Disclaimer: I wrote this silly little story years ago (and have been slightly rewriting it over the years) in my native language German. I still wanted to share it here, because I play Xerilin here, and thus translated it with a bit of help from DeepL. As a person enjoying the sound and beauty of language, the result obviously doesn't thrill me. DeepL is great and I also changed some things, but the tone is still off and some phrases sound weird, but here we go anyway! I hope you enjoy it.
If you prefer, you can read the original version here: https://wowgilden.net/geheimezuflucht/f ... ml#1522274.
Xerilin: A life with the light
Xerilin: A life with the light
Komm zur Geheimen Zuflucht (RP-Gilde)! Wir haben Zimtschnecken!
Alienne Xerilin Rubinai Irrwisch Mekhalani Flinks Kinrela Cavy
Alienne Xerilin Rubinai Irrwisch Mekhalani Flinks Kinrela Cavy
Re: [RP Backstory] Xerilin: A life with the light
Xerilin was so old that she could no longer quite remember exactly what it had been like to be young. Or that was what she always told to the young novices and wounded adventurers when she wanted to seem strict. Xerilin chuckled good-naturedly at the thought of how well-behaved the young people always were afterwards. And that was what she told herself too. Hadn't she always been here? Hadn't she always done what she was doing today?
Or so she thought, smiling as she threw coal into the pans of the temple. Here, in the Mystic Ward of Ironforge, she was at home. Here she served the light as best she could and always had. But that was not true, she suddenly remembered. Actually, it seemed like only yesterday that she had roamed the hills of Dun Morogh as a young dwarf girl, carefree and happy, dodging the wild animals that populated the hills. At the thought of her nother worrying, Xerilin fondly smiled involuntarily. Yes, Kharanos, her home. How long had it been since she had been there? A few years, perhaps. Time passed in peace and light and tranquillity. Inner peace, of course. Certainly the hardships of the world did not pass Xerilin by, after all, adventurers went in and out of the temple. They were all constantly learning new skills and spells and returning with their injuries, if they returned, that is. Xerilin would then tend to their wounds, talk them through it and send them away again. Day after day, year after year. Some days it saddened her, but that was the way the world was and the way it had to be - light and shadow - and Xerilin would just keep on being here and serving the light. She could not imagine a happier life. Certainly, some served the light as adventurers, but she left that to the young people. Devotion and light filled her days, not the hunt for glory. Such thoughts of gratitude wandered through Xerilin's mind as she thoughtfully swept the ashes under the charcoal pans. This, thankfully, was how it would always be. She would live happily and contentedly in Ironforge, close to the Great Forge, in warmth and security, and one day, contentedly and at peace with herself, she would become one with the light.
How wrong she was...
The wounded warrior lay before her, breathing stertorously. Many adventurers sought treatment and care in the temple, although there were other possibilities of care in Ironforge. Hastily, Xerilin spread some bandages, mana potions and utensils on the floor in front of him. The warrior's companions, who had just carried him in, stood around helplessly, looking quite pale. These young adventurers, good for nothing! "Come on!" urged Xerilin in a calm but commanding tone that usually worked in such cases, "Get him out of that armour! He can barely breathe as it is!". His two companions stumbled towards him, fiddling with the clasps erratically and clumsily. Xerilin sighed impatiently and resolutely pushed them aside. With practised fingers she freed the injured warrior from his armour. While she pulled various frippery out of his pockets and heedlessly piled some rage potions, healing potions, bread crusts and small bombs to his heavy outfit, the warrior's companions nervously clambered from one leg to the other. And rightly so! Who went on an adventure without a healer? "Get out of here! Get me some novices here, you're not helping!" she ordered them without even looking around.
Xerilin looked quickly at the warrior's numerous wounds and thought briefly that in the past only dwarves had come here. He seemed neither old nor young under the injuries, blood and dirt, a human, his hair already grey. She did not know his name, nor did she care. With an iron will, she closed her eyes in prayer and called upon the light, not asking but commanding that the warrior be healed of his wounds, as she had hundreds of times before.
But it was not enough, as Xerilin suddenly realised when she opened her eyes. His wounds were too deep. Determined, she prayed, throwing herself fully into the light. Sweat came to her brow. It strained her more than it had years before, and yet, in some ways, it was also easier, because the light was no longer just a familiar friend, but entirely part of her being, of herself.
