Errath woke to the sound of his hacking coughs, prodded awake by the constant aches in his body. The Sundering had come to pass and his health had deteriorated steadily since. The trials and tribulations of the constant adventuring and front line battles in the diverse places of Azeroth ranging from the depths of the earth against power hungry dragons to the icy wastes of Northrend against a megalomaniac warmonger had taken their toll.
All the healing he'd received had simply served to slow the decline, not reverse it. After all, there was only a certain number of times one could mend a threadbare cloth before it disintegrated. Death could not be cheated forever and the inexorable march of time was something no man could fight against.
But there was so much to be done and his mind burned as if with fever, keen as ever but constrained by the increasing infirmity of his body. There was no comfort for a young mind trapped in an old body. His one regret was not having an apprentice to pass on his wealth of arcane knowledge to. The wars had claimed the lives of the few apprentices he'd bothered to take under his wing, the promise of fame & glory attracting the other talented ones like moths to a flame. But Errath refused to go without a fight.
'In Kalimdor ere the Sundering, a Priestess of Elune sleeps. Her power is strong but her will is weak. Wake her not by will but by choice and by that choice, submit. Then breath shall become one with no demise.' a sagely druid from the Cenarion Circle advised. Be aware though if you fail, there is no return, he had cautioned. Errath cared not, he would not live much longer anyway. Better to die knowing he had tried than to curse furtively at the dying of the light.
Clearing his mind, Errath commenced the ritual that had taken over a week to prepare. All at once, he was surrounded by multitudinous threads, stretching out as far as the eye could see, many flickering and flashing in and out of existence as people awoke and slept around the world, stronger glowing ones signifying deeper states of consciousness or unconsciousness as the case may be. Concentrating, Errath located that single thread as the druid instructed him, a throbbing emerald green glow, and grasped it. The world spun, blurring into a nauseating swirl of myriad colours, the wind tearing at his very soul.
When Errath opened his eyes, he found himself ankle deep in a cool, crystal clear pool lined by thick lush foliage and delicate ferns, the earthy fragrance of flora native to Kalimdor. Shrouding the foliage immediately beyond the banks was a thick grey mist that barely stirred with the occasional breeze, cool and wet. 'Typical nightelf dream of paradise, a slice of Kalimdor.' Errath mused. 'Now how should I get the Priestess' attention? I doubt she'll be very pleased if I burned down a couple of trees to announce my presence.' And he chuckled at the ludicrosity of the thought.
“What amuses you so human? And why are you here?” a crisp voice emerged from the mist. The mist parted to reveal a tall night elf woman in a shimmery white gown that matched her long snow white hair and regal composure. “I am..” “I am aware you are a mage. You reek of magic. And your archaic affinity with the arcane is palpable to me, even if you have sought to hide it. Now why are you trespassing on my domain?” the night elf interjected.
Errath raised his eyebrows at this observation. “So you can sense my presence. It is true after all, you certainly possess a great affinity for magic, more than most of your kind. I am here simply to offer up my entire knowledge and memories of the archaic arts to one who may continue the fight in my stead. I believe you are that one.” The night elf looked startled for a moment but quickly regained her composure. “I am a priestess of Elune and we have not practised magic since the corruption of Sunwell. We have no need of it.”
“Ah but you've always been a priestess out of a sense of duty haven't you? And did you not ever feel that strange yearning desire for more. That seemingly dark unspoken urge for the forbidden archaic arts?” Errath countered. The female night elf stared at him silently, the shine in her eyes accentuated by the reflection in the pool.
“Things have changed now. The Sunwell is restored and magic is no longer banned amongst your kind. Even now many are rediscovering the old arts in the effort to fight against the abyssal forces of Deathwing.” Errath continued. “But I am happy here. I have lived without magic for so long and can do without” came the reply.
“But are you really? When in the waking world all living things are threatened by the Cataclysmic forces unleashed upon us and doom only awaits those who don't resist?” “Stop lecturing me human, I have lived many a Spring more than you comprehend the threats to our world all too clearly” the night elf snapped. Errath sighed softly,“Yes, but you won't be able to assist while in this world would you?”
“What do you want?” she asked, affixing her cold crystal green eyes on his. “To pass you my entire mastery of elemental magics, the memories and friends, that you may continue the fight my body no longer allows me to take.” The night elf sighed. “Humans and their short lives, they blaze in glory in their prime and splutter out just as quickly. Which may be good too. Long lives means long memories and possibly unbearable grief.”
“Even so, I have not been able to leave this place.” the night elf indicated with a wave of her hand the surroundings. “It is at once my sanctuary and prison. Penance I must make for my incompetence in the conduct of my priestly duties.” Errath shook his head. “Hardly. It's your guilt that's weighing you down and your refusal to acknowledge your arcane talents that leaves you powerless to escape this finely wrought refuge. But if you agree, I can show you how.”
“Words of wisdom sometimes come from the mouths of babes.” With that, the night elf turned away from Errath, silent. Errath found it objectionable that a man over 80 years old should be called a babe but decided that it was not the best time to raise it. The night elf stood silent for so long that Errath was expecting her to turn him down, when she spoke again, back still facing him. “Tell me, mage, what is your name?”
“Errath, mistress”. He replied, using the honorific usually used by night elves for a servant of Elune. Turning, she said “From today, you are not Errath but Sepharael. And for the first time, the night elf smiled, a warm smile like a sliver of moonlight dancing on the cool, clear lake. “Sepharael, the mage.” “Come.” still smiling, the night elf extended her hand to Errath. Who reached for it with his gnarly hand, a grin on his face.
A continent away, an old man shuddered and breathed his last. The hiss of escaping breath not detracting from the smile on his face. Leagues away, a female nightelf roused from her slumber, fire in her eyes. “There is much to be done.” Beckoning at her two surprised attendants to follow, Sepharael strode out of the chambers, attendants in tow.
