#Whitstan

[k-sunrael]

Anomaly [Pt.2]

[ Pt.1]

Hadriel began to reply, “As I said, I’m simply here for my si-”

Several shadow ravens darted through him like compressed bullets. “We don’t have time for this, time is breaking and you want to save your boyfriend…” A sinister purple glow came from Areus’ eyes as his knuckles cracked from the pressure of his spell. He continued, “The name was Sungrave. Their Patriarch sent the note about Exis, who seems to be his niece and…” gestured his head toward Hadriel, “--this one’s brother. Meaning we can’t trust them. If they waited to contact you after they had exhausted every possible method, I’m sure those trial-and-error efforts included trying to kill Whitstan. As hypocritical as my observation sounds after I tried to kill Whitstan…” he snapped his fist back toward his own body, the supernatural ravens that had been formed out of Shadow and a mixture of his pure willpower darted back through Hadriel’s torso. “I’m not fond of liars.” he rasped hatefully, blood splattering every which way about them. The earth seemed to give way and shake after his short outburst. The splintered glass-like image before them suddenly cracked even further as Whitstan’s blade shifted forward toward the Paladin at an increasing rate after Kaevia and Areus had shown up. It seemed like Whitstan was indeed tethered to this chronobreak but stubbornly refused to give up, his hand still carrying forward through pure effort and the unrelenting will of his runeblade despite being trapped in time. Hadriel, unaffected by the time bubble behind him, fell to his hands and knees for a moment before dust and smoke gathered about him, cloaking him from sight for the briefest of moments prior to disappearing. Areus drew an unseen item from his satchel before throwing it into a segment of broken time adjacent to them. The pocketwatch hung in the air after reaching the temporal anomaly. He snapped his fingers, uttering an indecipherable incantation and activation key in Thalassian, “Timewarp.”

Kaevia barely had enough time to truly digest what had been happening between her and the other -- typical power move and one of the least with patience from her Uncle. He truly shared her father’s blood and at times, her own. Stepping to the side through the smoke, she watched as Areus lobbed the item towards the anomaly. 

Shards of time that were separated seemed to snap back together violently as Whitstan’s sword shattered Exis’ chest causing her to screech out in agony. Without any expectation of what the item would have done, Kaevia jumped as the shards snapped together. So much so she had clutched to her Uncle’s arm and the familiar voice came, the display before them swiftly becoming something Kaevia could not stop herself from being a terrible outcome.

The Death Knight’s eyes glowed a sapphire hue as he regarded Exis hatefully, “Nice try, girl.” he commented dryly. “I can’t be held here. There’s too much at stake. Take solace in this… your little last-ditch effort would’ve failed either way.” he spoke while twisting his runeblade- it seemed to drink up the mountain of blood that the Paladin leaked out. “Sooner or later the blade would’ve ran you through anyway.” his voice echoed while painting a rather grim picture in front of his two would-be saviors. 

The scene itself a terrible display which would have bore fruit which was only a matter of time before something happened and one of the two within lost.

Regardless, Whitstan lifted the small woman up with his sword still stuck in her chest, his abnormal undead strength showing through clearly in a sinister light, “I can’t stay stuck in time anymore. I’ve now watched two grim futures I would stagnate in…” he shook his head as his voice echoed, “You were never going to be the end of my story.” the girl clutched to the sword in the center of her chest, holding on dearly as if grasping onto her own life. Her eyes glowed with malice until the very end, growing dull, “Fuck you, Death Knight.” she hatefully forced out of her mouth as spit, blood, and malice rained down from her trembling lips. Her body gave out and went limp all the while Kaevia’s mouth hung agape at the scene that had just played out. Were they too late?

“Whitstan?” Kaevia sharply called out to him.

Was it even safe to try and go closer, was the area around what was once the field along the anomaly, safe? She had more questions than answers and it was evident in her tone. Whitstan’s eyes softened a bit, broken from his stoic gaze. “Kaevia…?” A tinge of regret flashed in his visage: Always. Always he wanted to keep the worst part of his personality out of sight from her. Sure, she knew he was capable of horrible things- it doesn’t mean he should subject her to it all. In the moment he was consumed by hate for his opponent. He swung his sword with the Exis attached toward Areus, an unnerving plopping sound released her from the runeblade as her lifeless body flew toward the Shadow Priest. “... Keep her alive, if you want.” Whitstan commented coldly.

Areus spread his arms out to catch the body but immediately regretted his decision resulting in preemptively sidestepping as Exis landed harshly along the ground, rolling several times on the dead grass before coming to an abrupt stop along a tree stump. Disturbed earth flew into the air sending dirt every which way on the path she carved with her landing, plate, bone, and flesh scraping against the ground along-the-while. Areus could swear he heard bones breaking at the motion as he cringed beneath his mask. He chuckled nervously as he scratched the back of his head, “Thought I could catch her because she was a bit on the small side, but… she’s wearing a lot of heavy stuff on that battle-plate-dress of hers.” He looked to Kaevia and shrugged. “Problem solved, little dove. I think. For now.” the man lit his pipe yet again. “Could’ve turned out a lot worse. Hey, we’re not all stuck in time, at least.”

The Priestess was quite shocked for a moment at the display but there was still that sense of responsibility even if...it wasn’t hers. Not her business -- but yet…

Heavy robes furled over the grass and Kaevia walked towards where Exis had remained, with a graceful couch and two careful fingers towards the woman’s neck she waited a beat, then two and three. For as still and terribly heavy as she seemed, Kaevia could have taken her for dead but it was her job as a Priestess who believed wholly in the Light to save who she could. Rolling the woman’s shoulder over she planted her hands towards the woman’s chest and bosom, nestling her palms into her rib cage and wound the best she could thanks to the mangled armor. The Light had come to Kaevia as it had done before in the past and with closed eyes, she prayed in chants, whispered words that filled the stale air around them.

