Irikanar Grimmeor & Armac Starcry [The Temple of the Sun]

ooc: Here lies a long story about the corrupted priest Irikanar Grimmeor, and his master Armac Starcry who through their guild "Temple of the sun" is assigned to heal a farmers boy out in Tranquillien.
I hope you enjoy the read and I love comments if you have any. If intrested in the guild, contact Armac or Irikanar for more information.



I can see his crimson hair pass me by the corner of my left eye. That heavy armor clattering against the stone floors as he walks pass me, fortunatly to my left side. I still have not been able to open my right eye or close the small gashes and cracks which are now turning more into scars. There must be a piece of that glass left somewhere.
I keep seing that vial of holy water flying to my face, smashing loudly, mixing sparkling blood mixed with shattered glass. The smooth palm of my hand feels the rough small bumps and cracks upon my cheek.
All for a woman. A beautiful way to loose your pretty, I suppose.

There is a farmers son in Tranquillien who has fallen ill, and Lord Starcry trusts me to handle it. Under his supervision he says. I can see his spirit walking infront of me, heading to the gates allready. Most likely to see how long I would take. How I value the level of urgency regarding the health of a young fellow sin’dorei.

I hear children and the citys magnificent scent of sweet magic gets challenged by sugary strawberry icecream. I glance back and see two blonde little girls following me. Their icecreams melting and dripping from its cone and along their arms before leaving a strawberrytrail on the ground. I smile gently at them as I slow down so they can catch up to me without dropping their treats running. There is no comfort to a child when they have lost their icecream.
They want to hold my staff so I let them help me. Not that I needed sticky palms over the staff, but it is allright. They help me carry it. I see the golden statue of our traitor prince infront of me, and I can not help but to turn my smile to a bitter smirk. I fade out the two girls constant questioning about my long hair and if I am married and if I have ever seen murlocs. As I turn the corner I hear panting and two light feet drumming to the ground speeding up to us.
A woman appears, sliding infront of us to stop me in my tracks. She has milky white skin and brightly glowing eyes that fixes first on me, then the two girls. Her nose wrinkles up until I see small freckles on her cheeks. Her hands rests on her waist as she tries to catch her breath to speak. I incline my head, resting against the staff.
”I believe I have something that belongs to you, my dear.”
She only breathes out a few more times, calming her breath. I can see her chest lift up and down underneath her robe.
The girls small sticky hands presses against the leatherpieces on the staff. A few whining cries are heard through their mouthfulls of icecream, but the words blurr into mere sounds.
Like a wolf or feline, she picks the kids up by the scruffs of their necks, before lifting them both up around her waist. She gives me a forced broad smile while catching her breath.
I see they drop their icecream in the lift. I incline my head, and swiftly escape the coming scene.
I need to change into my garments. Their cries follow me all the way to the Inn and makes me try to remember, if I ever got icecream as a child. No.
Perhaps I should get myself one.


--

”Happiness is mandatory, citizen”

I feel the cooling silk resting on my head and hanging down like a green curtain down to my nosetip. I see something bright glowing by the great golden and red gates out to Eversong forest.
I see its red tip, and I know it is the knight in shiny armor. His purple cloak flutters to gently, wrapping itself around the man like a lovesick woman.
I hear his sniff as I approach him, as if the view was not enough for him.
”Icecream?” he says in disbelief. ”You got icecream?”
I lap my tongue against the pink cool cream, smiling broadly. The ice cream places my lips without control. How could I not smile?
Starcry is not smiling. Perhaps because he does not have an icecream. I follow him without even glancing up once. I can hear his footsteps a mile away against the stone floors. Clang, clatter clatter, clang. His spirit is also strong, reeking with light. It is so bright, I could spot it miles away. Like a firefly in the dark night.
The patrolling guards salutes Starcry as we pass. I remember bribing one of them when mother was charged with setting Silvermoon Citys cats on fire. I lock my eye onto the perfect lushious grass leading to the dark scar before us. I see the stray spirits lingering by the scar . So many fallen and still not resting.
I sacrifice the leftover of my slowly melting icecream to a hungry lynx. It does not even take the time to sniff or lap gently at it, but scoffs it down quickly and lies down to clean its paws and whiskers from the sugary treat. It is time to travel to Tranquillien, to the farmer and his son.


--
I hear the sharp singing of birds and that sweet scent of magic fading from me the closer I get to the house. I see the duksy shadows of what once was a beautiful Tranquillien. Now the screeches of bats, and the stench from the scar controls the air. The deeper we search through the lost Tranquillien, the ghostlands, we find a line of cottages in the purple haze. The sun is hidden, like someone placed a lid over the sky. As I calmly fill my gloves with cotton padding I walk behind Armac Starcry, letting him lead the way. I hear the rattling of the documents in his hand, letting him know where our mission lies.
I feel unsettled with the rotten scar behind us. It is too far for me to hear the gurgling cries of moving rotten limbs, or the groundshaking stomps of Knucklerot. In my mind I can hear the rattling of his chains, and the wet thick trembling insides dragging after him.

