Despite the abundance of revelations from the life of Nathanos, I would not say that this story brought such news about Sylvanas and the Forsaken that one could not expect. Kidnappings, dark rituals and all sorts of immoral acts - there have been enough of such events since the days of the original WoW. But there is one thing in this story that really surprised me - I will write about it towards the end of the issue.
The queen and her protector
And I would like to start by talking about the relationship between Sylvanas and Nathanos. The events described in the story were not something unexpected, because in the history of Nathanos Marris, his mysterious connection with Sylvanas Windrunner always ran like a red thread. Now he holds the title of champion of the Forsaken Queen, and during his lifetime he was the only human ranger commander of Quel'Thalas in history, and even then he served under the command of the same Sylvanas. In the game itself and the story "In the Shadow of the Sun" about Lor'themar, there were enough indications of the connection of this couple. It is known that during their lifetime they never openly and did not deny their connection, even if they did not speak about it openly.
However, in The Dark Mirror, the romantic relationship between Sylvanas and Nathanos is only mentioned in a series of hints. But these hints are quite transparent: here is the manner of their communication, and the evening spent together, and the words of the dark ranger Anya about the nature of Sylvanas' affection for her champion. So those two definitely had a special bond, but it wasn't the same as, say, the other Windrunner sisters. Still, here, simultaneously with romance, there coexisted the relationship of a military commander and his subordinate - the commander of the ranger of the high elves and a man who had reached a rank in this organization that was previously unattainable for his people. And it's important to note that Nathanos Marris truly deserved the title of Ranger Commander - he was just as strong and agile as his elder elf comrades. But this did not save this couple from the displeased glances of other pathfinders, who were already annoyed by the mere presence of a person in their ranks.
Curiously, all three Windrunner sisters eventually entered into relationships with humans. Elder sister Alleria fell in love with the paladin Turalyon, with whom she fought side by side during the Second War. And Vereesa's younger sister fell in love with the mage Rhonin, and together the two thwarted Deathwing's plan to subdue the Alliance. It is noteworthy that the relationship between Sylvanas and Nathanos originated even before these stories. Perhaps all this was somehow influenced by the life of the sisters on the outskirts of the kingdom and their being pathfinders. Maybe some features of their family mentality. But in any case, such alliances between humans and elves have always been rare for a number of reasons: Quel'Thalas was a state closed from outsiders, and the only city with a truly large community of high elves was Dalaran (and there were no such alliances so outlandish due to the mentality of the local elves and human magicians); both peoples have different cultures, mentality, and you should not discount banal xenophobia or the difference in age and aging rate. It is impressive that the Windrunner sisters were above such prejudice.
But back to the present. The relationship between Blightcaller and the Banshee Queen is no longer what it used to be. No wonder: these two are no longer the same as in the old days. Nathanos generally prefers to consider himself from the past as some completely different person. But Sylvanas still cherishes him. This is no longer the same attachment that it was before, because she, too, was transformed along with the banshee herself. But nevertheless, it exists. Sylvanas needs a protector, but it's important to her that Blightcaller continue to bear the burden. Sylvanas does not want him to end up in the same monstrous place that she was when she threw herself on the saronite spiers in Northrend. And she is simply pleased to see a face again, reminiscent of the face of the person who, along with her, served for the benefit of Quel'Thalas, the person who was dear to her.
But they will never be as close as before. They used to be commander and subordinate, but now they are the queen and her favorite - and Sylvanas will no longer tolerate disobedience from her champion. And she took a risk by arranging that ritual. Nathanos himself noted that the dark ranger was in the hall in case he was shot if he went insane during the ritual.
In a way, the defender of Sylvanas is lucky that he is already undead. After all, not so long ago, Sylvanas tried to reunite with her younger sister: she was going to kill her, and then resurrect her as the undead and co-ruler of the Forsaken. And personally, I doubt that the dark lady will not sacrifice her protector if her life is in mortal danger, no matter what feelings she still has not experienced for him.
As for Nathanos, Sylvanas remained the only reason for his existence. He lives to serve her and do her will. And he is ready to die if his mistress is also destined to die. So he would end his mortal miserable existence and could forever be with Sylvanas, even if in hell. Curiously, Blightcaller is not only aware that their old intimacy is a thing of the past - he generally refuses the idea that he can be dear to Sylvanas not just as her personal guardian. Nevertheless, her attention and approval is important to him, and it was even important for him to find out how she feels about his new appearance.
Changes in Nathanos - theory
And now we can talk about the end of the story.
Picking up the plate breastplate, Nathanos involuntarily remembered his cousin killed for the sake of the ritual to restore the flesh, and these memories were fraught with guilt. The new sensation surprised Nathanos, for he had not experienced such torment since he had been alive. This is understandable: Blightcaller enjoyed torturing and killing his former companions from the rangers, and his attitude towards Stefan was cold and cruel.
My point is that this reaction of Nathanos to what happened to Stefan is unnatural for his person. More recently, he did not care about the torment and even the death of his cousin, whom he loved during his lifetime, so it is difficult to believe in a sudden awakening of humanity caused by just one deed. I suspect there is another reason for this - the ritual that Blightcaller went through. The body he acquired doesn't just look more alive, it's actually more alive, in a way, than the body of a regular Forsaken. That is why Nathanos smelled the putrid smell coming from the other Forsaken. And what if, along with the senses of the body, such as tactile sensitivity and smell, the perception of emotions, characteristic of living people, returned to the dark ranger to some extent?
Such a turn of events will easily explain the change in Blightwall himself by the fact that his nature simply could not cope with the perfect atrocity - because this very nature became closer to what he had during his lifetime. If you follow this theory, then it turns out that the Blightcaller was simply very darkened due to his being a living dead. But I must emphasize that this is just my theory - just speculation.
And here there is one subtlety - sometimes it is very difficult to understand what exactly caused changes in the personality of a person who became Forsaken. Some of them rise from the graves no longer the same as they were in life - sometimes this is a consequence of brain damage, sometimes magic can be involved here. At least the fact that the souls of the Forsaken, according to Sean Copeland, a developer from the creative development department, are not very tightly connected to their bodies, and therefore, are not in a state of harmony. In addition, all Forsaken go through a series of serious upheavals: realizing the facts of their death and subsequent resurrection, getting used to their dead body and to life in the society of the walking dead in the ruins of the kingdom of people or in its sewers. For some it comes easily, but for some it ends in severe psychological trauma. Such a life can already break even the individual who has risen the same person as he was during life.
“There are reports that after prolonged contact with the Light, some Forsaken have experienced a partial aggravation of their usually muffled sense of smell, touch, etc., as well as an increase in the number of cases of positive emotions, which are usually very rare for the undead.
But there are also those who have become monsters without damaged brains and a warped series of mental shocks. They became violent sadists simply... because they could be. New doors opened for these people, and they themselves entered them, discarding the morality that had fettered them before. But at the same time, among the Forsaken there are more than enough of those who have retained their former selves and just want to live in peace. And not every one of those who have changed in unlife necessarily became a butcher and a murderer. And the fear of death for them is even more terrible than for the living: while some are practically waiting for a second rest, others are rightly afraid of dying, not knowing what is in store for the undead like them in the afterlife.
And the Undercity remains a safe haven for the free undead. Relatively, of course - but the outside world can be even more dangerous for them. And perhaps in all this lies the main tragedy of modern Lordaeron: there is no simple answer. A determined cry “They are undead! They must all return to their graves” would be as unfair a verdict as trying to turn a blind eye to the horrors in the depths of the Undercity with the words “Spare them, they are all simple people - just like you and me!”
In general, the Blightcaller does not give the impression of such a person that he committed all his monstrous acts of violence simply because he is undead. But therein lies the problem - the Forsaken can be hard to figure out. From the story, I got the impression that being undead contributed to the personality of our hero, but I do not believe that this is the only thing. I believe that he had enough free will and reason to slow down, so to speak, momentum. So he deserves to go to the next world again from the sword of one of his enemies. And after the sadistic murder of my former comrades, I don’t want to see any redemption story about this dark ranger. But then again, the patches of consciousness of the undead are very subtle matters, and therefore I can be wrong about this character.
