Desrael Nikos - Rough draft of a long tale!
Jun 2, 2019 17:53:55 GMT -5
۞ KAT ۞ AKA Red Viper, Xrailax, and 1 more like this
Post by Desrael on Jun 2, 2019 17:53:55 GMT -5
Pride, was all her parent's knew from her very birth. She came from the womb kicking and fighting the whole way. Oh how her arms and legs flailed, oh how little foreshadowing did her parent's sense then. Desrael, but a baby had already shown signs of being a warrior, a protector of her people. Her childhood reflected this born-nature to a tee. Her childhood consisted mostly of practice - zeal. Blood and sweat went into the thousands of wooden dummies and fellow classmates alike that she bested. Excelling not only in combat, but in knowledge. Her free-time at home was spent studying everything from basic sciences to literature. Her favorite however, was a book named "Sentinel's Vindication". A novel written by a young scholar in Darnassus, it told the anecdote of a Sentinel who had once been cast out from her society, cursed by her people. Everything in her life was set towards redemtion- to her, well, 'Vindication.' Not only did it tell this woman's tale, but it also told of her tenacity, her elegency in the heart of the fray. This woman, through her efforts and against all odds redeemed herself and was elevated to a didactic position within the esteemed Sentinel Academy. Everyday this book was read, and every day it was copied in the physical world. Desrael strived to be this woman's living emobodiment. The foreshadowing from before? The born-destiny to become a fighter? That was all becoming ever prevelant to her mother and father. There came a time where they knocked on her door, they slowly wadled their way in- scared of their daughter's reaction to what they would say. They pulled her book away from her hands and looked her dead in the eyes. The next several minutes was filled with heart-driven pleas and cries from Desrael's biologicals to persure another career. Perhaps, maybe a Scholar! Or- or a caretaker in a garden! What was Desrael supposed to do? Argue with her own family? No- she simply nodded that night, sending her parents off in a hurry. Whilst they felt content with her reaction, leaving with smiles one their faces Desrael evidently was not so 'happy'. One physical door shut, another emotional door burst open with pure haste. She threw her book across room, ravaged her now-torn sheets, and dented a firm damp wall that she knew would give way easily.
For the next several years Desrael would keep to this mirage for her parent's sake. Everytime they prodded her what she would be, she would simply and non-chalantly reply with one of their famous suggestions. This, of course was pure chicanary used to fool her parents into believing her. The emotional effect that this had on the poor child gave way to a new breed of vulnerability. She would cry herself to sleep at due to false fantasies. The prior disheartening words from her Parent's made her this way, but she never stopped. Her devoution knew no bounds. When she became of proper age she concealed her life away from her gaze of her family, and applied herself to the Sentinel Academy regardless of any previous impressions. Then came that fateful day of acceptance. It was one of bliss, and one of despair. Once news inevitably disseminated outwards to the populace she was met with criticism and shere doubt from her not only her friends, but her very flesh and blood. Being cast away from her home Desrael would turn tail and bolt to her soon-to-be home, eager to start her new life away from the judgement of those she once knew.
First day of arrival at a Feathermoon Stronghold. She rode in via Hippogrpyh. Initial analysis saw her facing a tall Statue of the famed Shandris Feathermoon. It depicts a man who she would soon come to know as Shandris Feathmore decorated in a mail raiment. He stands at attention, making it a point to duck his head and place both hands firmly on the butt end of his earth-planted sword. Behind him resides a mage-tower sized silver tree summiting with marshy green leaves. Thick in nature the tree is able to support the many windowed rooms spiraling all the way to the peak. Her eyes meandered futher across fields hosuing dozens of warglaives, a large Garrison-esc structure, two Watchtowers and a much more slender heightened tree where she would no doubt be perfroming most of her studies.
Ah, graduation. Not a present day goes by where she doesn't recall this timeframe. Vivid memories burn in her mind of embellished violet cloth drapped around various hazelnut mantles. The stage set with over a dozen podiums, one for each of her soon-to-be former Shan'dos (Honoured Teacher). The ceremony was dreadfully long, but Desrael didn't mind it for a moment. The struggle and hardships leading up to this moments bursted out within her. A smile brighter than Elune herself dawned Desrael's face that day as she accepted her title, and her pendant as a Darnassian Sentinel. The very pendant that she wears today, despite being an outcast. Which draws us into the next bit of Desrael's history.
