through its roots, the great tree, Teldrassil, would not deny his just reward.

Kamillia, the red haired woman, with whom his heart would be with until Time’s end, had found him a week prior to today. She was heartbroken, distraught. I did not notice, nor care particularly too much, if anyone had accompanied her or not. I knew, as I had always known, that in the next life, he would get his wish. They would be together; ageless, unaffected by time, and locked in a lovers’ embrace forever. But that day would not come for some time.

His body was brought up the ramp that lead into the Temple of the Moon, his father never leaving the casket’s side. His mother and sisters followed behind, stifling their tears to the best of their ability. I kept to the back, keeping an eye on the observers, unaware of whom they had lost. Then again, they were always unaware of him. Sentinels kept the nosier one’s at bay while Tyrande Whisperwind herself honored him in her own words. Though her voice was strong, it wasn’t hard to tell that she felt almost as much grief as the family did. She told us briefly of his past, and his struggles, and laid out for us the tragic irony of his selfless sacrifices over 10,000 years. Even for one such as I, that is still more than a few winks across the gaze of time.

Jerom did not speak, much to my lack of surprise. He was not one for words, but his grief could be felt in the very air that surrounded the temple. Such was the power of a druid. Perhaps one day, Ysera could explain to me the full intricacies of this strange and wonderful magic.

Jeryth, you will always be honored and loved, even if it is in silence. And I will honor you, my friend, by seeking out the legacy that you unknowingly left behind. I will protect her, and guide her as she comes to fulfill the role that you once did so dearly. She will do you proud. Your blood makes her strong.

And fret not, my friend. Even your goddess mourns your passing, for, never did the rains stop on that day.

I will always remember you.

-Khaz

“Heroes get remembered…

Jeryth took a look behind him. As the harsh and cold winds of the northern lands blasted his face, he caught a glimpse of the small band of soldiers through the snow that had agreed to accompany him on his last endeavor. He waited a moment for them to see that he had stopped to face them.

“Brothers, I cannot thank you enough for coming with me today. You must pass my regards to Commander Wyrmbane upon your return,” he said, letting his voice trail as they looked at him in confusion. He cleared his throat again.

“I know you all went into this thinking that you would not come back alive, but I cannot be so selfish. Only with my own life, can I do that. Your orders are to provide a distraction for me until I can push my way through the gates. Once I am through, you are to retreat,” he said flatly, “Run as fast as you can, for the wrath of the undead is upon your heels. You all have families… loved one’s, wives, and children… none of which I have to lose. It is of the utmost importance to me that you return to them. Is this understood?”

Most of them nodded their comprehension, some even giving a voiced confirmation. Jeryth smiled. He appreciated their vigor and eagerness to follow him into the mough of Hell.

“Then let us march… the Lich King awaits us,” and with that, he turned and continued their trek.

***

The fight up the entrance of the Citadel was intense enough, but things went from bad to worse as the two giant doors opened ominously. Legions of undead poured from them, and they suddenly found themselves horribly outnumbered. They were, however, some of the best that the Alliance had to offer. As the waves poured upon them, they seemed to fall as they came. Though several were injured, and an even fewer number slain, they shined like the true heroes that they all were. Jeryth reached the top of the stairs and turned back.

“Retreat! I’m in,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. They all looked up at him for just a moment before they began to take steps back, still swinging. Though most the Scourge kept on the Legion soldiers, a fair amount turned to notice the escaping Jeryth. Through his heavy breathing and loud clanking of his armor, he could hear the patter of the undead’s bare and rotting feet, the horrific and inhuman gargles and sounds. Despite the weight of his armor, Jeryth broke into a full on sprint, managing to lose the group and unwittingly push into the main chambers.

Catching his breath, Jeryth was amazed at the ease of his small invasion. Perhaps, just this once, the Lich King had not been prepared for anything such as this. He wiped the sweat of his brow, and his breathing slowed. But with the slight loss of adrenaline, a familiar pain began to quake within his chest. He fell to his knees, clutching at his heart with a painful groan. He felt his head press against the cold floor as he fought back the pain, his plated fist slamming the ground. Almost instantly, and deep and throaty laugh caught his attention.

“So… a broken night elf thinks he can make a stand against me. How amusing. The outcome will be just the same as before.” The Lich King’s voice reverberated from every wall, the sound of his deep and inhuman growl of a voice nearly assaulting Jeryth’s ears. This is what he came for. This is who he came for. Jeryth growled and stood, using his dual kaldorei blades to help him stand. Beaten and tired, Jeryth pointed one of the blades at the Lich King.

