Velen and Neltharion...

Mists clung heavily to the ground.  The damp air sent a chill up his spine, rattling the elementium plates as he shook it.  The beach looked gray, dreary.  His ears heard the sound of a seagull squawking above as it dove for its breakfast.  Damp grains of sand stuck to his ebony black paws.  The silence of the early hours broken every so now and then by the roaring crash of the waves from the sea.  He could hear the scratching of little red crabs as they buried themselves under sun-bleached, smooth rocks.  Neltharion paused and lifted a hollow, white piece of drift wood and tossed it towards the waves.  The wind picked up a silvery lock and blew it wetly against his snout.

The Aspect paused and peered around, his mind blank.  He could not remember just when he came to this beach, how he got here, nor could he quite remember where he was before the beach.

Though he welcomed the solitude.

Neltharion continued his wall, listening to the sounds of the sea, the waves, the gulls, the crabs.  High above him on this narrow, gray beach, going towards the land was a wall of sharp rocks.  The rocks were covered in lichen, moss, and he heard the sounds of birds cracking clam shells against them.  The green moss was a stark, bold contrast against the gray sky, bright, cheerful.  Large, pillar-like rocks dotted the shallow tide pools, rising fifty feet in the air.  They topped off with a brush of fuzzy, short grass, giving them a look of a crew cut hairstyle.  

Being the Earth-Warder, Neltharion held a deep appreciation for beaches, especially ones with rocky cliffs.  This was the planet’s art on display, just as much as a volcanically active area, with dramatically spraying geysers, and bubbling mud pits.  Seeing the moss grow on the rocks, decorating them like a shaggy, emerald carpet was just as much a part of the geology as the rocks themselves.

Being on this beach, alone with his own thoughts, quiet, soothing, it brought a smile to his face. 

The air smelled fresh and salty.  He could breathe here, even if he did not really need to breathe at all.  He liked breathing, it reminded hime that he was alive, whatever life he truly was.

Neltharion took another deep breath as he slowly continued down the beach, following the curves that made up the edge of the continent.  Where ever it was, he enjoyed its scenery.  

He rounded a rocky corner as another large wave crashed upon the shore.  Neltharion’s snout itched as it caught the scent of something burning.  It smelled like tar and flesh.  He swallowed as he came upon billowing black smoke in the gray mists.  Though what he thought he felt was heat, he could only feel coldness.  He shook his scales and spread his wings.  Giving them a flap, the dragon snapped them swiftly to his back.  Neltharion came to an open area, a gorge leading out towards the beach.  At the center of the gorge was the source of the black smoke.  All around him were bodies, burnt, blackened, smoldering in the chilly morning air.

The gorge itself was covered in black rocks.  Cracks opened up, letting loose noxious gasses from deep inside and glowing fire.  Neltharion’s mouth became slack as he stepped upon the burnt rocks, walking between the dead bodies.  He spied a banner, tattered, with a black, spiky-shaped horseshoe and a diamond in the center.  He knew that banner very well.  It was the symbol for the Horde.

He passed a hulking, burnt corpse.  The skin flaked off of the pale white skull.  It had a sloping forehead and jutting sharp, cracked tusks from the heavily pronounced underbite.  Neltharion knew what he was looking at, an orc corpse.  He could tell by the more slender frame, curvature of the waist, that it was female.  At its side, was a broad sword and a rifle.

There were many others, bodies, Horde bodies.  Tauren, troll, orc, undead, blood elf, burnt.

Neltharion crossed over, stepping as lightly as he could around the bodies.  There was a great battle here, but these warriors did not die from it.  He could smell that they died from something else.  He paused and dug his paw into the soft, black earth.  Slowly, Neltharion breathed in and out, his breath not wavering.  He concentrated hearing his heart beat in his chest, the thump traveling down his thick legs and into the earth itself.  He heard the thump and a horrible sound that replied.  It spread out all around him like ripples upon a pond.  Each ripple running over the dead bodies of the warriors.  Despite seeing only Horde soldiers, he found underneath them human bodies that were not Forsaken.  And there were dwarves and night elves and Draenei lying below.  Alliance soldiers.

The foul sound rippled back traveling from the earth and up through his legs and into his chest.  Neltharion’s heart quivered, his lungs spasmed and he started to cough.  The Black Dragon doubled over as the sound bounced around inside his brain case.  His head pounded, the sound screeching, clawing inside of him.  He heard the sound of laughter, dark, cold, mocking him.  Neltharion curled his body, pulling his tail between his legs.  His wings flailed behind him.  He seized, flinching, curling.  Neltharion opened his eyes and looked up, his head stiffly moving.

