Post by Lazaar on Aug 29, 2010 2:13:15 GMT -5
(( One more seven-year AU thing. As awkward and creepy as I feel writing in other people's characters, I was too enamored with this idea to NOT write it out. SORRY AURO. ))
Even as he dedicated countless hours to his training, Yulian was still obliged to perform a certain number of priestly functions. Namely, hearing Lower City confessions, which served a dual purpose as reconnaissance in the ongoing war against the cancer known as the Kamil te Kar. There was a sufficient amount of guilt to be exploited, information to be gleaned from the confessions of addicts and brothel patrons. Dropped names and locations were painstakingly recorded to create a map of increasing intricacy.
Yulian's stomach always twisted when he remembered his days as an acquaintance to the Family. He wondered what became of them in the intervening years. Despite his conscience (or perhaps because of it) he never divulged the names he knew. Maybe they weren't even alive.
He had plenty of time to roll these thoughts around in the semi-darkness of the Draenic confessional -- more of a pod-like installation than the boxy human counterpart. More safely sound-proof, in any case. All other elements were the same: there was a partition between the priest and his visitor, and a screen in the repeat patterns of the Naaru to allow for conversation.
After an hour of stillness, he was startled by the near-silent arrival of a form on the other side of the booth. Slight in figure, swathed in robes and a shawl, Yulian couldn't immediately discern a clear gender.
"Forgive me . . . ?" came the timorous whisper, still androgynous, but familiar. A voice he hadn't heard in seven years.
"What is the nature of your misdeed?" Yulian asked mechanically and perhaps overly loud, even as his mind tried to roll with the shock of hearing that voice again.
"There's kind of a lot, I guess," the confessor breathed, tucking a stray lock of blue-green hair behind a long ear. The hand lingered to daub at glowing yellow eyes while it was in the neighborhood. "But I don't want the Light to forgive me so much as I want you to."
"Where have you been all this time? You stopped writing . . . you disappeared entirely!" Yulian whispered urgently, regretting the harsh edge on his voice. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. "I thought you were dead, Auroran. Almost certain of it."
"That's part of it . . . apologizing for that. I had to disappear. I'm really sorry," he sighed, and the confessional seemed to get colder by a few degrees. Darker by a shade. "But that's not the only thing. Sorry for, you know, being a . . . what's the word? For saying something and then doing something different?"
"Hypocrite?" Yulian offered, wincing.
"Yeah, that. I told you to go after the Light, and I was thinking I'd go the same way . . . but then . . . um, here I am?" The elf's voice wavered on the last words. He attempted a nervous laugh. There was no longer any ignoring the inky black shadows that were creeping up the walls. They were not the comforting sort of darkness that Auroran had defended seven years ago.
Sadness, despair, fright were all beginning to set in, but the wobbling notes in the elf's voice sparked a flame of compassion in Yulian's chest. The Light welled up and chased the encroaching shadows from his side of the confessional. They squirmed like dying worms and hid under the bench, in cracks and corners. Auroran's side, meanwhile, was a void of blackness but for the two golden eyes peering from within.
"You've wandered far, but you're not lost," Yulian said with a warm smile as he gently pushed away the screen between them. The solidity of the shadow would have driven him to terror seven years before, but now he dipped his hand into it, reaching for the space above and between the glowing eyes. Like reaching his fingers into a frigid, black pool until he met the solid warmth of Auroran's face. "Maybe you just can't see the way anymore? It must be difficult in the dark."
He willed the Light into his fingertips, splaying them across the scars on his forehead, then down the side of his cheek. Poor, beautiful, flawed Auroran. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, and with it came a single, tenuous strand. Light as gossamer, it stretched between the pad of his index finger and the middle of Auroran's brow. It glistened crisply in the remaining shadow.
"This is all that's left?"
The spider's web of Light bobbed with Auroran's head.
Yulian kept his hand raised as he stared at the emaciated tendril of Light. "It's not gone. There's still hope to embrace it! Auroran, please, come to the temple. Return to the Light. I can help. I want to help."
"Please don't say that. Even thinking about that makes me sad . . . sadder because I can't," Auroran pleaded.
"Are you still with them? We can protect you. You can help us put an end to it."
"Stop. Please? Just stop." The golden eyes disappeared as he turned away in the blackness. The thread was pulled taut, then snapped loose and faded completely.
Silence, again, then it was Auroran's turn to breach the partition. He reached a hand across, dripping with deep shadow that withered in the Light of Yulian's aura. He pressed the back of his fingers to his temple.
See? This is why I can't.
And Yulian could see all too clearly: there was the red-haired paladin, Miles, mutilated and suffering. There was the sense of duty that bound him to that dark place. That cave carved from crystal. There was the devotion that made it bearable, rational. He would stay until Miles died. If he died at all.
Auroran withdrew his hand and the link, but before it was swallowed again, Yulian captured it in a gentle fist. His other hand fished in the pocket of his robe and extracted a string of blue-green beads.
"It's small consolation, but these have brought me comfort over the years. My mother gave them to me," he explained as he wound them once, twice around Auroran's wrist. "Remember the Light when you look at them."
Another strand of Light-silk stretched between their hands as they parted, extended long and broke just as surely as the last.
"Will you tell them I was here?" Auroran asked. "Will you tell them what I showed you?"
Yulian knew what he was implying, and met his eye. "I swore an oath of honesty; I'm honor-bound to tell the truth when asked. I can't make any promises . . . only that I won't volunteer the information simply because I have it."
"I guess that's good enough." The prayer beads clacked as Auroran shifted in the dark. ". . . Thanks, Yuli."
