#Alurius Brightsong

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#Willaude Pratchett #Alurius Brightsong

[aluriusbrightsong]

"I believe I understand their stance, to be blunt.”

The words come out in his native Thalassian, smooth and precise phrasing directed at the only other living listener nearby.

Skyscythe. A falcon of fine pedigree and exacting training, perched upon the hastily erected stand for his armor and adventuring equipment. Emotionless eyes blink slowly, the bird of prey’s head cocking a bit to one side as the elven speaker begins to slowly sharpen one of his massive war blades on his lap.

“The Argent Crusade is neutral. In all things. They seek to counter the threats to Azeroth and its people, without involving themselves in politics. It is why they house Forsaken beside draenei.”

Alurius pauses for a moment, setting his grinding stone atop his blade as he looks to his ramshackle armor stand.

“It is why they house quel’dorei and sin’dorei side-by-side. Light, they appointed a sin’dorei as ambassador to the Lightforged. I cannot even begin to imagine how that shall go over as Apex recruits more draenei.”

#Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 29th

Smoking a joint on the side of the King’s Highway, out by Eastvale, I spotted a caravan making their way west, towards Goldshire. Something about it got my attention, and I managed to flag them down at the logging camp before they disembarked for the road again.

Offered myself up as a sellsword with some magic, and a guitar. The guitar part seemed to be the tipping point, as the caravan leader brought me on for the journey all the way to Westfall via Stormwind. Lots of younger adventurers and hires on this trip.

Might take the time to mingle with them.

Pratchett’s Journal April the 30th

Got in to Stormwind just in time for my printer to be out of the shop. Haven’t seen royalties in months, and things have been to busy for me to cover my tracks getting back into the city until recently. Going to visit him in the morning, if we don’t take off before then.

Saw a few familiar faces. Avoided a few familiar faces. The usual. I remember why I left this place. Not even bad memories. Just a bad taste in my mouth.

Pratchett’s Journal May the 5th

Alright, time for an explanation.

I came on this trip because I wanted to get to know what Alurius did. But the world is just too different. There isn’t anything left of whatever Brightsong saw in humanity here, and the more I dwell on it the more frustrated I get.

I’ve had a few days to dwell on it, being kidnapped and all.

I left Stormwind for a simple reason; my writing was getting me in trouble. Even if I stopped publishing and completely avoided it in public, I was still of interest enough that maybe a dozen total people wanted to find me for whatever personal reasons they had.

Well, one of them found me on my way out of Stormwind with the caravan. Got in with the group in Goldshire, waited until we were fairly secluded on guard duty in Westfall, and clubbed me over the head. I woke up with a splitting headache and the taste of blood to a somewhat attractive young tan-skinned woman demanding I autograph her copy of The Adventurer and write her into my next story.

Here’s the thing; I stopped writing that. Completely. Miss Carrie Coldwell and her adventures across Azeroth aren’t important enough to me to honestly keep me bound to a manuscript for that much time. Not with the Burning Legion at our doorstep. And family to see. And friends to catch up with. And a life of genuinely poor choices to make up for.

So I told her that.

She fucking bit me.

I’m not a calm person. I don’t keep my composure. I’m hot under the collar, in a figurative and literal sense. I know it, and I won’t lie to myself or anyone else about that.

So when I got over the shock of this five-foot-eight chick sinking her teeth into me, I lost it. In a big way.

At least I know how Alurius felt every time he talked about beheading someone for their misdeeds.

Pratchett’s Journal May the 5th

I brought her to the guards in Elwynn, since someone might recognize me from Westfall somehow. It would be my luck anyway.

Told them we met up in a caravan (not lying) and that she went crazy (not lying) before ditching the caravan (still not lying) and kidnapping me to have her way with me somehow (still not completely lying).

They believed it, considering the crack I had on the back of my head and the fact I turned and walked out of that garrison faster than I’ve ever walked out from anywhere.

I’m not mentioning this to Hamathiel. He already rescued me from a terrible fate once. I’d hate for him to think I was wasting the opportunity he gave me in doing that by slumming it in the southlands.

I think I’m going to go visit Doukaas and his brood. See if... I don’t know. See if they can at least give me something for this raging headache. Then figure things out from there.

Pratchett’s Journal May the 5th

She trashed my weed while kidnapping me.

