(2023-11-29) A Door Into Memory

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	Almeiria guides Celaven on a journey into a void-touched layer of their own minds. Difficult memories are confronted and some secrets are revealed.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

+ Show additional content warnings

emotional abuse, neglect and the distressing mind control of a child, death of a small prey animal, discussion of the moral potential of undead people, various negative emotions

Celaven Evensong waits in his room at the Ironforge Inn, sitting against one stone wall with eyes-closed. He's in a posture of meditation, but the flickering movement of eyes under lids betrays the lack of peace in his current attempt. The room is entirely unchanged from its usual impersonal decor, and Celaven has no belongings to indicate he anticipates a long stay. He merely sits, his long hair arranged carefully down his shoulders, his priest's robes spotless, and his mind full of disquiet.

There is a light, whisper of a tap on the door, the pattern certainly representative of a knock, but the sound itself can barely be heard.

Celaven's eyes snap open, and his silver gaze on the door is sharper than usual for a moment. Then he takes a breath and rises, carefully putting on a smile and moving to pull the door open and see who might be there.

Almeiria stands outside, dressed in robes of white and black, with gold accents and carrying a basket full of candles. She returns his smile with one of her own, although hers is filled with cold, almost vicious excitement. "Celaven, dear! I trust you are prepared?" Her voice drips with false sweetness as her brown eyes find his.

Celaven steps back, pulling the door further open and gesturing her in. "Of course. I would not waste your time, Miss Almeiria. I trust the room is satisfactory?"

Almeiria glides into the room, setting the basket down on the bed. "It will do, yes. Have you memorized it? Doing so might help you feel grounded." She begins unloading candles, placing them in various spots around the room, leaving the center empty. Maybe it's for a purpose, or maybe she just likes the aesthetic.

"There is not so much to memorize, but I have centered myself here." He watches her begin setting out candles, and then says,"Is it a pattern? I could help."

"This is how I ground myself," Almeiria replies. "If even one is out of place, I find it unsettling. If you want to help, you can light them."

Celaven pulls a matchbook out of his pocket and follows obediently along behind Almeiria, lighting each wick. "Is this something you do often?"

"What we're about to do, or the candles?" Almeiria asks. "I do appreciate good candlelight. When I ventured into that dread school Scholomance with your Company, I rather liked their aesthetic, if not their practices. I don't know how necromancers can stand the smell." Having placed the last candle, she straightens and moves to the center of the room, waiting for him to finish lighting them.

"The candles, but I could have asked about the other as well," Celaven says, sparking another match to light as he moves toward the last few. "I've never been to Scholomance, but I have seen necromancers in the Plaguelands. And death knights. Perhaps they have a similar sense of style." He finishes lighting the final candle and moves to the center of the room to stand in front of Almeiria, flicking the match to extinguish it.

Almeiria murmurs a few words, probably setting up wards and mental barriers just in case, then holds out her hands for him. "Whenever you're ready."

Celaven takes one deep breath and lets it out slowly, letting his own protections down. He reaches forward to take her hands in his long-fingered lilac ones and nods. "I'm ready."

Shadows begin to engulf Almeiria, spreading hungrily from behind her, consuming her down to her fingertips. Then, with some urging in a strange language, the shadows spread to Celaven himself. The world seems to twist, and the candles surrounding them vanish. Suddenly Almeiria is at his side instead of in front of him, and the cold, empty room regards them mournfully, covered in a thick layer of dust.

Celaven draws in an unsteady breath as the world shifts around them, and his eyes dart around the familiar and yet suddenly unfamiliar room. He turns to Almeiria, and looks ready to speak, but then hesitates.

"It has a certain air, doesn't it?" Almeiria looks completely at home in the gloomy setting. She turns her smile to him. "We've only just dipped our toes in. Do you still remember where we came from?"

"Ironforge," Celaven says, eyeing the dust uncertainly. "Are we still there now? Or is this… somewhere else?"

"We're still there. Physically. This place is both your mind, and a layer of the Void. You may take a moment to compose yourself, but if you are prepared to continue…" Almeiria gestures towards the door.

Celaven takes the recommended moment to breathe in and out, centering himself, and then steps forward to open the door.

Whatever he was expecting on the other side, it wasn't this. Instead of a dusty inn corridor, the door opens into lush greenery and purple flowers, a beautiful natural spot somewhere in Kalimdor. Except, not quite as beautiful as it might be in reality. There's no scent of the perfume of flowers, and no sounds of birdsong or animal movement. The very sunlight seems dulled, even though the canopy is not terribly thick above them.

Celaven looks at Almeiria in uncertainty. "Is this what usually happens?"

"Do you recall this place?" Almeiria asks, drifting out of the room and into the silent forest. "We should still be somewhere in your mind. Your memories, or perhaps your fantasies, all influenced by the Void. What is usual will change by the person." She examines the flowers, something close to a true smile on her face.