Be that as it may, the theory that some of the former humanity returned to Nathanos automatically raises new questions. Will Blightcaller's personality change with the crumbs of humanity returned to him? And if the answer is yes, how? Perhaps he decides to suppress this side of his soul in order to remain loyal to Sylvanas, or humanity will force him to change his mind about the dark lady - and then he can both remain on her side and begin to rethink his existence. It's probably hard to say something here - after all, the life of the commander of the rangers of the Undercity is entirely devoted to the banshee queen.
And the second question is how Sylvanas herself looks in the light of this theory. After all, her body is in a similar condition, and we already know that the queen of the Undercity is able to recognize smells. As for emotionality, it suffices to recall the story of Vereesa from War Crimes: Sylvanas wanted to kill her sister and resurrect her as undead to rule with her. And when all the plans of the banshee in that story collapsed, she was seriously angry. That is, her body provides her with a spectrum of emotions similar to that of Nathanos.
From this it follows that Sylvanas chose the general degree of ruthlessness of her actions and judgments of her own free will - yes, being undead, of course, contributed to all this. Like her, no doubt, terrible fate. But it turns out that the leverage that weighs heavily on many Forsaken due to the fact that they are very far removed from their former personalities could not have had a similar effect on the middle of the Windrunner sisters simply due to the fact that her case was different in terms of ...the physiology of the undead. And that brings us back to Nathanos. How will he evaluate the actions of his mistress, knowing that they have approximately the same emotional spectrum? Will he imbue the same specific morality that Sylvanas follows, or move away from it? This we do not know. But again, Blightcaller is loyal to Sylvanas to the depths of his tormented soul, and I doubt that he is even capable of leaving her, no matter how he feels about her deeds.
But this is all just speculation.
But Nathanos' view of the rest of the Forsaken might change without her. After all, now his feelings have become aggravated, and the mere fact that he clearly smells the stench emanating from their bodies can already cause a certain disgust in him. However, he is still an individual, so he can get used to it.
Killing a paladin
One of the most hotly debated themes from the events of this story is the death of Stephen Marris, Blightcaller's cousin. The fact is that Stefan was a paladin of the Argent Crusade, so his death at the hands of the Forsaken, at first glance, seems to be a very hostile gesture on the part of the free undead. But here everything is not so simple.
Stefan was killing the Forsaken, which is more than a dangerous move for a member of the neutral Argent Crusade. It was this activity of his that allowed the Forsaken to capture him and later use him in a ritual when Sylvanas gave the order to do so. Based on the text, it seems that Stefan was a loner in his crusade against the Forsaken (perhaps he pursued a specific goal in the person of Blightcaller), so it is impossible to talk about victims among other representatives of the Vanguard. And should word of this event reach the Vanguard or the Silver Hand, the Undercity can rightly answer that it has only removed a threat to its people.
Since we don't know the full version of the events surrounding the murder of the Forsaken soldiers at the Marris farm, it can be assumed that the Vanguard would not have taken Stefan's death as a symmetrical response to his... labors. But it does not matter. The Undercity will obviously just hide this information to avoid dangerous consequences. Moreover, for the vast majority of the inhabitants of this very Undercity, the secret of Nathanos' transformation will forever remain a mystery.
And let's not forget that the Plaguelands remain a dangerous place. In the Vanguard, most likely, they will consider that Stefan died at the hands of some abomination in the thicket of the plague forest.
“Mortality” of the Forsaken
In this story, one rather important feature of the Forsaken people was remembered - that they, too, are mortal in some way. They are still reanimated corpses, and rotting does not bypass them. Some are lucky: their bodies are raised relatively “fresh”, and they maintain them in a “decent” state with the help of various solutions. Magic can also be a great help here. But the Forsaken are a whole nation. It is not known whether embalming drugs will become a panacea. And does every Forsaken have access to them? Nothing to say about magic. Of course, the Forsaken can replace a broken arm or jaw with a new one, but this is more of a temporary solution. So the rotting of the body can become an analogue of death from old age for many Forsaken: they are not skeletons after all. However, it is possible to slow down this process. And in the case of Nathanos, it was completely nullified.
Still, even Sylvanas herself admits the reality of this problem:
“Thanks to the power of the val'kir, my body will be safe for centuries.
Your human body, like the bodies of many other Forsaken, is not as
will last. I want to stop your decay. Spare you the pain that I
experienced when…”
The Forsaken are also in danger of becoming mindless undead - examples of this ailment are found in WoW. It can be both a result of the weakness of the mind (is it a matter of brain rot?), or the continued influence of the Plague on the Forsaken.
“I'm so cold right now. The Plague of Unlife crawls through my veins like a frozen snake. Soon I will fall into a thoughtless state.”- Gretchen Dedmar
Who knows, perhaps, that in her pursuit of Eyir, Sylvanas pursued not only her personal interests, but also tried to solve this very problem of the mortality of her subjects.
“Our goal lies in this crypt. I don't have time to explain everything in detail - just know that our victory is vital for the Forsaken."- Sylvanas Windrunner
The ritual performed on Nathanos required the presence of his kindred flesh. So it's unlikely to apply to an entire nation of undead. But somehow to preserve their decay in the manner of how it happens with death knights? This is a possible option. After all, by empowering the Forsaken, Sylvanas strengthens her shields and staves off death - so such an undertaking is in her best interest. And from this point of view, it still falls under the personal interests of the dark lady.
“With the blessing of the Valkyr Queen, you have opened the way where the fate of all Azeroth will be forged. I invite you to witness the dawn of a new day for the people of the Forsaken!”- Sylvanas Windrunner
Alas, Sylvanas' true plans for Eyir, as well as the details of her deal with Helya, are still a mystery.
Answers on questions
IN: Sylvanas chose Stefan because he looked like Nathanos?
ABOUT: As the story goes, the ritual requires flesh that is compatible with Nathanos' original. Was that the only reason for her choice? Decide for yourself.
IN: After reading this story, I began to treat Sylvanas even worse than before. She always thinks only of herself and is focused only on what she wants and what she needs.
ABOUT: Fair. I wanted the reader to experience a feeling of rejection for the things she does, but at the same time, I hope, that he also felt a certain sympathy for the life that she once had and that she lost.
Notes
I was interested in the presence in the Undercitysecret corridor systemsand a room that probably only Sylvanas herself fully knows.
The Undercity is holding captives from Alliance , which are used as live training dummies. Sad, but expected.
The story well describes the thinking of a simplethe walking dead, subject to the will of the Lich King. Nathanos was driven by hatred, the desire to kill and devour the flesh of the victims he had killed. But above all that, the will of the Lich King remained to him. At the same time, he was conscious, even if it was limited by wild hatred, a thirst to kill and a desire to fulfill the will of his master. But with the same Sylvanas, everything was different: being a banshee in the service of the Scourge, she retained her mind, but was forced to obey the orders of Arthas and the will of Ner'zhul. So she was punished for her fierce resistance to the march of the Scourge on Quel'Thalas.
During his lifetime, Nathanos believed that from Lor'themar a politician would have come out better than a tracker. I don't think that makes Theron any less of a ranger, but he did become a very successful politician as Lord Regent of Silvermoon. The irony here is that Lor'themar did not aspire to this position, and being a ranger suited him quite well.
I noticed one common misconception: they say, the ritual turned Nathanos into a death knight. It is not true. The meaning of the comparison with death knights was that the ritual of creating a new body for Nathanos required much more power than raising a simple Forsaken, and in terms of the costs of this very power, it is just comparable to the creation of a death knight. And Nathanos Blightcaller - dark ranger . And now he outwardly corresponds to his comrades-in-arms: the same pale skin and red eyes.