Fuck.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong #Hamathiel Sunsheer #Doukaas

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 21st

Cheated a bit. Caught a flight down from Loch Modan to Lakeshire. It’s the first place Alurius’ entries really start becoming dense and full of serious activity.

Near as I can tell, he took to the area and resided with every family and farm he could in an attempt to take in the land. The entries are a long slog through the day-to-day lives of three generations of humanity, countless families, and enough boring observations from an elven point of view to sour anyone to the idea of visiting Silvermoon.

I have a far more keen understanding of how a man whom once held the Libram of Compassion could take to beheading as a solution to problems in his undeath.

It breaks down like this; Brightsong would stay in an area for maybe fifteen years, and then move on. From this I can see that he spent time in Lakeshire, Northshire Abbey, Goldshire, Grand Hamlet, Moonbrook, and the countless farmsteads between them.

To date, I have made it through some dozen pages written by Alurius. The remaining pages in this journal are dedicated to his time with humanity. Well over two-hundred pages.

This... is going to take a while.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 17th

Dwarves.

I think I overdid my visit to the Wildhammers.

Finally feeling clear enough to write. I’m on the coast of The Forbidding Sea, near the dwarven homesteaders of the Arathi Highlands. Going to cut through the mountains tonight to get back on track.

Visited the temporal anomaly just to make sure it isn’t acting up. No sign of anything, beyond a dull throbbing in my skull. Could be recovering from drinking, could be whatever residual magic was in that place when we went inside for Blynn.

Took a few hours today to go over the next set of entries Alurius made. THings get interesting once we end up in the southlands. Looks as if he politely avoided the dwarves and made a beeline for Stormwind.

I took the time to do the math on when Alurius would have left Quel’Thalas and ended up in Stormwind, as well as finally getting his age down.

 - He claimed as a Death Knight that he was 238 years old, but that was upon his death. Didn’t take into account the passage of time after that.

 - If he was slain during the rise of the Forsaken in ADP-22, we can jump back on his original age to find his birthday on 206 BDP. That would be 386 by the King’s Calendar.

 - For context, this means he was born some few dozen years after the War of the Three Hammers. He would have been in the general Stormwind area during the campaign against Garfang, present for the birth of Medivh, and event in the area during the Gurubashi War.

I’m going to wait a bit to see what happened during the First and Second Wars. For now.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 2nd

Couldn't find anything specifically related to Alurius in what remains of Silverpine Forest. Not at first anyway.

Once I spoke with a few of the local Forsaken that had lived in the area during their breathing days, I got a better idea of why. Silverpine Forest was razed and plagued and destroyed enough times to wipe clean almost any hint of its history. So I spent the evening at the very bottom of the lake.

Magic. That's all I'm going to write to explain it. That's all I have to say about it. I ended up finding a few things on the bottom of the lake, besides corpses. Not all of them friendly, neighborly Forsaken either. Like the timber dredged up from the bottom of the river flowing through Elwynn, there were a fair amount of well-preserved corpses undead and otherwise down there. Bones beneath those. Things I could only find through scrying and meditation.

Honestly it was just a shot in the dark. I didn't expect to find anything, and I'm not entirely sure I did find something really. But the craftsmanship of the pen nib and the materials are elven. And a good three hours of scrying led me to this point. I'm going to see if I can't clean it up and make use of it.

It's a very nice end to a pen.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal March the 30th

Brightsong visited Lordaeron. The Capital City.

The ruins above Undercity still hold a host of interesting bits of lore and history. Weekly digs through the wreckage of the once-great nation provide the Forsaken with a trove of historical documents. Not all of them interesting. Thankfully the records go back a fair ways.

Elven visitors were not common. Noteworthy enough, in fact, to get an audience with one of the advisers to the court. The discussion was transcribed, with most of it intact. Once I picked through the dialect and the idiosyncrasies of the transcription, it turned out to be a fairly bland affair. Alurius was interested in the common man, while the court adviser insisted on descriptions of Quel'Thalas and Silvermoon itself. The mundane issues of the people, down to the problems with demihumans, were at the forefront of Alurius' questions for the court, while they insisted he meet with their priests and look over their 'broad range of classic works.'