Black stars, framed by light, danced at the edge of her vision, narrowing the tunnel of her sight, but there was no time to go for help. No! No one would die under her hands, it was out of the question! All these years she had saved all those who had come to her and she would not stop today! With her gaze fixed firmly on the warrior's troubled face, she reached out for one of her mana potions. Her hand found the vial and she drank it down in one go. She drank it down even before she noticed the strange taste, the unusual colour. "Interesting," she thought, before she collapsed with an animalistic scream....
Later, Xerilin would remember the next few days only fragmentarily. Feverish, dreaming, flushed with pain, she lay between white linen sheets wet with sweat, cared for by a steady flowing stream of novices. She was filled with a feeling that burned as orange-red fiery as the potion she had emptied in one go. The feeling was unfamiliar to her, only vaguely and distantly known. It charred her from the inside, driving her fever up, heat, glaring light before her eyes. But it was not the light she loved. Nor was it the shadow the light cast in every being, however much it served the light. Where her light was softly embracing like sunlight in a forest clearing in spring, this light was glaring like the sparks of a blacksmith's hammer on mithril, hot and piercingly cold at the same time. No shadow stole into this light. Xerilin was lost in a maelstrom of emotions and screams that engulfed her, that devoured her - and that devoured itself a few days later like a greedy fire that has devoured everything combustible and must now finally disintegrate itself into a small pile of ashes and embers.
When the feeling weakened, she finally recognised it: rage. Then Xerilin perceived the world around her again and she felt the light in her, around her. Home. Relief. The fire that the rage potion had unleashed was extinguished. Xerilin raised her hoarse voice and called for the novices. A young dwarf woman hurried over and spoke soothing, meaningless words, as befitted a sickbed. Xerilin saw the relief in her eyes and the light. "Well trained," she thought to herself and smiled. Then she replied with a few reassuring, meaningless words and shortly after stood up to resume her duties in the service of the light as if nothing had happened. But deep inside, Xerilin felt the embers, the small pile of ashes.
The embers would not die down over the next few days, when Xerilin had long since returned to her duties and was assured from all sides how well she looked. When she went back to caring for the wounded, the embers did not go out. When she heard that the warrior was in the best of health and was no doubt already up to new nonsense, the embers did not go out. When she sought rest in work, the embers did not go out. As she climbed the stairs to her old friend Theo, in the less busy part of the temple, she found no peace even in the silence. What was wrong with her? She asked Theo the same question, who told her to rest. The twinkle in his eyes told her straight away that he himself did not think she would do so. "In all these years I have never learned to do nothing," she returned with a grin. But after only a few sunny sentences, their conversation turned sombre. "What is it that you feel?" he asked straightforwardly after several minutes, after She had lectured at length about light, shadow and fire. "Well, it's obvious," Xerilin said, somewhat embarrassed, "rage." Theo nodded. "Of course it's obvious. We all know what drank. You just had to say it yourself, once." But Xerilin did not feel that this had helped her in any way. The two aged dwarves then quickly agreed that it got them nowhere. "I am a priestess, not a mindless warrior! I don't give in to such silly feelings! Or... I was like that. My peace I have lost. Who am I now?" After this outburst, they sat together in silence for a while. "You know, Xerilin, most of us wonder how you ever served this long so contentedly, without complaint, without despair, without doubt." Theo said thoughtfully, more to himself.
When Xerilin sought advice from the young paladins of the temple, she received more carefree responses. "How can I serve the light in peace when it burns in my soul?" she wanted to know. At first she was irritated when one after the other burst out laughing. She might as well have asked the bustling gnome mages who had been living in the temple for some time! She wouldn't have expected any help from them, but from the paladins she would have. Finally Beldruk apologised with a glance at her face and relented: "The light is still there, you say? Even the shadows you priests talk about so much" he shook his head disapprovingly, "are no problem? But the rage? Surely a little fire won't hurt you priests for a change!" He straightened proudly and now spoke solemnly in a thunderous voice and too much pathos even for Xerilin's taste, "What you feel is a holy righteous fury, such as we paladins have always felt, nurtured and used. It makes us true fighters for the light! You don't become a hero with dustpans in the temple!" He concluded triumphantly. "I serve. Being a heroine is not my goal." Xerilin replied sternly, but his words lingered in her thoughts even after she left.
"It's not right! The world is coming apart! There is shadow everywhere! What we're doing here just isn't enough!", Xerilin heard herself say a few days later, to her own surprise. "Erm...?" replied the somewhat befuddled looking dwarf whose boar bite wound she was nursing, for her outburst had interrupted his account in which the boar he had been trying to tame had grown larger and larger. "Oh, excuse me, my child. Maybe next time just practise with a fresh boar, but let the wound heal first! I didn't even know that boars bite. Please continue," Xerilin replied, somewhat embarrassed.