"Yes, this place…" Celaven watches Almeiria and the flowers uneasily. "It's near where I grew up, almost five hundred years ago. Our home should be just…" Celaven raises a hand to point, and not far away is, in fact, a small home in the wall-less kaldorei style. Was it there before? Who can say? He turns back to Almeiria and says, "This should be related to a memory I… feel guilty about? Or that troubles me in some way?"

"The Void is trying to win you over, after all," she says, turning to examine the home in the near distance. "It will toy with your fears, or feed on your desires, all to claim you as its own." Despite her words, Almeiria doesn't look even remotely concerned. "But five hundred years ago, hmm? As you can guess, I wasn't even remotely alive, then."

"The world was a little more peaceful then, at least my part of it," Celaven says, moving toward the house with reluctant steps. "I think I can guess what this is meant to remind me of, though it does seem a rather unsubtle jab." His steps slow, his ears drooping. "Will I see myself, if this is a memory? Or become myself again?"

"It may be different for you and whatever this memory entails, but in my case, the Void always approached me directly. This is, in the absence of the whispers, its way of communicating with you, after all." Almeiria follows Celaven, eager curiosity lighting her brown eyes.

Celaven leads her around the corner of the building, and draws to a stop when two figures come into view. One, a kaldorei man who might as well be Celaven's age or ten thousand years older, but whose frame is considerably more muscular, his purple tied back with an eye to practicality and a roughness to the hands he gestures with. The other, a slim, long-haired adolescent boy child in soft robes, his posture slightly hunched as if he's enduring a strong wind.

As they come closer, a third creature comes into view. A rabbit, dead on the ground between them, tooth marks indicating the work of some predator since chased off.

There's the sound of angry words, the meaning indistinct, until the scene comes fully into focus.

"…I have told you, it is the way of nature," the older man snaps, clearly beyond patience. "Would you have the panthers starve? What would you have me do, boy? Raise the rabbit and kill a squirrel to take its place?"

Almeiria raises a single eyebrow and glances at Celaven.

"I just thought… the priestesses can…" the boy says, and Celaven's lips move along with the words.

"The priestesses," the man says, his voice dripping with scorn. "They're only humoring you, no one wants you there. I don't understand why you're so weak-hearted, your sister didn't have this problem. Sometimes I wonder if you're even mine."

The man turns and strides away, while the little boy sniffles and clasps his hands together in a prayer that isn't answered.

Celaven watches the boy cry, and says quietly,"I'm not yours, even if I was once."

Almeiria approaches the rabbit and nudges it with her foot. "Do you not eat meat?" she asks.

"Yes, now," the boy fades into the general haze as Celaven steps forward, one pace behind Almeiria. "I was only a child then, going to his father for comfort over a lost pet." Celaven sighs, but there are no tears left for this day in the five-hundred-year-old version. "It was the last time he ever spoke to me, as it happens."

"Does that bother you? That a cruel parent failed to shower you with love, and now is gone from your life?" She crouches by the fallen creature and runs her fingers along its ears. "I would think it a blessing."

"He is only as gone as I can let him be in my own mind," Celaven says, coming to kneel by her. "He has no time for me, but my half-sister is still in my life. A young girl, likely about your age. I have to balance the fact that she is, clearly, my replacement in his heart, and that she is innocent of any intended harm herself."

A cold smile curves Almeiria's lips. "Are you jealous?"

"Obviously," Celaven says quietly, and the sky darkens faintly. "But that's an unworthy reaction, she's done nothing wrong."

"Then wouldn't it be better to confront the man himself?" She lifts her gaze from the rabbit to gauge his expression. "Unless you are still that child seeking comfort. The child who prays instead of acting. I have nothing against your moon goddess of course, but there are some things a person must take for themselves. Respect is one of those things."

"I am not going to stand on his doorstep and beg him to see me," Celaven says, with a touch of bitterness in the words. He looks up at the darkening sky. "Yes, it still hurts, well-spotted. But I will do what is in my power to do. I will walk away. I will value the people who love me. My mother, my sister. Caspis, if he's willing to take that role for me alongside my mother. Velrin, for as long as she chooses to stay. And I will be there for Florande, when he inevitably disappoints her. Even without him, my heart can be full. There is no void."

"If that is your choice, you will have to convince yourself," Almeiria says, standing up. "Are you ready to do that? Abandon hopes you have long held?"

Celaven stands with a quiet sigh. "Yes. I am ready."

He turns to look at his childhood home, and then pauses. Entirely incongruously with the surroundings, a human-style door of rough wood stands in the entryway.

"I do hope you mean that," Almeiria says, starting towards the door. "You will need the strength of your entire will to control the Void. There is no room for doubt." She stops just a few paces from the door and turns back to him. "Come now, we've come to this place from the halls of Ironforge. Surely a door like this isn't so strange."