Kaevia could never walk away to let someone die, no matter what their reasoning had been for drawing swords. A terrible burden but one she had welcomed when she took up the Holy Light. Being a Priest of both she could harbor both energies of Light and Shadow, being on the precipice of both without truly falling to the madness of either; a terrible price she often faced for dabbling in both.

Golden eyes opened and she stared across to Areus while the Light began to slowly fade, “We’ll take her back to the estate with us. See what I can do further. I know a woman quite versed with herbal remedies to heal just about any problem. We’ll get answers if we can save her and when she is well enough.” Kaevia stood and looked around the area. That man who had been scared off by her Uncle didn’t seem to be found anywhere though for good reason as she was sure he was off tending to wounds.

Exis’s vital dripped from her fingers and in a half turn, Kaevia regarded Whitstan once more, her tone not as surprised or gentle as before, “What happened?”

A pang of regret filled him as he felt like what could be blood rush to his face. It couldn’t have been though, he was dead. “She…” he held his head in one hand, sticking his runeblade into the earth with the other, trying to balance himself as he fell to a knee. Hundreds of thoughts flashed into his mind while he contemplated the situation he was in now. Only one thought led to the forefront much stronger than all the others: Kaevia. How long was he displaced and away from her? How did she find him? Was it merely coincidence or…? She had typically acted according to her nature, here and now healing a potential enemy- same as him, acting within his nature to nullify any threats before him. Yet still, both were like night and day. He found himself drawn to Kaevia due to their similarities but also because of their stark differences. He opened his mouth no less than three times to utter words to explain the situation but found himself unable to do so every time.

Areus commented dryly, “He’s suffering from a form of temporal dysplasia, they both are.” He seemed to synchronize his shadow-mending with his niece’s powers as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Luckily she could weave both Light and Shadow proficiently. He let out a sharp whistle, summoning the horses that had ran away. “Time is catching up to them both now. I’m not sure if you recall the groggy effect experienced by one suffering from a brief time-warp... but imagine that, except compounded by however long they’ve been in there.”

“And faced with the situation of one is dying and the one already passed.” Kaevia swiftly added. 

“I’ll load her up after you’re done, see if he can gather his wits about him and travel.” Areus continued. “I don’t know if I can make heads or tails of this situation but one thing is clear: we have to remain on our toes.” the man offered unsolicited advice as he often did before taking a long drag from his ornate pipe.

Kaevia looked away from Whitstan and her hand hovered out over Exis to where here hand continued a small glow until she could do no more, “Then we move and we hope that something comes of this. If more blows are to come then fate will have its way and I’ll keep from intervening.” with a nod of her chin towards Areus she bent to tuck her fingers along the woman’s chest plate, unlatching it to discard it completely along the ground and whatever came with the heavy belt she adorned as well, leaving Exis clothed but just barely. The Horse, of course, would have ridden much faster without the additional weight.

The Shadowpriest had hoped that his niece would try to talk sense into the discombobulated Knight of Acherus, but since that wasn’t an option at the moment he moved swiftly and gave a skip in his step to gain momentum. If Kaevia wouldn’t slap back reality into the disillusioned Death Knight, then he would. A loud smack echoed in the forest. Areus would grasp at his hand delicately for a moment before laying eyes on his target. “Hey. Back to reality? We really need to move... Unless you want Kaevia to leave you behind.” Whitstan appeared imbalanced but seemed to gather what semblance of sense he had left. He shook his head and looked to Areus, then back toward Kaevia before lifting his runeblade from the ground and securing it on his back. “Fine…” the man replied hatefully to the Shadowpriest. An arm shot out from the Death Knight while green sparks of lightning struck on the ground about him. He reconstituted bones laid to rest within the Black Forest to form a skeletal warhorse. “I… I’m fine. I’ll be right behind you....” he responded, looking to Areus and then back to the Priestess. Areus loaded the injured Paladin onto his horse before mounting it. “Well then…” he took another puff from his pipe. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

The return trip seemed abnormally silent. It took the concentration of both priests to keep the woman from death, and in their tow was the Death Knight responsible for her condition.

Silvia had seen to Exis’s rest within a room back at the Sun’rael estate. The trip hadn’t been easy but at least they had managed to secure a place for her and whether she lived or died, there was no point to leaving a woman to die in the Blackened Woods. Kaevia certainly had enough with trying to ensure no deaths happened there that she hadn’t a moment to slap the Death Knight herself, circumstances, after all, there were other pressing matters.

With a sigh, the door to the room closed as she left the visitor with Silvia. Determined footfalls found the floor and stairs when Kaevia returned sometime later to regard both Areus and Whitstan once more. Timerift discombobulation? She had never heard of it but hadn’t doubted it for there were crazier things in Azeroth to behold, “Imagine my surprise to find you gone for months only to receive a letter later detailing your whereabouts -- in this position no less.” Kaevia motioned towards Whitstan, tone anything but pleased but it certainly didn’t seem hateful, “Do you remember anything that happened?”

He shook his head a bit, “I was coming back from… something. Feels just like yesterday but so distant. I had something… important to do. I was on my way back here when I encountered that Paladin. She seemed keen on killing me. Felt personal. I don’t remember what she said but… I also don’t think I’ve ever met her before.” he seemed to be nursing a headache. “Months… that’s hard to believe…”

Areus slowly took a sip from his bourbon as he awkwardly watched the two in silence, limiting his motions as to not distract from the scene unfolding before him. There was no way he could tell which way this conversation would go, which entertained him further.

