Next installment! Here is Alanon's first, finest, and last, which was surprisingly easy to write. Lark's will be done eventually, I hope- I have most of it thought out, just need to actually write the darn thing. But anyways, enjoy!
His first was one Elliea Whispertree, not Jaryla as his family commonly thought. It was on one of their numerous pilgrimages to visit the World Tree Nordrassil, when they had camped for the night and she had lured him away into the surrounding forest. It had been quick, quiet, and fairly pleasant, and then promptly forgotten by both parties once they were back among the other Kaldorei. He'd told Jaryla what happened, of course- they told each other everything- but allowed everyone else to remain in their ignorance. He'd lost track of what happened to Elliea, but thought that she was most likely dead by now.
His first happened while he was still little more than a stripling just out of training, as unexpected as it was difficult. He and his companions had been tracking a rogue band of satyrs and come across where the demons had found a camp of lumberers. The lone survivor was found in a collapsed tent. He was unresponsive, gone out of his mind after seeing his friends tortured and murdered in front of him. The others gave him up as a lost cause, yet Alanon had stayed with the man as the rest tracked down and dispatched the satyrs. Healing the man's physical injuries was simple enough; healing the wounds to his spirit proved nearly impossible. But three days later, when his companions returned to find the man still grieving but sane, the looks on their faces was all he needed to know that he'd found his life's calling.
His first had been names out of legend- Cenarius, Ysera, Malfurion. Alanon was just one druidic student among many, trying to learn all he could as fast as he could. He'd thought at first that his path was forced upon him, because males simply did not become priests, but it didn't take him long to realize that being a druid was everything that he could ever want and more. He had devoted the rest of his life to simply do the best he could to make those teachers proud.
Jaryla Shadowleaf was his finest, no doubt. Too alike in some ways and too different in others, they weren't suited to be mates or lovers- but they managed to take being "just friends" and turn it into an art form. Their travels took them worlds apart at times, but that never bothered either of them. They knew that home was waiting whenever they next met.
There were many that he could consider his finest, but he would choose Shaurria by virtue of being his most recent. She was already on her way to healing when he arrived, but he saw no problems in helping the process along. Now, whenever he watched the once-shy youngster unshift to speak to a total stranger... when he saw her smile or heard her bright laughter... whenever she called him An'da... he knew that whatever anyone else might say, he'd done a fine job with her.
His finest was hard to define. It spoke to him through the wind in the trees; it whispered to him in the grasses. At times it would shout at him through the storm's thunder, or the rumble of the earth below. It could be called Nature, that's what most people would name it as anyway. He preferred to simply call it Balance.
His last had been Arien in a stolen moment when Kal had been late to come home. He knew full well what it meant for a Kaldorei to love a human- he'd seen it already too many times to count. But she filled the empty places in him that nothing else could touch, and he knew that no matter when she was taken from him- or he from her, which was after all just as likely- he could truthfully say that he had no regrets.
His last was technically still a work in progress, but Alanon felt sure that the worgen Rheugan would find his full healing in time. Yet another youngster thrown into a war before he was ready, he had been a challenge every moment Alanon had spent with him. The scars were there, some likely permanent, but Alanon knew he would not give up. Healing was in his blood- physical, spiritual, psychological, they were all the same to him.
His last was his first, his finest, and his only. The thrum of life that filled and surrounded every living being, the balance that kept them all moving smoothly through this universe. After ten thousand years he was still going strong, and he had every intention of serving the world's balance, to the very best of his ability, until the last breath was gone from his body.