“I bring with me the fury of my people, and of the world, fallen prince. It is time you found out what pain really is!” and with that, Jeryth sprinted towards Arthas, his sheer running speed defying the weight of his armor, and of his pain. The Lich King laughed.

“I will strike you down just as I did that pathetic half breed, and we shall see if the ‘fury of your people’ is worth anything at all!”

Jeryth’s twin blades struck against Frostmourne with a resounding clash that echoed in the great hall, his eyes flaring as he stared into Arthas. The Lich King himself was rather surprised that the night elf’s force was enough to cause him to slide back along the floor, even if only but an inch or two. Arthas pushed back and made Jeryth stumble, giving the Lich King a dangerous opening. Jeryth, however, quickly regained his balance and blocked with one blade, bringing the other to land upon his opponent’s head. Another parry.

And so they went, toe to toe, hour for hour, neither relenting into their assaults until finally dawn came to pass. Jeryth took a few steps back from Arthas, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest again. Bits and pieces of his armor had been broken off, and one of his blades was broken in two. The Lich King, too, had taken his fair share of blows from the kaldorei warrior. His dreadful helm had been knocked off during the battle, his sweat turning to icicles as it dripped down his once handsome face. His eyes glowed a sickly blue as he stared at Jeryth, furious.

“How are you not dead!?”

Jeryth smirked through his ragged breathing. “I’ve nothing to lose, Lich King. Even one such as you… has something at stake!” Jeryth cried as he rushed once more. Before Frostmourne could be raised, Jeryth pushed it back down with his broken blade, and thrust the good blade in between the plates of armor into Arthas’s side. Arthas let out an inhuman growl as he felt the blade pierce him. Jeryth, with the last of his strength, brought back the broken blade, readying it to strike into the Lich King’s neck.

Arthas, however, only smiled. He placed his cold gauntlet encased hand on Jeryth’s chest. The action, so odd to Jeryth, made him stay his blade. Then, he spoke.

“Kel’Thuzad’s touch still resides in you, Kaldorei. And now, it shall be your undoing!”

Jeryth dropped his blade and let go of the one inside Arthas. He stumbled back and raked at his chest, panicked. Finally, he dropped to his knees and cried out. As he threw his arms back, a dark blue light exploded from where his heart was, dissolving armor and flesh alike. His roar was deafening, only to fall briefly silent as he fell back finally, hitting the ground with a loud thud. The light faded from his once brilliant eyes until they were completely dark. His chest no longer rose to take in life giving breath. His body fell slump. Jeryth Lunamaré, once a noble, once considered one of the greatest warriors of Elune, was dead.

Arthas pulled the kaldorei blade from his side with a grunt and walked over to Jeryth’s lifeless body. He reached down and picked him up by his armor and sneered.

“You night elves will never learn… fury of your people indeed.”

The Lich King threw Jeryth’s body down violently, forcing it to crash through the ground, breaking through each level of the Citadel until finally he fell into the watery abyss below. Arthas discarded both blades into the hole before the fortress began to repair itself.

Jeryth fell for what seemed like forever until finally his body splashed into the water below, finally coming to rest alongside the Lich King’s discarded heart.

-Continued in Kamillia Levante’s post entitled, “Jeryth Lunamare.”-

A Father’s Love

“Jeryth, I forbid you to leave!”

“Don’t try it, Father! My mind is made up. There’s no point anymore.”

“I won’t let you, son! Please!”

Jeryth closed his eyes, the sound of his father’s voice cracking sending shock waves of aches through his heart. He turned and viewed him. Jerom… his father. He kneeled before him.

“Father, I love you. But you know that I will not deter from this.”

Jerom sighed, the tears being held back. His hand rested gently on the back of his son’s head, fingers setting lightly into the hair. After a long and silent moment, he removed his hand. Jeryth promptly stood and walked away into his room, and firmly shut the door and locked it.

He had peace, here, though it would be short lived. He quickly undressed down to his undergarments and moved over to an old wardrobe. He laid his hand on the door, sliding his fingers down the face of it to feel the smoothness of the wood. He pressed gently against it and the wardrobe popped open to reveal his Blade armor, something he hadn’t worn for nearly a year.