A low sigh escaped the Priestess and a hand lifted, fingers rubbing at her temple as she seemed to collect a moment of thought, “Turns out one of her family members contacted me - albeit later than they should have but they did so all the same. No doubt because they couldn’t figure out anything themselves and turned to us as a last resort. I’m sure had they found a way, It would be you in Exis’s place though in a different form, no doubt.” slowly her hand dropped and Kaevia took that moment to fully regard Whitstan.

“Are you alright? Is there anything we can see to getting for you? I would offer rest but I know it isn’t a necessity for you.”

He brought his hand up, as if trying to buy himself some time sifting through his thoughts. “I…” his voice was softer but his supernatural echo carried the words, “... maybe a drink. And… just… stay here with me for a little bit.”

That was all Kaevia needed and she hiked a brow in Areus’s direction with some measure of silence to her. If it was company Whitstan needed then she could at least oblige but hanging company wasn’t a necessity -- not now anyways. The small stand she kept near the window was always stocked, ripe with a variety of bourbons, whiskey and scotch which was more for the pleasure of visitors than herself though Kaevia did partake once in a while with a dash of bourbon in a glass.

Areus took the subtle cue from his niece as he bowed, he slowly backed away raising his mask and covering his face, a grin still visible beneath his features. He slinked away into the shadows as he often did, and in turn, they embraced him. “Good night… little dove…” he offered in a faint voice before absconding into the darkness.

Quietly she moved to the station and pulled a glass from the stack to fill it with amber liquid. A warmth that Whitstan wouldn’t have felt anyways regardless of how much he wished it. She often wondered how it tasted for him if at all anything. Perhaps it was just the action of it being a comfort more than the taste and feeling itself. Turning on heel, she held the drink out towards the Death Knight, “I hope that girl upstairs isn’t going to die for nothing.” she added. She had to. Something deep down inside of her bubbled forth with truths. Whitstan had killed many but a large part of her hoping this incident wouldn’t be over something trivial.

His hand shook as he took the glass. He couldn’t understand why his body was reacting this way. An undead shell simply moved forward through sheer willpower hesitated before he took the drink to his lips. “I… -you’re right… I hope she doesn’t die either.” he relented. He hung his head a bit, seemingly off from his normal disposition. He was always sure of himself, but lately it had seemed life had thrown more than a few things his way for him to contemplate and reevaluate. “Kaevia… I…” he reached to grasp at her hand with his own, his cold skin and touch slithering about her soft hand.

Hope she didn’t die either? In truth, Exis was in this position because Whitstan had put her there to begin with. Kaevia’s brow furrowed but she did not recoil from the touch Whitstan had offered her.

“I’m not sure if what I did was the right thing… I’m lost… at that fact. I don’t know if anything I’m doing is right… I just know that... “ he grasped at her hand tightly, “That -this- is right. That being around you makes me a better man-... that if I didn’t have you in my life I would unravel into something more dangerous. I… I wouldn’t let her have her way, she would have taken me from you.” his eyes focused and the swirl of blue in his eyes intensified as he looked to her, “I… can’t have that.” he answered solemnly. “Even if I had to kill her, I would’ve gladly done so again if the alternative was having to abandon you.” A tremble seemed to accent his grasp. “You… shape me into something more than just… some undead Knight. I-it gives me purpose. I won’t abandon that because of some stranger.”

“Family defends family, I understand the reasoning as I just might have done the same thing. Actually prepared to do so if necessary given the situation in the woods but I wanted to seek answers first. It seems as if though my Uncle however, had no intention on any of it. Perhaps I am far softer than I originally thought.”

To be continued... @whitstanwilhelm & @areussunrael for collab/mentions

#Collab writing #Whitstan #Areus #House Sun'rael #House Sungrave #Kaevia

[areussunrael]

The Vault

“Heard you died. Kaevia is worried about you.” he said stoically. It seemed a matter of practice in expressing the statement in consideration of his lover but he personally wasn’t concerned with trying to express care for the Shadow Priest’s welfare. An eerie calm as the morning mist cleared about them as they stood in the largest graveyard in Tirisfal Glades. Or rather, what was left of it. Even with the mist parting it was still dim as the sun couldn’t penetrate the overcast clouds hanging over the ruins of Brill. A green tinge could be seen reflecting off the receding the mist.

The Priest held his newly mended hand in front of him. “I’ll go see the little dove sooner or later. Right now I need to find something. I’m surprised to find you here.”

“My sister is buried here.” he lamented dryly looking down to a broken headstone and scorched earth.

“Oh. That’s right. I forgot.” Areus responded casually.

“I’m surprised you would’ve known in the first place.” Whit responded.

“Well. When you weren’t busy courting my niece, we were enemies once.”

“Know thy enemy.” the Death Knight quoted the vague statement. “Well, that explains what I’m doing here. What are you doing here?”

The Priest took a deep breath and answered, “Visiting the old Guild Hall. Well. What was beneath it at least. Only a select few knew what was buried underneath. There’s a shortcut somewhere here and I feel like I’m going to have a hard time finding it in this rubble. If only I moved sooner. I was too busy worried about mending my arm that I wasted precious time.”

“You don’t have much time left.” Whitstan commented. “Whatever is keeping your body moving is going to wear off. You’re not quite alive and you’re not quite dead yet. I’m guessing there’s a nice long story behind that.”

“You noticed huh?...” an awkward pause followed, “I heard you killed my brother.”

“I-”

“Thank you for putting him to rest. It was my failure. His death. Ashelin’s death. They’re both on my shoulders. Thank you for saving our little dove.”

Areus seemed out of sorts. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so somber and serious. To be grateful and courteous to the Death Knight. Whatever the man had been through the last few months had left a number of scars on what was left of his heart.

The Priest shot his hands out as blackness and shadow energies encompassed his extended arms. Most of the graveyard remained intact, however there were parts where Alliance siege weapons, artillery, and shrapnel had destroyed. Collateral damage.

