Ruins of Alekzandra

[Jonoth]

"DEAD....ALL....DEAD...THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"

Sister Gabrielle Lincoln fumbled with the keys to the room where the shouting was coming from. In her mind, she asked herself a dozen times why they even locked the room in the first place, as its occupant had arrived to them through a self-made portal. But even as a seasoned veteran of battle and long-time cleric in her own right, Sister Gabrielle seldom to never challenged the older nuns of the abbey. Her concern was greater for their guest, a shivering husk of what was once a strong woman.

She had met Alekzandra Staarnjor before, though the mage had been going under the alias Tala Porter at the time. Alekzandra had a quiet confidence about her, a survivor of the attack on Dalaran when it was still in the Eastern Kingdoms. Back then, Sister Gabrielle noticed her habit of lightly rubbing her hands, something the nun had taken as a way the mage relaxed before a battle. She now knew that it was the beginnings of the crippling corruption of the arcane, a result of her taxing her powers beyond its limits. It was a sight rarely seen, something Sister Gabrielle grew to believe was intentional. When key fit into door and opened to reveal the mage, it was all too real.

Alekzandra was curled up, naked, in a corner of the large room. The first things that had been taken from it were most of the furniture after she had attempted to blink herself into the same space as a bookshelf. For a while, things were quiet, and Alekzandra was visited by the clerics to talk about her experiences. Her eyes would gaze almost blankly as she got nearer to the present. Learning that her family had been in Southshore, it did not take long to piece together that she had lost them, and that she had witnessed what happened there. She was left alone for a few days while observed for signs of the blight, but there were none. On the first scheduled visit for counsel since she'd been given the clean bill of health (at least where the blight was concerned), they found her hanging by her robe from the window. She had not been there long, and she was able to be saved thanks to the healing of the clerics. Unfortunately, they had to take her clothes for the time being, fearing a repeat but not wanting to tie her down. They did not want the mage to feel like a prisoner, though things had devolved to the point where little else could describe the conditions. The abbey needed someone that had been to war, that could connect with the trauma that Alekzandra has experienced, and help ease her back into society.

Sister Gabrielle, looking around the room, noticed several glyphs on the walls. "Arcane," she thought. "This must be how she cannot leave." She wandered over to the shivering body, which was covered in sweat, tears, and age spots. Alekzandra's eyes were red and heavily baggy from lack of sleep. Sister Gabrielle extended a hand. She had no warm smile for Alekzandra, nor soothing voice. She instead tried to appeal to the soldier in the mage.

"Stand up, Tala. They are not all dead. And you are not alone."

[Jonoth]

It was the fourth visit Sister Gabrielle made to Alekzandra, and the only words that passed between them during the previous sessions were from the nun, usually unanswered greetings and farewells. The mage rarely ate, her already thin figure becoming even more malnourished. On this visit, there was a scabbed wound on Alekzandra's forehead, matching a red stain on one of the walls.

"You tried to kill yourself again," spoke the nun.

Alekzandra remained silent.

"And you aren't eating either."

More silence as Sister Gabrielle's words took up the most space in the nearly empty room. The nun's heart ached for how much she knew Alekzandra was suffering, but years of training and experience echoed to her the lesson. Compassion. It was the most difficult of the three virtues which her life centered on, because knowing the difference between the want to help and the need to let someone grow was a thin line. Sister Gabrielle knew one hard truth about this case: Alekzandra Staarnjor wanted to die. The realization made the next words no easier to speak, nor any less necessary.

"You are taking the coward's way out."

Alekzandra's eyes fixed on Sister Gabrielle's. Her fist was surprisingly quick, and connected to the nun's jaw. In her weakened state, the punch had little effect on the battle-hardened cleric, but this was the closest to a sign of life that Sister Gabrielle had seen since she arrived, and so she rolled with the punch, falling over slightly to make the strike look like it hurt, but not so much that it would appear unbelievable. She stood up, and Alekzandra stood up with her, fists clenched. The nun towered over the mage, and she stepped towards her without hesitation.

"You are stronger than you look, to me and to yourself. Tomorrow, I will be back with your clothes. If you eat, and if you tell me why you are so eager to die, I will give them back to you."

Sister Gabrielle turned and paced out the room. Evening came before Alekzandra moved from the spot she stood in, only to retrieve the meal left for her. Only a few bites in, her stomach could take no more. Her eyes would have grown watery if she had tears left to cry. Instead, she curled up into a corner of the room, knees to her chest. Her body shook, and the pains in her body shot through like a lightning bolt. She vigorously rubbed her joints as she slumped over. Sleep would not come easy tonight, if at all.

[Jonoth]

On the seventh day, Sister Gabrielle sat next to the bed as Alekzandra laid strapped down. She had received her clothes, as promised, but not a night later she was found on the ground, part of her garments loose around her neck. She had tried to kill herself again, but her malnutrition made her too weak to tie a proper noose, and when she fell she lacked even the strength to get back up.

