06-22-2012, 05:03 AM
A short blurb I had the sudden urge to do, which is incredibly strange because I haven't actually even played the character who's reminiscing here (Oberoth) very often at all. I should do that, though. See if you can connect the dots.
I have seen the death of the universe.
It does not wait as a hunter does for prey to trigger his snare. It does not wait at the end of the twisted path we are spiraling down. It stalks us across the stars in a path of shadow and fire, paved with the souls of the damned. It is not a nameless beast; echoes of its passing reverberate through the universe, the last screams of those it has consumed. It is a horror unseen until its foul head has been reared, and all who look upon it extinguished. I know not from whence it came; from the dawn of creation itself, perhaps, some primeval shadow spawned to mirror all that was light and right, but whatever its origin, it has existed for aeons, and it has grown strong in the blackness of the void.
I have seen the children of Argus torn from our birthplace, all but unrecognizable in the aftermath of our strife. I have seen the backlash of our choice, of our exile, and the fury it invoked. Those who still bear our name, now dark, twisted mirrors of themselves, march in the shadow's armies. They wear the colors of the great enemy, command his forces, and hold the arcane omnipotence we always aspired to.
For what is the price of a soul compared to commanding the might of the universe?
I have seen the Defiler and his relentless armies, those that sear the galaxy with their passing. I have seen the destruction he revels in, the fury he unleashes, the tides of death and ruin that surge through the universe, drowning worlds and species alike. Though he may have been vanquished once, I fear he will be replaced with something altogether more terrible. It is their way; kill one, kill a thousand, and a thousand more will replace them.
I have seen the Deceiver and his tireless fiends hound us across worlds and millenia. He is the one that stalks us without end or respite. Where the Defiler is an unstoppable wave of madness and death, the Deceiver is an insidious, implacable arrow, a missile that has sought our heart since our flight began. We can no more escape his wrath than we can our own shadows. The light may banish the darkness for only so long. All light, from the mightiest sun to the weakest candle, will eventually gutter and die.
I have seen the Dark One himself, resplendent in his primeval might, as he appeared to us in the shining halls of Argus. I remember the shudders at his passing, and the awe at the offer he made us. I remember the furious arguments, the shouts, the calls, the pleading, the choice that was not, and the decisions we made. Brother turned on brother, daughter turned on mother, and I remember the anguish of an entire race as we fled our beloved home. I can only dread the thought of what kingdom of the damned it has become, the seat of the Dark One's fell power.
I have seen dozens, hundreds of worlds. Thousands of species, each with a culture, a history, language and traditions. Children and families, friends and neighbors. Some savage, some majestic, some peaceful and some warlike. I have visited these worlds, and on each one we sought respite, a place to hide, to recuperate, to finally escape the horror and woe our existence had become. We learned of these species, these races, their beliefs and superstitions, and in doing so we ignited the torch that would sear them from the face of the galaxy.
I have seen the extinction of these worlds, of their races and their cultures, the deaths of a million souls we consigned to destruction. A thousand thousand years of memories and history, of belief and tradition, burnt to ash and ghosts in days. We weep for what has been lost, for there are now none else left that remember.
A thousand worlds I have seen annihilated. And now we have come to Azeroth. Azeroth, whose races consider themselves different, outside of the shadow's inevitability. They are but waning candles against the black wind that is coming, and soon their races, who still war amongst themselves and cannot stand together, shall reap the rewards of their intolerance. They think themselves different, but I know better.
For I have seen what waits in the darkness.
I have seen the death of the universe, and it has a name.
It is called the Burning Legion.
I have seen the death of the universe.
It does not wait as a hunter does for prey to trigger his snare. It does not wait at the end of the twisted path we are spiraling down. It stalks us across the stars in a path of shadow and fire, paved with the souls of the damned. It is not a nameless beast; echoes of its passing reverberate through the universe, the last screams of those it has consumed. It is a horror unseen until its foul head has been reared, and all who look upon it extinguished. I know not from whence it came; from the dawn of creation itself, perhaps, some primeval shadow spawned to mirror all that was light and right, but whatever its origin, it has existed for aeons, and it has grown strong in the blackness of the void.
I have seen the children of Argus torn from our birthplace, all but unrecognizable in the aftermath of our strife. I have seen the backlash of our choice, of our exile, and the fury it invoked. Those who still bear our name, now dark, twisted mirrors of themselves, march in the shadow's armies. They wear the colors of the great enemy, command his forces, and hold the arcane omnipotence we always aspired to.
For what is the price of a soul compared to commanding the might of the universe?
I have seen the Defiler and his relentless armies, those that sear the galaxy with their passing. I have seen the destruction he revels in, the fury he unleashes, the tides of death and ruin that surge through the universe, drowning worlds and species alike. Though he may have been vanquished once, I fear he will be replaced with something altogether more terrible. It is their way; kill one, kill a thousand, and a thousand more will replace them.
I have seen the Deceiver and his tireless fiends hound us across worlds and millenia. He is the one that stalks us without end or respite. Where the Defiler is an unstoppable wave of madness and death, the Deceiver is an insidious, implacable arrow, a missile that has sought our heart since our flight began. We can no more escape his wrath than we can our own shadows. The light may banish the darkness for only so long. All light, from the mightiest sun to the weakest candle, will eventually gutter and die.
I have seen the Dark One himself, resplendent in his primeval might, as he appeared to us in the shining halls of Argus. I remember the shudders at his passing, and the awe at the offer he made us. I remember the furious arguments, the shouts, the calls, the pleading, the choice that was not, and the decisions we made. Brother turned on brother, daughter turned on mother, and I remember the anguish of an entire race as we fled our beloved home. I can only dread the thought of what kingdom of the damned it has become, the seat of the Dark One's fell power.
I have seen dozens, hundreds of worlds. Thousands of species, each with a culture, a history, language and traditions. Children and families, friends and neighbors. Some savage, some majestic, some peaceful and some warlike. I have visited these worlds, and on each one we sought respite, a place to hide, to recuperate, to finally escape the horror and woe our existence had become. We learned of these species, these races, their beliefs and superstitions, and in doing so we ignited the torch that would sear them from the face of the galaxy.
I have seen the extinction of these worlds, of their races and their cultures, the deaths of a million souls we consigned to destruction. A thousand thousand years of memories and history, of belief and tradition, burnt to ash and ghosts in days. We weep for what has been lost, for there are now none else left that remember.
A thousand worlds I have seen annihilated. And now we have come to Azeroth. Azeroth, whose races consider themselves different, outside of the shadow's inevitability. They are but waning candles against the black wind that is coming, and soon their races, who still war amongst themselves and cannot stand together, shall reap the rewards of their intolerance. They think themselves different, but I know better.
For I have seen what waits in the darkness.
I have seen the death of the universe, and it has a name.
It is called the Burning Legion.