Unlucky for them, it was where both their destinations were. The earth beneath them rumbled as a void tendrils erupted from the ground to move collapsed stone monuments and slabs from what was once a standing mausoleum. The rubble was shifted with a series of thunderous crashes. Whitstan could see the physical exertion the magic brought upon the Priest. Sweat beaded down Areus’ visage as his hands began to shake. A single slab remained of what was left of the Mausoleum blocking the path to what appeared to be a set of stone stairs.

The void tendrils wrapped around it but tugged to no avail as they slowly lost their strength and dissipated. Areus gripped his chest as he tried to catch his breath- the shadow receding from his forearms until they disappeared completely.

“Looks like you’re still not in tip-top shape.” Whitstan decided to do him a favor, dark tendrils of energy sprouting from his own hand this time, gripping the stone from its resting place to send it flying across what was left of the Alliance camps and supplies sending wood, grain and dirt exploding in every which direction.

“Thanks.” he replied, rubbing at his left wrist. He moved forward to stop at the top of the stairs leading down below. His eyes narrowed, “Looks like the seal is still intact.”

The Death Knight was beside him again before he could turn to notice. He observed an old metal door rounded at the top and slit down the middle. Various emblems and symbols had been integrated in the construction of the entry. “What did you say was down there again?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, seems like the door is sealed. I don’t see a keyhole. Magic?”

“Only one person had access to this area. My brother, Alucieus.”

“Well then, that’s a problem isn’t it?” Whitstan replied.

“Not necessarily.” Areus reached behind him to pull out a tome. He levitated the object in front of him. “This belonged to my late brother. His personal libram. I took me some time to find it… luckily for us it wasn’t tucked away into the vault itself.” The book turned in place and opened, the pages flipping through before stopping at the mid-way point laying bare for them to see, “Holy spells known only to him of his own device. I’m sure you got to see one or two of those during your fights with him...”

Areus shot his injured arm forward and plunged his fingers into the open libram. His hand seemed to move into the tome as a bright yellow light swallowed it. The holy magic shifted to a shimmering gold hue while it spread across the book. The color had consumed the book and collapsed it into Areus’ grasp. Whitstan turned his head, wincing from the sharp ringing of the magic and the sheer magnitude of holy power emanating from whatever was occuring.

Whitstan slowly lowered the arm he had raised to instinctively shield himself. Though he sustained no injuries it had felt as if a torrent of flames had marred him.  Runic magic flowed harshly through his blood subconsciously while frost magics worked their way through his system to combat the overwhelming sensation he had only felt once before. He shook his head and blinked his eyes to fight off the slight disorientation that blurred his vision only to witness Areus holding his hand up to the sky. A curious sight. The wrist that seemed mangled on the Shadow Priest was now mended.

A smirk came to Areus’ lips a moment before he readjusted his mask over his face. The Death Knight’s eyes shifted at the magic forming above them both. A colossal spear conjured from pure light came into existence. Before he could even blink and in a flash, the spear found itself embedded in the sealed entrance. Slowly the object was absorbed as the magic flooded into different runes and mechanisms placed on the ominous doorway. Grinding of metal could be heard as different locks unsecured one after the other, several metallic clicks and clacks echoed thunderously.

The blinding light receded as Whitstan regained his senses and settled his gaze on the silhouette of Areus who was descending the staircase. “Wait-...” his voice echoed out while he moved swiftly to catch up to him.

Areus’ hand rested on the door as it slowly and loudly creaked open.

“That was something I’ve only seen your brother conjure… how did you manage?” Whitstan asked, matter-of-factly.

“I absorbed the tome’s knowledge. Trust me, it isn’t because I’m some prodigy with the Light.” he replied casually as he held the door open, gesturing for Whitstan to pass through. “I’ve disabled the traps, don’t worry.”

“Well… if you didn’t,  it wouldn’t be the first time you tried to kill me.” he replied in a stoic manner as he waded through the palpable magic residue.

“My brother’s libram was undoubtedly pre-prepared for Covaya or more likely Kaevia to have one day…” he commented as he walked beside Whitstan, “It’s a favor I now owe to them both, so before I pass I’ll have to strive to leave Kaevia a keepsake worthy of the one I used. Perhaps I can pass down a semblance of what Alucieus left for his daughter and then some. Maybe the little dove will find some use in my conjuration of shadow ravens.”

They wandered down as small series of corridors as they conversed.

“Just leave the taint of the void you carry with you out of it.” Whitstan spoke plainly as his eyes settled viciously on Areus for a moment. “I’m sure she’d be grateful.”

A brow perked as he observed the Death Knight. “Out of what?”

“You said you’d pass something down. I imagine it’d be akin to that libram her father left. She doesn’t need more instability in her life than what I bring to the table.”

“...How’d you notice?”

“Don’t tell me you actually thought you were the only one who has madness whispering into his ear? Scratching at the very last vestige of sanity you hold on to? You’d be mistaken if you were that naive. It’s in the eyes. Even among Death Knights, Demon Hunters and others plagued by the void, there are some worse off than others. I can recognize my own kind. You may not be a Death Knight, but you are as far away from being whole as we are. Incomplete. Broken. Your incessant smoking of dangerous alchemical reagents. The painkillers and potions you pour into your flask of bourbon to numb the pain and voices. We both have an affliction, but it seems you medicate yours differently than my own.”

The Priest’s footsteps came to a halt as he waved his hand dismissively. “That was very insightful. All that good stuff. We’re here.”

One more door and he was at his destination. The hairs along their neck gave rise as they felt a sinister aura in the room. “And where… exactly… is here?”