The shadows cloaked the elf's rustling departure; when they dispersed he was gone.
"Light," Yulian sighed. "Of course I forgive you."
Even as he dedicated countless hours to his training, Yulian was still obliged to perform a certain number of priestly functions. Namely, hearing Lower City confessions, which served a dual purpose as reconnaissance in the ongoing war against the cancer known as the Kamil te Kar. There was a sufficient amount of guilt to be exploited, information to be gleaned from the confessions of addicts and brothel patrons. Dropped names and locations were painstakingly recorded to create a map of increasing intricacy.
Yulian's stomach always twisted when he remembered his days as an acquaintance to the Family. He wondered what became of them in the intervening years. Despite his conscience (or perhaps because of it) he never divulged the names he knew. Maybe they weren't even alive.
He had plenty of time to roll these thoughts around in the semi-darkness of the Draenic confessional -- more of a pod-like installation than the boxy human counterpart. More safely sound-proof, in any case. All other elements were the same: there was a partition between the priest and his visitor, and a screen in the repeat patterns of the Naaru to allow for conversation.
After an hour of stillness, he was startled by the near-silent arrival of a form on the other side of the booth. Slight in figure, swathed in robes and a shawl, Yulian couldn't immediately discern a clear gender.
"Forgive me . . . ?" came the timorous whisper, still androgynous, but familiar. A voice he hadn't heard in seven years.
"What is the nature of your misdeed?" Yulian asked mechanically and perhaps overly loud, even as his mind tried to roll with the shock of hearing that voice again.
"There's kind of a lot, I guess," the confessor breathed, tucking a stray lock of blue-green hair behind a long ear. The hand lingered to daub at glowing yellow eyes while it was in the neighborhood. "But I don't want the Light to forgive me so much as I want you to."
"Where have you been all this time? You stopped writing . . . you disappeared entirely!" Yulian whispered urgently, regretting the harsh edge on his voice. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. "I thought you were dead, Auroran. Almost certain of it."
"That's part of it . . . apologizing for that. I had to disappear. I'm really sorry," he sighed, and the confessional seemed to get colder by a few degrees. Darker by a shade. "But that's not the only thing. Sorry for, you know, being a . . . what's the word? For saying something and then doing something different?"
"Hypocrite?" Yulian offered, wincing.
"Yeah, that. I told you to go after the Light, and I was thinking I'd go the same way . . . but then . . . um, here I am?" The elf's voice wavered on the last words. He attempted a nervous laugh. There was no longer any ignoring the inky black shadows that were creeping up the walls. They were not the comforting sort of darkness that Auroran had defended seven years ago.
Sadness, despair, fright were all beginning to set in, but the wobbling notes in the elf's voice sparked a flame of compassion in Yulian's chest. The Light welled up and chased the encroaching shadows from his side of the confessional. They squirmed like dying worms and hid under the bench, in cracks and corners. Auroran's side, meanwhile, was a void of blackness but for the two golden eyes peering from within.
"You've wandered far, but you're not lost," Yulian said with a warm smile as he gently pushed away the screen between them. The solidity of the shadow would have driven him to terror seven years before, but now he dipped his hand into it, reaching for the space above and between the glowing eyes. Like reaching his fingers into a frigid, black pool until he met the solid warmth of Auroran's face. "Maybe you just can't see the way anymore? It must be difficult in the dark."
He willed the Light into his fingertips, splaying them across the scars on his forehead, then down the side of his cheek. Poor, beautiful, flawed Auroran. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, and with it came a single, tenuous strand. Light as gossamer, it stretched between the pad of his index finger and the middle of Auroran's brow. It glistened crisply in the remaining shadow.
"This is all that's left?"
The spider's web of Light bobbed with Auroran's head.
Yulian kept his hand raised as he stared at the emaciated tendril of Light. "It's not gone. There's still hope to embrace it! Auroran, please, come to the temple. Return to the Light. I can help. I want to help."
"Please don't say that. Even thinking about that makes me sad . . . sadder because I can't," Auroran pleaded.
"Are you still with them? We can protect you. You can help us put an end to it."
"Stop. Please? Just stop." The golden eyes disappeared as he turned away in the blackness. The thread was pulled taut, then snapped loose and faded completely.
Silence, again, then it was Auroran's turn to breach the partition. He reached a hand across, dripping with deep shadow that withered in the Light of Yulian's aura. He pressed the back of his fingers to his temple.
See? This is why I can't.
And Yulian could see all too clearly: there was the red-haired paladin, Miles, mutilated and suffering. There was the sense of duty that bound him to that dark place. That cave carved from crystal. There was the devotion that made it bearable, rational. He would stay until Miles died. If he died at all.
Auroran withdrew his hand and the link, but before it was swallowed again, Yulian captured it in a gentle fist. His other hand fished in the pocket of his robe and extracted a string of blue-green beads.
"It's small consolation, but these have brought me comfort over the years. My mother gave them to me," he explained as he wound them once, twice around Auroran's wrist. "Remember the Light when you look at them."
Another strand of Light-silk stretched between their hands as they parted, extended long and broke just as surely as the last.
"Will you tell them I was here?" Auroran asked. "Will you tell them what I showed you?"
Yulian knew what he was implying, and met his eye. "I swore an oath of honesty; I'm honor-bound to tell the truth when asked. I can't make any promises . . . only that I won't volunteer the information simply because I have it."
"I guess that's good enough." The prayer beads clacked as Auroran shifted in the dark. ". . . Thanks, Yuli."
The shadows cloaked the elf's rustling departure; when they dispersed he was gone.
"Light," Yulian sighed. "Of course I forgive you."
) YOU DO. asdfdf. I love it.