And the second popular misconception: allegedly Sylvanas subdued Nathanos the Scourge slave with her banshee power. No, the point is different - Nathanos' affection for his commander was so great that it overpowered the power of the Lich King. It speaks to how true Nathanos his mistress, and the fact that he has a very strong will.
Hearing the Val'kyr reads the words of the ritual, Nathanos“felt the power of the Lich King in her voice”. A very curious detail, but really, it just seems like the cost of perceiving Blightcaller himself. He sensed the power of the Val'kyr, linked to the energy of necromancy, and immediately connected it in his head with the Lich King. So I think it's nothing more than his empty associations.
And also the words of that ritualwere read in an ancient language unknown to Nathanos. It is likely either vrykul or the death language of the Cult of the Damned. Of course, this cult cannot be called ancient, but at the same time, the origin of its secret language remains unknown.
There is also a certain understatement in the ritual itself. Personally, I got the impression that the bodies of Stefan and Nathanos merged into one, creating a kind of chimera. After all, if his new body were an exact copy of Stefan, Blightcaller would immediately notice it. At the same time, in his reflection in the mirror, Nathanos saw“not quite your face.”Hence my “chimera” idea.
I was impressed by how thoroughly Sylvanas approached the safety of her body. Obviously, her inanimate body was originally special. Indeed, with the exception of Sylvanas and her dark rangers, only the San'layn and some of the death knights could boast of such non-rotting bodies. This is the merit of the Lich King's magic. And I've been wondering for a long time whether this effect can "fizzle out" without the support of his magic. From the manga “Death Knight” and various tasks about death knights, one gets the impression that they have a decent charge of their own strength - they still do magic and raise ghouls with might and main. So there is an explanation for them. The San'lane are vampires, and indeed were loyal to the Lich King. And so in the "Dark Mirror" they explained that Sylvanas solved this problem with her own batteries, val'kyr: “Thanks to the power of the val'kir, my body will be preserved for centuries.”
As we have already mentioned, Sylvanas is afraid that Nathanos in death may expect the same horrors that she experienced firsthand after the suicide attempt. But we don't know this for sure. And there is no evidence that this awaits all Forsaken after death. In the history of Warcraft, there have already been rare examples of the undead who found peace after death. The same Alexandros Mograine appeared to Darion in the form of a spirit after defeating Arthas in Icecrown Citadel to thank his son for saving his own soul. Perhaps it's about actions.
Nathanos considers Sylvanas as beautiful as a goddess is to be expected. He also thought that the leaders of her enemies were secretly whispering about her beauty - again, Nathanos should not have expected a different assessment here, but judging by the author's style in the story, this is true. Marvelous.
Countless representatives of noble houses offered their hand to Sylvanas, and according to rumors, even himself wished for this. Prince Kehl . I hope these rumors are false, because poor Kael already had a hard life to add to it a second love fiasco (the first, as you know, was Jaina).
Thank you for reading this issue.
And see you next time! *)
Thanks again to the readers who support the blog on patreon : pitet, dervesp, Vladimir Kravchuk, Maxim Zuev, Vemy, Denis Matveev, zymko, Leorik, Fadj, Sergey and Dyshik.
Nathanos Marris closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, which had been broken so many times in his life that he had lost count. The humid air already smelled of autumn, and hints of the scent of wild flowers growing along the path. He liked this smell - so familiar, simple and dear. Nathanos wouldn't trade that smell for anything.
Sylvanas Windrunner, the leader of the rangers, approached quietly as always. She smelled of the roses for which her hometown, the capital of the high elves, was famous. Nathanos would recognize this fragrance from a thousand.
For a long time, the man simply stood silently, deep down rejoicing at the presence of a sudden guest. The silence was broken only by the chirping of birds as they saw the setting sun off, and the soft bleating of sheep that graze behind the low wooden fence that he, Nathanos, had helped build for his father when he was a child.
He opened his eyes. From the little hill on which he stood, the whole Marris estate was in full view: the house in which he had lived almost all his life; barns and sheds, which it was time to prepare for the winter; wheat waiting to be harvested.
His house.
Nathanos loved him very much - and was proud of him. Perhaps that was why he wanted to prolong this moment at least a little ... before ruining everything.
"You shouldn't have come here," he grumbled.
“Well, you welcome your commander,” Sylvanas replied, turning in his direction.
There was a slight smile on her lips, but the steel in her gaze betrayed authority. Looking at her elegant blue leather armor and a beautiful carved bow thrown behind her back, Nathanos felt uncomfortable - he himself was dressed in shabby casual clothes, and it didn’t hurt to comb his beard.
He shook his head.
“You know perfectly well what I meant, Sylvanas. There's been talk among the Wanderers ever since you promoted me to leader of the rangers. Your visits here also did not go unnoticed, and these "noble" trackers of yours gossip about us cleaner than village women at the laundry.
Sylvanas pulled back her hood and her long golden hair fell to her shoulders.
"I didn't think you cared about other people's opinions."
The high elf's words dripped with the honey of mock empathy, testing his resolve.
Frustrated, he gritted his teeth. He didn't like that Sylvanas was so used to his way of talking that she didn't even notice when he was really angry.
- Let those gossips say whatever they want about me. But you are their commander, and it will not be good if you lose their respect.
Sylvanas brushed a strand of his brown hair that had fallen over her eyes from Nathanos's forehead.
- I am the leader of the rangers, and it is my duty to collect reports from my scouts. And since you decided to retire here, in the expanses of Lordaeron, and not serve in Quel'Thalas, I am forced to drop in on you from time to time.
He shrugged.
- I have nothing to do in Quel'Talas. I don't care about the intrigues of a big city. Here I can at least breathe freely, gather my thoughts. I prefer simple joys that you will not find under the shadow of ancient spiers.
“And Lor’temar believes that you prefer to hide out of fear of the elven archers,” she said, arching her eyebrow slightly.
- Lor "temar Theron is talking nonsense! His element is politics; not the life of a tracker. And I certainly am not inferior to him in anything!
Nathanos cut off his tirade abruptly. His irritation clearly amused Sylvanas, and he did not want to give her such pleasure.
- Well, I'm glad that I found out the true reason for your seclusion. And then it began to seem to me that my society is a burden to you.
The setting sun illuminated her flawless features; gray-blue eyes sparkled in the golden light. The effect was amazing. Nathanos was ready to swear that there were some charms that she was ready to resort to at any moment in order to turn the conversation in the right direction or distract the interlocutor.
And, of course, they worked. He again involuntarily flattered her vanity.
“It's not that I don't like your visits, Sylvanas. But you are the leader of the rangers and should be close to the subordinates. Especially now is the time...
The elf furrowed her brows.
- Soon your wish will come true. I need to meet Alleria, my sister. She believes that the orcs are already sharpening their teeth on Quel'Thalas and are about to attack our homeland. If her fears are justified, you may be recalled to protect Silvermoon City, whether you like it or not.
He took her by the elbow and pulled her slightly towards him.
-Sylvanas, you know that I will do my duty and...
- Nathanos! - there was a sonorous boyish voice.
Directly towards them, waving his arms and scaring away the grazing sheep, ran a boy. Stopping ten meters away from them, he stared at the elf and opened his mouth in amazement. He nearly fell off the hedge as he clumsily climbed over it, but he mustered up the courage to approach.
“Sylvanas Windrunner, leader of the rangers,” Nathanos began, “let me introduce you to Stefan Marris, my cousin. He's only nine, but as you can see, he's already rivaling me in terms of lack of good manners.
Stefan blushed in embarrassment. Nathanos looked at him sternly, holding back a smile with all his might. He loved a boy who looked a lot like him. Looking at Stefan, he again remembered what it was like to live in a world where everything was so amazing, wonderful and new.
"Come on, Nathanos," Sylvanas replied, kneeling in front of the boy and smiling warmly at him. - I have no doubt that he will grow cultured and educated, despite all your influence.