"It's just… odd," Celaven says, moving towards the door. "I feel as though I'm here, as though this is a place. But it isn't, is it? We're still standing in an inn room in Ironforge." He takes a breath and pushes the door open, stepping through…

…from greens to browns, the dusty, yellowed expanse of the Barrens. The door vanishes behind them, leaving them at the side of a two story, Tauren-style tent-building.

"We are not a step from where we left ourselves," Almeiria confirms, making a face at the new scenery. Ugh, the Barrens, is plainly written there. "Forgetting where they came from is how some people get lost here. Sometimes the memories feel too real, and the way back becomes harder to find. Luckily for you, I have far too much attachment to my desires to ever get lost in a place like this." She pauses, examining the Tauren structure. "And this place is…what, exactly?"

"I…" Celaven swallows, taking a step back. He pauses, forcing himself to stop retreating. "I did not live here, if that's what you're wondering. I remember this place from my last day with Zhevra Company. A client lived here. Still does, one can hope."

Almeiria's gaze sharpens at his backward motion. "Oh?" She looks up again at the building. "What manner of client? Or perhaps I should begin with this Zhevra Company. A mercenary unit, no doubt. Alliance? Or…"

"Mercenary unit, yes," Celaven says, taking a reluctant step towards the building. "Neutral. Things have sometimes been friendly, between my people and the Tauren. And, of course, at the level of individuals, political lines matter less. Especially when money is involved."

"Is that how it works? I always found that money was a creator of conflict." Almeiria follows him closely, as if straying too far might cause her to disappear. This is probably not the case. Perhaps the setting is making her uncomfortable.

"Commonality and conflict," Celaven nods. "Both here, as well. The client hired my team to track down a thief. We fulfilled our end of the deal, and the thief was in custody. The heirloom they had stolen, however, was long gone. Recovering the item was never part of the deal, but the client…" Celaven shakes his head, long hair rustling. "He insisted he need not pay, since he had not gotten what he wanted. But he got what he hired us for. I still think we were in the right there."

"Well, you clearly didn't kill him, if you're hoping he still lives here," Almeiria says. "I would have. People like that are nothing but a nuisance. Did he ever truly intend to pay you?"

"I truly don't know," Celaven shakes his head. "Our leader sent us, me and a few others, to his house, to make a point. To frighten him into honoring his agreements."

Almeiria eyes him. "You? They sent you?" She covers her mouth like she's about to laugh. "You don't look very intimidating. I hope your comrades were scarier."

"Oh, they were," Celaven nods, not offended in the least. "The others were definitely much more frightening than I am, particularly if you're frightened by violence. I was mostly only there in case healing was needed. But… as it happens, I was the one who broke him."

"Broke him? Oh, do tell." There is a leash on her eagerness, as though she suspects he doesn't mean broke in the way she would used the term.

Celaven drags his gaze to the building. "I suspect you'll be able to see, if you like. If it is anything like the last memory."

"But of course," she says. "That is what we are here to do, after all." And to learn to counter the Void, but, details.

Celaven takes a fortifying breath and then moves up the ramp into the building. Inside, an argument is already underway. A brown-maned tauren man is on the defensive, gesticulating angrily against three intruders. The one who seems to be taking point is a dark-haired human, the long scar running down one side of his face giving his scowl an extra intimidation factor. The human is dwarfed in size by his tauren adversary, but that doesn't seem to dent his confidence. One source of his confidence might be his own tauren ally, standing just behind - a massive black-and-white maned man with a large axe slung across his back. A step back and to the left, past-Celaven stands, a small, figure that nearly fades into the shadows entirely.

"Look, mister, that's not how it works," the human is saying. Perhaps he was speaking in Taurahe back then, but by the power of the mind it's understandable by both Celaven and Almeiria. "I don't care if you don't like how it turned out. We do the job, and we get paid. You're going to honor that, one way or another."

The source of Almeiria's discomfort becomes clear as they enter the building. She was prepared for one Tauren, not two. Still managing to keep an eye on the situation, she slinks back behind Celaven.

"If you don't leave here, I'm going to call the guard," the brown tauren says huffily. "I thought I was dealing with professionals, not thugs. Recover the stolen goods, and I'll pay."

"Wasn't the deal," the human says, nodding towards the big tauren behind him. "And the guards don't like cheats any more than Zhevra does. Look, I don't like doing this, but we…"

There's the sound of light hoofsteps, and a little tauren face peaks around the corner from upstairs. The brown tauren's eyes widen, and he waves the bovine child back. But it's too late. The human's caught sight of him, and a more calculating look comes into his eyes. Keeping his eyes fixed on the unpaying client, he snaps his fingers and says, "Hold it, Taso, I've got a better idea. Ven, do that thing you did last week. You know what I mean."

Past-Celaven looks a little startled, but he nods silently. A moment later, his silver eyes darken into shadow, and the child trots forward down the stairs in jerky movements.

"No," the brown tauren says, his face paling with horror. "What is this? What are you doing?"