I realize I have stopped in my tracks. Starcry stands by a cottage adressing someone. Who it is, I can not see through the bright light of Starcrys spirit. It's a weak flickering light in comparison.
I hear the wet clicking sound as my feet move through the wet soil leading to the cottage. An old hound is tied by a long rope near the porch. It has not recognized mine, or Starcrys presence.
Starcry steps aside slightly, introducing me. I know he is though his voice has faded from my ears. So has the stench of death in Tranquillen from my nose, and the darkness from my eyes. All that exists, is the man before me. A farmer. His back is curled and he stands awkwardly infront of me with his wrinkly dirty hands fiddling with his hat that presses to his plad decorated chest. He nods a few times and lets his dim eyes search me. I have to hunch my back slightly to see into the cottage. I start to catch the scent of old bread and wet dog, and hear crackling wood in the fire inside. Starcry stands behind me, and the awkward farmer steps back into his cottage with an open arm directing me to come in.

I rub my feet against the doormat before stepping in. The floor creaks and cries as I take my first steps into the cabin. There is a table with a few plain dishes upon it. A warm fire with a black cauldron. A big wooden spoon leads from the cauldron to a delicate pink hand, that leads to a long arm moving gracefully as it stirs. The shoulder decorates with a light blue linnen that wraps itself around the small curvy form that kneels before the fire. Golden hair licks the back in long lushious waves.A few waves has crashed against a light pink forhead and frames a small button nose and thin red lips. The lips spread with a smile so contagious it forcefully twists my lips up aswell. The thin cloud of smoke rising from the cauldron spreads a scent of salty meat and cabbage. Amaria. She says her name is Amaria. The awkward farmer steps between us, making a part of me claw angrily against my chest within. He adds that she is the mother of the farmers son. His wife. His. Starcry drags the legs of a chair loudly against the wooden floors before sitting down. I know he is inspecting me.

Amaria. She never stops stirring or smiling. I explain what I do. That I am a priest, here to heal her son. Not the farmers. Hers. That all will be well. I hear Starcry clearing his throat next to me.
I never let my eye move from Amaria, but I nicely ask the farmer to take me to her son. He shuffles pass the table and Amaria and me, to reach the stairs to my other side. He motions me to follow.What he says I do not hear. I only hear Amarias words, thanking me. Thanking Armac Starcry. Thanking the Suns grace.
I hear the wood creaking again as I find the stairs. Each step feels ready to give in to my weight, but I reach the loft of the small cottage. My back hunches again. There is barely room to stand tall. Two beds. Oillamps and an endless field of homegrown herbs. I distincly can point out one as deadly from its scent. It clashes against the other herbs, fighting for the attention.

The corner of the room reeks of disease. The akward farmer picks up a lamp and leads me closer to it, lighting the path as we near the source of the smell. A small bed, stuffed with hay. Upon the bed lies an elven young man, turning slightly back and forth. His skin is ashen gray, and his hair matted from sweat and dirt. I see a bucket next to him, empty but has an acidic stench to it that lets me know what it has been used for. I stroke my robe down as I sit down at the corner of the bed, inspecting the man. I ask the farmer to let me know what has happened. He tells me nothing that I could not have figured out on my own. His potruding bones lets me know he can not keep food down. His cracked fingernails lets me know he suffers from malnutrition. His hair is falling off. I can see a few tufts on the floor. His eyes are dim, barely green anymore but more yellow.

The stench of the disease is salty and acidic, like they had rubbed his vomits onto his skin every day for a year. The awkward father starts to pace, unable to keep his calm. I ask him to leave.
I have to ask two more times before he places the lamp onto the nightstand and I can hear his small footsteps down the staircase.
The entire loft is black with only the light from the lamp, and the purple dim from the small window as sources of light. I place a hand on his gut, finding each rib with my fingertips. I press two fingers down between two ribs and the boy turns. I press harder until I hear a sharp snapping sound. The boy only wrinkles his face up and turns the other way.
Amarias son is dying. I promised her all would be well, but it might be too late. His spirit is within this crippled body, but its light is as strong as a candlelight in a storm. I have to act quickly, before Starcry comes nosing his way up here. I place down the leather satchel with the holy books and vials I brought and I kick it away from me.
Fortunatly, I will not need Holy light to remove the disease from the boy. But to heal his now broken bone, and nurse him back to a recognizable state, I will have to. There is nothing nearby I could possibly sacrifice. Except myself. I remove my right glove and place my hand over the young mans forhead. It is clammy from sweat and the matted hair is as if glued stuck to his skin. I see the disease slithering through his spirit to wrap it into a chokehold. Pulsating and trembling as it lingers to the young man, sucking him dry. I wet my lips before I start casting. My casts are soundless, keeping me from being revealed for what I am. The disease twitches and squirms for each word I mouth before it starts to wither and die. The final words mouthed removes the waste of the disease from him, cleaning the young man from the rot that would have been his certain death. A ticket to the parade led by Knucklerot no doubt.