She reflected for several days, taking her time, searching within herself for answers and the right words. Then she packed her things and requested a talk with High Priest Rohan. After a reverent bow, Xerilin recited: "My stay is no longer here. I must go and do all I can to protect the world from the growing shadows. I ask your blessing." Rohan nodded formally and with the dignity of his office. They were on friendly terms, but this was a moment fpr protocol. "You have it, priestess."
And so it came to pass that Xerilin set out to save the world.
Or so she thought, smiling as she threw coal into the pans of the temple. Here, in the Mystic Ward of Ironforge, she was at home. Here she served the light as best she could and always had. But that was not true, she suddenly remembered. Actually, it seemed like only yesterday that she had roamed the hills of Dun Morogh as a young dwarf girl, carefree and happy, dodging the wild animals that populated the hills. At the thought of her nother worrying, Xerilin fondly smiled involuntarily. Yes, Kharanos, her home. How long had it been since she had been there? A few years, perhaps. Time passed in peace and light and tranquillity. Inner peace, of course. Certainly the hardships of the world did not pass Xerilin by, after all, adventurers went in and out of the temple. They were all constantly learning new skills and spells and returning with their injuries, if they returned, that is. Xerilin would then tend to their wounds, talk them through it and send them away again. Day after day, year after year. Some days it saddened her, but that was the way the world was and the way it had to be - light and shadow - and Xerilin would just keep on being here and serving the light. She could not imagine a happier life. Certainly, some served the light as adventurers, but she left that to the young people. Devotion and light filled her days, not the hunt for glory. Such thoughts of gratitude wandered through Xerilin's mind as she thoughtfully swept the ashes under the charcoal pans. This, thankfully, was how it would always be. She would live happily and contentedly in Ironforge, close to the Great Forge, in warmth and security, and one day, contentedly and at peace with herself, she would become one with the light.
How wrong she was...
The wounded warrior lay before her, breathing stertorously. Many adventurers sought treatment and care in the temple, although there were other possibilities of care in Ironforge. Hastily, Xerilin spread some bandages, mana potions and utensils on the floor in front of him. The warrior's companions, who had just carried him in, stood around helplessly, looking quite pale. These young adventurers, good for nothing! "Come on!" urged Xerilin in a calm but commanding tone that usually worked in such cases, "Get him out of that armour! He can barely breathe as it is!". His two companions stumbled towards him, fiddling with the clasps erratically and clumsily. Xerilin sighed impatiently and resolutely pushed them aside. With practised fingers she freed the injured warrior from his armour. While she pulled various frippery out of his pockets and heedlessly piled some rage potions, healing potions, bread crusts and small bombs to his heavy outfit, the warrior's companions nervously clambered from one leg to the other. And rightly so! Who went on an adventure without a healer? "Get out of here! Get me some novices here, you're not helping!" she ordered them without even looking around.
Xerilin looked quickly at the warrior's numerous wounds and thought briefly that in the past only dwarves had come here. He seemed neither old nor young under the injuries, blood and dirt, a human, his hair already grey. She did not know his name, nor did she care. With an iron will, she closed her eyes in prayer and called upon the light, not asking but commanding that the warrior be healed of his wounds, as she had hundreds of times before.
But it was not enough, as Xerilin suddenly realised when she opened her eyes. His wounds were too deep. Determined, she prayed, throwing herself fully into the light. Sweat came to her brow. It strained her more than it had years before, and yet, in some ways, it was also easier, because the light was no longer just a familiar friend, but entirely part of her being, of herself.
Black stars, framed by light, danced at the edge of her vision, narrowing the tunnel of her sight, but there was no time to go for help. No! No one would die under her hands, it was out of the question! All these years she had saved all those who had come to her and she would not stop today! With her gaze fixed firmly on the warrior's troubled face, she reached out for one of her mana potions. Her hand found the vial and she drank it down in one go. She drank it down even before she noticed the strange taste, the unusual colour. "Interesting," she thought, before she collapsed with an animalistic scream....
Later, Xerilin would remember the next few days only fragmentarily. Feverish, dreaming, flushed with pain, she lay between white linen sheets wet with sweat, cared for by a steady flowing stream of novices. She was filled with a feeling that burned as orange-red fiery as the potion she had emptied in one go. The feeling was unfamiliar to her, only vaguely and distantly known. It charred her from the inside, driving her fever up, heat, glaring light before her eyes. But it was not the light she loved. Nor was it the shadow the light cast in every being, however much it served the light. Where her light was softly embracing like sunlight in a forest clearing in spring, this light was glaring like the sparks of a blacksmith's hammer on mithril, hot and piercingly cold at the same time. No shadow stole into this light. Xerilin was lost in a maelstrom of emotions and screams that engulfed her, that devoured her - and that devoured itself a few days later like a greedy fire that has devoured everything combustible and must now finally disintegrate itself into a small pile of ashes and embers.
