World of Warcraft
Page 16
“I did not fly all the way to your roost to talk about my choice, Chronormu.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
Zidormi stopped herself from protesting again, aside from a brief huff of surrender. “Well, yes, but—”
“I knew it!” wailed Chronormu as he craned his neck from side to side in frustration. “Decisions come so easily for you. I bet you even know what duties you’ll request, where you’ll go, who you’ll bond with, when you’ll—”
“Stop!” she cried. But when Zidormi saw the tears falling from her friend’s wide green eyes, she sighed and leaned her face in close to nuzzle him. “There, there, my dearest Chronormu, no more fretting.”
The young dragon sobbed. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to choose how others see me, when I’m not even sure how I see myself.”
Zidormi spoke with a quiet calm. “When our master, the Timeless One, faces a difficult decision, how do you suppose he settles it?”
The thought succeeded in distracting him. “He probably asks for advice from his fellow Aspects.”
“And our master is very wise, is he not?”
Chronormu gave a solemn nod. “The wisest.”
Zidormi smiled. “So I suggest you seek his counsel. Nozdormu has helped countless of our dragonflight prepare for their Visage Days—I’m certain he will do the same for you.”
Chronormu’s heart swelled with relief and joy. It felt good to have some direction. He folded his wings around his wonderful friend and gave Zidormi the biggest hug he could muster.
“I will, I promise. But will you have breakfast with me first? This is far too important a discussion to have on an empty stomach!”
This time I’m going to do it!
Chronormu lowered his nose and began yet another descent. Gradually the vast icy expanse of the Dragonblight grew smaller and smaller, its countless deep crags and mounds of half-buried bones fading from view as he approached the low ridge of cliffs that encircled the Bronze Dragonshrine, a sacred place where Nozdormu the Timeless One was known to sit vigil among dragons long laid to rest.
But as the ground rushed closer, so did Chronormu’s doubts, and at the last moment he once again angled his wings upward and soared high into the sky. He resumed a wide arc far above the perimeter of the shrine.
Perhaps it was best if he put off his meeting with Nozdormu until the morrow. After all, Chronormu told himself, the Bronze Aspect was a very busy dragon indeed and no doubt had many important matters to oversee. But just as he had all but convinced himself to fly home to his roost, Chronormu’s mind drifted back to a lecture his master had given only the season before.
“The Sands of Time are plentiful but precious. Waste not a single grain.”
Chronormu blushed at the memory. He was being silly, of course. The bronze dragons were the caretakers of the timeways; he knew well that once set into motion, time is not apt to stop or slow down simply because one desires it. He could be prepared for his Visage Day, or he could dawdle.
So he stretched his wings wide and let the air currents guide him gently to the ground, ignoring the sideways glances and bemused giggles of the drakes and whelplings at play around the outskirts of the shrine who had borne witness to his repeated indecision. Chronormu raised his head high and walked past them with feigned confidence, offering only a sagely nod. They’ll be no less nervous than I when their Visage Day draws near, he assured himself.
As he walked the winding path upward to the crest of the ridge, Chronormu drew in a long, calming breath of cool air and held it. The natural stone walkway sloped downward and became a wide, chiseled stair leading to the sandy vale of the shrine. He exhaled when he reached the last step, and the next breath he took was impossibly warm, the air bathed in the golden light of this magical oasis. It was as if some pocket of the past were preserved here from a time when the climate of Northrend had been sunny and warm—or perhaps pulled from a future that had not yet come to pass. Either way, it was resplendent and wondrous, tangible proof of the Timeless One’s power. And there Nozdormu sat, alone in the middle of the shrine, adrift upon a sea of sand and dragon bones. Quiet. Contemplative. His mind no doubt focused upon an infinity of moments along the timeways.
Chronormu approached slowly, head lowered in reverence. “Master Nozdormu, may I speak to you?”
“Of course, Chronormu. Join me in the sand.” His voice managed to be wise and welcoming all at once.