“Are you… are you a tracker too?” How is my cousin? - Stefan already stuttered with excitement, looking at the elf in all eyes.
- No, my friend, take it higher. Sylvanas is not just a tracker. She is in command of all rangers in these parts,” Nathanos said.
Stefan looked dumbfounded at him and then at her, trying to find a suitable phrase for the occasion.
The high elf leaned towards the boy and asked him in a whisper, as if she were telling a secret:
“Do you want to be a tracker when you grow up?”
Nathanos' cousin shook his head.
- No, I want to become a knight. So that I can have shining armor, a huge sword and my own castle! And I don’t feel like living in the forest and shooting from a bow.
And then he was suddenly afraid of his own words.
- No, in general, I like rangers ... Well, that is me ... I would gladly serve with you!
Sylvanas laughed softly, her melodious laugh. Nathanos gritted his teeth and sighed.
Too late, Stefan. Go inside the house and stop pestering my commander already.
Stefan was already turning around, but then Sylvanas, with truly catlike grace, took something out of her pocket and held out her hand to the boy.
“Here, take it,” she said, putting a gold coin into his palm. "Keep it until your cousin thinks you're old enough to buy your first sword."
Stefan shone so that he could illuminate the neighboring fields.
- Thank you! Thank you!
He instantly jumped over the fence and ran across the meadow. The poor sheep that shied away from him, you see, were not destined to graze calmly that evening.
- I will have my own me-e-ech! the boy yelled happily.
"That's all I needed," Nathanos grumbled, tugging at his beard. - Now he will eat all my baldness with this coin.
Sylvanas rose from her knee and watched Stefan until he disappeared over the hill.
"He just needs someone who believes in him," she replied. Like all of us from time to time...
For a while they were silent. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon. The singing of birds was replaced by the buzz of midges. The silence dragged on.
Nathanos broke it first.
- How long are you here?
She smiled faintly.
Until morning, I think. It's already too late. Feed, or something, your commander with dinner and entertain with conversation.
Sylvanas turned and walked towards the house. As she passed Nathanos, her fingertips barely touched his arm.
Nathanos considered. The political intrigues of Silvermoon, the disapproving grin of Lor "Temar Theron, the shadow of the impending Horde ... On the one hand, he would like a quieter life for himself. He loved to work on the ground, like his father and grandfather. He could retire, leave the ranks of the Farstriders and live out the rest of his days on the estate, in his own home, but to do so he would have to sacrifice something much more than the position of leader of the rangers.
Moving towards the house, where a warm hearth and a hearty dinner awaited him, he already knew in the depths of his soul that his choice had been made. To hell with politicians. To hell with the whole world! He gave Sylvanas his word, and nothing will separate him from her.
Why are you hesitating, my protector?
Sylvanas' impatient voice wrenched Nathanos out of hazy memories. In fact, he rarely remembered the past. That life belonged to another person who had been dead for many years. Everything that once defined him as a person: his home, family, obligations to others - all this was now something unimportant and distant. None of that mattered to who he had become. From now on, he is a Blight. He is the Forsaken. And he no longer served the high elf, the leader of the rangers.
He served the Banshee Queen.
I don't understand the purpose of this.
For a moment, he marveled at the raspy sound of his words echoing off the stone walls of the Royal Quarter. Not otherwise, he expected to speak with a human voice again. Sentimental fool!
The ritual will make you stronger.” She paced back and forth across the center of the great circular hall, her eyes blazing with red fire. - The Legion has invaded the lands of the Horde. My protector must be strong.
Nathanos shifted his gaze from Sylvanas to the val'kyra, which hovered in the air a little behind her. The spread wings of the ghost almost touched the huge columns on the edge of the platform, between which there were a good two dozen steps. Undercity, the capital of the Banshee Queen, was literally teeming with all sorts of ghosts, ghouls and other evil spirits - he was used to this. But the Val'kyr, with their massive helmets that tightly covered their faces, got on his nerves. He had heard that these vrykul warrior maidens were once guardians of the realm of the dead. They were entrusted with the duty to escort the worthy souls of the departed to the place of eternal rest. But this Val'kyr, like her sisters, was enslaved by the Lich King. On his orders, they raised a huge army for this monster, who killed Sylvanas Windrunner, cursed her and doomed her to exist in the form of the undead.
He thought about it. Was it wise for the queen to call these creatures into her service after the fall of the Lich King? However, he quickly dismissed his doubts. The Val'kyr have already rendered Sylvanas an invaluable service by replenishing the ranks of her army with many new Forsaken. The Dark Lady knows what she is doing. And always has.
Still, he couldn't resist pricking her.
If you think I'm not strong enough, maybe you should choose another protector?
Sylvanas' eyes flashed crimson.
Nathanos was glad he had hit her, but didn't show it.
The Dark Lady controlled her fury.
Thanks to the power of the Val'kyr, my body will be safe for centuries. Your human body, like the bodies of many other Forsaken, will not last that long. I want to stop your decay. To save you from the pain that I experienced when ...
He nodded quickly, signaling that he understood her. To him alone did she tell of what happened on the day the Lich King fell. Then she decided that she had fulfilled her destiny and that the eternal rest, in which she had been denied for so long, was already waiting for her. But when she threw herself into the abyss on the rocks under Icecrown Citadel, it turned out that not peace awaited her, but the eternal hunger of the void. And although she never admitted it, he knew her well enough to understand how frightened she was.
Having concluded an agreement with the Val'kyr, she then escaped, and he thanked fate for this. But still, if he lost his queen, it would no longer make sense for him to drag out this miserable semblance of existence. If she was destined to endure eternal torment, at least he could complete his journey and carry the burden of his curse next to her.
Perhaps, he said, it would be better to just let me go.
The fire in Sylvanas' eyes went out. For a moment he caught a glimpse of the blue that shone in them long ago. But then her eyes again became icy and brooking no objections.
Twice I have called you into my service, Nathanos Blightcaller. And you will be released from it only when I command!
The world around him was like a thick fog. There was no longer any reason or meaning for him. Only hatred remains. Hatred took root deep in his mind and entangled him with its tenacious tentacles. The man he once was was gone, and his blood stained the land that had once been his own. His dead body was now inhabited by another being that had no will of its own. But he wasn't supposed to have it. It existed only to serve the Lich King.
He crouched again on the ground where the gnawed corpse of his last victim lay. He ripped a piece of meat out of her throat with his teeth, and a warm wave of power spread through his body. He remembered with what pleasure he listened to her fading death cry; what indescribable horror froze in her empty eyes, while he tore the cooling body to pieces. Savoring that sensation, he tore off another piece of dead flesh.
How long has it been since he was raised from the dead? days? Years? All this was completely unimportant. Time matters only to mortals; the new master relieved him of this burden. Now all his actions were guided only by the desire to spread the curse of the undead in the lands of the fallen kingdom of Lordaeron. In the same land that he loved so much when he was a man. If there was room in his heart for anything other than hate, he would laugh at the irony, long and loud.
He interrupted his meal. That was the command of his master.
He felt that something was about to happen. The dark magic that once revived his dead body has infiltrated the corpse of his victim. He watched in dumb astonishment as the lifeless corpse rose from the ground. One more Scourge creature. She looked at him, and there was no more fear in her lifeless eyes - they now burned with a flame of hatred.
She probably would have even smiled at him if her jaw hadn't hung on thin shreds of flesh. And he probably would have even smiled at her in response, if an arrow had not suddenly stuck into her head. The headless body of his new companion sank to the ground, twitched a couple of times, and froze.
He turned to face the attackers. Three hooded figures loomed before him. He had not yet lost all the memories of his past life, so he recognized their weapons. He still remembered how dangerous a bow could be in the right hands. But all these residual memories did not matter to him at all. Hatred boiled up in him, and it needed to be thrown out.