Alurius describes the library dedicated to the Holy Light at the time as a small room with maybe two book cases, themselves half-empty. He poured over it all regardless, divining bits and pieces of the history as best he could until he had a rough framework for what possibly became "A Humble View of the Light." However, his journal wanders from the possibility of writing his own libram. Instead it discusses a more grounded, metamagical view of the works of Mereldar and the original librams. His theory on the Avatars of Wisdom is fairly simple; certain traits of the universe have physical embodiment. Quel'dorei theorized it due to the presence of elemental powers across Azeroth as well as their own ancient history with the Wild Gods, leading into what little knowledge they held at the time on the matter of the Titans and the universe as a whole. He brings the theory around to a conclusion by simply citing the fact that these Avatars of Wisdom spoke of the Three Virtues in a very broad sense, and thus allowed those whom practiced the Three Virtues and the believed in the Five Tenets to 'flow forth with the Holy Light as a river would water, or a fire would smoke.'

An apt pair of analogies.

Alurius wrote about his interest in the demihuman races; he had never met a gnoll, and wished to understand what culture he could from the other races the humans cohabited with. I suppose the concept of 'cohabitation' was confusing, as the court adviser only gave him vague directions to where gnolls 'should make their hovels.' I suppose I'm off to the southern shores of Lordamere Lake.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal March the 26th

Took shelter from the rain with a traveling caravan. Group makes a run through the area and trades with the local Forsaken forces on their way to Hearthglen. I haven't visited Hearthglen in a while. Think it might have been with El. Light, there's a regret. Went with the caravan to Hearthglen at least. Saw the sights. Nothing new. I don't have much I can really say about it; the town-turned-fortress has changed hands enough and seen enough bloodshed even I can feel the spirits ill-at-ease here. Anything Alurius would have left behind has been ransacked from the Scarlet Crusade. Or Scourge. Or Forsaken. Or adventurers. All of the above, most likely.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong #Vathelia Irving

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 9th

Spending another day in Highvale before I continue on.

Interestingly, Alurius left a fairly sizable gap in his time here in Highvale. I’ve gone over the entries, and judging by what Randrice said previously and Araia filled in for me recently there is a two-week period where he seemed to not included anything. Araia claims to not know why he wouldn’t have continued, beyond perhaps realizing he had feelings for her.

She suggested I speak with the Wildhammer dwarves nearby.

My writing is going to be sloppy for days if I see them.

Don’t really have a choice.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 7th

He has a son. I don't know how to describe the woman adequately. There's a difference between the sin'dorei and quel'dorei that I've only been able to appreciate in my time with Dawnwatch. The sin'dorei are like a knife's edge, very sharp and determined to a fine point. They're intense, forged, and more often than not as cold as steel. The quel'dorei are anything but; they still embrace the Light as it was, with a great breadth of emotions encompassing their people and reinforcing their values. She's very much a High Elf; friendly, warm, considerate. Detached from the world around her to a degree, yet still very much grounded. I couldn't tell what she did for a living from her dress, considering the simple loose blouse and utilitarian pants and boots. Araia Dawnrunner. From what Alurius wrote in his journal, she was a brief but exciting month-long romantic engagement which he hadn't planned on or expected in his journey out from Quel'Thalas. From what she says, he was a lost man finding himself in the world outside of the Eternal Forest. I spent a few days in Highvale discussing Alurius with her. Araia seemed genuinely interested in Brightsong's fate, from his activities after leaving the Hinterlands all the way to his somewhat recent passing. She was especially interested in his time as a Knight of the Ebon Blade, and what he had become in undeath. The way she spoke, I can't even call it a somber tone honestly. It's one of the differences between elves and humans that I still have to come to grips with when I'm out and about as an adventurer. She seemed to genuinely appreciate that Alurius had found something so befitting him even if it took his passing to happen. The man she spoke of started as a lost soul looking for meaning in his life, and seemed to depart the Highvale with nothing short of steely determination behind his newly-formed convictions. Don't I know that feeling. Sometimes all it really takes is a woman. She took pride in the fact the father of her son had managed to stand for his beliefs across Azeroth and retain them even after death. And that he eventually found peace in the Light. That part caught me off guard. A son. Alurius Brightsong's legacy, beyond the memories held by those around him. Took me a few hours to wrap my head around the entire thing. It seems Alurius stayed romantically involved with the young woman while he stayed in Highvale, only to eventually leave on his personal geas across Azeroth. She found herself with child, gave birth and named him after a lost family member (Eloriun), and raised him in the Highvale until eventually venturing south to Stormwind shortly before the opening of the Dark Portal and the wars with the Horde. He joined with the heroes through the Dark Portal, ventured to Outland, and she in turn came back to the Highvale to help defend against the Forsaken incursions. Well shit.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal March the 25th

Dealing with the Dark Consular is always interesting. And I always feel as if I've been played a little bit. Well, almost always.

