The air smelled sulfur. He tasted iron. The druid leaned his mangled body against the basalt cavern, healing his smeared limb. Down here in the land of fire and brimstone, blood quickly dessicated into a flaky paste. Less tenacious adventurers cursed and spitted in mock bravery. Braver soldiers brood with pursed lips, sealing the sound of defeat.

The demon tamer sagged in a corner, her small body half buried in crumbs of pumice and obsidian. Her spirit hovered nearby, without anyone's notice. The druid appealed to the paladins and priests until the warlock came to herself with the same graven silence. She dusted herself off nonchallantly and adjusted the pointy magenta hat with indifference--its wide brim again concealing her eyes from the tall folks, friend or foe.

The druid watched his friend, studying the defiance and solitude barely contained beneath her quiet demeaner. He kneeled before the warlock, and pinched her cheeks to bring color back from her ashened face. His uninvited (and all the more effective) touch dispelled her hardness as she refocused upon the druid with a soft gaze and a shy smile. Unfortunately, the clarion sounded again too soon, and the men and women took up arms for another assault. She snapped to the frontline, her armorclad heart enshrouded in a mist of dread, beyond the reach of his glamour.

In an army of forty strong, she was utterly alone. She was alone in the nether, a nether born out of the distance her supposed comrades drawn around her. From this void of loneliness she called her otherworldly friend with a small hop and hands in the air. Her self-banishment complete, she was suddenly death and terror, awashing the cavern with fiery tears. The patient voidwalker, ready and watching with that characteristic eyeless gaze.

The druid bit his lips and looked away from the possessed warlock, but there was no avoiding. The glow of the underground lava projected her onto the cave wall--a giant infantile shadow danced to the contour of the stone hall. Here in the world of fire and brimstone, the warlock was a shadow of her own shadow.

Perhaps only during the few moments when her power was spent could she pretend to be a gentle flowerpicker scuddling across the unblemish Dun Morogh. Perhaps only then can she find refuge from her own power. Perhaps only then can she be the naive lass she could no longer become.

A Demonic party, a macabre rondo.

The sane need not apply.

... thirty five years ago, near Steelgrill's Depot, Dun Morough

"So where's our little snow angel, Nella?"

It was twilight. To the west, the skies were painted in rich purples and deep with shadows, the sun having vanished behind hours ago. To the east, the horizon was almost black, the first stars of the night sparkling just above the snow covered peaks. The wind that cut down the vale and over the snow was cold, a winter's breath. Father instinctively wrapped an arm about Mother, making sure his heavy coat wrapped about the engineer's smaller frame, looking down from their simple porch to the snow in front of their home. The white blanket was illuminated in gentle squares of saffron, from the candles in the windows, a simple warmth against the coming night.

"Oh she's right there ... playing tea again."

And there she was, their precocious little daughter. In her little coat, trimmed with fur, her tunic and overtunic skirts already trimmed in white and freezing. But she didn't notice. She was too busy moving from place to place to place, a fast bustle, a oh so very proper hostess she. Out of packed snow she had made a little table, surrounded by a place setting for four. The chairs too were rolled from the snow, all set in a little hollow she had made in a drift. Maple leaves sewn clumsily together served as her make believe tea cups, a hollowed out gourd stood excellent service as her teapot. Scraps of cloth from father's tailor's shop provided napkins and a tablecloth and a specially chosen stick was a proper spoon for mixing in make believe sugar.

With great fun and propriety, the little gnome girl went from empty space to empty space, conversing to herself pleasantly, half conversations about one lump or two, and my aren't you looking pretty today, and oh yes of course we have a bit of honey. She even crouched down, offering a bowl of sugary tea to a play pretend critter, smiling so soft and sweet as she reached out to pet an invisible head.

"She's got quiet an imagination, doesn't she?"

Father smiled, resting his head next to Mother's.

"Her and her imaginary friends. Who is it this time?"

Mother just smiled, shaking her head, both amused and charmed by the domestic scene played out in the snows of their home. Their daughter was their only child, and she was beloved and happy.

"Oh, Nelli's quite loyal ..."

Mother replied, knowing these things, like Mothers always do.

"They are always the same ...

"Mister Mezznuz, Mister Pizyap, Miss Disneri and Miss Zhaatum."