Despite being kept in a wardrobe, the armor shined with an uncanny luster. Still beautiful, he thought. Each piece was made from a metal that not even he knew the name of. All he knew was that each time he wore it, he felt invincible. Tyrande had it made for him all those years ago. Tyrande… she deserved a good bye from him. He owed her that much and more. He took his time as he took the armor from its racks, equipping the pieces one by one. Upon finishing, he made his way over to the vanity in his room. He chuckled at himself.

“You look good for your funeral,” he said quietly to the reflection. He stepped away and slid open the drawer in the wardrobe which held his cloak. He clasped it to the pauldrons and shut everything as he had found it. Only one thing remained now. Jeryth turned and eyed the dual kaldorei blades mounted on the wall. Relics, he knew. He removed one from the mount and unsheathed it. As he got used to the feeling of the blade again, he closed his eyes, letting the ringing of the metal echo in the room with each swish of the blade. He brought it to his face and mouthed a prayer before sheathing the blade again, and throwing both on his back.

Jerom looked towards the door as it creaked open, Jeryth stepping out once again. He sighed as he walked towards his son. Jeryth said nothing as he bowed his head, Jerom promptly kissing it.

“May Cenarius and Elune watch over you, and guide your hands and feet, and keep your wits sharp.”

“Thank you, Father.”

And Jerom would never see his son from that day.

I don’t even wish to try.

Khazdormu flew swiftly through the cold air in Dragonblight, Jeryth atop his back. The dragon’s thick hide protected him from any chill, but Jeryth had to resort to wearing a mask to protect himself rom the bitter winds. He did not smile beneath the mask. He was doing something he knew would be futile; a waste of time. At this point, though, it didn’t matter much at all. At least it would get Kamillia the answer she needed, even if it wasn’t the one that she would want.

As the bronze drake slowed, Jeryth prepared himself for the upcoming conversation. Not much intimidated the weathered Kaldorei anymore, but meeting the Queen of Life was not something to be taken lightly. He slid from Khaz’s back, the draong giving him a sagely nod and smile. Jeryth managed to smile back beneath his mask, as it was evident by the brightness in his eyes. Khazdormu tried his best to keep Jeryth’s spirit’s up, and for that he was tahnkful. He turned on his heel and walked further into Wyrmrest, still not knowing quite what to expect.

Coming home

Father,

I have no doubt that you are furious and concerned. I owe you an apology for disappearing the way I did. So I truly am sorry. No one really knew of my intentions, not even Kamillia. What I did I could tell no one of. I did not wish to be talked out of it. This was something I had to do.

I have no excuse for what i did. I know that. I can only guess that I acted with such haste because of my predicament. What is a man to do when he is faced with his own mortality? Granted, we have all stared death in the face, but it’s something entirely different when it is a certainty that you are going to die. I’ve never thought myself a coward, but I am truly frightened, Father. I don’t want to die, despite all I have lost, and despite what I cannot have. You know what I speak of, so I know that I do not need to go detail about that.

By the time you receive the letter, I will most likely be on the ship back to Stormwind, and I will be sure to come back and see you, Mother, and my sisters. Tell them all that I am sorry, Father. Truly and sincerely sorry.

I’ve become a wayward soul, Father. I need you now, more than ever.

All my love,

Jeryth

One Last Time

It was a cold day up in Icecrown. Then again, all days in this gods forsaken place were cold. It was the moments when I realized the numbness of my extremities that I longed for home the most, longed for Darnassus. True, it wasn’t home like Ashenvale used to be, but it was the closest thing. The smell of the trees, the sound of the rushing water, so clean and untouched by the corruption of the world. I miss the purple of the leaves that the trees held. I miss the green and soft feel of the grass. How many days I would sit and daydream about things right outside of my home.

Though, now, that home was no longer mine, and much like the rivers of Teldrassil, a dark corruption was now coursing through my own veins, eating away at me ever so slowly. However, where the tree might live and be cured and continue to thrive, there was no hope for me, no cure. The infection would spread within the year, and that would be that.

Or would it? Had the secrets I found given me a possible opportunity, a new way to extend my life, as misshapen and bastardized as it had become? I only hoped to Elune, if she was even still listening, that I had.