Whenever Nozdormu sat within the sands, intricate patterns formed around him of their own accord. The smaller dragon stepped carefully so as to cause as little disruption as he could. Chronormu thought these curling designs were more beautiful than fine artwork, in part because they were so fragile. But even still, they held their own unique shape, down to the smallest spiral. Chronormu felt a pang of envy in his heart that the sand seemed surer of itself than he was.
Chronormu sat down facing the Timeless One, feeling very trifling indeed. Just being in the presence of the leader of their dragonflight, who had witnessed so many momentous events over the many ages, made the younger dragon feel smaller than a speck of sand.
A shared moment of serenity passed between them before the young dragon ruined it entirely.
“Well, Master Nozdormu, my Visage Day is coming very soon, as you know. I mean of course you know—you’re the Timeless One, so you’ve seen what’s about to happen, has happened, and is yet to come. But I’m just a young, unimportant bronze dragon, and I have no idea what’s coming—I’m not even sure what form to choose. I was hoping that since you know the future, maybe you could tell me what form I will choose or what future me did choose, which isn’t really cheating since you know it’s going to happen anyway. And yes, you have rules about that sort of thing, but maybe just this once you could find a way to—”
“Chronormu,” the ancient dragon said firmly but not unkindly.
“Yes?”
“Breathe.”
Chronormu inhaled slowly, steadily. He thought if he could make it last long enough, he might forget how mortified he felt.
“Sorry about that,” he said quietly.
Nozdormu’s voice flowed like the sweeping sands. “No bronze dragon is small or unimportant. Please, tell me what Visage Day means to you.”
“It shows that you and the other Aspects trust me to adopt the form of one of the mortal races and walk among their kind. And the better I can relate to them, the more I can help them understand us dragons. That’s why picking the right visage is so important. I want them to see me for me, not just the scales and fangs that I wear.”
Nozdormu nodded his huge bronze head, and with a slow blink of his eyes, his entire form was enveloped within a cloud of shimmering golden magic. As the moments passed, the cloud grew smaller and smaller until it abated, leaving behind not the gigantic silhouette of a dragon, but the form of a brown-bearded high elf.
Even in this form, the Timeless One retained his elegance and austerity. He looked like some ancient king, possessing a regal bearing that radiated confidence and wisdom. The mortal armor he wore was inlaid with bronze scales, and upon his right shoulder was a pauldron shaped like a dragon’s head that held a glass vial of ever-flowing sand.
Chronormu was dumbstruck, certain that he could never assume a form so noble.
The elf gestured, and the sands beneath his feet began shifting once again. “Since we Aspects first realized our kind was destined to share Azeroth with the young races, we have each taken a visage that allowed us to see the world as they do. Just as importantly, it informs how they perceive us. Do you wish them to see you as a trustworthy sage? A tyrant to be feared? Distant and aloof, or warm and generous? This choice is deeply personal, and it says much about who you are as a dragon. So no, I will not tell you anything that might sway your decision.”
Chronormu sighed. “I understand,” he said, and he truly did. But his uncertainty over choosing a mortal form—and indeed, who he was as a dragon—still troubled him.
“Thank you, Master. I will do as you suggest.” This wasn’t the easy answer Chronormu had been hoping for, but it was a good answer.
“The sands will guide you, young one,” Nozdormu said, sitting down in the warm golden light and turning back to his thoughts.
As Chronormu backed away toward the stairs, he paused to watch the Timeless One in his meditation. Still appearing mortal, he sat within the deep impression his dragon form had left upon the sand. It seemed to Chronormu that it didn’t matter how the Aspect presented himself—he filled the sand all the same.
The young bronze dragon leaped into the air and soared upward, an idea already forming in his mind.
Chronormu flew high and fast, watching the frigid terrain of Dragonblight give way to the steamy geyser fields and rust-colored scrub grass of the rolling tundra, toward a distant haze of blue in the western sky. Gradually the glow grew brighter, more defined, until it formed a beacon of light that seemed to pierce the sky itself. He soared higher toward the tall cliffs of jagged stone that surrounded Coldarra, bastion of the blue dragonflight.
