Stardancer
Stardancerelf.jpg
OOC Game Stats
Game Name Stardancer
Faction Alliance
Race Night Elf
Gender Female
Class Druid
Professions Cultivation and Poetry
IC Info
Nicknames Star or Xie
Title High Druid
Age 5,000+
Height 7'
Hair Lavender
Skin pale
Alignment Chaotic Good


..In motion again toward avid life
The eyes again glance upward
Toward the yearning hope of new dawns
of fresh tranquil fervent vales.
-Stardancer

Story

  • LAVENDER

Part 1

Dúdae Featathar cowered lower into the woods, melding with the shadows and becoming one with her surroundings. Pouring out from the fallen earth was a legion of such demonic force the forest was wailing in painful anguish. She had to get back to warn her people, her family, but the force was already passing through the wood. They were organized and militant, and for spite a few shot trivial dark powers at small rabbits. She bit her lower lip in order to quiet her sudden shaking. Cenarius was calling all help and had been working diligently toward the attacks at Mount Hijal. He had to be warned. Could she back away from her hiding place near the marching horde of demons? She did not know but she had to try.

She crouched low under a leafy fern and crawled backwards. Her movement caught the attention of the glowing red eyes of a corporal who turned off the road in her direction. A rabbit suddenly hopped out from its hiding but its flight was quickly ended as it lay in charred ruins, a delicious curl turning the corner of the demon's mouth. Dúdae made use of the opportunity and ducked through the woods with as much speed as her legs could provide. They were coming from Azshara and she knew had to get to Hijal to warn Cenarius...


Her name was Dúdae Featathar (in the common, Dudae Spiritwillow). She was a night elfess of lavender-hued tresses and melodious fluid voice. Now transformed by Cenarius, she exists as a dryad residing in the vale of Ashen and guards a single Moonwell. She was a heroine for her involvement in warning Cenarius and his army of the coming demons. She had made it to the base of the mount, only to have been brutally attacked by the impending demonic forces. She bravely fought them with her curved blade and songs, but she fell at last. The attack on her caused enough ruckus that a scout moved swiftly up the mount to give warning.

Her body bereft and torn asunder, Dúdae, hung to her life by sheer will in order to complete her mission. Cenarius, deeply touched by the devotion of this humble warrior, granted her a new life as his servant in Stonetalon Mountain.

  • Epilogue

A little girl with hair of lavender was lead into the circle of druids. Elder Bearclaw reached out for her tiny hand as the priestess of Elune nodded to him before departing. "Welcome little Spiritwillow." He said softly, You are now among the circle and teachings of Master Stormrage. This is your new home now."

  • DEATH and LIFE

Part 2

Many of the sisters and daughters of Cenarius were already dead the rest mangled in the fields of Stonetalon Mountain Valley. A small army of night elves ran about gathering the bodies while others patrolled the hills after the undead marauders. Stardancer Spiritwillow fell onto her knees, her body wracked by waves of grief and horror. Dúdae, her mother's transfigured dryadic body laid twisted and bloody, her once lavender hair had been mercilessly cut away at the scalp.

She had waited for Star to arrive, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of her life. Star clung to Dúdae beseeching her not to leave her. The humble dryad smiled up at her daughter one last time before her eyes dimmed and life's illumination faded into death's oblivion. A guttural wail escaped Star's throat and she buried her head against her mother's chest. Later in the evening, strong elven hands had to pry her away so the priests could prepare the body.

A priestess' melodic voice began echoing through out the vale in a song of mourning. Stardancer stood in silence watching and crying. Prayers and blessings were offered as the elder druids circled around the bodies before igniting them. The ritual followed the more recent tenant that when bodies are tragically murdered, burning them allows them to merge more quickly back into the earth. The soil, the air, the water were all blessed next in accordance with the ceremony.

Suddenly, a large warm hand enclosed about hers. Elder Bearclaw stood silent, staring out at the gathering and whispered softly, "Your mother and her bravery will never be forgotten by us, little Spiritwillow."

Star turned to look up at him, the years having traced a multitude of lines across his brow (although to her he had always been of the “old ones.”) This was the first time in many long years that he hadn’t called her “the star dancer.” His eyes were warm and passed across the younger druidess with an approval she had not expected from him.


History

  • Things in the Distant Past

Interlude

The elder druid known as Bearclaw, walked around the gathered circle of new druids and gave each of the fifth-seasoned children a stern disapproving glower. Most of these young ones were also orphans, the remaining legacy of the night elves who were lost during the war. Bearclaw moved fluidly in silent ease with his hands folded behind him, his eyes narrowed to illuminated slits. The children squirmed uneasily under his direct scrutiny. None of them really did know who threw the soggy leather ball into the foyer of the druid hall. Bearclaw stopped in front of the last druid, an elfess who was a few years older than the rest. She boldly glared up at him with her arms crossed, her hair a tangled mass of lavender. The master druid’s grilling made the children uncomfortable and several of them were already quietly crying. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him for being so hard on them all.

It was a travesty, that none of these children were strong enough for the warrior class or to fill positions among the sentinels, nor did they show talents for use of a hunter’s bow. The temple of Elune was already full with the devout, so the remaining children were placed in the care of the Cenarion Circle. It was thought that the sage teachings of the druids would temper the children and help them find their way in the world. However, there was an unrevealed division among the druid order which laced every gathering with a troubled feeling of whose side the children would be on…later.