Above him a dark cloud, the smoke smoldering above from the battleground, coalesced into a shape.  Neltharion turned his head, following the smoke.  Four pale eyes regarded him in the smoke, and a toothy, terrible grin spread across the blob of blackness of the smoke.  

Fear…

Neltharion grimaced, clinching his teeth tightly.

Anger…

The Earth-Warder coughed, gagged.  The thing seemed to have stolen his voice.

Hate…

Violence…

He watched pinned to the ground, one foot still fastened tightly under the sand.  The cloud grew arms and insect like legs circling the black mass of smoke it stood upon.  Another formed along side it.  Neltharion tried to shut his eyes from these creatures who formed all around him.  But he stared on.

Doubt…

The Earth-Warder winced as he felt the smoke start to heavily crawl up around his body.  He could feel tiny pin prickles along his scales.  

Dispair…

The shadowy things of smoke began to merge upon each other like droplets of water.  As they gathered, long, thick legs sprouted out.  Wings burgeoned and spread wide, covering the gray sky with black.  A terrible draconic head formed with tall, thick horns.  Its chest was armored with metallic plates, split at the center seam.  And upon its lower jaw was a large, metallic brace.  Its eyes burned like hot coals.  

Pride…

Neltharion swallowed, his throat sore and dry.

We are not easily forgotten.  You have stopped nothing.

The voice sliced through Neltharion’s mind and he screamed with a hollow voice.

Be it by your hand, or another.  The Hour of Twilight will Fall…

The sound became a roar inside of his ears.  Then, Deathwing turned towards the south and Neltharion followed his gaze.

South…

§§§

He awoke with a start, wiggling himself free from the icy clutches of the horrible nightmare.  Neltharion gasped, breathing the air of release as if the dream itself just let go of his trachea.  He rose from the bed made for him.  Neltharion’s talons had ripped through the covers as he tore himself from the dream.  The pillow behind him was ripped, the fluffy down spilling out to the floor.  The Black Dragon shivered, his eyes wide, the pupils tiny, tight dots against the green.  He rocked himself from the bed, but his legs did not catch him.  Neltharion hit the floor and kicked away from the bed.  He gathered himself up into a ball, staring aimlessly at the far, lavender wall.

The Aspect pushed himself from the floor and rose upon unsteady feet.  He walked towards the door and they chimed open.  Neltharion shuddered, glancing stiffly around the corridor.  He felt something take hold of his hip and he swung around, a paw raised for the striking.  He paused, his claw still outstretched.  The Prophet Velen remained unmoved by the potential fatal slice.

“Velen,” Neltharion said, letting the Prophet’s name escape his lips in relief.

“I gather you did not rest well last night,” he said. “In fact you have not been resting well any night since you came here.”

The Earth-Warder lowered his paw and sighed, his head bowed and limp.

“I…am worried about my wife,” Neltharion said. “I suppose that’s why.”

“You hold the truth like water in your hands, my friend,” said Velen. “I have promised not to pry into the affairs of an Aspect, but this has gone on long enough.  Tell me, what did you see?”

“See?”

“See,” he replied. “I know that look upon your face.  You have held it each time you awoke.  Visions are often startling.”

“I…I’m not like you,” said Neltharion. “I can’t see…”

“Once more, you attempt to hold that water,” said Velen, wagging his head. “But it the water keeps escaping.”

“You know I could in fact freeze the water and keep it from escaping,” said Neltharion.

“Neltharion, what I mean to say is that the Sight is not limited to me,” he said. “I have heard stories of dragons having prophetic visions.”

The dragon averted his eyes and wagged his head.

“You told me that Krasus, the late mate to Queen Alexstrasza, foresaw the fate of Theramore,” said Velen. “And wrote it down in a riddle.”  He leaned back, straightening his back. “I have heard the news that the Council of Six has decided to elect a new leader in Dalaran.  They have chosen Lady Jaina Proudmoore.  Did Krasus not foresee that as well?”

“He…he did,” said Neltharion.

“So, the Sight can come to anyone.  Even to you.  What did you see?”

“I…I…I don’t know…”

“Sometimes it is best to let it loose,” said Velen. “Keeping it all bottled inside can be damaging.”

“Smoke monsters,” Neltharion said, giving in with a sigh. “I saw smoke monsters.”

“Smoke monsters?”

“I was traveling along side a beach,” he said. “This beach, I’ve never seen it before.  But it felt peaceful.  And it was cloaked in gray fog.”

“The Earth-Warder that does not know a beach?”

