Fallen (Part 8) - Omnious Visits

Up high in the city of Shattrath, at the inn on the Aldor terraces, Branwynne Stelhamor peered at the contents of a small glass jar and sighed. It was almost empty again. Already.

She was grateful for the improved formula – it was a LOT less smelly – but it was still a routine she would just as well be done with. Still, the druids seemed encouraged. After all these months – almost a year, now? – it seemed the “infection” had been pushed back. Now, it seemed confined to the left hand, just below the wrist. But the eerie green glyph still pulsed malevolently, and so far all attempts to remove it had failed.

The nagging whispers had also faded, thankfully. And the dreams, while not completely gone, were less frequent, and nowhere near as intense. But she did find herself suffering more and more often from unexplained bouts of dizziness. She had dutifully informed both Lyir and Alishe, and had been told to get more sleep. But even that didn’t seem to help with the persistent feeling of tiredness that plagued her.

But that’s neither here nor there, and doesn’t get the jar filled of smelly salve, does it? she reminded herself sternly, and made her way to the Stormwind portal.
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“Branwynne, welcome!” the night elf greeted the dwarf at the door.

“Evening, Lyir,” she replied warmly, hanging her cloak and propping her weapons up against the wall. “Sorry ta be bothering you so late, but…”

“Let me guess, more salve?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Alright, but first let me see your arm. Come over to the table, get that bandage off and let’s see…”

As Branny unwound the bandages, the druid fetched a bowl. Filling it with hot water from the kettle, Lyirdanna crushed some herbs into it, fetched a clean cloth, then sat at the table across from the dwarf. She added a bit of cooler water from the jar on the table to the steaming bowl, then reached over for the arm.

“Wouldn’t do to scald you, after all,” she explained, dipping the cloth into the warm mixture and cleaning the salve from the dwarf’s arm. “And I’d have to explain all the loud dwarvish cursing to the neighbors. And probably translate.”

Branny snorted. “I’ll try ta keep my cursing ta Common, then.”

After a few minutes examining the arm, the druid re-salved and bandaged it back again. “It seems the same. Still an improvement, of course.” She peered at the dwarf’s tired face. “Although you seem tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Aye, been trying ta rest a bit more. Still feel just a bit tired, sometimes.”

“Still getting the dizzy spells?”

“Sometimes.”

“No voices? No dreams?”

She shook her head. “No, no voices. Dreams…”

Lyir raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Well… nothing I can bring ta mind, anyway. Usually can’t remember ‘em clear. Just a feeling of something dark and threatening.”

The druid frowned slightly. “Hmm…”

A thoughtful, worried silence descended.

“Well, ‘tis getting a bit late…” the dwarf interrupted awkwardly.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. Let me fill that jar.”

Lyir quickly took the empty jar to the distillery, just in the next room. It didn’t take long, but by the time she returned, she found that the tired dwarf had nodded off at the table. Shaking her head, prodded the sleepy dwarf awake.

“You, stubborn dwarf, are not going anywhere until you’ve had a good night’s sleep. Now, change yourself out of that armor – go on! – while I get a sleeping pallet ready.”

After no small amount of dwarvish grumbling and elvish bullying, the paladin was soon trundled off to bed. It only took a few minutes before she was fast asleep.
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Lyirdanna woke suddenly. There was a noise in the other room. Troubled, she rose to investigate.

At the doorway, she gasped. “Branny?”

The demonic rune pulsed from Branwynne’s left hand, illuminating the room. The dwarf stood, sword upraised, poised to strike, obviously intending to chop the tainted hand off.

“NO!” Lyir ran forward. Somehow, she managed to wrest the sword away from her friend, and tossed it across the room. “What are you doing!?” she yelled, grasping the dwarf and shaking her.

And, looking down, found herself gazing into the eyes of a stranger.

“Druids,” said a dry, harsh voice, filled with disdain. It came from Branwynne’s mouth, but somehow, Lyir knew in her soul that they were not her friend’s words. “Why do you always interfere where you’re not wanted?”

Before she could reply, the stocky frame shuddered, and went limp.
_____

“…and you don’t remember anything?” Lyirdanna asked sharply. “Nothing at all?”

Branwynne shook her head. “Nay. Not a thing.” She looked around in dismay at the broken clutter. “Did I…?”

“Never mind that now. Did you dream last night? Do you remember anything about that?”

The dwarf was silent, trying to remember. “No… or… maybe…”

“What do you remember.”

“Just… I seem ta remember something. Just a bit. Like… two voices, talking. Only, I couldn’t understand ‘em. It’s all fuzzy. Next thing I know, ye were hollerin’ at me, and I was layin’ on the floor.”

Branny looked around again. “What’s goin on, Lyir?”

The druid pursed her lips in thought. “I’m not sure, but we’re going to find out.”