Almeiria immediately recovers from her Tauren related discomfort and beams a bright smile. "So you can use it!" Her words sound like praise.

Celaven doesn't look away from the scene, his expression grim.

"Yes, I… I am capable of it," he says quietly to Almeiria, and his words don't sound like pride.

The little Tauren seems to find its balance, and he comes down into the room. His father makes a grab for him, but the child dodges away and snaps teeth at him viciously.

"You ever seen a priest do this before?" The human asks cheerfully. "Hell of a thing. Your brat'll do whatever we want him to, 'less we let him go. Maybe we ought to give him a knife, let him teach you a lesson about cheatin' folks. Best part is, he's still in there. He'll remember everything."

"Messy," Almeiria says, shaking her head. "Children are so easy to influence. If you give the child a taste for blood at that age, you're only asking for a knife in your back when he grows up. I would have gone with a more subtle approach."

"In that case, I wish you'd been there," Celaven answers, as the little tauren walks up to the human and does, actually, take a knife. The father looks on in horror. "Rolf was impatient, I think, and just saw a lever he could use. In my most charitable moments, I think he intended to end this without bloodshed."

"That is a dangerous bluff, and a sign that he didn't value his own life enough to think it through." Almeiria's eyes have narrowed. "Any person with pride would be forced to follow through, if challenged. Put simply, your Rolf was an idiot."

"I won't argue that," Celaven raises his hands and shrugs. "I do not know if he would have followed through. I hope that he would not have. I hope that I would not have."

The son advances on his father, who finally breaks down, promising to pay, begging them to let the child go. Rolf looks pleased, and past-Celaven stumbles back, disoriented. The child wails and runs to his father for comfort, and past-Celaven backs out of the room on soft feet, his face stricken. As he leaves, the entire scene fades, leaving them in an empty room.

Almeiria makes use of the now-clear area, stepping out from behind him and taking her place in the middle of the room. "You hope?" Her eyebrows rise inquiringly. "You seemed uncomfortable going so far with even the mind control."

"Of course I was, he was a child, and I forced him to…" Celaven's voice rises in anger as he speaks, though it doesn't seem to be directed at Almeiria. "If that child still lives, he remembers this. It's a lasting harm, and I… I inflicted it in service of money. Because someone I trusted asked me to."

"Someone you trusted," she repeats. "And did you ever tell that someone what your rules are?"

"Maybe I didn't think it needed to be said," Celaven says, calmer, and then adds, "Maybe I didn't know what they were then, myself. It was my first mercenary company."

"And what happened after this…unfortunate situation?" Almeiria asks. "Did you stay with them, or did you run?"

"I resigned," Celaven says, backing towards the door. "And I told every mercenary captain since that I was not willing to use shadow entirely."

"Such a waste," Almeiria says, watching him retreat. "The way I see it, you were given a lesson. But instead of learning that lesson, you ran from it and blamed the shadow. Do you feel the same as then, even now?"

Celaven frowns, turning to face her. "What lesson do you see here, that I should have taken from this?"

"Rules," she says. "You need to establish the rules that you live by, and when needed, make those rules known. Ultimately, the choice to mind control the Tauren child was yours. It does not matter what tool you used to do it."

"I thought, if I was clear that I refused to wield shadow… then they could not even ask," Celaven says, weariness in his voice. "But then, that didn't work. It didn't stop a friend I failed from asking me to inflict pain on her so she could get used to it. In the right circumstances, the Light can harm as deeply as the Void." Celaven raises a hand to his face. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps the tools themselves don't matter."

"Rules are an extension of your will, and the only thing that can truly protect you," Almeiria says, returning to his side. "I have them too, of course. My biggest one is a refusal to take any action which may lead to an untimely demise. I value my life, you see. But you have other values, and knowing beyond a doubt what those are will allow you to better use whatever tool you handle, and will strengthen your resolve not to break those rules you know will hurt you."

Celaven considers her words, and nods. "That is the lesson, then, that I must take here today, even if I took the wrong one back then. That I will understand my own will above any tool I use for good or ill."

"Does everything sound wiser when an elf says it?" Almeiria's smile is, for once, gentle, almost playful.

"I'm not certain," Celaven says, raising one eyebrow, "But perhaps I will restate your advice more often, and you can be the judge. Still, I think if this was the foothold the Void was hoping for in my will, we have thwarted it." He glances around the room, and then spots the door that has appeared behind them. He raises one hand to point at it. "It seems there is yet more to face."

"But of course," Almeiria says, gliding towards the door. "The Void goes ever deeper, after all. I don't recommend following it all the way, but one more door should be fine."

"One more door it is then," Celaven says, glancing to Almeiria as if looking for reassurance before he moves to push it open.

On the other side, this time, is a wasteland. The dull, gray air seems like it would have been suited to this landscape in reality. Even with the muted colors, the plagued earth and the pulsing fungal structures strangling the struggling plant life are clear. There is no smell, which is perhaps a mercy of this mental dimension. Celaven and Almeiria exit the door by a tomb, with a derelict graveyard visible in the distance.