... today, near Steelgrill's Depot, Dun Morough

It was twilight. To the west, the skies were painted in rich purples and deep with shadows, the sun having vanished behind hours ago. To the east, the horizon was almost black, the first stars of the night sparkling just above the snow covered peaks. The wind that cut down the vale and over the snow was cold, a winter's breath.

On the Kharanos mountain slope the little gnome warlock sat on the small snowdrift, looking down at the homes nestled in the vale, small squares of yellow candlelight already casting a hint of warmth against the coming of night. Beside her the big voidwalker rumbled, hovering protective as his mistress worked, deft fingers weaving green shoots and white blossoms, peaceblooms in a playful chain. She worked intent, carefully crafting a garland traditionally reserved for children.

"I think Zhaa will look so cute, don't you Mezzy?"

The little lass held up her creation, for the voidwalker to approve.

"Well, until she eats them. Zhaa is kinda silly that way ..."

No remorse, but just a smile, as if the felhunter's vagrancies were a comfortable familiarity to be cherished.

"Of course Dissy is far to grown up for such ... though I think ... I think but I'm not sure, she tries them on when I'm not looking ... "

She just grinned and shook her head. Setting the pretty chain in her lap she looked down again, to the tavern she called home, to the places where real folks lived, worked the fields, crafted in the trade hall, raised the critters for the dwarven lords to ride.

"That was so nice, remember that Mezzy? When Master Chelydra and Miss Vamira they got that young lad his first ram? It was real good to be asked to help, and it was so nice just watching them. To see how folks can chose a family ... make a home ... belong."

A breath was let in, a breath was let out, slow and even.

"I know what they think. That I'm all alone out here. Broken. Hurt. That I am doomed, that I am crazy.

"That I am alone ..."

"Its just ... its just our life Mezzy. Its all we got. And so we make the best of it, do our best, try our best, to not be ... to not be what everyone says we are.

"I know ... I know folks worry for it. For us. Thats how they see us, sometimes.

"Especially Mister Fubuki.

"Did you ever notice?"

Raising her eyes, Nellisynthia gazed to the darkening horizon, to look past and imagine the world beyond, to the forests of Feralas, the streets of Stormwind, the swamps of Theramore that the druid walked.

"He's hurt, Mezzy. He says he's strong, proud, aloof and alone .. and that he likes to pad through the woods by himself and to do his best to make others happy.

"He calls himself a stray, Mezzy."

A brow furrows, and she crosses her arms, gentle and quiet, concerned.

"I think ... I think its just a snowfort he's built to keep himself safe. I .... I think he got hurt so far back and so deep that he's just afraid to let someone care for him, and that's why he's always looking out for everyone else. Its his defense, because he's really scared to actually and truly care for anyone else again ... because it means he might get himself really hurt again.

"Folks think I'm all alone ...

"But don't they understand?

"I got you Mezzy.

"I got you.

"I got you and Pizyap and Dissy and Zhaa ... so even when I'm all by myself ...

"... I am never alone."

Quiet eyes closed, a breath took in.

"And thats good."

"But ...

"But when Mister Fubuki is alone ...

"He really is ...

" ... alone."

Soft eyes opened again, gentle.

"I think he thinks its the way things are supposed to be.

"He's just wrong."

Gnawing on her lower lip, the little warlock considered.

"Must be a guy thing ... "

A hand reached, to her side. And she began her efforts again in earnest. Weaving pretty flowers into a pretty wreath, she slowly created a lei of white blossoms, a perfect and bright wreath of peaceblooms.

Crafted with all her caring, single minded, for a friend.

Again, when done. she held it up for the big voidwalker's approval.

"For Mister Fubuki.

"So he'll know he's not alone.

"I bet he'll look real cute and everything ...

"Even when he's a cat!"

Her brows knit, as she she answers Mezzy's roar.

"No ... cats eat fish, not flowers.

"And fish crowns are just silly."

... and not all days in the life of a little warlock are sad. The pre-amble was written by Fubuki, an Earthen Ring druid and Nellisynthia's favorite bear. It was a touching and insightful tribute to the little gnome warlock, capturing ... her other side.

In a manner far more eloquent than I ever could.

Fubuki's other tales can, for the moment, be found here. The way the Earthen Ring forum scrolls, one cannot garauntee they will remain there forever.

http://forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?FN=wow-realm-earthenring&T=205714&P=1