all_is_truth | There is this new thing happening...

Current Location: The old library

Entry tags:

There is this new thing happening...

Who: Ezra, Anyone
When: Arrival
What: An undead arcanist gets a library card.

Ezra L. Pyreborn, historian, linguist, and arcanist, architect of peace in his native Lordaeron, speaker to Titans and dragons, was lost. This wasn't the first time for such a thing. Wandering the world of Azeroth, crossing and re-crossing the line between death and life, negotiating between the competing factions of the Alliance and the Horde, had led him far afield. He was confident in his ability to navigate unknowns. But this time was different.

The interview with the Bronze Dragonflight was the last thing he remembered. They had opened a portal across time and space, and told him that his next destination lay beyond. Trusting them - for what else is there to do against an entire flight of dragons? - he stepped through.

He'd come out in a library. That much was clear. There were books, stacked and shelved to the lofty ceilings of a grandly furnished old building, and more books than he'd seen in one place in his life. Reading was clearly the business of whoever managed this establishment. His unnaturally glowing eyes found the darkness not at all troubling, though he found only a few candles, and no lanterns at all. Were there living patrons? If so, did they come only during the day?

Was the portal still there, closed and quiescent? It was not. Damn those dragons. What are they up to?

There was a reason he was here, surely. There was meaning in all this vast conglomeration of knowledge. There was no rush to be anywhere - dragon magic could cross time as well as space. And so Ezra Pyreborn, undead, zombie slave of the Scourge turned crusader of the Forsaken, loyal follower of Sylvanas Windrunner, tireless servant of peace, did what he had lacked the opportunity to do for a very long time. He sat down, and he began to read.

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"This is not my home to bid one welcome to," she admitted, finally slipping out of her crouch to sit properly on the cabinet. "But as you come in peace I could do no less than to give my greetings. It would be a terrible and lonely place without others to speak to beside the city."

"You dislike the word 'Forsaken'. It means something to you, something other than how I use it?" Ezra thought back to earlier in the conversation. "For us it is an identity. Those free-willed undead who found a place with each other. The Dark Lady, first of our kind, pulled us back from mindless servitude."

"Though I am free of the Lich King's whispers in this place, it reminds me of that time when I was the slave of the Scourge." He studied the high ceilings of the library, eyes flickering about to spot signs of movement. "To dream someone else's dream, to watch your body move beyond your control, to enact horrors upon... well."

"You understand, I hope, why I have no love for this mystery voice or its dark and hungry city."

"What I know is that this world does not reek of evil nor Dark. Confusion perhaps, and an eagerness that speaks of loneliness, but no ill intent I may sense as of yet," she admitted. "I was displaced, worldless and staying in a world not my own, I do not find it strange to be lost yet again. I am sorry you may dislike this, I cannot feel the same. It is no less hospitable than my last abode, nor more dangerous than my original world." And for that she could be grateful at least?

"But to those with a place and a purpose, yes, I might imagine. I cannot offer either to you, but I may come by and offer tea as I may? Or stew if you should need to eat at times."

"Eating is foreign to me. But I have always known hunger."

Ezra smiled again at a passing thought. "Tea would be nice. And, if you are willing and it would not pain you to do so, tell me stories of the world you lost."

"I am an anomaly even among my fellows. They hate the living, but regret the loss of their lives. I have no such reference points. Life, in all its variations, interests me."

"An unkind world, yours, that a people may cause to hate so thoroughly for so intrinsic a thing as life," she admitted softly. She had thought she would not care to visit it. "But then I admit I am a stranger to a 'people' mayhap such is common, a uniting, if ill, emotion."

Ah, but that..."for most my life it was a quite a gentle existence, not a tale to stir the imagination. Lore I may give as you wish and time allows us, but of my life and living such there is little I would think to offer a newly appointed head librarian."

"My friend, a gentle existence is precisely that for which my people have hungered. My unlife began with an act of love which I cannot remember and an act of murder I shall never forget. Since then I have fought, schemed, and betrayed. I have aided my fellows in averting genocide."

Ezra curled a hand into a fist, leaning forward intently. "I knew only that I had a wife and child. I wanted them to be proud of my actions. Such a simple thing, yes? But from that tiny ember, a sacred fire spread across two continents. The living think too little of trivialities. The dead know there is nothing more important."

He leaned back, mollified a little. "Anything of life, no matter how small, is of interest to me."

She watched him intently, unblinking for several long moments as she turned those statements over in her mind. That Which Ran the Ridges was said to hunt and take even the memory of who a person had been should they pass too close. Was it that sort of hunger, then, to take the memory of living so one might be closer to such themselves?

"I will share what I may," she promised at last. "But being one accustomed to quiet living there are many things I may not think to share."