He prepared to jump, and then the middle of the archers shouted a command. Those on either side immediately fired several heavy, blunt arrows at him, aiming at his legs. He collapsed awkwardly to the ground. A couple of times he tried to get up, but new arrows immediately knocked him down again. Those are the damn creatures! He didn't wonder why they didn't just finish him off like that woman. He just wanted to sink his teeth into living flesh, not covered by armor. When they become Scourge soldiers, they will no longer need bows. Hatred will be their weapon; from now on, it will be their only driving force.
He sniffed the air, warming his hunger, but the unfamiliar smell confused him. His opponents were neither humans nor elves. They were not alive at all - the same walking dead, like himself. But why, then, do they want to prevent him from doing the will of the master? With the fear and despair of a beaten dog, he tried again and again to get up, and each time another arrow knocked him down.
No. That name is long dead and rotted on the desecrated soil of Marris Manor. How dare she evoke those memories? Anger surged within him with renewed vigor. He will kill her. He will feed on her flesh. For a time, he will quench his thirst to kill.
No. Hatred. The will of the owner is above all. If these three do not serve him, he will destroy them!
- Nathanos! she called again in her sepulchral banshee voice.
- Nathanos!
When she said his name for the third time, he remembered everything, and the fear gradually disappeared.
Sylvanas.
She threw back her hood, and the dim light of the Plaguelands illuminated her elven features. Her skin was now a dead ash gray. The once golden hair has faded and lost its sheen. His eyes, once blue-gray, now smoldered with red fire. He realized that Sylvanas, too, fell victim to dark magic, and a lump of bitterness rose to his throat. But sadness quickly gave way to reverence - so magnificent was she in her new guise. She looked like a queen during her lifetime. After death, she became a goddess.
He looked down and saw his twisted, bloody fingers, skin hanging in tatters. A fit of shame swept over him, eclipsing even the joy of being reunited with Sylvanas. The thought that she saw him like this - a pitiful imitation of her former self - was unbearable to him. He raised his hand, trying to cover his half-rotted face.
"Sylvanas," his parched lips whispered.
His own voice sounded completely alien to him. Suddenly he realized that this was the first word he had spoken since the will of the dark master had raised him from the dead. The servants of the Lich King had no need to talk - they were only required to kill.
- I came for you, Nathanos. I'm taking you with me.
He was unworthy to stand next to her. He was not worthy even to look at her. But the strength and authority emanating from her fascinated him. He slowly lowered his hand and met Sylvanas's gaze.
"You see what I've become," he growled. "Why do you need a monster like me to serve you?"
Sylvanas just shrugged it off.
“I will build a new kingdom, Nathanos. Kingdom of the Forsaken, freed from the power of the Lich King. You will become my protector, and together we will doom him to pain and suffering. Arthas will answer for his crimes!
Nathanos grimaced. The fog in his head dissipated. The Lich King no longer had power over him, and Nathanos clenched his fists at the thought that he could now retaliate. Anger and hatred still consumed him, but now he could act on his own.
Although no. Of course not.
Now her will dominated him. As before.
The dark rangers accompanying Sylvanas tensed as Nathanos rose to his feet. He stepped forward and bowed his head.
- I'm all yours, Dark Lady. Until the end.
Nathanos examined his left hand carefully. There was still enough skin and sinew to hold a bow and teach even the most clueless apprentice how to draw it. But he felt that his strength was gradually leaving him. The inanimate flesh decomposed slowly, and one day the day would come when his arm would stop working or fall off altogether. And then what would be the point of it?
Well, he reminded himself, although he is rotting dead, he has not forgotten his duty.
I await your orders, my queen.
Sylvanas nodded.
At one time, Arthas forced the Val'kyr to raise death knights for his army. This is a very powerful ritual, much stronger than the one by which they now turn fresh corpses into the Forsaken. They can transform your body. Make you stronger and ... more durable.
Why don't they do this for all your subjects? - he asked.
Sylvanas cast a quick glance at the imperturbable ghostly warrior maiden.
This ritual takes a lot of strength from them. They resort to it rarely and reluctantly. The energy of the Lich King no longer feeds them, and they are forced to give away some of their own essence.
She turned to him.
But they will do it because I want to.
He stepped towards the banshee queen, studying her face intently. He consoled himself with the fact that he only wanted to provoke her and enjoy her annoyance. But deep down he knew that he was deceiving himself. He wanted something more.
But if the Val'kyr can only do it once... why me?
What was it that flashed in her eyes? Pain? Even so, after a moment, this pain was replaced by unshakable determination.
I told you. The Legion threatens our very existence. I need a powerful protector.
The satisfaction he longed for was, of course, petty. But still, something in him woke up every time she called him that.
Well, tell her to start, - Nathanos grumbled. - I still have to teach pathfinders.
Sylvanas smiled faintly, turned to the val'kyr and nodded. The ghostly maiden floated through the air to a small niche in the throne room wall. The queen whispered a secret word, and the stone walls parted to the sides. A dark passage opened behind them. It was one of the many secret passages that Sylvanas used to move around the city, and Nathanos suspected that there were passages that even he did not know about.
They walked through an intricate labyrinth in which even an experienced killer sent by the enemy would easily get lost and disappear. Val "Kyra, apparently, knew the way; perhaps the dark magic that was saturated with the Mage Quarter was telling her the way. At some point, this energy became almost tangible; even Nathanos felt it.
They rounded another corner and came to a dead end. Sylvanas spoke the secret word again, the passage opened, and they stepped forward.
The walls of the room they found themselves in were lined with shelves filled with books and magical paraphernalia that gleamed dimly in the lamplight. In the center stood two altars, on each of which lay a huge stone slab. One was empty. A man was tied to another with thick leather straps. The only thing left of his clothes was his underwear. He tried in vain to free himself - the straps were tightened tightly. On the floor beside him were a heap of gilded armor, a warhammer, and a shield. Nathanos noticed that the symbol of the Argent Crusade was engraved on the weapons and armor. The prisoner was obviously helpless, but he didn't look broken or mutilated. Nathanos clicked his tongue. He had occasion to both kill paladins and take them prisoner, but he left few of them practically untouched.
Blightcaller turned to his mistress and, pointing to the man, asked:
What This?
Sylvanas walked around the altar.
This ritual requires a sacrifice. Need flesh... related to your own.
She paused at the paladin's head and glared at Nathanos.
What was this check? What did she expect from him? Nathanos leaned towards the man lying on the altar and peered into his face. He saw something familiar in the furrowed brows, the strong-willed chin, the desperate determination with which the captive tried in vain to free himself.
He marveled at how this paladin reminded him of himself when he himself was still human. A long time has passed since his death. He thought that all these memories were lost to him forever, and now, looking at this man, he seemed to look into his past.
Past...
The prisoner met his gaze. He obviously recognized Nathanos, but there was no fear in his eyes, only contempt.
Nathanos leaned over and pulled the gag out of his mouth.
Well hello cousin.
Stefan's face showed extreme disgust.
I prayed to the Light that you would die for good. For your soul to find peace. There was sadness and bitterness in his words.
Nathanos chuckled.
Tell me, did you spend that gold that the leader of the rangers gave you?
I saved it,” the paladin answered defiantly. - I kept it after Stratholme fell; after the Scourge ravaged Lordaeron, hoping that my cousin was still alive. I asked about you, but the answer was only awkward silence. Then I heard rumors of a monster called Blightcaller, which appeared in the Marris estate and began to exterminate the heroes of the Alliance, who sought to restore peace. I thought that this is the creature that killed Nathanos, and vowed to avenge him. But one day I happened to overhear a conversation between two refugees from Darrowshire. It flashed the real name of this monster, and then I realized what you have become. Stefan was silent for a moment. - And on that day I threw this ill-fated gold into the river.
He spat hatefully on the stone floor.