As I stepped out of the Valiant tent at the Argent Tournament grounds, I eyed the mailbox as I passed it. Nothing ever came for me anymore, but I was happy in that fact. Perhaps I had finally devised a way to obtain my solitude by my sudden departure. Despite this, I let my curiosity get the best of me, and I thought to check it. Much to my surprise, I found a letter addressed to me. Much to my lack of surprise, though, was the identity of the sender.

Dear Jeryth,

I hope you receive this letter. If it is returned to me then I know you have changed locations or are refusing my mail.

I wish you would speak to me and explain to me why you left all of your property to me. It is rather confusing. I would like to speak with you.

~Kamillia

I knew it would only be days before I would receive word from Kamillia, wondering where I had gone, why I had gone, but this letter was awfully short and to the point. Perhaps I had finally angered her, though I regretted doing so. It was the last thing I wanted, to upset her and make her hurt. She meant too much to me to do that to her, and now it had come to the point of no return, I feared.

I was still angry. I longed to crumple the letter and discard it in the snow with the blood and sweat of the Champions and Valiants. But my heart would not let me. I owed her that much. I owed her the reason why. I still had no doubt that she was destined to be my mate, regardless of her race. How I wished to be able to love her as such…were she to let me. I miss you, Kamillia. I am so sorry. I will at least give you what you ask of me, one last time.

Kamillia,

I will meet you in Outland at midnight. Be alone.

-Jeryth

Broken

Ironforge seemed quiet that night. It was a good thing, he thought. Jeryth always seemed to cause a stir whenever he rode through the stone halls of his newest home…ever since his newest appendage was attached. He couldn’t quite place why, though. He always kept it hidden, but for some reason, people still reacted much differently than before.

It didn’t matter, though. Not anymore. Not after tonight. He would never be coming back to Ironforge. He pulled back on the reins of his saber as he neared his home to slow her. He dismounted and approached the house with caution. He pressed his ear to the door to give a listen…nothing. She wasn’t home. How could she be? It was only minutes ago that he left here there at the Aldor Rise.

How could you do it?

Jeryth felt his eyes close, his flesh and blood hand covering his brow. He hurt her, perhaps worse than he had ever done so. He was wrong. He was being selfish.

You’ve made a bed for yourself at the bottom of the blackest hole.

No…no, she was being selfish. She had been selfish for years. She used him when she needed a shoulder to cry on, and when she was done, when she found a new boy to swoon over, he fell into the background. There, but not needed. There was no other outcome, he told himself. This would happen eventually, and to his astonishment, he held out much longer than he thought he would.

He shook his head and opened his eyes again, pushing against the door and moving in quietly. He gave a quick glance to her bed as he hurried upstairs. There was a large chance that she wouldn’t be home anytime soon, but Jeryth didn’t want to take any chances. He couldn’t bear to see her again. He gathered what he needed and left the rest, including the money needed to have his bed moved out of the home and given away or destroyed. He slipped back down the stairs and left the home, and used his hearthstone to return to Dalaran.

As the magic of the stone pulled him through time and space, he thought once more about the night. Nearly a decade, and he had never felt so alive. She gave him the life he never had before, and yet she was never his. It killed him. He was dead long before the infection would reach his heart. And it was her fault. She would never love him. Never. Not in the way he wished.

He was broken for her. Eternally…infinitely.

“I love you always, Kamillia.”

And you say that you don’t want to see the sun anymore.

The long ear

Air. He needed air. He struggled to breathe, but only fire filled his lungs. Jeryth shot his eyes open, only able to see the bare feet of the men assaulting him. This wasn’t a memory. This was a reality. Reflexes and a survivor’s instinct kicked in, the kaldorei’s strong hand grabbing at the next foot that came at him. He pulled and twisted, the man falling to the hard stone floor with a crack. The two others grabbed at Jeryth, then, giving another blow to his head with a hard fist. The welt flamed, feeling as if it threatened to burst from all the pressure. Blinded and limp, Jeryth felt himself propped up against the wall, a gruff voice speaking to him. This was the welcome he was waiting for.

“You mind telling me just what the hell a long ear like you is in here for? You look too…blue blood…to be in here.”

Jeryth looked up, offering no response. The gray skinned orc spoke Common rather well. In fact, Jeryth was rather surprised by not only that, but also the fact that the Defias seemed to be under his command. Orcs and humans indeed. His curiosity was quickly forgotten by a violent pull of his hair.