"Do you want your last rites?" asked the nun.

Alekzandra had no answer, only an empty stare to the ceiling. The restraints kept her in place, and she quickly realized fighting them was no use.

"Do you want your last rites?" Sister Gabrielle repeated, firmer in tone.

Alekzandra's answer was the same. It was almost as if the nun was not in the room with her. After more silence, Sister Gabrielle decided on a different approach.

"What are you looking at?"

Alekzandra finally spoke, in almost a whisper.

"Have you ever been in the space between places?"

Sister Gabrielle nodded. "Yes, you have taken me there before, many years ago. Do you remember? Do you remember the war?"

Alekzandra seemed to pause, taking in the words before she spoke again.

"I have been there many times. When I go, I feel free. The pain...the pain goes. There is no war, or suffering. There is only bliss. And then...and then I return. Tell me something, Sister. How many times could you visit heaven before you could no longer return to hell?"

Sister Gabrielle kept her face serious, though inside her she could feel the pillars shake. She took a deep breath, ready to answer as she had practiced for years, when Alekzandra cut in first.

"I don't have the strength...to kill myself. Not in this place. I want...a soldier's death. If...if I starve...I do not know how long I'll last. But..."

Her voice trails off, her mind remembering a day in Ratchet. She had stared at the water much as she now stared at the ceiling. She pictured what it would be like to send herself to the bottom. When she said the words aloud, however, she hesitated. The elf was watching her, judging her final moments. She had decided that day that she would have to do it alone, if she ever did. Her family had only been the second deterrent behind her pride. The Forsaken had taken away her family. Her pride, however, was another story. Each passing day, she thought more and more that this was not how she wanted to leave this world.

Sister Gabrielle just watched. She wanted to say something, anything. But any answer or words she gave would be rhetoric. She had no words in her heart for the mage.

"You don't have to stay there," Alekzandra said.

After another moment of silence, the nun finally responded, "I do. I must."

"Why?"

"To find the space between places again."

[Jonoth]

Alekzandra wolfed down the eggs and biscuit that came to her in the morning. It had been one week since she started eating again, and Sister Gabrielle was unsure whether she was eating to live or gathering the strength to die. Either way, it was a sign of life in an almost dead body. The mage reminded the nun of the undead they served with in the Argents, men and women who were at a crossroads with the choice of continuing or stopping. It was an easy decision to make when there was a war going on. When the war stopped, doubt crept in worse than brain rot. Some chose to relieve themselves of the burden. Others asked that their last moments be pain through penance, feeling the saving pain of the Holy Light before they met their judgment. Sister Gabrielle only once took part, and it felt...wrong. Not that undeath felt particularly right, but it was, in its own abstract way, life.

Looking at Alekzandra now, it felt eerily similar. She started the morning stretching, her joints popping and cracking and the grimace on her face painful to even look at. The meal afterward was practically inhaled, though she at least ate with utensils. The mage was quiet though. Too quiet. She had a plan, one that Sister Gabrielle did not know but was both hopeful and fearful of.

"Patience," the nun reminded herself.

"Patience," the mage thought.

The day went as it usually did. Sister Gabrielle asked questions, and Alekzandra gave no answers. The routine was wearing thing on the nun, but she'd have to come up with a plan if she wanted to break through again. In the end, she prayed to the Light, asked for guidance for the both of them, and left the mage to her lonely thoughts. The door locked, and Alekzandra was left alone, her only company being her simple bed and the fading glyphs on the walls.

[Jonoth]

Sister Gabrielle stood in the doorway and stared at the blood stain on the ground for a good, long while. A million questions flitted through her head as she tried to figure out what had happened. She dipped her foot in, as if testing the waters. Her other foot soon followed, and she began to make the paces around the only remains of Alekzandra. The nun was told no one had been to the room since she had last visited, but she had her doubts.

Looking at the puddle, she finally noticed the trail leading to the walls, where the arcane markings that formerly decorated them were no where to be seen. Blood was wiped across where the final marking had been, and Sister Gabby deduced that the mage must have been at it for a long time. She had presumed Alekzandra too weakened by her condition to have done anything further, an assumption she now knew to be folly.

Standing up, she began to walk to the doorway. Her face looked tired and defeated. Had the mage killed herself? Was she out there still deciding? The time had been draining on Sister Gabrielle, and while she normally put her faith in the Light that good would prevail, even she began to have her doubts.

These doubts distracted her long enough for the sword to slide into her side between the plates of her armor.

The shadow behind her wore a dark purple and indigo cloak. Long, unkempt hair of white and reddish brown hung from under the hood, and a shaking, age-spotted hand held the blade. As Sister Gabrielle fell, she looked upon the figure with a focused glare until it vanished in a dim light of purple. Sister Gabrielle closed her eyes.

And prayed.

[Jonoth]

"They've done this on purpose."