Jump a few hundred years and Desrael's life had been going as expected. She served as a Hippogryph riding reconnaissance unit within the Sentinal's vast army. She would fly to her heart's content, unconvering many of the Horde's forward facing Strongholds, and taking note of their layout. After the scouting was complete she would be grounded and was sent to be locked within old fashioned Horde massacres. This was her duty, and her burden. All prior to the pivotal day, the day in which the Legion decided to make it's grand entrance. Understanding the threat that they faced, the Wardens commanding Desrael's batallion were sent back to Darnassus to defend their capital city. Told only to extinguish any life non-familiar. This iritated Desrael beyond measure. Being kept within the confinements of her home was torture for her. She was praised, but it wasn't what she wanted. She pleaded for days with her Warden's, begging only to be sent to frontlines so they she may fight along side the rest of her brazen brother's and sisters. Her denial was swift, and harsh- so she did as she had once done before. She left, she abandoned those that would hold her accountable to this defending role. Where she had gone had only been known to her. Her disappearance was unexpected, and unseen as she left under the watchful eye of Elune and her Children. Only they would be judging her now.
Seeking a more direct and instant result she found herself in unholy lands of forsaken, the home of the Illidari. Where her pleas had failed with the Wardens, they had been accepted within the 'horned ones.' Her transformation was unforseeablly gruesome due to the nature of her situation. She had joined late, thousands, and thousands of years late. Thus the 'malformations' as she calls them had to be hastened to achieve full results. Too this day her own agonized screams burn within Desrael's mind. The pain of the ritual was unbearable. Serated horns burst from her head in a thick pool of blood. The blood oozed down over her eyes, keeping them shut but only for a moment. Following was an eruption of fel within her sockets. The once glistening white bulbs had been rendered nothing but a lime-colored flame. And last but not least, her blood. The trickles that had once been running red, bled green. Everything following was a blur. As for the tattoos? She feinted from shock and downright pain before they could surface. Recovery was necesarry, but short-lived. Before long she threw herself back into the fray with her new-found abilities.
Now come's the day of the Legion's ultimate fall, and Sargeras's imprisonment. She found herself overjoyed, but also.. empty.. She had pushed out everyone and everything that led her to this point. Without further purpose within the Illidari she began to feel the true overwhelming weight of her remorse. She attempted a return to her homeland, hoping they would accept her with open arms. She was greeted with open arms, but they were far from hugs. They were sharp, silver, and serated. She had become known as a betrayer of her people, as a heretic who dare walk upon Azeroth within Elune's gaze. "How could I?!," "Why did I do this to myself? To my family?" "What have I become?! I'm a monster! A fel damned monster!" These cursed words are what roam her head to this very day. Before they would send her into a deep state of depression, and lonliness. Now, they serve as a motivator, a tool to drive herself forward. Cast out by her people and feeling the regret of her new demonic self she found solace within the Kul-Tirans. Serving as a low-ranking Mariner she takes every oppertunity she has, every spare moment to better herself within any field. Whether it be her mental state, her physical capabilities, or her favored practice, the way of the Arcane as a means of fel-purification.
( If you made it this far in the post than my god, props to you! Please give any sort of feedback or constructive criticism- just don't go insulting my intelligence otherwise I will be a very sad elf. That last part was a joke. Or was it?... )
For the next several years Desrael would keep to this mirage for her parent's sake. Everytime they prodded her what she would be, she would simply and non-chalantly reply with one of their famous suggestions. This, of course was pure chicanary used to fool her parents into believing her. The emotional effect that this had on the poor child gave way to a new breed of vulnerability. She would cry herself to sleep at due to false fantasies. The prior disheartening words from her Parent's made her this way, but she never stopped. Her devoution knew no bounds. When she became of proper age she concealed her life away from her gaze of her family, and applied herself to the Sentinel Academy regardless of any previous impressions. Then came that fateful day of acceptance. It was one of bliss, and one of despair. Once news inevitably disseminated outwards to the populace she was met with criticism and shere doubt from her not only her friends, but her very flesh and blood. Being cast away from her home Desrael would turn tail and bolt to her soon-to-be home, eager to start her new life away from the judgement of those she once knew.
