==Chapter 15==

As he flew over the mountains, the vision of the eye kept haunting him. Faelan shook his falcon head, trying to shake the intrusive thoughts, but to no avail. The wind swept through his feathers as his wings cut through the air. Just then, a stab of pain and fatigue went through his body, and his form started to rearrange itself back to its original shape.

Shit!

A wave of panic raced through his mind as he desperately tried to exert his will over his shape while plummeting from the sky. His body was irregular and chaotic—a horrific blend of humanoid and falcon. His skin and flesh twisted and bubbled as he fought for control over his body shape. Pain surged through him like white-hot needles piercing every nerve, as his bones kept reshaping, shortening, and lengthening. His muscles screamed in protest, tearing and reforming, each shift sending jolts of agony that blurred his vision. His breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Shit, shit, shit! Think, Faelan. Distance, less than fifty metres, the impact will kill me. I can't roll to break the fall. Another wildshape? No, that won't work. Less than thirty metres. Fuck!

As the mountainous terrain rapidly approached, his mind raced to find a solution.

Twenty, fifteen, dammit, body! JUST DO AS I SAY!

With a growl of pain and frustration, he pushed out his crooked and twisted wings, his will roaring through his body as he pulled his shape together for just a few wingbeats. He managed to slow his descent slightly, but not enough to prevent injury. He tumbled over the rocky ground, sharp stones cutting through his skin. He tucked in his arms and legs to brace a bit for impact.

He grunted in pain as he skidded to a halt. As he lay there, he took a quick assessment of his injuries. Multiple cuts, and a couple of bruises. As he sat up, a pain shot through his chest.

Ah. And a broken rib.

He groaned as he got up and collected himself. Everything hurt.

"Now where did that go wrong?" he asked himself, dusting himself off, ignoring the pain that flared up as he did so.

Then it hit him. He had forgotten to account for the extra weight of his supplies. He could hit himself for being so dumb.

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He surveyed his surroundings. In the distance, he could see the giant gates of the Durinar domain. Another curse escaped his lips. He quickly went through his equipment to see if everything survived the fall. Only one of his water flasks had ruptured. As he checked his notes and books, a string of Ecranan curses escaped his mouth that would make the hardiest of sailors blush. Most of his notes were ruined by the leaked water. Luckily his books were mostly untouched. He picked out the most damaged notes and tried to decipher them, memorising the words.

I'll have to rewrite them as soon as I'm in Durinar.

He got back up and hissed in pain as he did so, but he kept going.

===================

It took Faelan another two days to reach the stone gates, with him taking regular breaks, his consciousness fading in and out as he travelled. He had clearly underestimated the severity of his wounds, but he trusted his Fae blood to keep him strong. The day before, he had found a small mountain stream where he had taken a long rest and filled up his flask. He had used up the last of his rations the prior evening and now stood on a ledge, wind rushing around him, tugging at his cloak, the giant stone gates looming above him.

One last climb. He thought to himself, panting.

To prevent straining his body too much, he had decided to limit his amount of shifts.

He released the strap on his climbing gloves and the metal hooks snapped into place over his fingers with their spring as he secured them with three additional straps. He was quite proud of the invention. He had spent countless nights with the Brotherhood’s blacksmith to get a functioning design.

The glove had been the easy part, but the hooks—those dammed hooks had been such a pain to get right.

But after weeks of trying and redesigning, he finally had a functional design. When not in use, the hooks folded back flat onto the gloves. They did restrict hand movement a bit when wearing them, but it was better than having his hand completely occupied with traditional climbing hooks.

Faelan had climbed the steep rockface and the wall of the Keep enough times to test it and they certainly made the climb easier. But that had been without severe wounds.

As he climbed higher, he winched as a stab of pain shot through his arms, causing him to loosen his grip slightly. But the metal hooks of the gloves kept him from sliding down.

His head spun as the wind slammed against him, trying to tear him off the cliff.

As he almost reached the top, black spots covered his vision and his breathing was rapid and irregular. Pain stabbed through his chest.

When finally at the top, he stumbled towards the giant gates towering over him.

Carved into the grey stone were intricate designs of dwarven warriors, their expressions fierce, each figure adorned with detailed armour and weapons that seemed almost lifelike in their precision. Next to the doors stood two statues of dwarves, clad in armour, one holding a massive axe, the other a hammer. Their eyes seemed to watch Faelan with a stern, unwavering gaze as if judging his worthiness to pass through the threshold.

Faelan placed his hand on the stone door. A faint warmth radiated from the stone spreading through his body, a stark contrast to the cold mountain winds. He dipped his sight into the Veil, the black spots in his vision disappearing, but was met by a strange scene. Where normally the strands of teyun would just drift around, going where the flow of power goes, it now seemed to drift away from the door, as if repelled. But where his hand was placed on the carved stone, teyun seemed to drift towards the door.

He slammed his hand against the door as he suddenly lost his balance, his legs giving out.

A deafening boom thundered through the mountains, and not long after, as Faelan fell to the ground, his sight slowly fading, the sound of stone grinding on stone followed. He heard voices, but they were warked beyond understanding.

Just before he lost consciousness, he managed to mutter two words.

“Uldin Mura…”