Netherlight

Turalyon stood firmly at the front of the Vindicaar, looking down upon Azeroth, the Azeroth he and its champions had saved. He watched as the shifting clouds above the Broken Isles dissipated leaving that once battleground seem serene from his view up in the heavens. He glanced at some other clouds forming a storm at what would be the plains of the Barrens, home to his new enemy, the Horde. The same Horde he had hosted on this ship to wage war on the surface of Argus, to finally once and for all put an end to the Burning Legion and its master, Sargeras.

He shut his eyes for a moment thinking, a thousand years in the Nether fighting, only to come home and have to fight again. His brow furrowed, always another war to fight, he thought. Opening his eyes again to see Azeroth, his eyes resting on Sargeras’ final act, the giant sword looming over the surface, its hilt muddled with clouds in the sky…

“Turalyon…” Alleria’s voice echoed slightly in the Vindicaar’s open deck, breaking his concentration. “Come down to the forge, I have something I wish to speak about,” she told him as she turned to walk down the stairs, her cape swaying with her hips, her voice was soft and inviting. Turalyon took one last look upon Azeroth before turning to head down the other side of stairs that led to the Netherlight Crucible.

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Depression is the Serpent that Binds

Depression is the Serpent that Binds – Audio Version

You sit in the corner of a small room with the door closed. You are chained to the corner, both wrists and ankles bound, holding you to the ground in that corner. There is no light, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face if you could move it, there are no windows, just blackness that surrounds you. The only way you realize you are in a corner of a room is because of the two cold cement walls converging behind you. There, chained in the blackness, you hear scales grind on cement, something is slithering out there and you don’t know what. The sound of scraping grows closer…closer, until it is nearly on top of you. You, of course, are terrified but have nowhere to go, no way to run, chained in the blackness you struggle, but nothing gives. That is when you hear it, inches from your face, “Shhhh sweet thing, it will be over soon,” it says in a serpentine voice. Then you feel it start to wrap around your legs, your torso, your arms, finally your neck. You can feel the snake’s tongue shooting out next to your ear as it begins to whisper. It whispers all the things you are not, that you are worse than a bad person, you are a terrible and worthless human being. In the blackness it whispers all of this as you sit powerless in its coil.

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