When the feeling weakened, she finally recognised it: rage. Then Xerilin perceived the world around her again and she felt the light in her, around her. Home. Relief. The fire that the rage potion had unleashed was extinguished. Xerilin raised her hoarse voice and called for the novices. A young dwarf woman hurried over and spoke soothing, meaningless words, as befitted a sickbed. Xerilin saw the relief in her eyes and the light. "Well trained," she thought to herself and smiled. Then she replied with a few reassuring, meaningless words and shortly after stood up to resume her duties in the service of the light as if nothing had happened. But deep inside, Xerilin felt the embers, the small pile of ashes.
The embers would not die down over the next few days, when Xerilin had long since returned to her duties and was assured from all sides how well she looked. When she went back to caring for the wounded, the embers did not go out. When she heard that the warrior was in the best of health and was no doubt already up to new nonsense, the embers did not go out. When she sought rest in work, the embers did not go out. As she climbed the stairs to her old friend Theo, in the less busy part of the temple, she found no peace even in the silence. What was wrong with her? She asked Theo the same question, who told her to rest. The twinkle in his eyes told her straight away that he himself did not think she would do so. "In all these years I have never learned to do nothing," she returned with a grin. But after only a few sunny sentences, their conversation turned sombre. "What is it that you feel?" he asked straightforwardly after several minutes, after She had lectured at length about light, shadow and fire. "Well, it's obvious," Xerilin said, somewhat embarrassed, "rage." Theo nodded. "Of course it's obvious. We all know what drank. You just had to say it yourself, once." But Xerilin did not feel that this had helped her in any way. The two aged dwarves then quickly agreed that it got them nowhere. "I am a priestess, not a mindless warrior! I don't give in to such silly feelings! Or... I was like that. My peace I have lost. Who am I now?" After this outburst, they sat together in silence for a while. "You know, Xerilin, most of us wonder how you ever served this long so contentedly, without complaint, without despair, without doubt." Theo said thoughtfully, more to himself.
When Xerilin sought advice from the young paladins of the temple, she received more carefree responses. "How can I serve the light in peace when it burns in my soul?" she wanted to know. At first she was irritated when one after the other burst out laughing. She might as well have asked the bustling gnome mages who had been living in the temple for some time! She wouldn't have expected any help from them, but from the paladins she would have. Finally Beldruk apologised with a glance at her face and relented: "The light is still there, you say? Even the shadows you priests talk about so much" he shook his head disapprovingly, "are no problem? But the rage? Surely a little fire won't hurt you priests for a change!" He straightened proudly and now spoke solemnly in a thunderous voice and too much pathos even for Xerilin's taste, "What you feel is a holy righteous fury, such as we paladins have always felt, nurtured and used. It makes us true fighters for the light! You don't become a hero with dustpans in the temple!" He concluded triumphantly. "I serve. Being a heroine is not my goal." Xerilin replied sternly, but his words lingered in her thoughts even after she left.
"It's not right! The world is coming apart! There is shadow everywhere! What we're doing here just isn't enough!", Xerilin heard herself say a few days later, to her own surprise. "Erm...?" replied the somewhat befuddled looking dwarf whose boar bite wound she was nursing, for her outburst had interrupted his account in which the boar he had been trying to tame had grown larger and larger. "Oh, excuse me, my child. Maybe next time just practise with a fresh boar, but let the wound heal first! I didn't even know that boars bite. Please continue," Xerilin replied, somewhat embarrassed.
She reflected for several days, taking her time, searching within herself for answers and the right words. Then she packed her things and requested a talk with High Priest Rohan. After a reverent bow, Xerilin recited: "My stay is no longer here. I must go and do all I can to protect the world from the growing shadows. I ask your blessing." Rohan nodded formally and with the dignity of his office. They were on friendly terms, but this was a moment fpr protocol. "You have it, priestess."
And so it came to pass that Xerilin set out to save the world.
Komm zur Geheimen Zuflucht (RP-Gilde)! Wir haben Zimtschnecken!
Alienne Xerilin Rubinai Irrwisch Mekhalani Flinks Kinrela Cavy
Alienne Xerilin Rubinai Irrwisch Mekhalani Flinks Kinrela Cavy