Areus muttered a response as he stopped at a table before him in the center of the room, “The innermost vault of what was once known as the Keepers of Shadow. For years we sought to keep evil at bay. Unwanted children of society banding together to ensure Azeroth’s survival. Until recently very few Keepers remained in existence. Now, with the death of my brother and my wife, even less remain. Covaya, myself, and Syrahn are all that is left of our legacy. It seems the fates of our houses are tied in blood. Maybe this was all preordained...”

Areus spoke grimly as his hand reached out consumed by shadow, dark tendrils materializing into existence with malevolent magic. Countless books hung along the walls, chained in place adjacent to each other. Several pedestals held artifacts afloat and bound in place with holy magic.

Tomes and artifacts were torn from their supernatural bindings and casings as the tendrils gripped them all in before Areus. “...But I’d like to believe our fate is our own.” he continued before plunging his hand into the books before him.

Unlike last time with Alucieus’ libram, these books gave off a forbidding and malignant aura. His hands were consumed by what at first appeared to be shadow magic.

“Areus… what… are you doing?” Whitstan approached cautiously as he began to speak and question the Priest’s intentions.

“Looking. And learning.” he replied frankly as his eyes took on a sinister shade of black. “There we go.” he continued as all the books and artifacts were absorbed and dissipated into nothingness. All except one. He reached for the ancient tome.

“This. This is it.”

“What?...” he regarded Areus with caution and reached for his blade.

“The Myurkodn. An ancient grimoire that predates the black empire…” he quoted instinctively.

In the flash of an eye, the tendrils and darkness that seemed to gather around Areus disappeared. “I told you... not to worry.” the Priest assured him.

“You’ll have to excuse my distrust of you. Last time I checked, you and your brother sought my true death.”

“I was kept alive for a reason. Something dark beyond my imagining wanted me to escape the clutches of death. Something even more sinister than your ‘Lich King’. This is the key to finding it.”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave old wounds to heal. You start scratching at the surface and you never know what you’ll find…” Whitstan offered, thinking how hypocritical the words were as they left his mouth.

“I’m going to follow this thread no matter what it ends up unraveling, Whitstan. Do be a good fellow and keep to this facade you’re managing. Stand by my niece and ensure no harm comes to her. In the meantime… this vault still holds too many malicious artifacts and dark codices to let loose into the world. I’ll send word to her before I leave to follow this trail of crumbs. In case it doesn’t reach her, let her know this: Azeroth’s cry has been sounded. The call has been made. The planet bleeds and only the dark secrets we’ve collected in this tomb has the answers. They are hers to collect and relocate. She must be the Keeper of Shadows now. Help her find allies that would serve well in the interest of preserving the lifeblood of Azeroth at all costs. And trust no one.”

[lordrethandus]

Renewed Shall be the Blade that was Broken

The Bladewhisper Estate felt more like an armory or a smithy than the furnished house Whitstan was expecting.

There were weapons lining the naked stone walls that came from every corner and culture Azeroth had to offer, and then some. The Death Knight could barely hear the familiar clang of hammers striking metal coming up through the floor, and the low rumbling could only belong to a roaring furnace. Whitstan only saw one or two elves walking alone in the halls despite this being such a large complex, but it wasn’t until Lord Zaetan led him further down did he witness the full might of his house.

Raw Azerite sat in carts along the walls of the basement, with a furnace shaped like the head of an angry dragonhawk spewing out cinders and black smoke. The elves down here were covered in ash and soot, yelling at each other through their thick leather and steel masks while they hammered away at weapons hot off the rack. Lord Zaetan said nothing when he led them through, and the workers paid either of them very little attention, if at all. In the back of the basement sat a gilded door painted with House Bladewhisper’s sigil. It was still too loud to hear Lord Zaetan speak, but he turned to look at Whitstan and gestured him closer before pushing the door open.

Ellyria rested on an obsidian slab in the middle of an empty room, polished and cleaned to look brand new; except the crimson crystal that once sat in the hilt was missing. “It was a real challenge reforging your blade. We couldn’t recreate your runes without the Ebon Hold’s runeforge, but...” Lord Zaetan started on their approach. “I think we did a good enough job without it. Pick her up and tell me how she handles.”

Dark energies flickered and sparked as his hand hovered over the blade. Black lightning shot against every surface that could conduct electricity while his fingers gripped the handle of the newly forged greatsword. “No… you didn’t…” Whitstan commented dryly as letters began appearing across the blade’s length in some unknown language. The words etched into the runeblade seemed to glow a golden hue for a brief second before settling into shades of black.

“Your reforging was lackluster at best. The soul of the blade is missing. Ellyria, is missing. If…” he said, while angling and gauging the curvature of the blade, “If she isn’t present, I can sense it. She is the driving force behind the weapon. Her soul is what cleaves and drains those who stand against me; the Alliance who stand against us. Without her, this is simply a clump of metal.”

Lord Zaetan rubbed at the back of his neck and gave Whitstan a light shrug. “Well we had to make some minor adjustments. Handling a vampiric soul as dangerous and powerful as your San’layn isn’t something we were equipped for. House Greyshade has Ellyria, and they agreed to help fix her crystal prison in exchange for studying her. Without them she would likely be freed and lost forever.” He turned his attention back to the blade in Whitstan’s grasp. “This ‘clump of metal’ has been improved to better suit your needs. The edge has been capped with Azerite, the hilt reinforced with folded titansteel. I also revamped the handguard to make it more suitable for elven hands… free of charge. I also made it lighter and better balanced, without sacrificing its strength.”

Whitstan sneered at his explanation as he loosened his grip on the weapon’s handle, gently lowering it to rest on the table before him. “It’s all irrelevant. The weapon is stronger… yes, I can easily warp it with my runes and enhance it as it is… however, my runeblade was defined by one single attribute that none other had: Ellyria. And you say this other house is in possession of her? Praytell, which direction is house Greyshade?” he asked as unholy energy sparked along the walls from his very being. “I didn’t want to cause a scene in the Amber Glade but it seems like you leave me little choice, Zaetan.”