--

Now comes the tricky part.
I slide my hand into its glove again, feeling the cotton padding against my palm. I can hear the unsettled pacing of feet on the wooden floors downstairs. I hear Amarias voice and the oh so valiant lord Starcry lifting the cauldron from the fire. The scent of boiled meat and cabbage almost reaches me, bonding with the salty acidic stench from the boy. I feel my throat contracting and my eyes finding the bucket. I turn my head from it and force it down. I have work to do.
The air grows thick and clammy from sweat oozing from both me and the young man. Though the cottage is old and rustic, there does not seem to be a single airhole or cracked glass on the windows to allow any fresh air to stream in to us. I reach for my satchel again, carefully taking out a tattered leathercased book from it. I find the red silken thread which by opening the book instantly leads me to the page I had prepared.
I shift onto the bed licking my lips in preparation.I adjust my hood to shield my face as much as it possibly could.
I feel a small sharp tingling in my palms as I start my prayer. My fingertips itches as if they are caressing not the cotton padding, but needles.
”Lights loving grace, embrace..” I have to pause. I feel the warmth oozing from my hands as I pray. I hear the stirring below, and know I have to hurry before Starcry comes to find me.
”Mend his wounds and with your holy grace lead him from harm..”
It is allright. That is why I have padded the gloves. The cotton quickly goes soggy from the thick puddles of blood oozing from my palms. The young mans spirit sparkles more brightly. I know I am doing it right. I just need to keep doing it. Bleed for him.

--

I rub my face with the sleeve of my robe, feeling the clammy surface on my forhead trickling down to my nose. It might be blood and not sweat. The color of the young man has grown from ashen, to pale. His bone is healed, and his eyes glimmer brightly from their sockets from all the magic I have forced into him. I turn my head to find two green orbs fixing at me from the stairs. The akward man. He can see my left eye peering back at him, letting him know that I have seen him. He slowly climbs up the final steps and walks over to the bed, sniffing around his son.
I tell him he needs to eat, and drink. That he will be fine. The father akwardly shifts in his stance before placing a hand on my shoulder. His eyes glimmer as he takes my seat on the bed. My lips are stinging from the words I have forced out to heal his son. I can not bother to speak more.
I leave them and move downstairs where Starcry meets me with a sharp green peer at me. Amaria is behind him and from the sound, clearing dishes off the table.
”Grimmeor?”
The elven mans perfect posture in his valiant armor reeks of authority. Even that wild red hair of his sprouts out from his ponytail in absolute perfection.
I breathe in quietly and unsteadily. I lean my elbow against the wall. My hands are too raw to hold me up.
”He will be fine, sir. You can see to him yourself, just watch the steps.”
He does not reply, but places his heavy gauntled on my shoulder in a few heavy pats before he walks pass me and up the stairs.
The second I am hidden from his watchful eyes, I wobble to. I slowly move towards the chair he once sat upon. Amaria watches me and places a deep dish with a brown broth with chunks of meat and gray cabbage pieces before me. I grab a small spoon of bronze and plaster a smile on my lips. I hear her voice in the distance. Thanking me. She sits next to me, rubbing her lower back. Her golden hair glows as sharply as the fireplace. Those thin red lips of hers move as she speaks. I am not sure what she says, but I smile and I nod. I eat of the food she has offered me, and I watch her. The soggy cotton within my gloves are sticking to my skin as I press the spoon to my hand. I hear her voice as she asks to see me again.
My eyes glow up for a mere second as I watch her, my smile growing into a genuine one.
She needs advice, she says. And I am a priest, afterall. I chew on the rubberlike meat in my mouth, and the crunchy cabbage. I force it down with Starcrys coffee that has been resting in a red cup by my plate for a while now. It tastes burnt, but it does the trick.
Even though his spirit glows so sharply, and his boots so heavily marshes down the staircase, I do not notice him before he reaches the table. My left eye forces to move from Amaria, and onto Starcry. His eyes has like mine rested upon Amaria. Even a stiff like Starcry had to recognize her beauty. How she was like a beautiful flower, raised in a swamp.
”We are leaving Grimmeor. Thank you lady Skywhisper for dinner and coffee. Your son needs your attention now, and we should not be in your way.”
Amaria rises from her seat, and her voice fades from me again. I too rise from my chair, placing the spoon slowly down into the half-finished dish.
I let Starcry handle the farewells and speeches, and move out to the dim purple light of Tranquillien. The hound next to the porch still does not pay me any notice, but tiredly sleeps on his rugged blanket. I leave the light which oozes out from the open door to the cottage and walk into the night. I face the black scar before me and the haunting lands that once was so lushious.
I leave Amaria and her golden hair.
My lips twists beyond my control into a sick grin.
I will be back.