The Shan'do's Delusions

OOC: This story is based in the time between the happenings of the 'Graveyard of Woe', where Captain Delder was damned to the underworld by Malvor himself. It explores the thoughts and feelings experienced by the Shan'do, and quite obviously implies another agressor within..

See coloured version with pictures on Argent Archives at: http://www.argentarchives.org/node/116685





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The grief, pain and regret that the Shan'do now suffered was far beyond any prior imaginings. He is plagued by nightmares when seeking solace in his sleep. He glances around in fear when walking the once welcoming forests. Even his own body doesn't seem to work how it used to.

It was almost as if there was something within him, something acting out his life for him. A Demon. The word 'Demon' is far overused in the present day, but in this current context, it is used to its full meaning. Something was undoubtedly controlling the Shan'do's mind, and a Demon is all it could be.

Whether it was paranoia or something more severe, Malvor had forced himself to believe that this 'Demon' had existed, and that it was it's fault that he suffered so. It had all come about just after his choice to damn the old Guard Captain to eternal purgetory.

The man had stood by him, had followed his every order, had recruited new Druids and guards to the Gathering, only to be damned by his previously admired leader. The Shan'do now regretted this decison; not only because of the obvious guilt that came about because of it, but because of the 'Demon' that now haunted his mind.

He didn't know how the Demon could possibly have gotten 'into' him - whether it was really within the man, or just passing its evil spells from a distance was impossible to tell. No matter the cause of his current torture, Malvor found himself now sitting on a beach in Western Darkshore, letting the waves gently lap over his toes.

Hell, he didn't even know if it was a real Demon, he was jumping to conclusions. His mind was so broken nowadays that it was difficult to make a proper and informed decision without outside aid. He considered the fact that being so far away from his beloved staff may have something to do with the pain.

His staff was currently 'planted' atop Ancient Hill in the Felwood region, where it had been for far too long now. He had placed it into the ground months ago during the Felwood Crusade, and it had evolved into a small tree, which now undoubtedly stood upon the hill in its gruesome glory, awaiting it's owner's return.



The staff had been put there out of necessity, out of the desire for success during the Crusade. It had been used as a focus of the Druids' spells, and had helped to direct the energy within them in order to eventually awaken the dormant ancients around it. But now it was stuck there, literally rooted into the earth. Alone.

Much like Malvor, the staff was probably battled by its own Demons, beaten by the plague of the land, and tortured by the acidic air and soil. It had very little water to feed off in the area, and would likely die altogether before long. If this happened, Malvor would never return to the Jades.

This was one of his greatest fears. What would happen to the Jades in his absence? What would happen to his plight to redirect Azeroth if no-one was around to uphold it. Would they wait for him? He didn't know how long he would be gone. A week, a month.

Maybe forever.

It was now that another convulsion overcame him. He felt the supposed 'Demon' within him trying to bring about memories that it knew would upset and break Malvor. It was once again wanting to make him remember that which he chose to forget. He closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the sand and allowing the waves to wash all the way up to his knees.

Images flashed by in his mind. The damnation of the Captain. The killing of the Naga. The arguments with Elusi. But a new one seemed to break through. One that Malvor had not experienced in this format before. It become brighter and more solid, until, in one fearful second, he found himself standing in the Grove of the Ancients.

His legs twitched and moved forward slightly, playing out the scene without his control. He was a spectator, someone forced to watch himself act out previous mistakes through his own eyes. The Shan'do found himself wearing a green, leafy kilt, it was something that he had not worn in months, but he remembered it well enough.

His legs continued forward and his eyes darted up to his obvious target. An altar up ahead, one that had stood in the Grove for years and years, one that he was accustomed to seeing. Upon it were two objects, objects that had likewise become common sight in the Grove.

They were the Glaives, the Demon Hunter's Glaives. Their purplish glow drew him in, forced him into a cold sense of calm. He edged ever closer, unable to stop himself. When the Shan'do reached the alter, he laid a tentative hand next to the Glaives, letting their magical warmth soothe his hand for a moment.



Then he reached out further, hovering his fingers over the hilt of the blades, not wanting to touch them, but being drawn in further by their visage. Then the hand lowered itself upon the weapons slowly, making only slight contact at first, but quickly gripping the topmost Glaive solidly.