Celaven stops short, a distinct droop to the set of his ears.

"Eastweald?" Almeiria asks, stepping around him to examine the scene.

"The Plaguelands, now," Celaven says as the door vanishes behind them. "Did you know this land before?"

"Parts of it, perhaps. I am from Lordaeron, much as I despised the place." Almeiria peers at the distant graveyard. "You know what to expect here?"

"A number of things have happened here, but…" Celaven looks around the scenery. "I think so. I should have guessed it would try to distress me with something along these lines, given she has come to mind once already."

There's movement on the horizon, and the 'she' in question emerges from dark mist. It's a sin'dorei woman in red and gold armor, her black hair tied back in a braid and an uncertain vulnerability in her expression. As she moves forward, it's as if she steps through a film of void, corrupting what was once familiar. The colors leech out of her armor until there's nothing but black, razor-sharp metal. The expression leeches out of her face, as well, her green eyes dimming and then taking light with blue fire. Something moves in the shadows beside her.

"I was shadowmelded, I should be over…" Celaven glances toward a nearby tree.

The sin'dorei woman, however, seems to be looking at Celaven and Almeiria where they stand.

"Its influence is stronger, here," Almeiria says, wariness sharpening her gaze. "Can you feel it? Be prepared. It looks like this will be a more direct communication."

"I see you didn't come alone," the woman says, tilting her chin to look up at him. "Didn't you trust me?"

"I was alone, when this actually happened," Celaven says quietly. He nods at the dark shape next to her and adds, "You weren't. That frightened me at the time. I wasn't sure if I'd miscalculated. I think I was calm enough. I don't think you noticed."

Almeiria crosses her arms and remains quiet, studying the sin'dorei and the dark shape closely, occasionally glancing at Celaven to gauge his comfort level.

"Why did you reach out to me then?" the figure of the death knight asks, stepping closer to Celaven and Almeiria. "Was it genuinely because you distrusted my sister? Or perhaps morbid curiosity? Or did you somehow think you might still be able to help?"

Celaven steps back as she steps forward, and reaches out a hand to pull Almeiria back as well.

Almeiria looks a bit surprised at the touch, but does not resist it. "Is it too distorted?" she asks. "It seems we have already taken a wide deviation from what you remember."

"The content is similar, but yes, it's diverging. Let me try to remember," Celaven says uncertainly. "Perhaps this is a matter of will as well, and an ordered mind."

He fixes his gaze on the death knight, his expression stern. She halts her steps as still as a wax figure.

"This is the first time I met my friend Syarra after her death. I had grieved for her," Celaven says, his eyes narrowing. "Her younger sister warned me to keep my distance, and I… I contacted her instead and asked her to meet. We met by Uther's Tomb," he nods at the nearby stone structure, "and she brought a friend. Her partner, Roper." The darkness at Syarra's side solidifies into the form of another death knight, entirely obscured by his saronite armor and helm. "What did we talk about that day…? There was a gift I had given her. I asked if she still had it."

The death knight, Syarra, raises one hand to the armor over the hollow of her neck. Her voice is low and echoing, almost devoid of feeling, as she says, "I found it when I woke up."

The dark saronite figure at her side says in a soft rasp, "Still a gift, or are you going to ask for it back?"

Celaven breathes out in relief and nods to Almeiria. "It's shifting back to what it should be."

"Well done," Almeiria says, though her expression remains sharpened with wariness. "From here we proceed with caution. If you start to lose control of it, we will retreat."

"I will tell you if it goes off course again," Celaven says, watching the death knights warily as well. They are still now, the memory frozen in place. "I wonder why this moment precisely. There were other moments where I felt more keenly how I had failed to prevent this, how she was condemned…" he pauses, a flicker of pain crosses his face, but he smooths it back to calm and continues, "…condemned to suffer forever in a way that I could never hope to help. Perhaps this moment… for my uncertainty."

"Uncertainty?" Almeiria asks. "About what? Whether or not she was who you remembered? Or about the gift?"

Celaven hesitates on that one, before finally answering, "She was always troubled, alive. I didn't know the depth of it until after she'd died - you may have heard rumors by now of the practices of sin'dorei blood knights. I had intended to help her back to the Light in truth. Now… there is no hope of that. And I was uncertain… am uncertain… how much of her is left. Is there any purpose in treating her with kindness, as she is now? Can good come from darkness? I did not… do not… know." He raises a hand to his own neck, and says more softly, "The gift was just a symbol - in life I had given her my necklace, blessed by Elune. It was meant to remind her she was not abandoned, but… here, let me show you…"

Celaven turns back to the two death knights and says, "I will not take anything from her."

"Oh," the dark figure drawls. "I know you won't." He crosses his arms once more and leans back against a boulder. "But that's not really what I fucking asked, is it? Is it still her gift, or is it just something she has now that you won't take?"