The young dragon crested the high peaks and gazed with awe upon the Nexus, a massive tower of floating rings encircling a thick pillar of arcane energy. Chronormu had heard stories of the wonders contained within that stronghold: ancient artifacts granted to the Aspects by the will of the titans themselves. Cohorts of large blue dragons flew in patrols around the structure, their synchronized arcs flowing with practiced precision.
Not wishing to disrupt the graceful blues, Chronormu glided in low, choosing to land upon a ridge that overlooked fields of snow dotted with clumps of tall pines. A purple light infused the air, with the sound of arcane magic crackling softly in the bronze dragon’s ears. Drakes and dragons conjured bolts of energy, honing the magic prowess for which their flight was known.
Chronormu spotted an azure dragon soaring toward him from the upper reaches of the Nexus. With almost regal grace, the blue landed so smoothly that he barely disturbed the soil beneath his claws.
“You must be Chronormu,” the dragon said with a polite bow of his head. “I am Kalecgos. It is an honor to meet you.”
The bronze bowed his head in response. “Delighted, Kalecgos! Zidormi speaks highly of you. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I can tell you’re very busy.”
Kalecgos smiled. There was something calm and gentle about him. “My master, Malygos, expects members of our flight to train relentlessly. But I can always find time to do a favor for a friend. Zidormi informed me that you seek guidance about your upcoming Visage Day?”
Chronormu gave a sober nod. “Indeed, and it is fast approaching. I find myself torn over which mortal form best represents who I am. I sought out my own master, and he suggested I try to learn from others who had already made their decision. If I may ask, Kalecgos, how did you choose a form?”
The blue dragon closed his eyes and whispered an incantation. Swirls of arcane magic cascaded around him as Kalecgos assumed his mortal guise. When the transformation was finished, Chronormu remained politely silent.
“What do you think of my choice?” asked the slight, blue-haired … elf? Human? Whatever he was, Kalecgos was dressed in a simple white shirt tucked into unexceptional brown trousers and boots. For such an elaborate transformation, the result was rather mundane.
“A most distinguished form indeed!” Chronormu tried to mask his confusion with enthusiasm.
Kalecgos chuckled. “Be honest, my young friend. It is not what you expected, am I right?”
The bronze dragon blushed. “It’s just that … knowing how magical you blues are, and having caught a glimpse or two of Malygos in his fancy mortal form, I guess I expected something with a bit more …”
“Grandeur? It’s fine, Chronormu. Really.” His warm smile put the bronze at ease. “In fact, the contrast to other members of my flight is exactly why I made this choice.”
Chronormu blinked. Then blinked again. “I don’t understand.”
“Well,” the blue began, “there are any number of reasons for selecting a particular form. The Aspects command the respect of our flights, and of mortals as well, so their guises serve a necessary function. They need to be elaborate and formal because that is what we expect of them. Yes?”
That made sense. The bronze nodded.
“While many of my flight follow the example of the Aspects, I seek to walk beside the mortals as an equal. I chose a visage that is half-human and half-elf: a blend of mortal worlds, as I try to be a blend of our world and theirs. I didn’t want my appearance to remind them of a dragon. I wanted them to see me as a friend, a peer, someone they can trust. I would say that was the heart of my choice and my identity, Chronormu: I chose to be approachable.”
That made a lot of sense. “And the blue hair?”
Kalecgos shrugged. “It suits me.”
“Understandable,” Chronormu replied. “Thank you for speaking with me today, Kalecgos. You have been even kinder than Zidormi said you would be.”
The half-elf smiled. “It was my pleasure. May I offer two other suggestions before you go?”
“Sure!” Chronormu blurted out, his eyes wide.