We spoke at length on the matter of the book, “A Humble View of the Light,” as well as the journal. Learned a few interesting things as well.

Alurius reclaimed his family name when he returned to his senses and broke from the Lich King's grasp. Randrice didn't, however. He continued to use his title and shortened Common name once he had been raised, as his human blood made him susceptible to the Plague of Undeath. Before falling victim to it, he went by his elven name.

Ran'dracil Autumndrake.

I didn't understand why Randrice was telling me this until I got back on the road.

He formally offered me training. I should say, he and his Dark Rangers offered me training. It's a tempting offer to learn how to properly use a bow or train in a new style of combat, certainly. But I don't think I quite have it in me. There's too much shadow and corruption involved in their method of magic. And the touch of Necromancy-

I appreciate the gesture however.

Randrice offered the journal to me once I made it clear what I was doing, however. There wasn't any argument or real discussion about it, short of Randrice mentioning he had attempted to follow Brightsong's path as well. Emphasis on the 'attempted.' Legion invasions have that effect on a persons timetable.

The journal itself is very plain. I shouldn't be surprised, but I expected it to have some kind of otherworldly feeling to it. Some weight or heft, or at least a sense of what was within. Holding it now, it's just a flimsy leather-bound journal older than Genn Greymane.

The first entry I can pick up with shows Alurius going to Lordaeron, via Hearthglen. I can't imagine anything survived the Scarlet Crusade and their possession of the township, but I'll give it a shot.

There are pages of thoughts between dated entries. Some of them written in one color of ink, others written with obviously different implements. It seems as a young man, Alurius questioned everything about the society he came from and those he visited. The first dozen pages aren't even entries, so much as rantings about the shortsightedness and general ignorance of the elves in the face of their history and the relationships they have with the human kingdoms.

His first serious constructed entry is on Northdale, and the people there. The stark contrast between elven and human settlements caught him off-guard, with the generosity shown at his visit giving him pause. The people were kind, but they were also very happy with what he at first saw as nothing. They didn't eat well, and they were poorly armed and equipped. Their tools were simple iron, repaired and handed down over the years throughout family and friends. They were at risk from the trolls to the north and gnolls to the east almost constantly, and banditry this far from Lordaeron's capital led to the roads being a hazard as well.

One of the local farms, run by the Allerton family, took him in for the night after he spoke with their people, offering him a place to stay and what hospitality they could. He was put off from it at first; the forests of Quel'Thalas offered more  from foraging than he could expect from what he described as 'simple hill people.' But the next entry has him expressing gratitude. Not for what they offered, but for the fact they offered it. Once he saw what they had and how little the people of Northdale worked with in comparison to his people to the north, he began to understand the generosity they expressed in offering him anything at all.

The journal entry ends with the musings of one of the local priests he encountered, whom later traveled with him further south to the small chapel of Light's Hope. Alurius states that he was dismayed at the state of things in Northdale, and wondered to the priest if this was the way all humans lived in this kingdom.

“Any man making his daily bread on the Greenrush is the king of the world as far as I know, Alurius.”

[ Image ]

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Randrice Frostcowl #Alurius Brightsong

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One should not be discreet in their feelings. They are part of you, for better or for worse, and must be embraced to be fully understood. To ask discretion of ones feelings is to ask discretion of ones self; and one should never be untrue to themselves.

Alurius Brightsong

#Alurius Brightsong #A Humble View of the Light

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 5th

Hillsbrad. Southshore. Tarren Mill. Beautiful townships of their day, now ruins in the face of the Forsaken.

Don't misunderstand; people of different cultures are inherently different. But the Forsaken tend to destroy the world around them more than other species do. The shu'halo live in harmony with nature. Humans tend to not outright devastate the countryside. Even goblins- well almost everyone is a good example I suppose.

There isn't any sign of him here. He writes in his journal of visiting these townships and areas with awe and wonder. He sees them as the true frontier, where men and women struggle to be free and live their own lives. Places where the Light touches the common people of the land and embraces them through hardship and strife. In return for giving their all to survival and their kin, they are fulfilled.