“Such beautiful hair, Night Elf. I think it’d make a nice trophy,” the orc paused and looked at the man to his left, “don’t you think? Fetch me a blade. I want his hair.” And without question, but simply a grin, the man left and returned with a knife. Jeryth could do nothing, as another fist to the head furthered his stunned state. Seconds later, the blade began to do its job. It was dull, pulling more than cutting, fire on his scalp as the strands were pulled and broken slowly.

Jeryth collapsed to the floor, his body a wreck. The mere minutes that passed by seemed more like eons. Looking up at the orc, all he could see was the dull yellow of his vicious grin.

“On second though, Night Elf…this is just trash,” he said, letting the large lock fall to the floor and scatter in a thousand strands. The orc spat upon the mess and walked away.

“Take what you want from him,” he commanded to the remaining three. The Defias chuckled, throwing hs back against the wall again. Dimmed eyes were a blend of fear and rage, both fueling one another. The Defias chattered amongst themselves, the skinnier one repeatedly pointing to his ears.

“‘Ey, that looks like Truesilver there, don’t it? I bet that might look lot better in me ears.” A muddled mind scanned over the words, and he realized what he was after.

Bloodied and beaten, a sudden flare erupted from the azure eyes, grabbing at the intrusive hand. Instantly there was the sickening crack of finger bones snapping. Jeryth stood for the first time since being brought here, his height adding to his intimidation. He tossed the skinny man aside, strong hands clutching the other two mens’ throats. Now it was their turn to have their backs to the wall.

“Try that again and you will die. All three of you.” Jeryth released them, his strength fading fast. As the Defias men gathered their broken comrade and fled, he at least knew that he put fear into their minds. He wasn’t to be trifled with, even when weakened. He found the comfort of a rickety bench rather than the floor and sat. Slowly, he reached up and felt the frayed ends of his once long hair. He frowned deeply. Slowly his eyes closed, though he never slept…he didn’t have the luxury.

Under my Lady’s command…

Azure eyes looked down from the cliffs of Azshara. There, in the midst of the heavy fog brought on by the night, Jeryth could make out the blurred shape of the small vessel that awaited him. He made a quick prayer to Elune, hoping that he hadn’t kept the men at the ship waiting for too long. He tied back his sapphire blue hair and fitted the dull white bandanna over his face.

The large saber that carried the night elf began its descent down the rocky path to the shore. Moments passed and the vessel was reached, the crew rather anxious at the night elf’s arrival. With a few shouldering their rifles, Jeryth held up his hands as a sign of peace. However, their aim held firm, not wavering in the slightest. Jeryth’s eyes shifted back and forth between the several men in front of him, waiting for some sort of response. Eventually, from behind the line, a man easily assumed as the captain stepped forward. He was tall for a human, and kept rather clean for a sailor. No doubt this was a naval officer. The night elf smirked underneath his mask. He was getting the special treatment this time.

“Whisperwind’s agent,” the captain asked in a rough and firm voice. Jeryth simply nodded, reaching underneath his heavy cloak and pulling out an old insignia. He tossed it to the captain, whom after a moment of examination, instructed his crew to stand down. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Jeryth gratefully boarded the vessel. The commotion died down, the great cat finding comfort in the stables, and the kaldorei finding the same down below in the crew’s quarters. He found an empty bunk and crawled into it, the light from his eyes fading as he closed them. He drifted off within minutes.

A place without moonlight

Cold…

Slowly, dark eyelids lifted to reveal dimmed azure eyes. Through blurred vision, the kaldorei could just barely make out where he was. Dimmed lanterns, cold stone floors, armored guards, and several men with red bandannas around their faces. Defias…Jeryth knew little of them, only that their organization was now leaderless, and these men would live out the rest of their days in the stockades.

As his vision cleared, Jeryth pushed himself away from the stone floor, just to put his back against an even colder stone wall. He shivered. Even this place made the once mighty kaldorei chilled to the bone. His eyes wandered, falling upon the 3 men that shared the same cell as he did. They chattered amongst themselves, his head pounding far too much to bother to try and understand the Common they spoke.

He reached up to feel the oddity upon his head and winced immediately. No doubt that the growing welt upon his head was the cause of his current issue. He blinked once, his vision blurring upon doing so. The Defias looked at him every now and then, seeming only curious as to why a night elf would be in their cell. At least there was some comfort in the fact that they remained so…at least for now.

His thoughts gathered. He was in the stockades in Stormwind, he knew that. The big question was, why?