"Just so." Ezra thought a moment. "Let me tell you about peacebloom. I am many things - historian, linguist, and mercenary wizard - but I am also an alchemist. In the region of Tirisfal Glades, and many other places besides, the traveler will see an herb called Peacebloom. It is not a particularly attractive plant, but it has its uses."

"Green leaves at the base of the plant, a long thin stem, white petals forming a conical shape. Plucked with a rapid motion. One digs fingers into the soil, twisting it about to loosen the roots, and then--" The wizard demonstrated with his hand, ending with a rapid jerking motion.

"It alchemically combines with earthroot to create potions or elixirs of healing. The so-called troll's blood elixir is made in this way. There are seventeen steps to refine the essence of life and earth within both herbs, the basic 'enek terebaro' series all novice alchemists learn."

Ezra grinned. "A simple plant, allowed to grow anywhere, and it has saved countless lives. Its usefulness comes from its ubiquity and plainness. That is one example of what I mean by the value of trivialities."

Edited 2015-02-20 07:49 (UTC)

She tilted her head, listening, "that is not alchemy as I know of such," she admitted softly. "In my own world that would fall under the aegis of stillwork, and so. I do not craft potions that may save a life beyond medicinal means, that is in myself, but refinement and blending in many, many ways as well as the testing and classifications of new herbs and roots is stillwork."

What she knew of alchemy, well..."A dear friend of mine is called The Flame Alchemist. He is quite skilled with the creation of such, and his method is fair different from what I would work in a stillroom."

Ezra spent a few moments making strange sounds. The syllables were flowing and harmonious, but foreign, like a babbling brook that could be mistaken for a human voice. "That is one of the languages of my world," he explains. "I use the spell of many tongues to talk to you. What I say may not be what you expect. The magic does its best, but it is imperfect as it cannot read your mind, only the ambient memories of the world around you."

"Your word 'stillwork' is equally foreign to my experience. But the process sounds familiar. When I say alchemy, I mean.. " He thought for a moment. "Think of language. Words are just sounds I make, but they stir the ineffable essence of their meaning in your mind as you hear them. The essence of life lies deep in Peacebloom, and all other plants, and its particular texture may be extracted mystically. The plant is the word; the essence of life is the meaning. A potion or elixir is the reduction of an altered essence back into a more basic form, but with more potent properties."

"It is as if I took the essence of 'irritation' and distilled and refined it until only 'rage' or 'wrath' were sufficient to describe the essence. Or 'relaxation' to 'tranquility'. A more potent, concentrated form of the basic ingredients."

"Most I have met beyond my world find my speech 'archaic' as I am told but understandable. Have you considered attempting to listen without the aid of your spell and speakwork?" she asked, curious rather than judging. She was wondering if perhaps unbeknownst the friends she held shared ancestors to the younger races of her world while mayhap his did not.

Well and so, the Kolder had been incredibly alien, and that was the closest she knew of to what this man was. She did not wonder that they had managed as great a harm as they had if they had felt as wrong as his previous form did! Even Dalesfolk, thick and stubborn as they might be, would have felt their hackles rise!

"Stillwork, to work within a stillroom distilling and combining," she listed easily. "Many a lady leaves it at such, oils and soaps and simples for their homes. I work in all manner, most common in medicinals and aids as others are not skilled in such. Whereas the term alchemy, as I know it, is to shift energy from one state to another in some manner, the maths of such never quite connected well but then I needs not such a tool. I was content in the fact my friend understood his alchemy well and was a kind teacher."

Ezra nodded agreeably at the descriptions of the arts. "I see, quite good, yes. There is some overlap, but not much from what you say."

"Which brings me to the use of translation magic. In my world, the spells of translation and communication are an adjunct to a mundane education. For a linguist, though, they are as much a tool as a hammer is to a carpenter, or a bow to an archer. Creatures without their own magic, like goblins, use artifice in place of the arcane, while magically strong beings like night elves have little use for more than the most basic artificial tools."

"The weakness of spells is that they may be disrupted. Not only this. A deep understanding of a language allows one to anticipate the moods and mind-set of its speakers. For example, Dwarven has seven different ways to refer to oneself, and a similar quantity to address someone else. One may infer that they have a stratified society and social classes, which they do. One misses such distinctions when all you hear is Gutterspeak's two forms, the impolite 'you' or the rude 'you'."

"But for me, and for now, the magic is a survival tool. I must know what people in this place are saying, in some way, or calamity may result. In time I hope to learn all of your native tongues for myself."

"My apologies," she offered softly. "It was but curiosity, I did not mean to suggest you put yourself at risk for such." That was what she had gathered from his statement at least? "Though as of yet I do not believe any here would take umbrage to misunderstanding and wreak calamity as you say."

