The Curse, the Magister, and the Nightingale

Part 4: Two Worlds, One Hope

Nightingale didn't think the night obscured his eyesight. He was an elf, his eyes were reflective and could see the absorbed and reflected light that human eyes could not detect. He could wield the Shadows, part them, use them to enhance his ability to see through the lies and illusions of the world.

He did not think, however, the drifting snow over this desolate landscape would hide what the mounds of clumped snow truly were. The thought made him feel numb and uneasy, walking over the vast graveyard of the Guardians of their world.

Dragons.

Thousands of dragon skulls and skeletons.

Thousands of spines jutting out of the snow, thousands of teeth and empty eye sockets watching the elves as they walked past and trailed through the snow and ice.

Not only that, but the entire landscape had an eerie blue and green glow. The clouds above sheltered all that remained of light, casting an ominous aura of haunting colors below. There was no sound save the rustling snow and whining wind.

Umbric constantly looked back and forth, worrying his lower lip. Nothing around them was clearly detectable, but the two elves felt as though a dreadful glare was locked onto them.

Nightingale grimaced every time he swore he spotted a flicker of blue, ghastly light sparking inside the empty sockets of dragon skulls. He was used to skulls being scattered left and right. There were a good deal of craniums decorating Telogrus from creatures who possibly lived there before the Void consumed everything. These skulls, however . . .

Nightingale shook his head, disgust tugging at his upper lip. He growled warily, the sound deep in the back of his throat.

The rams seemed to agree with their riders, bucking and bleating with every little sweep of snow. They chose where to place their hooves precariously, clearly convinced the ground was cursed. Nightingale did not blame them. He would barely be pressing the tips of his toes against the ground. He even found himself subconsciously hugging the ram's flanks tighter so his long legs wouldn't slip.

"You don't happen to know exactly where this place is, do you?" Umbric asked, wincing at the volume of his voice. It would've been a whisper, but it sounded like glass shattering along marble from how desolate and forlorn this landscape was.

Nightingale muttered, his pale eyes flashing vigilantly, "No. And I don't want to have a seizure in the middle of a winter wonderland. We'll just . . . have to keep looking."

"Right," Umbric said observantly, brushing fat snowflakes off his arms. "Because we'll surely find a secret hideout through this wonderland of flat, snowy, abandoned, cursed terrain."

"That is correct," Nightingale said, struggling to hide the grin that irresistibly tugged at his lips when Umbric groaned so loud he sounded like a child. Nightingale purred through the cold, "Is the snow finally getting to you, Magister?"

"I am in a lot of pain," Umbric sniffed conclusively. "You have absolutely no right to judge my ill-tempered babbling of this moment. And not until we leave Northrend, and not until after I take a steaming bath, and after I can sleep for three days straight without having to worry about waking up encased in a cube of ice."

"That is a lot of expectations," Nightingale commented, though couldn't agree anymore with the Magister. He wanted to be somewhere warm, not dead and cold. Half the time he wanted to throw a fit, kick the snow, or even kill his ram. That thought definitely didn't occur to him just once, but anybody who knew him well would overlook it. He had a messed up mind and couldn't deny it. He was beyond infuriated, though tried to keep a level-head as long as possible. For the Magister's sake. "They usually lead to disappointment."