Silent Wind: Ailac's Search

The tall grass of the clearing swayed lightly upon the ethereal breeze that filtered down into the tiny clearing. The canopy overhead rustled and danced amidst the verdant mist swirling through the air, the light rain having slowed to a stop. The gentle sounds of the sleeping forest were all that surrounded Ailac now, standing alone next to the edge of that small cliff, its lone root remaining, shimmering in the faint moonlight piercing through the thinning clouds. Standing alone, where only moments before the vision of his Il’dar had fled from him.

“That look, that fear etched upon her face and in her eyes… It’s just like then.”

Ailac’s mind drifted back, back over the last thousand years passing it by with no heed, back to that horrible night nearly thirteen hundred years ago when first he had learned the cruelty of Xaneria’s
mate.

* * * * * * *

She had found him then, accidentally or subconsciously he never knew, never asked. She was beaten, her skin marred with bruises and torn flesh, her breathing labored. But it was her eyes, her spirit that had suffered the worst. Fear was in her eyes, cutting through the pain and all other emotions that crashed through her as she stumbled through the forest. It never left, not even as she tried to put up a strong front while Ailac drew her close and healed her wounds, trying his best to draw on the powers she had once taught him. It never left her eyes.

* * * * * * *
“Sadris…”

His mind trailed off lost to its thoughts of rage and hatred he held for the male, a feral growl escaping his throat into the empty clearing subconsciously. Hearing of his death had been of little comfort after knowing the pain that he had caused to Xaneria. But the growl died short, as did the thoughts of anger and rage.

“Now she fears me…”

The Nightmare Ailac had been lost to for nearly three hundred years had never left. It haunted and nipped at the back of his mind like some sentient devil, threatening to take over all thought and life should he let it, but at times the burden was too much. Mere nights ago he had lost control, blackness shrouded his mind as he watched in horror, feeling the sickening energy coursing through his veins. Feeling the pull of his muscles and tendons as he leapt down upon Cenias and Xaneria where they stood talking, a helpless onlooker trying to assail the blackness to free his body.

It was no good, the corruption thrust Cenias aside, pouring its twisted anger and fear into the elder druids chest, striking him hard across the temple to leave him in a heap. His mouth screamed insults and lies, screamed at his Il’dar, ignoring her attempts to bring him to reason. She tried valiantly to restrain him, calling upon the forces of Cenarius to send tangling roots about his body to hold the maddened shell at bay. The Nightmare laughed it off, shredding the vines with its blackened tendrils as it pounced. Ailac felt the movment, his legs springing to life against his will, felt his hand fly out to grasp Xaneria’s slender neck in his fist. His mind cried out within its small corner as he crushed her throat.

“If not for Cenias, she would be gone. I would have killed her.”

His heart fell as he stood in the clearing, that look of fear etching itself into his mind. She had every right to fear him. He feared himself, no longer certain how much was truly left. Now the Nightmare had sucked Xaneria and himself within, rather than let his mind flow into the false dream that she had meant to create, where Cenias could guide him.

But still, no matter how he had broken, no matter what setbacks had occurred they had not given up on him. Neyeeva… Cenias… Xaneria… They would not give up on him, insisting still he remained and they would pull him back.

Ailac lowered his head, closing his eyes tightly as he drew in a deep calming breath. This was not the time to give up, if those close to him refused to let him wither to the Nightmare then he would not dishonor their feelings. With a steeled resolve he opened his eyes, preparing to face the Dream which had claimed him so long ago, that secret realm of slumber known to the druids, safeguarded for all those creatures upon Azeroth by their will. He would find Xaneria and bring her back, ease her fears and once again seek to find the peace of mind lost to the Nightmare.

Ailac slowly sunk down to the ground, resting upon the balls of his feet in the centre of the small clearing, letting his left arm rest lightly atop his raised knees, loose and relaxed. Drawing a deep breath he reached his right hand down towards the soft earth, fingertips outstretched mere inches from the top of the grass. He let his mind drift, drawing upon the well of Druidic power residing inside his soul, letting it flow from his chest along the muscles and arteries of his arm gathering and flowing out from his fingertips down towards the lush grass.

Gentle sprouts grew amidst the grass, light gray and transparent, their thin leaves no larger than the one of the elf’s fingertips. They stretched forward, reaching up to brush against his arm and coil along its dark flesh. Ailac’s mouth tugged upwards in a gentle smile, the many years spend wandering the Dreamways not forgotten, and still it would heed his call even in this corrupt state. With the slightest exhalation of breath, the world sprung into life about him.

The vines roots spread outwards, flying across the grass and out through the trees with blistering speed, drawing forth his vision with their growth. Trees and mountains flew by, becoming a blur of colour that soared through his mind. Frantically the vines grew, expanding and twisting, darting off to each direction, searching onward as commanded by Ailac’s will.

“I must find her.”

The vines stretched on, frantically tearing through the earth and cresting overtop trees and grass, stretching onward to search for Xaneria. The dream stretched on for miles, verdant fields and pristine lakes untouched by any hand. The vines twisted and turned, ever seeking faster and faster pushed on by an indomitable will, then like the screaming wind howling through the secluded glade, fell still.

Boiling pain seared through Ailac’s body, tearing into his mind with crimson fire, calling his vision back along the trail of vines with a feverish need. The vines withered and curled, flames the shade of nightmare soaking in the weak light filtering through the mist of the Emerald Dream. Blackness danced along the breeze of the clearing as Ailac’s spiritual form thrashed where it stood, his skin marred with blotches of deep brown and blood red that writhed along his exposed flesh. Tendrils of tainted crimson burst forth from flesh, thrashing at the air as they spilt forth. His body consumed in the fiery heat of the writing corruption, running rampant as it ripped asunder his spiritual form into the stillness of the abandoned clearing.

The last of his vision floated along the vines, consumed in decay as it watched his body assault the air with its wild movements, the putrid rot seeping outwards to slowly consume all around it, coating the once green grass in a sickly brown moss. His spirit, his mind, flailed before him in a desperate last stand before collapsing to the forest floor amidst the writhing tendrils. The blackness of the nightmare consuming the last of his vision…