A light chuckle came from his surprisingly punchable face. “Spare me your threats, Whitstan. I’ve already called them over before I smuggled you into the Glade. They should arrive in a few minutes, at the most.” He turned his back to the Death Knight and glanced up at the sigil covering the wall. “Also… it’s Lord Zaetan.”

“Oh? I didn’t think we were on such formal terms, my lord.” he responded, “Regardless,” Whitstan spoke as his fingers released the blade, “You’ve limited yourself, your highness. A few minutes is all you have left now. Tick tock.” he commented while his sapphire eyes settled onto the warrior’s gaze menacingly.

Lord Zaetan turned back around and crossed his arms, eyeing the Death Knight up and down before slyly saying, “I’d love to shake some dust off fighting you. Maybe teach you some gratitude and respect for reaching into my own pocket and unfucking your shattered pride and joy… but that blade is freshly forged, and cost me a small fortune. Either way that duel went, I’d still come out last-” He stopped at the sound of the door opening again, initially thinking one of the workers was coming in here to ogle at the blade again. “Ahh, perfect timing, Saleron. Come put that bitch back in his blade before I make another mess in this chamber.”

The young elf had the body of a fourteen year old boy, but his face looked ancient. A feeble kid to be sure, with a dusty mop of mottled grey hair and ghostly pale skin. In his grasp was a strange metal apparatus with a crimson glow and a hungering presence Whitstan was certainly familiar with.

The Death Knight swiftly gripped the hilt again, dragging the blade as it sounded a horrific metallic shriek.

Saleron gave Whitstan one weary look before he almost turned to leave. “I uh…” he muttered under his breath. “You didn’t tell me he would pick the weapon up…”

“It’s alright, boy. He’s a friend.” Zaetan shot Whitstan a glance for confirmation. “Come over here and give us the red woman before he changes his mind.” Reluctantly Saleron began shuffling forward, with his dull eyes fixed to the curved sickle blade in the Death Knight’s grasp.

Swirling blue eyes settled against Zaetan’s visage, glowing dimly yet lighting up their darkened surroundings. “So then… I’m sure looking the gift-horse in the mouth is frowned upon but I have to wonder. Knowing what she is, why would you fix my rune-blade? Or more specifically, why would your family reforge it… even at the risk of the soul attached to it breaking free?”

“I do what my Lady commands. She came to me asking for my help, because she knew how much this blade and spirit means to you. Of course I accepted.” Lord Zaetan reached out and firmly grabbed Saleron by the shoulder to prevent him from scurrying off. “Favor with her is more valuable than gold. Staying on her good side not only helps me, but my family too. You remember what that felt like, right?” He glanced over his shoulder and smirked at Whitstan. “Protecting family?” Saleron kept looking between Zaetan and Whitstan, unsure if this was friendly banter or not. The Lord reached down and gently plucked the metal cage out of the boy’s hands before patting him on the head. “Fine work, Greyshade. You can return to your father now, alright? Go on… git.”

“T-thank you sir.” He didn’t waste any time hurrying out as quickly as his feeble legs would carry him. Lord Zaetan turned to face Whitstan once more, pulling the metal cage open with his hands to reveal it was shaped like a skeletal hand; inside the palm sat the crystal.

“He’s a good lad, that Saleron. He was the one who figured out how to transfer your San’layn Princess to a safe place without risk of killing or releasing her. Oh and uh… careful not to drop it. This Ellyria woman doesn’t quite fancy my jokes, so if she escapes I’d likely be number one on her shit list.” He gestured for Whitstan to approach.

“Don’t blame me if she holds a grudge against the impression you left her.” he muttered, reaching to grasp the crystal as he pried it casually from the skeletal decor. “If she doesn’t like you, she’ll come for you in the end.” Whitstan commented before he dropped the gem onto the sword’s hilt. A bright red glow flashed blindingly for a moment before shifting hues merged into the base of the weapon. As the gem took on a fluid form and absorbed into the curved runeblade it now bore a cold blue glow. “Ellyria…?” Whitstan whispered, calling out to the blade hopefully.

The crying of countless souls now bound to his blade could be heard in a violent cacophony. The blade answered in a raspy and hateful voice, “You left me…  you left me here in a shattered blade and these heathens bound me to a fucking stone. Thank you for that.” Ellyria retorted angrily.

Whitstan’s grip along the hilt triggered a bright blue glow along a series of runes on the blade, creating a flash-freeze effect on everything around him. Even the Death Knight felt the severe shift in temperature and coldness that permeated from the blade. A hint of sadness wore at his voice as he spoke, the thought of Zaetan’s verbal prod about family wearing on his mind “... Sorry… I never meant to leave you alone…” he commented while his supernatural voice echoed lightly.

Lord Zaetan cleared his throat before saying, “I held my end of the bargain, and your blade is reforged and better than ever. I’d love to stick around and trade threats with you Whitstan, but I have a wedding I need to attend to.”

Whitstan swung the sickled blade around his figure, his stern countenance remaining stoic as he locked the blade in place behind him. “You’ve fulfilled your end. I agree. For both our sakes I feel I should leave the Amber Glade now, under the guise of the night.”

“You wouldn’t make it ten paces beyond my estate before the constructs discovered your presence, especially with that magic-magnet strapped to your back. The Glade’s under martial law, remember?” Lord Zaetan pointed toward the door. “Go back up the way you came, but instead of going out the main door, take the first left. It’ll lead to my courtyard… the suppressor runes should be weak enough there for you to summon a Death Gate… assuming you’re strong enough.” He paused, as if to silently question if he should comment further. “Try not to kill anyone on your way out.”