Ezra peered with his living eyes, the lies of flesh that he wore for the moment in place of glowing undead orbs. "Is that what you think? You, whose fear I could smell as you approached, might have bolted had I shown you other forms I have worn in the past. In my own homeland, the words of my people are shunned and ignored by those who could have been their greatest allies. On my world, the Alliance and Horde twist and corrupt the peace gestures of their respective leaders, until war and war and useless war is the result."

"And now I come to this place, this siphon of power, this black emptiness, without explanation for why or how." He twisted and tilted his head, searching this way and that for the source of the voice overhead that he remembered hearing earlier. "My best hope seems to be this voice. But what should I say to it, eh?"

His head swiveled back, eyes gazing steadily at his companion. "I am not used to feeling safe. I do not feel safe now. Even you could be a danger if pushed, though I prefer not to explore that possibility."

"I cannot harm you," she noted immediately. "I cannot bear to do harm to another. The one time I did was in panic and in capture and had I been able I still would have returned to heal him from the wounds my claws made." Yes, even then, with that man.

"To harm is against everything I am and if it did not kill me I would be very, very ill from it." She was a healer. She could cut and stitch in the cause of healing, but harm was a different case.

"As for the rest, ah...I do not believe you were entirely speaking to me? I apologize I cannot follow all your thoughts and speech. You seem to speak on many topics at once."

Ezra's smile was tinged with regret. "The best intentions, to help.. admirable. But.. well, never mind."

"I apologize. Yes, I'd hoped to taunt our unseen friend a bit. My thoughts flow like a river, and sometimes one finds streams branching from it. I have a lot on my mind. The safety of a world, of my friends, my family, and a new mystery."

"You could do me harm, even without trying. I simply .. prefer to believe that you will not. That is all I can offer you for now."

"It is not intent, it is calling," she admitted. "I must. To stand by when there is need would be the greatest evil and anathema. I could sooner cease breathing by my own will than harm. Would healing this form you wear harm you? Should I endeavor to never touch you?" These were important things to know ahead of time!

"And I sorrow for you to be pulled from a world you are needed. Should any I speak to learn how to leave I will ask they tell you."

"'Harm' is subjective." Ezra licked his teeth with his tongue, a subconscious gesture perhaps due to the unfamiliarity of the sensation - or any sensation.

"On my world, the Light is anathema to the Forsaken, as to all other undead. As a living being, I have been examined by no less than a personage than Arcanist Doan of the Scarlet Crusade, as well as Elaine. Their use of the Light did nothing to me while I live." He flexed a fleshy hand in demonstration.

"If what you wield is simply another face of that holy Light, I expect it will be safe. Even if not, it is an interesting enough experiment that I would hazard it. Attempt it if you wish."

"But that is not the only form of harm one could do. Betrayal, intended or otherwise, has been my constant companion. Say that you were told by a friend to lead me to a certain place to meet them. It is a trap for me. Was it evil you meant? Of course not. But it is still harm of a kind." He gestured up, indicating the direction of the voice from earlier. "Lies. Deceit. Misdirection. I am wary of them even from a fair face standing before me."

"The worlds beyond my own must be terrible and strange places," she admitted softly. "Not that mine own is lacking in Darkness, but a word binds better, and many of the things you fear and watch for in my own lands have signs. Even in the case of a friend asking me to play bait unaware? I would scent it on them. All I have met it seems are such as those of the Dales. Younger, far less power bound, and less contained by the paths they walk." What was it like to have a world held by only one people? Or by all youths as the world may see it?

"It is strange to ever meet those who do not know my words bind me. Very strange. I could not, and would not, bring you harm. But that is past, now. I know these things no matter how many people may disbelieve such." And she was simply continue being herself and they would learn in time mayhap.

Moving on. "I had thought to see texts on the medicines and history of such in this new world. Have you stumbled on such while here?"

Ezra shook his head. "Medicine, no. The lore of transportation, of history, of politics, have been my focus. In this new place, I look for a door leading back home. Lacking that, a sense of the place itself, so I know to whom I might plead a case for aid. But from what I have managed to read, there is little division between history and mythology here. It is.. a difficult thing to understand."

"Ah, then by your leave as caretaker here may I claim time in the medical stacks? I am unlike to be a bother, nor do I cause harm to books."

The wizard gestured theatrically. "Do as you wish, wherever you wish, with whichever volumes you wish. I trust you will do no more harm to my library than you say you could to myself."

"Thank you," she noted, slipping off the top of the card catalog in a wash of skirts. "When next I visit I will bring tea. And I will endeavor not to be as...jumpy...?"

Ezra tipped his hat politely, and smiled a peculiar smile. "I can not promise to be any less undead, but we shall see."

"Ah...yes...thank you for what grace you allowed me this eve, I hope it is not a discomfort to you to hold this form." But she truly did appreciate it.

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ezra_pyreborn - 2015-03-17 05:20 (UTC) - Expand

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