Pain suddenly racked through his body. His mind was blasted by some unseen force, his vision impaired and his legs forced to buckle. He dropped onto the altar, lying with his legs on the floor, and his torso upon the Glaives, but still, he continued to grasp the hilt.

It was as if something wanted him to touch them, to feel the pain that their previous wielder was forced to endure. Malvor rose slowly from the altar, the pain now extinct. He looked upon the Glaive in his hand, and then to the other. The Shan'do dared not touch the other blade, through fear of further torture.

He ran his fingers along the length of the blade, and something seemed to leap within him. It was almost as if there was another being inside. Another Malvor whom found joy at beholding such an item. The blade glowed stronger for a second before diminishing and becomming but a simple, faintly glowing blade once more.

The memory then twisted and began to fade, the last vision within it of Malvor placing the Glaive back down upon the altar and letting loose a faint sigh of relief. He was now back in the present moment, the waves lapping over his torso and the rain beginning to pick up.

He lifted himself from the sand, looking around at his surroundings. He noticed nothing that could cause him harm; only the ocean in front and the forest behind. He flexed his fingers and touched his damp kilt, sighing at the sudden discomfort. He rubbed his eyes and began to turn around, but something stopped him.

His legs refused to carry him onwards and his head began to turn once more to the ocean and its slowly lapping waves. He found himself sitting upon a small rocky outcrop and letting loose another of his oh-too-common sighs of defeat as his eyes were closed and his mind once again forced to wander.

He saw the Twilight leader, Anderson, standing atop an icy hill. The Banelings' undead cave in Felwood. U'phol'belore, the Ebon Tree, standing in the Moonglade. Then his mind focused on Darkshore once more. It was not an unusual scene, Malvor stood near some Elven ruins, gazing over the wildlife.

Nothing was amiss, and for a moment, Malvor was tricked into thinking that this was not a nightmare at all, but a friendly dream. Then things changed. The atmosphere became colder, darker and more fearful. The plants began to lean their heads down towards the earth and the animals fled the scene.

Malvor looked around - or rather, was forced to look around, for this was another memory of the past -, searching for what may have caused this change. Nothing seemed to be physically wanting to change things, so he moved his eyes back to the area of forest in front of him.

It was now that things became unusual. A small glowing altar stood where it previously had not, and within it, a dark red orb was pulsating with energy. He had not seen this orb before, but knew what it must be. It was undoubtedly the item that had corrupted the Furbolgs, and had caused his own Jades so much trouble.



It chose to exist here, in this once peaceful glade, for no particular reason aside from invoking fear into the Shan'do. The orb continued to pulsate gently, taunting him and willing him to come near to it. He did not, simply standing by the ruins and watching in total awe.

Malvor looked around him once more, hoping for a way out of this. Nothing was able to offer escape. Once more, the Shan'do was alone. He stood up slowly, seeing this orb as a mere manifestation of his mind. If he managed to touch the item, to go against what his logically thinking brain was telling him, perhaps it would go away.

He reached out, holding a hand tentatively over it, like he had done the Glaives. Then he brought the fingers down, laying them over the item with a sudden flare, and allowing himself to be overcome by it's power. Unlike the Glaives, the orb did not bring pain, it merely existed. It was simply there, able to be touched by the Shan'do, but not offering any solace.

He retracted his hand, surprised by the anti-climax. Malvor looked around once more, and found himself staring into the eyes of a huge, black, wolf. It growled at him and warned him to step away from the orb. He obliged. The wolf then moved forward, taking the orb in it's mouth and lifting it high into the air.

It then let loose another growl of warning and paced by the Shan'do, leaving only the holder for the orb in its wake. Malvor watched it pace off into the forest, utterly bemused and surprised. The memory then began to fade, allowing him to once more walk the waking world.

The Shan'do patted himself down and gulped down a lump. He looked out over the ocean, and allowed the rain to fall upon his body, cooling him. All seemed to be normal once more, the 'Demon' within gone back into wherever it was hiding, allowing Malvor to do what he wished for now.

He watched the waves lap against the shore quietly for a moment before turning his head to the left, where something caught his eye. It was impossible to focus upon properly, but there was obviously a figure next to him. It had dead, black hair, and pinkish skin.

Malvor took a step backwards in fright, for he recognised the figure as none other than himself. It grinned at him for a second, letting it's pearly-white teeth be seen, before dissipating into the air, leaving Malvor once more on his own, struck by fear at the appearence of what he could only describe as a Demon.