As I write this, I sit in a burnt-out farmstead. A band of gnolls must have made it their camp briefly, considering the paw prints and crude graffiti. There are no corpses left. No valuables. No hint of who lived here, just a shell. A corpse of a home.

Much the same as this entire land is a corpse of its former self.

The next series of entries from Alurius are all about visiting the people here. Seeing the sights. Spending evenings in fierce debate with the locals on their beliefs. He encounters people that believe in a single deific being, and those that see the Avatars of Wisdom as deeply spiritual totems of their representative beliefs.

I can see how it shaped his writings later on.

I'm going to thumb through the next few entries to see where he went. But from what Randrice said, I should go north to follow the passages.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong #Randrice Frostcowl

[thetheshadowofwestfall-blog]

When the World is Running Down…

Pratchett’s Journal March the 23rd

Well. Turns out there’s only a copy of it here. “A Humble View of the Light.” His thoughts on the world from fresh new eyes before investing himself in it, with a distinct elven slant.

It’s something.

Someone erected a shrine in his name in the chapel some time ago. It’s a simple thing, a small holy symbol and a number of blue wax candles with an inscription in faux gold; En'shalu nah foridahs. The Best of Ourselves.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Alurius had that effect.

One of the acolytes here took the time to speak with me about another visitor almost a year ago. A Forsaken man in heavy saronite similar to that which Alurius wore, looking into his history and journey through the Eastern Kingdoms.

Of course it was Randrice.

I’m going to spend the afternoon here in Light’s Hope before venturing further south. Supposedly the Dark Consular has taken residence in one of the sunken necropoli of the Scourge off the coast of the Hinterlands. I will head out with my hippogryph and see if we can’t find where he’s holed up.

Hopefully he has the original copy still. It seems the sort of thing he would keep safe.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong

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Pratchett’s Journal April the 7th

I'll transcribe this, as I don't think explaining it in my own words can do it justice.

"It is with vast trepidation and a small portion of excitement that I find myself visiting a Lodge once again. Quel'Danil is one of the few functioning and well-traveled Farstrider Lodges outside of Quel'Thalas, with the keeper of the lodge being a fair-minded and open quel'dorei by the name Saldor. Immediately upon my arrival I have found myself answering questions and sharing what I knew of Silvermoon politics with the local population. Of particular note is the sizable half-elven population here; The High Peak has functioned as a diplomatic envoy as much as a protective measure in dealing with the Witherbark trolls, with humans mingling in the population as much as the dwarves recently transplanted in the foothills. I look forward to speaking at length with the young man I have been assigned as a guest; Ran'dracil seems as eager as any youth I have encountered yet."

It explains a lot. Randrice knew Alurius in life. Before the Plague and their untimely death.

And what's more, they seemed to get along very well if the remainder of the entries are any indication. There are literally pages of Alurius musing on the interpretations of the Light with Ran'dracil and the various drake-suffix families. Even mention of a young human woman whom seems to have caught Alurius' attention. I can only assume so, as he hasn't described anyone he has meet yet physically except for her. And he makes her sound delightful.

I've dropped my sin'dorei illusion and taken shelter with the Highvale elves for the time being. Mentioning a certain family I once stayed with in Alterac helped put them at ease, as well as mentioning Alurius and Ran'dracil once I got that far into the journal. It seems one of the local Farstriders, Jalinde, remembers Brightsong and the young woman he spent time with.

I get the distinct impression there may very well be a half-elven Brightsong out there somewhere, the way she describes the relationship.

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #Alurius Brightsong #Randrice Frostcowl

[thetheshadowofwestfall-blog]

People are Strange

Stormwind City. With the appearance of Argus in the skies and the shadow of doom falling over Azeroth the bastion of the Alliance was seeing better days. Panic in the streets. Hushed feelings of fear and dread. Whispers of what was to come. It would take a truly blind man to not notice the signs.

Donny Stranger didn’t get it. The city was crazed, and he couldn’t really figure it out for himself. Sure there was a new planet in the sky; didn’t they get the memo? The draenei were handling it with help, ancient allies were showing up left and right, and even the world they lived on was coming to life to help.

So why the big deal?