Nathanos stood silent. There was no point in denying the truth. He arrived at his former farm on the orders of his queen and lured her enemies into a trap. He took particular pleasure in torturing the high elves, the rangers from the northern foothills; the very Wanderers he had once commanded and served with. All their arrogance vanished without a trace when they died, bleeding - or turned into bestial grin if they were destined to rise in the guise of the undead. And all this time, no matter how noble heroes his victims were, no matter how close friends they were in a past life, Nathanos, killing them, did not feel either pity or remorse. He didn't feel anything at all. He was simply doing his duty, and that was his only purpose. With his victories, he earned the favor of the Dark Lady. He wanted nothing more and could not wish.
Sylvanas patted the prisoner on the shoulder; the one, as far as the belts allowed, stepped back.
I've been told that since taking the oath of knighthood, your dearest cousin has been patrolling the Plaguelands just outside your old farm. A lot of my soldiers laid down, - she leaned towards the prisoner, and metal rang in her voice. “Of course, I could have ordered my dark rangers to kill him, but it's a good thing I didn't. Now this paladin will serve... a higher purpose.
I will never join you! Stefan said through clenched teeth.
Don't worry about that, cousin," Nathanos replied grimly. She has other plans for you.
The Banshee Queen smiled.
That's for sure.
She didn't say another word and slowly walked away.
Nathanos looked at his cousin, helpless before him, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred in his chest. A pity? No, he knew he couldn't. But he didn't hate the paladin, at least not the hatred he had for other living people. And then he realized - it was pride. Deep down he really proud the fact that Stefan's dreams of the life he dreamed of since childhood came true. But only with this life he was about to part.
Nathanos looked up and met Sylvanas's gaze. So what, this was her test? Did she suspect that out of love for his cousin, he might betray her? She wondered if something human would appear in him at the last decisive moment.
Of course, he had no choice. The thoughts of a man who had died long ago could not make Nathanos Blightcaller renege on his oath.
Come on,” he muttered, heading for the empty altar.
The light will save me! Stefan shouted, but judging by the desperation in his voice, he himself did not really believe in it.
The light won't find you here, lad," Nathanos replied, gazing intently at the queen. - Together we will go into the darkness.
Val "kyra silently swam up to the altars and stopped between them. Nathanos looked at the ghostly maiden. He was overcome by doubts, but he tried not to show it. With his arms raised and outstretched wings, the val" kyr seemed to occupy the entire hall alone. She began to chant the words of the ritual in an unknown ancient language, the power of the Lich King still lingering in her voice. The ghost leaned over the stone slabs; blue-gold flames streamed from her hands. The world around Nathanos suddenly exploded in fire and pain.
Terrible pain...
The pain receded, consciousness gradually returned. Nathanos opened his eyes. The room gradually took shape.
Val "kira was sitting on the floor, huddled in a corner. Once majestic and huge, now she looked defenseless, small and pathetic.
The Dark Lady stood beside him.
Well, how do you feel, Blightcaller?
Dead,” he replied dryly. “Though not as dead as before.
His new voice was unfamiliar to him. It no longer resembled the rattle of the semi-paralyzed vocal cords of the undead, but it was not sonorous, like the voice of a living person. It didn't sound like a banshee either, though it had a sense of authority.
Sylvanas' eyes flared brightly.
Rise up, my protector!
Nathanos got up and dangled his legs from the slab. Standing on the floor, he exhaled in surprise, trying to stay on his feet, which at first seemed alien to him. Like a child unwrapping a long-awaited present, he pulled off a glove from his left hand and stared at his fingers in amazement.
There were no bare bones sticking out anywhere. The skin no longer hung in patches, no meat fell off anywhere. It was not a living hand, but it was whole, strong and strong.
Well, with such a hand, the queen's protector can serve her well, Nathanos decided.
He touched his cheek. Instead of dried skin as thin as paper, his fingers found flesh. The chin is overgrown with stiff bristles. Nathanos savored the new sensations. His new body almost did not differ from a living, human one.
He turned to Sylvanas.
I look like?
He tried to make the question indifferent. But, of course, he was lying.
And you are a narcissist, Putrid!
There was mockery in Sylvanas's voice, but also clear satisfaction. I wonder what made her so happy? That she forced the mighty val'kira to fulfill her will? Or is she just amused by a new toy? Sylvanas led Nathanos to a large oval mirror hanging on the wall in an elegant carved frame.
Look for yourself.
Even when she was the leader of the rangers of Silvermoon, Sylvanas had a passion for mirrors. Yes indeed, why not? Even by high elf standards, the middle Windrunner sister was of rare beauty. Very many representatives of noble houses sought her hand. It is said that even Prince Sunstrider himself desired her.
But the dead didn't need to look at their reflections. They only reminded the Forsaken how repulsive their decaying flesh was, the sight of which disgusted all living beings. The undead personified the inevitable fate that awaited mortals - someday their bodies would rot in the ground ... unless the banshee queen called them to her service.
Sylvanas left several mirrors in her quarters. After her death, she lost her elven sophistication, but there was still something bewitching in her undead form. Nathanos knew that her rivals from the mortal kingdoms hypocritically scolded her and vilified the Forsaken in public, but in private conversations they admired the Dark Lady's majesty. She herself knew about it, and it gave her pleasure, although, of course, she did not show it.
Nathanos looked in the mirror. His face was an unhealthy icteric color, with pointed features, but the flesh was intact. For the first time since his death, he was able to stand upright rather than stoop like a hunched ancient man. If it weren't for his eyes that glowed with a crimson fire, in the dim light of the Undercity, he might well have been mistaken for a man.
He was glad of this miraculous transformation, but decided that Sylvanas did not need to know about it.
It will probably fit.
Her face twisted into a grimace of anger, but only for a moment.
In the name of your queen, you will exterminate thousands of demons! she proclaimed.
And he knew she was right. The newfound strength will come in handy in the coming war. And when they finally win, if fate favors him, they will both die for the last time and burn together in hell.
And then, suddenly, it was like an electric shock. A face that wasn't quite his was looking back at him from the mirror. He turned to the second altar, but there was nothing there but a pinch of ash and traces of gore. The paladin's weapons and armor were littered on the floor. Nathanos tried to convince himself that these were just trophies left over from a defeated enemy. Only this, and nothing more.
It's not right for you to wear this rag, you need to end the past, - Sylvanas said, and he knew that she was right.
Why did he keep the uniform he wore as a human... and a Scourge soldier? He just didn't care what he was wearing and that's why he didn't bother with new armor? Or was he really subconsciously clinging to a past life?
Sylvanas waved her hand towards a dark corner, and only then Nathanos noticed a figure lurking there. The Banshee Queen has provided for everything. This archer was supposed to shoot him if the Val'kyr's spell didn't work the way it should.
Anya, escort my protector to the armory and have him dress appropriately for his position.
She bowed and gestured for Nathanos to come forward. Leaving the room, Nathanos gave a short nod to Sylvanas, keeping his eyes on her for a moment.
Leaving the labyrinth of secret passages, Nathanos and Anya walked down a long corridor leading to the outer ring of the Undercity. Once in a residential area, Nathanos found that his new look, in addition to the obvious advantages, was fraught with some drawbacks. His sense of smell was noticeably heightened. As the three Forsaken approached, he nearly vomited at the stench of decaying flesh. Where the ritual was performed, the corpse stench was practically not felt, but here, among the thousands of undead, the smell was simply unbearable.
Nathanos held his breath, letting the stinking trio pass, and vowed that next time the stench would certainly not take him by surprise.
Anya, if she noticed his momentary weakness, did not show it.
I haven't seen the Dark Lady so pleased in a long time. As soon as she found out that the Val'kyr were indeed capable of performing such a ritual, she immediately sent for you.
The wisdom of our queen is great, Nathanos answered her. “With this new body, I can better serve her.
Anya grunted, and Nathanos felt a sharp twinge of irritation.
Don't you agree? he asked sharply.
His character, even after the ritual, remained the same.
That's not the point, she shrugged.
Well, what then?
He almost broke into a scream. It seemed to him that the dark archer was being too presumptuous.
She sighed.