"I don't have an answer for you, and I didn't then," Celaven mutters, turning back to Almeiria as if maybe she might.

"Out of curiosity," Almeiria says, glancing between Celaven and the death knights in the scene, "what is your opinion of orcs? I've heard many claim they are Lightless creatures. I wouldn't know, myself, I tend to avoid the brutes. Don't worry, the question is relevant."

"I have not had much contact with them," Celaven says, frowning. "They have a tendency not to respect forests, from what I have heard. I was in Kalimdor during the first two major wars, so I may not have the same strength of aversion as others."

"If you met an orc in the same manner you met the elf, would you treat it the same as you did her? Try to…help it?"

Celaven considers. "If it approached me without hostility, though it were as cautious and prickly as she was. If it seemed to long for the warmth of the Light, as she once did. In that case, I think… yes, I would try."

"But that sentiment is different with undead," Almeiria observes. "Why? Why does it matter how much of her is left, when you are approached without hostility? Why change your stance on offering kindness? Or is it more difficult because you knew her before?"

"Orcs are living creatures," Celaven responds immediately. "They may be from another world, but they are a part of nature. They are capable of good and evil. But the undead… they are not born, they are made by an act of cruelty. I cannot even touch her with the Light, you should have heard her scre…" Celaven's voice breaks, his calm reserve collapsing for a moment into clear anguish. He takes a breath to collect his composure, and says, "They still exist, and I want to believe that some good can come from such cruelty, from even death magic. But I do not know if it can."

"The forces that created them, that is the cruelty you're referring to. The magic itself is a neutral force. A tool like any other." Almeiria chances a step closer to the death knights. "I am not, by any means, saying you should trust them, but then, I don't trust many people, living or unliving. What I am saying, is that these are victims, in more ways than one. The Light rejects them, but does more natural magic? Druid magic, for instance? Elemental? Shadow?"

"I… do not know," Celaven frowns, his brow furrowing in thought. "I have not tried. I do know druids - my half-sister, my fa… my friend Caspis. Elemental, I could ask someone like Azizia or Nunuzac to try… and I have not attempted healing with shadow. Is it possible to heal with shadow?"

"This is what I meant when I said the Light was blinding you," Almeiria says, shaking her head. "You seem to incorporate the Light and its interactions into how you view the world, and in so doing, you fail to search for other possibilities. The Light rejects undead because they are not natural. But if nature magic does not reject them… Can you still say that? The Light can heal your allies, so you never sought to see if shadow might as well. It can, by the way. I think you'd be good at it. You're managing rather well right now."

Celaven turns to look at her, startled, and shadows creep closer around the frozen scene. "Perhaps, then I should try. And I will consider asking a friend if they will attempt to heal by nature magic. Is that… how you ordinarily heal?"

"With shadow? Yes," she says, "though more recently I have learned to do so with the Light as well. I prefer the former, of course, as you may still prefer the Light. But adding another tool to your kit is not a bad thing." Even as she says this, her eyes narrow at the encroaching shadows.

"Another tool in my kit," Celaven says, following her gaze, and then his face goes still and focused. For a moment, the shadows retreat, and they begin to slowly advance again. Syarra smiles. Celaven looks at Almeiria, tendrils of darkness coiling in the silver glow of his eyes. "I'm trying to focus, but it's… hard to push back. It feels… slippery."

Almeiria frowns, her gaze going distant. Shadows begin to consume her, similar to the first time, when they entered the Void's domain. Her presence, however, seems to grow stronger, and the shadows around them recede almost entirely. Until they don't. Something that feels like another presence entirely joins the scene, its form obscured by a new wave of shadow that comes crashing back to replace those she had abolished.

"Something isn't right," Almeiria says, the shadows around her dissipating.

Celaven's shoulders raise slightly as he looks around, with a clear sense that something is watching. "What is it? I feel…. something. I don't know what."

"They shouldn't know I'm here." Almeiria takes a half a step back. "They must have sensed me when I tried to push it back. It's…"

Before she can finish, the new presence slithers out of the darkness, a many fanged mouth in the shape of an eel. It floats towards them, stopping directly in front of Almeiria.

"Y'za plahf ilith."
I know you.

The meaning of the unknown words forms as a whisper, clear and coherent.

Celaven reaches out, his mouth quietly forming the word for a shield, but it fails to materialize around Almeiria in this place. After only a moment's hesitation, darkness coils in the silver light of his eyes, and he looks to the shadow priestess for some kind of signal as to what comes next.

Almeiria turns to him, her expression tight. "Remember where you came f…" She, and the rest of that sentence suddenly fall away.

The scene blurs and shifts, until a dark, abandoned house encloses him. He is in what looks like a kitchen, its surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust. The window has been broken from the outside, and glass still covers the floor. At a second glance, the house may not be abandoned after all. In the corner of the room, a young girl, probably no older than ten, sits huddled, her long black hair a cascade around her, covering her eyes.