“I’ll remember this Bladewhisper. Whether or not she was grateful for your efforts, know that I am. Among those in the Amber Glade there are few that I call friends. Syrahn is one of them. I’ll be on my way, as you suggest. Though watch your backs,” he spoke, referring to both Zaetan and Syrahn,  “Seems like plenty of people are aiming for it within the Glade. Don’t fail her, I owe your ‘Glade Queen’ too and it’d inconvenience me if you ended up being insufficient as a guard.”

Lord Zaetan gave him an uncomfortable smile before extending a hand. “Captain of the Guard, actually. And, you’re welcome…?” He paused, not knowing if he was being complimented or not. “I doubt this is the last I’ve seen of you, so I wish you good fortune in the battles ahead. Maybe next time we meet you can tell me the colorful story of how such a bloodthirsty man like yourself managed to befriend one of the most powerful - and forgiving - women in Quel’Thalas.”

An awkward cold shake was held between the two men’s grasps. “Next time.” he replied dryly.

Collab Commandos: @ijirothehero @whitstanwilhelm

[whitstanwilhelm]

One more letter

“Dearest Kaevia,

I often find myself wondering if this is an undeserved dream which might end at any give moment... after the dream plays through a long while I remember that I don’t exactly sleep anymore. Having you in my life, being around to see your children grow, even being able to live with my daughter, to see her again, it all seems surreal and so much more than I deserve. Yet I’m happy here with you, so I embrace this kindness that fate offers. It’s where I call home now and where I feel most alive.

I realize the irony in that statement but if my heart could beat it would beat only for you. If not for you I would not have known Rhistel, Oriana or Rowen. I would not have a home to call my own or for Jaeras’ sake where I could be there for her. In the end, I have only you to thank and you to be grateful for. If not for you, I would not have a home for my own blood, a home where I could be there for her. Sometimes life is more difficult than we would like, yet here we still stand among the ruins against all odds. Proud and tall, with our progeny before us. Victory or death. These are words that bind us to the Horde. Being with you I say is a victory in and of itself. The other part, well... semantics.

Very Respectfully,

Whitstan Wilhelm”

Mentions: @k-sunrael

[syrahnbloodfeather]

Thicker Than Water

Telling Jaeras that she would be living with Whitstan from now on was the hardest thing Tyrasam has ever done. At first the little girl thought she was being punished for sneaking out in the middle of the night to investigate the carnage created by the High Justicar; then she thought Tyrasam had possibly grown tired of her. It took everything Tyrasam had to stop herself from breaking down and crying, or worse, going back on her word and keeping her precious little gift to herself. To help keep her mind off the inevitable departure, she decided to make the last day they would spend together also their greatest, and so they spent the entire day walking up and down the countless shops in the Market Square. By the end of their binge they spent nearly a hundred thousand gold coins, draining Tyrasam’s savings; but for Jaeras, it was all worth it.

When the sun began to inch closer and closer to the deep ocean horizon, and the laughter and smiles stopped, their time was up. Jaeras got anything her heart desired, and outfitted her with a brand new dress and hat so extravagant and sublime she looked wealthier than Syrahn herself. As a token of goodwill, the Glade Queen even offered Jaeras her personal traveling carriage for safekeeping, allowing the girl to ride out of the gates of the Amber Glade with all of her new belongings in the highest caste of style. They only waited for Whitstan beside the main gates for an hour, but for Tyrasam, it only lasted a single moment.

Like a ghost coming to take her girl away, Whitstan appeared at the edge of the woods along the partially hidden road. With so many unaware civilians going about their business nearby, the guards refused to let the Death Knight come any closer. Tyrasam’s heart sank into her stomach once she noticed him standing there, ready to accept his daughter; a part of her wanted to scoop Jaeras up into her arms and flee back to the house where no one could take her, but she was a woman of her word. When Zerethel and Whitstan practically begged her to watch his newborn infant so they could go save the world, she wanted nothing to do with the child; yet she made a promise to them both that she would take care of her until they returned from Northrend.

Thinking about all was and all that will never be forced the Paladin to grimace. She would never teach Jaeras how to ride a horse. She wouldn't be there when Jaeras started dating, spending long hours giggling about boys she's smitten with well into the night. Gods willing she would still be around for the marriage; what she wouldn't give to hold Jaeras’ newborn child in the unforeseeable future.

“This is it.” Tyrasam slowly sighed, helping her up into the front seat; she gave her little princess a comforting smile, but the tears building up in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “B-be on your best behavior… o-okay…?” Jaeras turned to embrace Tyrasam as tightly as she could, nearly causing her feathered hat to fall off her head. “Learn to be a proper lady, okay? Kaevia and your father will take good care of you… just…” Tyrasam paused to gather her composure with a heavy breath and heavier heart. “Don't forget…-”

“You will always be my mom.” Jaeras assured her, before gently kissing her on the cheek. It was just enough to push Tyrasam over the edge, causing her to shudder and tremble while she broke down in tears. Jaeras hugged her back and nuzzled her face into her collar, and they held each other until Tyrasam was able to calm down. “I'll visit when I can.” She smiled, finally freeing herself from her mother's grip.

Tyrasam opened her mouth to speak, but the words remained still in the back of her throat. Jaeras managed to climb up onto the carriage all by herself despite her short stature, grabbed hold of the reins, and glanced down to look upon her mother’s face one last time before heading off. The two pearly white hawkstriders were picking at the earth in search of insects before the gentle tug of their reins caused them to perk up and stand at attention. The little girl flicked the leathers once to stir the beasts into pulling her ride out of the Amber Glade, but she kept looking back at her mother with nervous fear twinkling in her eyes; the last time she was sent away from Tyrasam, she thought she would never see her or her poppa ever again. Yet the call to adventure filled Jaeras with giddy excitement, compelling her to wave at Tyrasam once more before sitting back in her seat. She struggled to keep the hawkstriders from veering off the path, but after much effort she was able to reach the edge of the forest where Whitstan patiently waited.