Well, yes, the queen now has a stronger defender. But that wasn't what she wanted the most.
Nathanos stopped and turned to her. He narrowed his eyes, furious at the evasiveness of her answers.
What do you mean by this?
Anya barely smiled with some corners of her lips.
Sylvanas defied her entire kingdom when she promoted you to leader of the rangers. She has searched all the Plaguelands to wrest you from the clutches of the Scourge. And today she used her most valuable resource to restore your power. You think about all this, Blightcaller, and tell me how you can be as perceptive as you are and at the same time overlook the obvious.
Nathanos glared at her, gritting his teeth. The benevolent expression instantly vanished from her face. Silly archer! The queen did not exchange for such insignificant trifles.
As did he. Whatever feelings and emotions at one time did not disturb his human heart, now there is only room for contempt and rage in it. His name was now Nathanos Blightcaller, protector of the Banshee Queen. He almost smiled, anticipating how he would wreak havoc among her enemies.
As they approached the Warriors' Quarter, the distant clanging of swords grew louder and clearer. The instructors were hoarsely shouting commands to the new troop of converts, who were furiously hacking at training dummies or unfortunate Alliance prisoners - whoever got what. Nathanos had spent countless hours studying with the likes of them, and it was clear to him at a glance that these would take longer than usual. He grimaced in annoyance and continued on his way to the armory.
Along the stone walls of the armory were rows of racks with a variety of weapons and armor. Nathanos chose a half-leather, half-mail armor that would reliably protect against arrows and swords, but at the same time not hinder movement. He decided that the coloring would be best in gray-green - for good camouflage both in the forest and at dusk.
He had already turned around and was about to leave, but then suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw something flashed in the corner of the room. He went to the corner post and began to dismantle it. Under a pile of rubbish, a polished plate breastplate of fine workmanship was found. His thoughts returned to the ritual, the empty altar next to the one he lay on. To the choice made.
For a moment he felt a strange and disturbing feeling. A feeling he had not experienced since the day he died. But all this time, mortal weakness followed him relentlessly, and now, seizing the moment, grabbed his throat.
Nathanos felt regret.
In the small town of Chita, there lived a little girl, Valya Yu. She was 6 years old. She had recently graduated from kindergarten and had to go to school. Valya lived with her father. He was very good, but once a month, after his salary, he came home very strange. He brought friends who talked loudly, walked around with a slight stagger and could just pick up something and break it. At these moments, Valya locked herself in the closet and read .... read everything that came across to her. And she came across a lot: mostly they were books on biology - in other words - about wildlife, well, fairy tales. But sometimes dad (for some reason) a few times a month was weird. These days, Valya learned a lot of new things. In total darkness she read books about big black spiders and long snakes. She read tales about Baba Yaga and Koshchei the immortal and about their poor victims, whose heads they cut off or put in prison, and they died a painful death. Sometimes Valya came across newspapers, and she read articles about poachers and looked with horror at photographs of dead animals. After reading a lot of everything, Valya began to be afraid ... afraid of poachers, and for one thing, animals, Baba Yaga and Koshchei the Immortal, dungeons and, of course, darkness. Sometimes, she was even afraid of her own closet. And, finally, she became afraid of her father and his strange friends. In addition, Vali had many different fears. : angarophobia, glenophobia (that’s why she didn’t play with dolls), acousticophobia, algophobia, aerophobia, wiccaphobia, hemophobia, gephyrophobia, hexakosiohexecontahexaphobia, glossophobia, demophobia, entomophobia, cynophobia, isopterophobia, etc. September was approaching. And now he has arrived. Valya dressed like a first grader and went to school. Valya was one of the first to come to school, but every minute people came up. Crowds of people. Valya found herself in the middle of all these crowds. She looked around in horror, and there was no end to people. But more than this crowd, Valya was frightened by some aunts. They had very high hairstyles (and Valya was afraid of heights) and the worst thing was that they had very bright makeup, as terrible as clowns. And these aunts also screamed loudly (and Valya was afraid of loud sounds). They shouted out phrases she did not understand, such as *1 a! 1 a! Here!* or *8 d! 8 d! Hush!* Some aunt with make-up dragged Valya by the hand. Valya saw a large, long staircase leading to a huge gray school with open windows and doors. Very loud music began to play. There was something about cola. Valya was not just scared. She was terrified. She wanted to close her eyes, cover her ears and run away from here, but the music stopped and the make-up aunt, whom everyone called the teacher, dragged her by the hand to school. Several people from the crowd followed them. *What will she do with me??* Valya thought. She really wanted to go back to the closet.... The teacher led everyone into a room with tables called desks. Valya sat down at the last one. *You can put flowers*, said the teacher. Valya put flowers. *You give me 2 flowers?*, the teacher asked. The children laughed out loud. *Why are they laughing?* thought Valya. She hated school. The next day, Valya came to the same office. The lesson has begun. - You should draw what you are most afraid of, - said the teacher. 15 minutes have passed. “Why don’t you draw?” the teacher asked Vali. - It won't fit in here. The whole class laughed out loud, and the teacher too. Even the wind laughed so blew through the open window that the door opened. *These people..they are not people..*, Valya thought: *Why are they laughing so loudly?*. Valya ran out of the school. She didn't know where she was running. She didn't know or understand anything. She ran to a field. To an open field.. Valya was afraid of open spaces. She ran on. She ran on and came across a well and looked into it. It was very deep, dark and scary. Now little Valya Yu. was also afraid of wells. She ran on and finally went out into the city and saw her own. house. It was dark in the hallway. Valya quickly ran to the apartment and opened the door. The door is broken. *Did dad get paid again??*, she thought. She was right. There were 10 people in the room playing cards and singing loudly in an incomprehensible language that vaguely resembled Russian. Valya ran to the closet. * Dieeevachka *, - said one of my father's friends: * Look, what a cookie I gave you.. kalka.. uklu .. I brought a doll !! *, - he opened the closet door where Valya was sitting and threw a doll to her. Valya has never played with dolls. Vali had glenophobia. She screamed and threw the doll away. Books...books with big black spiders and newspapers with photos of dead animals fell on her. Valya, screaming, jumped out of the closet into the room, out of the room into the dark corridor and out into the street. Outside, cars roared loudly along the roads. Val was very scared. She ran into the forest. In the forest, no one will touch her, they won’t scream, they won’t laugh, they won’t scare her with their strangeness. Valya ran into the forest and sat on a stump. Then she remembered .. She read somewhere that you can find out from a cuckoo the number of years allotted to you yet. “Cuckoo, cuckoo, how long do I have left to live?” asked Valya. The cuckoo was silent. Valya became cold with fear. She decided to take a walk before she died. It began to get dark. Valya walked deep into the forest. Under her feet, she saw a puddle and looked into it and immediately jumped back with a new surge of fear. There was almost no light in the forest, and Valino's reflection was slightly distorted in the puddle. Valya saw almost nothing in the puddle. Only vague outlines. Only his brightly burning frightened eyes and a branch behind his back. *ААааааааааа!!* Valya screamed, it seemed to her that Death itself was looking at her from the reflection. Valya ran through the forest. On and on She didn't look where she was running. She thought she would run away from Death. She ran into a tree root. NO!! DO NOT touch me! Take your hands away!!**, shouted Valya. She didn't know where to run from her fears. I didn't know, but I kept running. And got tangled up in a web. Large black spiders crawled along the web. A whole flock of spiders. They crawled in different directions and finally Valya saw a mirror. Big big mirror. In it, she saw her frightened reflection - after all, Valya was afraid to look in the mirror in the dark. She saw her frightened reflection and was frightened. She was afraid to look at herself, afraid. She was afraid to look at her fear. And Valya thought: what is more terrible? : to be afraid of one's frightened reflection or to be afraid of the fear of this reflection. Sunset. Valya Yu. stood in complete darkness and looked in the mirror. She made her choice. She went back, but by a different path. She did not go through the terrible dark forest past the terrible branches. No. She walked through a beautiful dark forest past thin branches of trees with large green leaves. She didn't walk across the desolate, fearsome field past a deep well. She walked across a large yellow field past a wooden well. She didn't go into the unknown. She walked towards the big and mysterious horizon, towards a new life. And she really wanted to go there.