First day of arrival at a Feathermoon Stronghold. She rode in via Hippogrpyh. Initial analysis saw her facing a tall Statue of the famed Shandris Feathermoon. It depicts a man who she would soon come to know as Shandris Feathmore decorated in a mail raiment. He stands at attention, making it a point to duck his head and place both hands firmly on the butt end of his earth-planted sword. Behind him resides a mage-tower sized silver tree summiting with marshy green leaves. Thick in nature the tree is able to support the many windowed rooms spiraling all the way to the peak. Her eyes meandered futher across fields hosuing dozens of warglaives, a large Garrison-esc structure, two Watchtowers and a much more slender heightened tree where she would no doubt be perfroming most of her studies.
Ah, graduation. Not a present day goes by where she doesn't recall this timeframe. Vivid memories burn in her mind of embellished violet cloth drapped around various hazelnut mantles. The stage set with over a dozen podiums, one for each of her soon-to-be former Shan'dos (Honoured Teacher). The ceremony was dreadfully long, but Desrael didn't mind it for a moment. The struggle and hardships leading up to this moments bursted out within her. A smile brighter than Elune herself dawned Desrael's face that day as she accepted her title, and her pendant as a Darnassian Sentinel. The very pendant that she wears today, despite being an outcast. Which draws us into the next bit of Desrael's history.
Jump a few hundred years and Desrael's life had been going as expected. She served as a Hippogryph riding reconnaissance unit within the Sentinal's vast army. She would fly to her heart's content, unconvering many of the Horde's forward facing Strongholds, and taking note of their layout. After the scouting was complete she would be grounded and was sent to be locked within old fashioned Horde massacres. This was her duty, and her burden. All prior to the pivotal day, the day in which the Legion decided to make it's grand entrance. Understanding the threat that they faced, the Wardens commanding Desrael's batallion were sent back to Darnassus to defend their capital city. Told only to extinguish any life non-familiar. This iritated Desrael beyond measure. Being kept within the confinements of her home was torture for her. She was praised, but it wasn't what she wanted. She pleaded for days with her Warden's, begging only to be sent to frontlines so they she may fight along side the rest of her brazen brother's and sisters. Her denial was swift, and harsh- so she did as she had once done before. She left, she abandoned those that would hold her accountable to this defending role. Where she had gone had only been known to her. Her disappearance was unexpected, and unseen as she left under the watchful eye of Elune and her Children. Only they would be judging her now.
Seeking a more direct and instant result she found herself in unholy lands of forsaken, the home of the Illidari. Where her pleas had failed with the Wardens, they had been accepted within the 'horned ones.' Her transformation was unforseeablly gruesome due to the nature of her situation. She had joined late, thousands, and thousands of years late. Thus the 'malformations' as she calls them had to be hastened to achieve full results. Too this day her own agonized screams burn within Desrael's mind. The pain of the ritual was unbearable. Serated horns burst from her head in a thick pool of blood. The blood oozed down over her eyes, keeping them shut but only for a moment. Following was an eruption of fel within her sockets. The once glistening white bulbs had been rendered nothing but a lime-colored flame. And last but not least, her blood. The trickles that had once been running red, bled green. Everything following was a blur. As for the tattoos? She feinted from shock and downright pain before they could surface. Recovery was necesarry, but short-lived. Before long she threw herself back into the fray with her new-found abilities.
Now come's the day of the Legion's ultimate fall, and Sargeras's imprisonment. She found herself overjoyed, but also.. empty.. She had pushed out everyone and everything that led her to this point. Without further purpose within the Illidari she began to feel the true overwhelming weight of her remorse. She attempted a return to her homeland, hoping they would accept her with open arms. She was greeted with open arms, but they were far from hugs. They were sharp, silver, and serated. She had become known as a betrayer of her people, as a heretic who dare walk upon Azeroth within Elune's gaze. "How could I?!," "Why did I do this to myself? To my family?" "What have I become?! I'm a monster! A fel damned monster!" These cursed words are what roam her head to this very day. Before they would send her into a deep state of depression, and lonliness. Now, they serve as a motivator, a tool to drive herself forward. Cast out by her people and feeling the regret of her new demonic self she found solace within the Kul-Tirans. Serving as a low-ranking Mariner she takes every oppertunity she has, every spare moment to better herself within any field. Whether it be her mental state, her physical capabilities, or her favored practice, the way of the Arcane as a means of fel-purification.
( If you made it this far in the post than my god, props to you! Please give any sort of feedback or constructive criticism- just don't go insulting my intelligence otherwise I will be a very sad elf. That last part was a joke. Or was it?... )
))
Founded April 26, 2005