Standing about five-feet six-inches tall with dark brown hair and wide-side, expressive brown eyes, Donnalac Stranger wasn’t what anyone in the Alliance would call attractive. He had poor posture, tended to fidget in place, and wore what amounted to a mix of “whatever was on the floor this morning” and “hey this doesn’t smell bad today.” Simple boots, simple belt. Nothing spoke of any refinement or class. No meaningful social standing. And certainly no higher education.

Almost all of it was true. Everything but the last part.

Donny Stranger, the resident misanthrope of The Call of Azeroth. Voted least-likely to succeed on the field in his graduating class in Dalaran. Barely able to defend himself in a fight, unable to conjure anything but the most basic of magics, and physically incapable of speaking to the opposite gender without a stutter. Here he was, combing Stormwind with what magic he could muster to find where his best friend had vanished off to.

Last he spoke with Pratchett, the writer had decided to take some time to figure out what he was supposed to do with himself. He claimed to be settling some issues in Stormwind before he went missing, completely falling off the face of the planet around the same time Argus had shown up in the skies. Short of an appearance with the elves he worked with and a custom order at the Grill-Bosses cart for nonperishable travel food, he had gone completely.

Donny made his first stop at Pratchett’s apartment, only to find it occupied. The young couple were friendly enough as Donny stumbled his way through an introduction, only to have little to offer up in evidence of the former tenant. They had recently rented the apartment after it was vacated, and noted that the floor around the bed had been replaced alongside the bed itself.

It didn’t help Donny in the least.

Next was Pratchett’s trail; the young man ascribed to the same magical fundamentals as the rest of their group, and so too did Donny. Following the magical trail, faint as it was, lead him throughout Stormwind City. Pratchett must have gone to every place he worked out of or with on his way to vanishing off the face of Azeroth:

The printer he used had closed his account with the young man, and was instructed to forward earnings for his publications to the orphanage. The orphanage only knew they were getting donations anonymously. Pratchett’s old room in the Golden Keg was rented out to a friend of theirs with no sight of the writer. The library noted that Pratchett had returned a number of outstanding withdrawals and returned his card with them. He closed his tab in the Pig and Whistle, Golden Keg, Blue Recluse, Slaughtered Lamb, Travis and Sons, The Prancing Paladin, and a few other nameless haunts. As well as one Donny was sure Will had never actually gone to before.

It was a dingy little hole of a tavern. More a bar proper, without any booths or food. Just a number of glass bottles on a wall and a serving counter with beaten stools and standing tables. The resident patrons were all dirty and drunk, old men past their prime. It smelled like stale beer and sweat, the kind of smell that came from laborers more than adventurers. Dock workers had a brine to them; these people were just the smell of people left out in the sun too long.

Donny didn’t waste time inside. Not once he saw the lingering energies and the taint coming from inside. Whatever happened inside had left Pratchett in a mood; his trail lead from the little bar straight out from Stormwind via the stables and off into the skies.

It took Donny a bit to get out of the city. Everyone was going somewhere with Argus in the sky and doomsayers on the streets. Everyone seemed to be able to get there quicker than Donny; this wasn’t something new though.

He paid for a flight out, only to find out the gryphon masters were on strike. He went to find a caravan, only to learn they were booked for weeks. The Deeprun Tram was experiencing technical difficulties. Ships leading out of the harbor were all fully requisitioned by the Legionfall for supplies and courier work.

Donny gave up after being rebuked at the docks. Frustrated with the state of things, annoyed at Argus having everyone’s attention, and generally worried for his friend, he took the most extreme step. A portal was opened right then and there, in the middle of the dock, leading to where he guessed he would find Pratchett. Donny Stranger hurried through it, cursing under his breath as he struggled to find something to do with his hands in frustration. The portal snapped shut as soon as he ventured through, cheap boots coming down on the loamy soil of the graveyard far, far to the north.

For once, his aim was good. It was somewhere he visited before, somewhere he remembered keenly for the setting and the importance to Pratchett. Donny paused to look around for a long few moments and take in the surroundings, making sure he ended up in the right place before acting on anything.

He looked down and saw the boot-prints in the soil near his own. Familiar boot-prints, before a familiar headstone.

Alurius Brightsong Lost to the Fallen Prince, Raised by the Fallen King The Light in His Heart Never Dimmed May it Burn in Ours Forever

#Willaude Pratchett #The Shadow of Westfall #dawnwatchwra