Spirit Beast

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Ulthanon
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Spirit Beast

Postby Ulthanon » Tue Jun 01, 2010 7:12 pm

Death.
Death came spewing from the portal, through the hole in the world, into the line of Black and Red and the myriad other colors that never mixed well with them save during times of greatest conflict. There was a part of him, a growing part, that was becoming accustomed to this continual assault on his senses of right and wrong, of life and death, of the possible and the impossible. Sometimes it was the monumental moments, shared by the whole world, that stole his breath and weakened his knees, as the Bloody Prince had at the Wrathgate. Other times, it was moments far smaller and private, that made him question just how much mastery even the vaunted powers he and his ilk commanded held over the world. It was in moments like these that he doubted the strength of mortals the most- in moments when people like Magdalenia Maunt brought half his number to their knees without ever setting foot near them, when she crippled their willpower with tiny dolls and turned against them shadows that feared no light.

She had sent one of her vile creations ahead of her, a Lich of the darkest craft. They fell upon it with the utmost urgency, but as he joined the melee, it was his claws he had drawn, not his bow or his spear- his claws, his greatest prize from the depths of the Hakkari stronghold of Zul'Gurub. They, and the others like them, had been forged countless millennia ago as marks of honor for the Loa's greatest champions. There were legends that stated he who reunited a pair of the city's twin katars would be looked upon as an avatar of the jungle's power itself, given the gift of strength and rage mainlined from the Goddess who matroned the weapons' creation.
Long had those ancient blades been silent for him, Shirvallah's voice an echo on the wind. Long had their glow subsided, reduced to an iridescent sheen in the noontime sun. And yet, as he plunged his first clawed fist into the shriveled flesh of the construct, he felt that strength surge through him once again. Flesh gave way to fur, the lithe musculature of a runner and scout grew to the hulking build of a thirteen-foot-tall tiger, the song of the elemental spirits singing once again in his mind as it did. Just as rapidly, the tide of primal force ebbed, leaving him elven once again- but while some of his companions' expressions were as shocked and confused as his own, they had no time to inquire. Moments after the Lich crumbled, another form walked through the portal, and she stood amidst them with the confidence of guaranteed invulnerability.
"Pity," she murmured, poking the hollowed husk of her Lich minion with a boot, "A good waste of bones."

Through the immediate hail of bullets, spells and arrows she yawned, her protection appearing to be nothing more substantial than shimmering heat that one might see rising off a summer day's road in the distance, yet it held as total proof against the most fervent of blows. If this was the best her quarry could muster, he knew that she would not have much difficulty in silencing them one by one. Though he stood tensed and ready to strike, as he stood watching Jakob Balthasar's fury glance harmlessly off of the translucent barrier, he doubted he had any weapon which would yield a better result.

He ignored the feeling at first, eyes locked on the mocking woman behind the shield. As her presence froze the Haunted where they stood, their minds now doubly plagued by the renewed strength of their curses, he feared allowing her any unnoticed movement, lest it be a gesture that ended the life of one of his kin. And yet, the feeling grew within him, to look down, look down, just for a moment, and to see. Even still, it was the absence he paid attention to before the presence of that feeling. Nowhere near him could he feel his wolf-companion, so named Ghost for the mist-colored camouflage his thick coat provided him. It was this absence to his left that drew his eyes, only for a fraction of a moment, but a long enough time to see that his typical compatriot now stood replaced by a snow-white cat.

He lowered his guard- his mind now entirely consumed by confusion. He'd met a Sabre along his travels, but he had rarely called her to service. This beast looked much like that ashen feline, but...
YOU.
The voice exploded in front of him, threatening to throw backwards his soul as fiercely as the shockwave from a bomb would toss aside his body. Still, his body remained unaffected and standing, and as he regained his internal composure, he struggled to find the source of his attack. He almost glanced at Magdalenia, but her attentions were elsewhere. His gaze was drawn back to the cat that sat patiently before him, and it was then that he noticed the creature's eyes. No longer mundane feline orbs of yellows and greens, the creature's eyes shone with a baleful purple light. He slowly dropped to a knee to inspect the creature closer, when the voice came again.

YOU, who has called, now shall you answer. The voice pounded in his head, and with each word his perception of his surroundings swam; the walls of the cave bent outward and pulled back in, the people near him thrown into the distance and then right next to his face. The words they spoke were mere whispers now. He found himself completely unable to look away from the cat's burning eyes, and more strangely- he found he didn't want to.
You are not of the blood, the voice spat, no softer than before, But you bear the primal blessing. The deathwalker's aura will not stand before me- but you will pay for my gift in blood.

His vision was now encompassed by the eyes of the cat, as if they were the size of steam tank wheels and he stood immediately before them. As the voice spoke, a noise like a rhythmic rush of water built behind him. It swelled and grew until it drowned out all other noise save for the voice, thundering through his consciousness like thunder scraping across granite.
You will take this gift, the voice said, Or you will die.

CHOOSE, champion.

"Yes," Ulthanon breathed, the word sliding out in the forgotten dialect of Zin'Ashari, "Help me."
Then listen well, came the command, and in the crashing of waves he could start to hear voices. Inaudible at first, they spoke as if hidden behind a waterfall, but as their water thundered down onto the rocks he could hear them as if they were the waterfall, their tongues as the breakers that called to him.

"She will serve the Master, in death/
Exalted she will stand, always drawing breath/
Shrouded twice in darkness, where virtue goes to die/
Enbalmed in living death, the mountain in the sky.


Once, the voices of water called this to him, and once only. As they finished, everything returned to normal all at once; the echo of perception ceased, the cat's eyes returned to normal, and his hearing snapped back to understanding the voices around him. He looked around wildly for a moment, mind struggling to make sense of everything that had transpired. Stranger still, it seemed as though he was the only one to have experienced it; all other eyes were locked on Magdalenia.
"She will serve the Master, in death," he breathed, Where have I heard that before? Mountains in the sky- what, Dalaran? No, shrouded twice in darkness, embalmed in living death. Mountain in the sky, mountain in the--

"I WILL SERVE THE MASTER, IN DEATH!" The memory of battles past shot through his mind like lightning, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a grin as they did.

He turned to the cat, which still sat, watching him curiously. "Thank you," he murmered, before standing and bolting for the door.
"With me!" He bellowed, his voice reverberating off the hewn stone walls of the cave, "We end this! No time to explain- the Citadel! Take to the skies!"
[Fells] says: I LOBE DACNIEBG kiTTLES

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