Sister Gabrielle lay awake that evening, in the same bed that once held the woman she had been trying to aid. There was a pain shooting throughout her body, mainly where she had been wounded. The pain was no greater than the hurt she felt that the mage had tried to take her life.

She stopped short of adding "after all she had done for her" at the end of her thought. She had done nothing for Alekzandra. Nothing but allow her to escape, still in the same state of mind as when she had entered, but perhaps even more driven to her eventual demise. This is why the sisters of the abbey had placed her in her patient's room. This was her penance for failure.

The Nun squeezed and released her hands. She stretched as much as she could without passing out from the pain. She could not afford to let her body atrophy. She knew what had to be done. She knew that the mage still wished to die. She did not know if the mage intended to take more people with her.

"She's done this on purpose."

Alekzandra could have teleported her anywhere to kill her, or to leave her for dead. The thought struck Sister Gabrielle as sharply as the sword.

"She did not want me dead. Not yet at least."

The "yet" was the only thing that truly frightened her. She looked where the glyphs had been on the walls.

And waited.

[Jonoth]

The peak was as high as any mountain got in the Eastern Kingdoms, and the winds howled like a chorus of wolves performing for the moon's audience. A second sound, barely audible, could be heard along the gusts. It was the flap and snap of purple and indigo cloth, the woman beneath it looking as worn as the stone she sat upon. Her eyes shut tightly, not for wanting to keep the snow and air from her eyes, but for concentrating. Her arms folded tightly in front of her, and her legs almost mimicked them. Her hair wavered like a flag over a fort, and in truth, despite her shivering, she was sturdier and stronger than she had been in a long time.

The Mage could feel it with every fiber of her being. She could feel the pulse of the world's heart, the veins and arteries of energy that flowed naturally through everything that was. She had practiced her art for most of her life, and had paid dearly for it. Though she had always known of their existence, this was the first time she could truly feel the ley lines.

And it was in this moment that she reached her epiphany.

All her life, she had not been following the natural flow of the lines. She had been moving and traversing against them, like a salmon swimming against the current of the river. She got where she needed to, but only with considerably greater effort, and at significantly greater cost. The magic would always corrupt, there was no question about that. By not feeling the natural flow of the world, and by rushing against the current as she jumped into the wars of her youth, she had cost herself years of her life.

Her first thought was to jump back into the world. She stopped herself. Her immediacy had been her folly. She kept her eyes closed and allowed herself to feel where the energy went. She was a teleporter, a navigator even, and every navigator had their map and compass. The ley lines needed to be hers, and so her mind began to chart the rivers of energy so that she would one day travel again, this time flowing with the current.

[Jonoth]

Blink.

Sister Gabrielle's eyes closed and opened. She was sitting up in bed, her eyes staring at the doorway. It was noon. Her lips were dry with thirst, and knowing that she would be visited soon with her lunch made her more aware of how hungry she was. She was used to being active, and activity made her less aware of her own needs.

Blink.

One of the young men she was educating in Goldshire had died the day before. He had fancied her, she knew, though she was many times older. He told her he'd fight for her heart. She told him her heart belonged to the Holy Light, along with everything else. So he asked if she could teach him, because he could not understand what made her give up the pleasures of the flesh. So she did. Every week he would come to the abbey, and she would read from scripture and take him along for cleric duties. A year went by, and with tear-filled eyes, he told her that he would be joining the priesthood. It was the closest she had been to being a mother proud of her son.

Blink.

Her eyes opened to the quiet of the room. She would not be allowed to leave in her condition. She was improving, but even a power such as the Holy Light had its limits. She should be dead, by all accounts. She would live to see other young men and women, and guiding them into the faith. But she could not save him. He had stopped on a road to aid someone in need, only for that someone to be a bandit. He had given up his possessions in preparation of his vows, but the bandit did not believe he had nothing, deciding that if all the young man had to give was his life, that it would suffice.

Blink.

Her vision blurred slightly as her eyes opened. Her mouth was still dry, but her eyes began to swell with tears. She sniffled, struggling to get her sleeve to her face. Her food would arrive shortly. She did not want the sisters to see her like this. She needed to be strong. She needed to get out of the bed. She needed to return to her service. She looked to the bedside, spotting her greatsword. She lifted it up with great effort. She stared at the reflection in the steel, lifting her chin in defiance. She was a nun, but she was also a soldier. The war was not over.

Blink.

The room trembled, so slightly that one could completely miss it. But not the Nun. War made her alert to the most minor disturbances. In Northrend, it could make the difference between a skeleton pulling you into the ground and making it safely to base. She knew what she felt was right. She felt the bed tremble again. She gripped the blade tightly.

Blink.

The cold air rushed her like an ambush. It was both refreshing and frightening at the same time. She found herself on all fours, trying to keep her balance. She pushed herself to her feet with her sword.

In front of her stood the Mage, wrapped in her purple cloak, sword drawn.