Celaven looks at his unfamiliar surroundings in confusion, and then focuses on the one person present, the little girl.

He steps toward her, careful of the shattered glass, and then crouches down to her level to ask, "Do you hear me?"

The girl startles a little, and peers up at him through her hair. Her eyes are a familiar brown, and wide with surprise.

There's a flicker of recognition and then fear across his face, but his voice is calm when he says, "I'm Celaven. Can you tell me your name?"

The girl hesitates, as though taking a moment to find her voice, then says timidly, "…Valendra. Valendra Copperton. Um. You don't look like the other monsters. Are you lost?"

"Valendra," Celaven repeats. "I came in here with a friend, but we've been… separated. Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember… where you came from?"

"I…" Valendra suddenly holds very still, and the sound of footsteps echoes through the house, coming closer. She looks at Celaven in near panic, whether that's because of the footsteps or because she remembers something is unclear. "You shouldn't be here."

"Valendra, you're the friend who brought me here," Celaven says. He focuses on the girl over the footsteps, but his voice grows more urgent. "You were trying to help me. Do you remember that? We were in Ironforge, in a room at the inn. That's where we came from, where we really are."

As if in response, a door materializes behind him. Valendra herself scrambles to her feet as the footsteps grow louder, close enough now to hear that something is off about them. A tapping sound follows the steady placement of one foot after the other, as though the person approaching is using a cane.

"I-I didn't mean to!" Valendra says, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I didn't mean to call you here. But don't worry, I've been practicing. I think I can send you back."

"Are you…" Celaven hesitates, stepping towards the door. "Are you the woman I came here with, or is this something else? We can go back together."

"Um. You came here alone, and I think it was my fault," she says. "Don't worry about me, mister monster, I live here." A brief flash of embarrassment passes over her face as she glances towards the glass scattered across the floor. In that hesitation, the source of the footsteps reveals itself.

An older man steps out of the shadows, his hair grey, and short, and fine. A scar runs over his right eye, the orb within a misty white. He is sharply dressed, his cane tapping against the floor with each step. Whether or not the man actually needs the cane is unclear. He fixes Celaven with a frosty stare.

Valendra hurriedly places herself between the two men, one of her fingers pointing towards the door. "Run," she whispers to Celaven.

Celaven hesitates only a moment, reluctant to leave a little girl to her other monster. Then he clearly thinks better of it, and places his trust in the shadow priestess, even if she is a child.

"Be well, Valendra," he murmurs, and flees through the door she summoned for him.

The ring of candles encircling the inn room is the first thing visible when the shadows clear away. Everything is as it was before, and Almeiria stands in front of him, still holding his hands, her eyes closed. How much time has passed? Has any time passed? The amount of wax melting beneath the candle flames seem to indicate that it hasn't been long.

Celaven watches her still face anxiously and gently squeezes her hands.

The squeeze causes her fingers to twitch, and a slow frown spreads across her face before she opens her eyes. "Well, that was an adventure," she says with a sigh, reclaiming her hands. "I hope that didn't scare you."

Celaven breathes out quietly in relief when she reacts. "No more than it should have, I expect. Were you there, in that last memory? It was yours."

"In…a sense," Almeiria says reluctantly. "It seems the spell I had in place to guide you inverted when I tried to drive off our unwelcome guest, and you entered my mind instead. I was the door." She crosses her arms and gazes sideways at him. "Do not repeat that name, ever."

Celaven meets her gaze steadily. "I never will. Can I ask… who he was to you?"

"My teacher," Almeiria replies, busying herself with collecting and extinguishing the candles. "He might still be alive, I haven't heard any news otherwise. Try to stay clear if you see him, he's a Twilight's Hammer cultist, and the one who brought me into their fold. He is quite skilled."

Celaven starts to move around to collect the candles as well, and he says, "Was it only a memory, of him? If he's very skilled in the void… is there any chance the man may have noticed us?"

"If he had, at least one of us would not have made it out," she says. "Fortunately, that was a lesser agent that I drew in when I attempted to help you gain a better hold on the encroaching shadows. Usually I'm better at hiding from them. Unless you plan to work extensively with the deeper powers the Void offers, you shouldn't have to worry about attracting those."

"I would say I have no plans in that direction, but…" Celaven pauses, candles in both hands. "Let me thank you, Almeiria. You put yourself in danger to help me. Even in your memory, even when you thought I was some new kind of monster. Thank you."

Almeiria nearly fumbles her collection of candles. "Oh, please. If it was going to be that dangerous, I wouldn't have agreed to do this in the first place. I have my rules after all." After a moment of awkward silence, she says, quieter, "But you're welcome."

Celaven considers her without any sign of judgment and then asks, "Would you say we were successful? I admit we had to withdraw in something of a rush, but up until that point it seemed things were going well."