“No…well…yeah,” said Neltharion. “It was a dream, so I guess I wouldn’t know where it was.  But it wasn’t in the Emerald Dream.  It was just there, and I was just there.  Then, I saw bodies.  Lots of bodies, all black and smelling like they’ve been fried.  Horde and Alliance all.  I touched the ground and I heard this horrible noise.  It didn’t sound like the Song at all.  It felt like the land was sick.  I fell.  I couldn’t move.  Then, the smoke from the bodies rose up to form this monster.  A thing with four white eyes.  Then another formed beside it.  Seven, actually.  I could feel their emotions.  Anger, violence, hatred, despair, doubt, fear, and pride.”  He closed his eyes. “And then they all combined into one being.  They all combined and formed Deathwing.”  Neltharion sighed. “And I thought we were through with the Hour of Twilight.  I thought it was done.  But…”

“The Old Gods are still below the surface of Azeroth,” said Velen. “My shaman have told me this.  Just because you are here with us now, it does not mean we have won the struggle started by the Cataclysm.  The effects of the Cataclysm still plague this planet to this day.  The land has been changed because of it.  So long as the Old Gods are still around, then the Hour of Twilight has not been abated.”

“It is getting old though,” said Neltharion. “I mean, for a good year, I had to listen to the whole boast from Deathwing, over, and over, and over, and over, and…and…”

“The sun has set on this mortal world,” said Velen. “Make peace with your end for the Hour of Twilight falls.”

“Blech, enough,” Neltharion said in a moan. “If I hear that mantra one more time, I’ll vomit.  It’s not going to happen.  It’s over with.  I’m done with it.  I’ve nearly made the Twilight Dragonflight extinct, I’ve scattered the Twilight’s Hammer, I’m completely ignoring N’Zoth and his voice isn’t bothering me.”

“And yet, the Twilight Dragonflight still exists,” said Velen. “The Twilight’s Hammer may have been scattered, but they were the ones responsible for giving Garrosh the means to build his weapons, and though you ignore N’Zoth, it does not mean he is not there.  The problem has not gone away despite your belief it has.  Nor does new problems eclipse the old ones.  My problems have not gone away.  Kil’Jaeden may have been defeated at the Sunwell, but he has not been destroyed.  He still exists, he still plots.  Though Sargeras was defeated as well ten thousand years ago, it still did not stop him.  He did not go away.  He came back to possess sorcerer Medivh.  And Sargeras is still out there.  The threat of the Burning Legion is still there.”  He placed his hand upon Neltharion’s shoulder. “Your troubles and mine have not disappeared.  All we did was buy us a little bit more time.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Your vision was your own voice reminding you of that.  If you falter, you saw what could happen.  I have a purpose myself, and I must never forget what that purpose is.  I must always continue on and remember that purpose.  So do you.”

Neltharion bowed his head: “Perhaps you are right.  I’ve felt I’ve lost myself these last two years.  Maybe I have prioritized something I shouldn’t.”

“Perhaps,” said Velen.

“But what about Calia?” Neltharion asked. “I have to worry about her…she’s my…”

Velen slowly raised a hand and wagged his head.  He smoothed out his beard.

“There is something I have learned ever since she came to us,” he began. “She has her own problems, her own convictions.  Most importantly, her world is quite small compared to your own.  It is all that she can handle.  Ask yourself if she can in fact truly handle your world, truly help you carry the weight you carry.  Ask yourself, can she see how you see?  Then ask yourself this, can you see how she sees?”

Neltharion scratched his chin: “No offense, Prophet, but what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You will see,” said Velen. “You both have kept to yourselves during your stay, just like you try to avoid the realization that the Hour of Twilight still could happen, you have been avoiding her.  You knew what you felt when you entered the medical bay, do you not?”

Neltharion let loose a frustrated growl.

“Go see her,” said Velen. “And come to terms with it, with who you are and who she is.”

Neltharion rumbled and nodded.  Velen bowed to the Earth-Warder and then parted, sweeping across the floor as if he glided upon the Light itself.

     

“Wait,” said Neltharion. “Velen!”

Velen paused and turned slightly.

“Maybe you know why Deathwing looked south.”

“Why did he look south?” asked Velen.

“That’s what I want to know.”

“What is in the south?”

“Um…” Neltharion said as he withdrew from the Prophet. “I…I think I know.  But I don’t…remember.  Uncharted land?”

“To us, perhaps,” said Velen. “But is Azeroth truly uncharted to you?”

“No,” said Neltharion.

“Then you do know what lies to the south,” said Velen.  He continued his walk down the corridor, leaving the Earth-Warder.

         

“Still doesn’t answer the question what’s there in the south,” Neltharion sighed.