DARK MIRROR
In terms of self-improvement, I consider The Dark Mirror to be one of my most important works. Fortunately, I was then able to work with Jim Lowder, one of the most demanding and attentive editors in this field of literature. Jim never lets the author take the easy path of superficial stories. He always asks: "Why?"
By the time this story appeared, the initial enthusiasm for publishing had already faded, as did the desire to write continuously, which I (to my horror) experienced in 1990 after leaving the place of the main activity. It was my own interest in an amusing paradox, which was further developed in the cycle of legends about Drizzt, that prompted me to take part in the work on the collection. So many readers have emailed me, demanding to comment on the racial theme of the dark elf books. Indeed, through the prism of Drizzt's exploits and misadventures, I could explore and develop many issues of racial differences, and inevitably there were analogies with our modern world, but I did not want to deviate from my plans.
After all, isn't Tolkien's classic saga built on notions of racism? Elves are different from dwarves, different from halflings and humans, different from orcs and goblins. Yes, orcs and goblins interfere with everything. But isn't such a characterization of one of the races a classic manifestation of racism? Undoubtedly! And what if I throw in the face of Drizzt, the most affected by racism, his own prejudices? What if, with the help of my drow hero, I (albeit unintentionally) caused a commotion in the calm expanse of the fantasy zone?
For the sake of this, "Dark Mirror" was written. In addition, this story became a turning point in my work. As a young impatient writer full of exciting ideas, I thought I knew all the answers. I sincerely believed that my task was to proclaim the truth to people. I thought I knew everything (later I realized that most young authors suffer from such arrogance). But I have matured and realized that I know nothing, and my task is not to give answers, but to make people ask questions to themselves. To put it simply, I don't know of a solution to the racial issue raised in The Dark Mirror. I am sure that, if necessary, I could give some explanations and quote Joseph Campbell or some other deity from literature in support of my “truths”. It would look very impressive.
But even though I'm a fantasist, I try not to lie.
* * * * *
Sunrise. The birth of a new day. The awakening of the world lying on the surface, filled with millions of hopes. And, sadly, I must add, filled with hopeless labors for many others.
In the gloomy world of the homeland of the dark elves, in the hopeless Underdark, there is nothing that could compare with the beauty of the sun rising over the eastern edge of the horizon. No day, no night. In the constant warmth and darkness of the Underdark, the soul lacks something. In this eternal twilight, it is impossible to soar on the wings of hope, no matter how reckless they may be. But at that magical moment, when the rising sun lights up the sky with silver, any peaks may seem achievable. And in the endless darkness, the doubts that accompany twilight quickly dissipate and the mysterious secrets of the earthly night are replaced by actual enemies and the very real dangers of the Underdark.
And there are no seasons in the Underdark either. On the surface, winter marks a period of reflection, a time of reflection on mortality, on those who are gone forever. But this is just one period of time, and melancholy does not have time to take root. I have watched animals come back to life with the coming of spring, bears wake up, fish swim through the rushing current in their quest for spawning grounds. I saw birds circling in the sky, newborn foals jumping gracefully ...
Animals don't dance in the Underdark.
The change of seasons on the surface doesn't seem to have much of an effect on mood. The emotional high that arose at the sight of the rising sun can disappear without a trace when the flaming ball hides behind the western edge of the horizon. And that's not bad. Fears and doubts are inherent in the night, and the day is full of light and hope. And anger cools down under the winter snows and melts with them from the spring warmth.
In the immutability of the Underdark, anger persists until it is replaced by the sweetness of vengeance.
Consistency is also reflected in religion, which plays an important role in the lives of my kindred, the dark elves. My hometown is ruled by priestesses, and all its inhabitants obey the will of the cruel Spider Queen Lolth. But, despite the solemn rituals and ceremonies, religion mainly pursues a practical goal - the preservation of power, and the spiritual life of the elves is absent. For spirituality implies a clash of emotions, a contrast between night and day, unknown to the drow. The contrast between the depths of despair and the heights of delight.
And the deeper the abyss, the more majestic the peaks.
* * * * *
I couldn't have chosen a better day to leave Mithril Hall, where my good dwarf friend Bruenor Warhammer was once again king. For two centuries, the dwarven homeland remained in the hands of the vicious gray dwarves, the duergar, and their powerful leader, a dark dragon named Shimmergloom. But now the dragon is dead - killed personally by King Bruenor, and the gray dwarves have been dispersed.
There is still deep snow around the dwarven fortress, but the dawn sky is already turning blue, and the last stars stubbornly shine until the very end, until the final retreat of the night. I timed it right and walked out to the windswept stone bench on the east side moments before the daily event I hope never to miss.
I can't describe the fluttering in my chest and the sinking of my heart in the last moment before the golden edge of the Faerûnian sun crosses the blazing horizon. I went out to the Upper World almost two decades ago, but I never get tired of watching the sunrise. The rising sun became a counterbalance to my hectic life in the Underdark, a symbol of liberation from the constant darkness and gloomy customs of my kindred. Even after it's all over and the sun is rapidly rising over the eastern edge of the sky, I can feel its warmth penetrating my ebony skin, energizing me like I've never felt in the depths of the earth.
And so another day began in the southeastern spurs of the Spine of the World. Just a few hours ago, I left Mithril Hall, and there is a hundred miles ahead of me to the most amazing city in this world - the Silvery Moon. Sad to leave Bruenor and the others when there is still so much to do in the mines. It was only this winter that we recaptured the keep and cleared it of the rogue duergar and other scoundrels who had settled here during the Warmaul clan's 200-year absence. But columns of smoke are already rising from the dwarven forges above the mountains, and the clash of hammers of tireless seekers of mithril is heard.
Bruenor plunged headlong into work, and even arranged the engagement of his adopted daughter Catti-brie to the barbarian Wulfgar. Bruenor was as happy as ever, but like so many other creatures I've come to know, the dwarf couldn't just enjoy his happiness. He made frantic preparations for the wedding, desiring to arrange the most magnificent ceremony that the northern lands had ever seen.
I didn't say anything to Bruenor, it would have been pointless, although his colossal infatuation curbed my desire to leave Mithril Hall.
But the invitation of Alastriel, the splendid ruler of the Silvery Moon, cannot be ignored, much less a renegade drow who seeks to win recognition among peoples who treat their kindred with apprehension.
On that first day, I walked lightly along the road. I was going to cross the Sarbreen River and leave the highest mountains behind. But about noon, on the way to the river bank, I saw footprints. A mixed group, about two dozen travelers, went the same way, and quite recently. The largest prints belonged to ogres. These creatures are not so common here, but what bothered me the most was the small footprints. Judging by their size and shape, they were left by humans, and some appear to have belonged to children. Even more disturbing was the fact that the tracks intersected, which means that all the travelers walked in one group. So who was the prisoner and who was the invader?
It was not difficult to follow the tracks. The bright red drops on the road increased my fears, but the equipment I had gave me confidence. For my first trip to the Silvery Moon, Catti-brie lent me Tulmaril Heartseeker. With this mighty magic bow in hand, I could continue on my journey with no doubt that I could handle any danger.
I began to move more carefully, kept in the shadows as much as possible and covered my face with the green hood of my cloak. Still, I knew that I was quickly catching up with the group ahead. There was no more than an hour's journey between us, and it was time to call on my most faithful ally.
I took out the panther figurine that linked me to Guenhwyvar, placed it on the ground and called. There was no need for a loud call - Guenhwyvar knew my voice perfectly. First, as usual, a gray fog swirled, and a moment later a black panther appeared - six hundred pounds of magnificent muscles, ready for battle.