"I would say that depends on you, going forward," she says, setting her candles aside to cool. "I gave you my insights, and you seem to handle the Void well enough. So long as you stay out of the Shath'Yar places of power, I don't think the whispers will give you much trouble. I still don't recommend trying to hear them, but if you do happen to, and you have concerns about it, you know where to find me."

"I will keep what distance I can, but I do plan to return to Northrend," Celaven says with a slight nod. "I have a lov…" he pauses, and then amends that to, "…a friend working there. I mentioned her before - Velrin. Given the news I'm hearing from her, I would like to be nearby."

"Velrin, hmm? An interesting choice. Is she in Cobalt Company, by chance?" Almeiria's tone remains conversational.

Celaven's ears raise slightly as his attention sharpens on Almeiria. "Yes, that's the one. Do you know her?"

"Not directly," Almeiria says, "but I rather do know of her. You have at least seen my darling flower, Alynnra, I believe? Alynnra would tell you they are friends."

"Alynnra? Yes, though only briefly," Celaven says. "Estel was there at the time, too, and others… but not Velrin. But the way you phrased that… Is it that one part of Alynnra is friends with Velrin?"

"Yes, one part of Alynnra is friends with Velrin. As for the rest…" Almeiria gives a light shrug. "The Watcher may have some lingering resentment towards her, for the same reason another of your Company might. Have you met Ralaea Westwind?"

Celaven holds the candles he collected out to Almeiria as he considers. "Ralaea Westwind… no, I do not believe so. Is this a source of potential conflict I may need to watch for?"

"Who knows, Cobalt Company is rather large, as I'm seeing. Perhaps they will never meet. But if they do, there might be some…trauma." Almeiria has returned to a more usual, cold smile. "Since you were wrapped up in that whole business with Alysson, I'm sure you've at least heard of Kaela Mondragon? You might ask Velrin if she knows the woman she helped kill is a death knight now." She retrieves the candles from Celaven and places them with the others.

"Yes, I've heard… wait, Velrin killed her?" Celaven blinks. "Why would she do that?"

"There was a small group of them, and Ralaea's memories were a bit…hard to follow. You may have to ask Velrin yourself." She turns back to him. "Or not. It depends on how deep into the past you want to dig. You may at least want to warn her about the death knight, though. If I were killed and raised again, I would certainly seek my killer."

"Yes, I should certainly warn her if a death knight might be after her," Celaven nods, looking a little troubled. "I would say the death knights I have known have been more preoccupied with seeking those they once cared for than those who killed them. But… this Kaela Mondragon is Scourge, and naturally I've met none of those sort socially."

Almeiria nods, satisfied. "Anyway, I didn't mean stay out of Northrend, just, be wary of the deeper places. Underground empires, excavation sites, the roots of a certain tree… And if your Company should happen to find the prison of Yogg'Saron, well. You might try telling them to come back in force, if they plan to deal with it?"

"I shall be wary, and shall certainly advise against any small-group assault of an Old God's prison," Celaven says, with a touch of amusement. Then, more seriously, he adds, "I have not heard of any Twilight's Hammer activity in that area, though perhaps for the moment it is overshadowed by the Cult of the Damned. I would assume that's the reason for your alias? To keep safely clear of their sort?"

"I have many reasons for assuming other identities. The name Almeiria I took up while I was still in their number. It was my first alias." After a slight pause, she continues. "Something my teacher taught me. I never learned his name, he ignored all questions in that vein. Master, is how I was expected to address him. If any Twilight's Hammer agents do track me down, I would love to pick their brains…" Something in her smile says the statement may be literal.

Celaven nods, seeming to take it so. "I admit it seems strange to me that you need multiple identities over so short a time, when the one has served me well for over five hundred years. Then again, we live different lives. I hope the cult remains as quiet as it has seemed in recent days, in any case, for your sake as well as the rest of the world's."

He takes one step towards the door, and then pauses to add, "Even if I do not run into problems with the whispers… might I visit you again sometime? Perhaps you and Estel and the children."

"I have no objections, but it is Estel's home. While I don't see any reason for her to protest your company, perhaps check with her as well?" Almeiria begins to load the candles back into the basket she'd brought them in. Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Quiet, in the case of that cult, is not always a good thing. The forces of the Void are nothing if not patient."

"Yes, of course, I would not presumed to invite mys-" Celaven breaks off, possibly remembering that's exactly what he did on his last visit. "I will take care to not simply drop by, in the future, at least. And… I will hope it is the quiet of decline, and not the quiet of patient scheming. I suppose time will tell."

"I would not hold your breath on that one, Celaven, dear." Almeiria picks up the candle basket and glides past him, opening the door for them both. "I suspect their next move will be a significant one. In the meantime, I will look forward to seeing you again. It will do the children good to have a night elf visiting from time to time. I can teach them not to confuse you for a monster."

Celaven smiles at that, following her out. "You were kind to those you believed monsters as a child, but I do hope they have the opportunity to learn the difference. Take care, Almeiria."