The Ideal Dream, ((story))

[Julzasta]

Keeping focus was always half the battle

It was always a haze of blood and shadow, running and flattening his back against the wall as he and the others braced for the attack, the massive flesh colossus reared up it's foot and stomped on the ground, sending a sharp reverbration through the room. Struggling back to the fray, the priest channeled his mind to everything he could muster, the shadows eating away at the colossus as the attacks ate away it's body and will, stumbling blindly as arcane fires and axe wounds alike torn it down. With a final flurry of blows, it toppled into the wall, sending brick and dust flying up into the air.

Still they shuffled on, every fight a flurry like the one before it, the forces of the undead in full force as they moved through the ancient necropolis. It was the ultimate test, and ultimate duty, fighting to give the world some time. At times, Julzasta wondered how he had been pulled into this, his body swimming with shadow energy as they were unleashed like a storm on the mindless enemy. He was sure they had seen every hall, every crack possible. He saw all the horrors of the Scourge he wished he could forget, the creations and concoctions they beset upon them with.

He watched in awe as they neared the top spire of the citadal, the massive lair of frost, seemingly open now to the hazy air of the Dragonblight. Blindly he continue, his face set stern and steadfast as he and the others he had joined ran to challenge the master of Naxxramas. The one to fear, second only to the Lich King himself. The most frenzied pace had experienced, beset again on all sides, his monions rushing with axe and spell alike readied towards them as they fought fiercly,

It wasn't long at all until their final foe attacked himself, All the priest knew was a constant shivering, constant pain invading every fibre of his being. He growled as he clawed along the ground, trying to make the lich feel his pain in likeness. The lair erupted, traps everywhere. Frustrated the priest pounded on his chest, his eyes wearied as he focused on the death of his enemy. Almost parrallel, he thought back to everything he sought to preserve: a roaring fire on a crystal clear night, hearty food spread out through the city, drums and singing complimenting hte mood, watching as the girls and guys both sought each other's attention. It would be his only respite, to relax around his adopted family and friends finally, free to pursure their leisure and hapiness without the darkness of the world looming over.

It was such a soothing vision, that he didn't feel the pain spread up his legs until a second before going unconcsious.

The price of the martyr.



((will be continued))

[Julzasta]

With a sharp jolt, he woke up, sense springing to life and conveniently reminding him of how much pain he was in. With a growl, the priest gripped at the side of the bed he laid in, eyes slowly beginning to focus. The smell of antiobiotics, linens, alcohol, and blood were the most identefiable of the smells. Glancing around, Julzasta took in quickly the other beds with injured soldiers and civilians alike. He remembered what the infirmary in Dalaran looked like, and considering the dull pain eminating from his legs, it did not take long to realize why he was there.

Throwing back the sheets, he examined what the problem was. The shock didn't alter his facial expression at all. It was simply a low weight that soon fell to the bottom of his stomache. Black pores and streaks were shot up all over his legs, curling around his ankles and feet. Most the skin had taken a dark, puple glow to it, which throbbed constantly. In addition, his mind couldn't move his legs at all, but the pain still drifted up.

"It's been contained"

Julzasta glanced up at a nearby priest, sorting this his records and potions routinely. The troll wasn't content at such a short answer. "What jah beh meanin'?"

"I 'be meaning' that the curse isn't going to spread through the rest of your body and kill you, more or less. As of right now it's confined just to your legs." Shuffling over, the elf placed a small white vial on the stand next to his bed. "Drink if the pain starts to spike again."

Julzasta snorted, looking at the vial as though it were the cause of it all. "Don't mind da pain, beh makin' meh feel alive, naht unfeelin' and dead."

The other priest shrugged. "As you say."

----------------------------------------------------------------

It took him a week to recover, though such a word is inaccurate. Growling very low, very quiet, Julzasta boarded the zeppelin back to his home. His legs hoverd over the wood slightly, hand gripping the rails as he slowly eased himself out from the air and sitting on his rear. The curse seemed long term, possibly permament. His legs were shot and lost, confined either to sitting or using his magic to keep in the air.

No longer a soldier, a martyr against the war. He had paid the price, now to earn it back as the Loa commanded him. Back amongst his family.

Maybe it was the dream he had all along.


((I'm turning Julz into an npc. Feel free to spark up any later rp down the road if anyone is still interested.))