“First, I have noticed that dragon names can sound a bit formal for mortals. If you choose to walk among them as an ally, I suggest thinking about a … Oh, what is that they call it? A nickname. For example, when in the company of mortals, I go by the name Kalec.”
“Really? I do like that idea. I’ll think about it. What is your other suggestion?”
Kalecgos cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve given you advice from my point of view. But other dragons often see themselves and their interactions with mortals quite differently. I suggest you seek the wisdom of someone whose perspective varies from my own.”
Chronormu knew the advice was sound. He thought of other dragons who had made an impression on him and tried to picture one who was as different from Kalecgos as possible. When the name struck him, his carefree demeanor turned grim.
The half-elf stroked his chin. “It would seem you have a dragon in mind for your next visit.”
The bronze sighed. “In fact, I do.”
The dark-scaled drakonid shuffled toward Chronormu, its voice a low, grating growl. “My mistress will see you now. Follow.”
The bronze dragon, feeling woefully out of place, swallowed hard. The drakonid were servants of dragonkind, a burly, bipedal race fashioned by their masters to be helpful and loyal. Never had one frightened him before. But here, in these ashy-aired caverns tucked away in a shadowy corner of the Dragonblight, the young dragon felt very frightened indeed.
As the black drakonid turned and led him toward the gaping mouth of one of the tunnels that wound their way deep into the volcanic mountainside, Chronormu’s fear turned to pity. The creature seemed worn, haggard, one of its legs dragging slightly behind it.
Why does his mistress not heal him? the bronze dragon wondered. The only notions that came to mind were unsettling at best. And as he walked and the drakonid limped along, Chronormu saw others like his escort who labored near seething pools of lava, or who pulled heavy carts full of ore—and all of them seemed overworked and bedraggled. There was no joy here, no happiness. Only obedience.
The tunnel opened into a vast chamber lit by braziers of flame and flowing streams of lava that settled into burning pools. More drakonid were scattered about, some laboring, others sparring with obsidian drakes who practiced their martial skills. The young dragons attacked fiercely, and Chronormu realized why so many of the servants seemed wounded.
The black flight practices how best to inflict pain. The thought of it filled his heart with sorrow and shame.
Chronormu walked slowl
y so as not to outpace his guide. The tunnel twisted and turned past outcroppings of jagged stone that looked more than a little like malformed dragon teeth before opening into a cave where the air grew increasingly thick and foul. He felt as if he were under dark, heavy water, and the bronze suppressed the urge to flee.
You’re safe, Chronormu. You’re among your own people. There’s no reason to be afraid. Yet hoping to convince yourself of something was not the same as truly believing it, he knew.
Upon an island of dark stone at the center of the cave perched a great black dragon. She was commanding. Imperious. She craned her massive head to and fro, the polished surface of her curved horns reflecting the firelight, ensuring that no one in her charge shirked their duties. The drakonid led their bronze guest along a narrow obsidian walkway that snaked back and forth toward the black dragon. Chronormu slowed as he drew closer, struck by reverence as well as fear.
“Mistress, I bring the outsider seeking an audience.” Her servant was kneeling so low as to almost be sprawled upon the rock. The dragon turned and regarded the drakonid with piercing yellow eyes. Eyes that soon fixed their catlike pupils upon Chronormu.
The bronze dragon searched for a proper greeting and stumbled. “He-hello, my lady. Thank you for—”
“Is that how you show respect to the daughter of an Aspect?” Her voice was hard, demanding.
The young bronze knelt low, head bowed even lower. “Forgive me. Thank you for seeing me, Lady Onyxia.”
The black dragon seemed satisfied. “You may rise and state your name.”
“I am Chronormu. I bring you greetings from the bronze dragonflight and the best wishes of the Timeless One.” He rose as his hostess had ordered, but he was conscious of a wobble in his legs.
Onyxia didn’t so much as blink. “I trust you did not come all this way to offer trite platitudes, little dragon. Tell me what you seek.”
Chronormu’s mouth felt very dry. “Your counsel, my lady,” he answered softly.