“I would put that tongue back in your mouth,” Bearclaw’s voice was low and ominous, “if you wish to be able to use it for eating in the future, Starry-One.”

The defiant druidess hadn’t realized she acted on her impulse and her tongue retreated promptly. She groaned inwardly at his reference to her adopted name. The druid elders ill-considered her day-dreaming whimsy and even had derivatives to call her; Star, Starry-Eyed, the Stardancer. The names were so often used for her that fellow students resorted to calling her “Star” for short. Bearclaw, satisfied that it didn’t appear that anyone in his group was responsible for the ball, moved back to the central firelight and began teaching history. The low monotone of his voice was lulling and Star could not keep her thoughts from trailing away to some place more exciting, places she had read about in books and heard about from world travelers near the central bank. The only words she could recall hearing over the last hour from the master druids’ long recital were, “Time for mid-morning’s break.” The children almost stumbled over each other as they scattered out from the circle.


To Everything...

To every thing, a season.


The wind howled a hallow song against her ears as she sailed out over the ancestral land of the orcs in Nagrand. Flying was a sort of freedom, a gift, and the sheer altitude made the entire world a brilliant sight. While the currents were still in the warmth of the day, she twirled and circled an avian dance in mid air before alighting on the tallest tree on the highest hill in the region. The amethyst storm crow stretched out her talons and secured them comfortably on the limb. She settled and gazed around at the immense horizon. To see such splendor in such a form was worth every single moment that gracious hands helped her achieve it.

Peering around the landscape, she could not help but reflect on all the many places that she had traveled to and had the great fortune to see throughout the years. These adventures were a trove of imaginings and wondrous discoveries. Those many remarkable days will always be a treasure in songs, stories, those shared and some kept in the most sacred places of the heart.

The wind speed at this pinnacle caused the tree to arc and the crow’s neck adornments twinkled and clinked loudly. A swirling sphere of leaves loosened from the branch above her, and nearly knocked her off her perch. She shook loose the foliage and decidedly opted for a more substantial form. Feathers fell away giving way to a similarly hued night elf who seemingly emerged from the avian. The druidess, known as Stardancer, curled her legs back onto the branch and felt again the warm wind on her face. She chuckled slightly at a memory, and smiled inwardly. That was not the only time a *ball* hit her on the head.

She turned her pale eyes towards the south and saw the mid-summer fire in the distance waning. The once crackling scorching bonfire was fading, it’s festival season drawing to an end. Fire--the celebration of summer heat and the culmination of spring’s verdant pursuits slowly passing on to the next advent. Some things, she mused, have a season.

She lifted her knees and wrapped her arms around them and inhaled deeply. Leaning her chin onto her arms, she paused to regard all the years prior. How do we night elves endeavor in matters of the heart? She pondered. Centuries come and go. Stardancer watched them all pass without a single age line etching her alabaster face. So long of life, she considered, yet some things aren’t forever.

Living so long, it was not uncommon for the night elves to have many partners throughout their centuries. Passionate and verdant pursuits yield to the heat of fire that eventually wanes, just like a season. It was time for them both to move onto the next advent. It would not be easy, but it was time for the next spring to create new gardens in their lives. The druidess nodded and arose from her precarious position on the branch. She knew what she needed to do.

She walked to the edge and stepped over the side of the cliff. Her lavender hair whipped wildly around her as she watched the ground racing towards her. Then, at the last moment, a shimmer and unfurled sprawling wings caught the air in a free form glide. The storm crow flew out of the valley, and headed due east.

She flew to the exchange in the bustling city of Shattrath, and extracted a few items from her storage. Down at the bottom of one of her bags, she found a small scrap of parchment, it was old and faded and was the original draft of something she had written long ago…

“It had been many years since I ventured back to Darkshore and the small outpost of Auberdine. Those days are so long hence, seeing the small town was as if seeing some place new. I stood on the shore to watch the moon out over the water as I had done thousands of times before. Then, I felt a droplet of water press against my cheek followed by more.

I looked upward into the rain and felt it shower down upon me and closed my eyes to revel in the sensation. To my surprise, I heard a masculine voice behind me that I had come to know so very well.
There he stood, his bountiful pale hair dripping with rain water …

A Triolet to the Rain

Water droplets form
Upon your silken brow
Released from a torrential storm
Water droplets form

Come to me and seek the warm
If I could kiss thee then and now
Water droplets form
Upon your silken brow”

She scribed an additional line… “Thank you, for all those years. May your next season be blessed.”
She lifted a slender porcelain finger to wipe her eye, and reverently folded the heart felt sentiment and dropped the old parchment into the box along with another note. Stardancer tightened the ribbon around the box, sealing it and pressed the package into the magic mail compartment.


Some where in a few days time, a pale haired night elf will receive a box. Inside, he discovers it filled with a recognizable worn leather ball and a note which reads, “You’re it!”

Addressed to, “Kynas.”


(Fade to black)


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Awards

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The Weekly Feature Award
This article has been highlighted as a Weekly Featured Article. --Lilithia 11:01, 20 November 2006 (GMT)
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