Jaeras could feel the temperature drop drastically around her, but she pretended not to notice; it was suddenly so cold she could see her own breath, but her fancy dress and hat proved invaluable in trapping any heat against her body, save for her reddened face and ankles. She pulled the carriage over to the side of the road where he stood, and with a straightened back and trembling hands, she looked down upon her father with feigned disinterest. “H-hullo…” she mumbled, almost choking on her nervous gulps.

A dry tone echoed out as his voice attempted to mask the hint of annoyance, “Hello, little miss.” He shot a glance to the guards in the distance, but decided to stay his tongue on the ‘welcoming party’; he saved all of their lives, they knew he protected them, yet their bigotry against undeath clouded their common sense. With a shake of his head Whitstan pushed his violent tendencies out of his mind, knowing no good would come from it. His faint scowl flashed into a smile once he returned his attention to his daughter. “Are you ready to come home now?”

“Yes…” Jaeras politely answered, tapping the empty seat beside her; Whitstan slowly climbed onto the carriage with an urgent care not to spook the hawkstriders. He watched her flick the reins with her bandaged fingers, causing the beasts to continue the journey all the way to the Sun’rael Estate.

Sitting beside his daughter was a surreal experience he was not prepared for. The last time he even held her in his arms she was so small, so defiant, so angry… so loud. She was only a few hours old when he had to give her away so he could fight in Northrend; if he had the foresight he would have never left for that frozen hellscape, and he certainly would have never abandoned her to Tyrasam, who at the time, he barely knew. He was still in Icecrown with the cold grip of undeath clutching his soul when she likely took her first steps. He was amassing displaced worgen to fight for his cause when she likely spoke her first words. He was sowing the seeds of chaos to finish what the Lich King started when she likely read her first sentence. So many memories and experiences he missed during his quest to unite Azeroth under his banner. Yet now she was almost a woman, sitting tall just a few inches away. The last moments of his battle with Kaevia’s father convinced Whitstan of Jaeras’ love, and if nothing else, he would be eternally grateful for her bravery.

Whitstan waited quite some time for her to speak; surely she had a storm of questions circling under that outlandishly silly hat of hers. After what felt like an hour, his patience had reached its end. “Jaeras,” He started, watching her reaction closely; she seemingly refused to make eye contact, and the startled little girl almost jumped an inch off her seat the instant he spoke her name. “We still have a long ways to go before we’re home. Is there… anything you’d like to ask me?”

“How did father die?” Jaeras quickly asked, almost as if she was holding her breath with that question; whatever smile Whitstan had on the corners of his lips had immediately vanished from being blindsided. Apparently too much time had passed without his answer, compelling Jaeras to glance over at his face, if only for a moment. “... did… did you kill him…?”

His hand rubbed at the stubble along his jaw if only to conceal his expression a moment. “I made a decision to save others over him… he was once my friend after all. At least, I trusted him. I trusted him enough to let his…” he searched for the right words and quickly gave up, “...lover take care of my newborn daughter before we went off to study the leylines of Northrend after the Second War. Well, he was studying. I was there as a newly appointed spell-breaker to protect the noble scholar.” Whitstan rubbed at the back of his head, “I guess that wasn’t really your question… yes. If it weren’t for me the man you once knew as a father might still be alive. Might.”

“I studied fel corruption after Mr. Alucieus died.” Her voice seemed unreasonably fragile, like she was on the verge of tears. “I think father suffered from the same thing… but he wasn’t as far gone as him. I just…” she slowly exhaled after blinking a few times. “I hope he’s resting.”

“They were friends, too. But your fath- Zerethel turned on him. Both of them were men with countless burdens on their shoulders. Both very powerful in their own right. They were both leaders in a war willing to do what others wouldn’t and in the end, they succumbed to illness in their mind. Maybe there was some… correlation to that.” For a moment he grew self-conscious about his articulation, for a commoner he was well-spoken and wondered if he was speaking a broader vernacular than she was used to at her age. Then he remembered she literally just said she studied fel corruption implying superior intellect for her age. He was proud for a fraction of a second, “Do you enjoy studying? Or was it morbid curiosity?”

“A bit of both I guess…” She straightened up again in her seat before saying, “Lord Tidebloom told me studying is very important, and Mother agrees. So I read and read and read until my eyes hurt. I’ve learned a lot about pyre… p-pyrome… -fire magic.” Her face suddenly reddened from struggling to pronounce such a weird word. “I want to learn about all sorts of things.”

“Pyromancy… did the mages in the Glade test you to see what your true magical affinity is? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was flame manipulation. I was p-” he choked on his words a moment, “Proud of you to see you stay courageous in the face of overwhelming adversity like that. I was impressed to see the extent of your magical power. Of course, I was a little preoccupied at the time. As for self-study, I did a lot of that too. A lot of reading, a lot of practice learning how magic, mana and mana-flow within the body works.”

Jaeras seemed to slouch a little in her seat, clearly more relaxed and comfortable talking about her heroic deeds. “Lord Tidebloom was teaching me better spells before he left for Argus. I think some of the other lords were interested in teaching me other schools, but I’m not interested… I saved Mother in Silvermoon City a long time ago with fire, and I saved you too!” She shot him another quick glance. “... I thought he was going to kill you…”

“He was… he would have hurt a lot more people if you didn’t act. Kind of like… how I did with Zerethel.” he threw it out there just to feel for a reaction. He knew it could backfire heavily yet this would be a good starting point to gauge what subjects felt taboo for now with their relationship. Perhaps one day, they would be comfortable discussing things in more depth but at the same time he didn’t want to start the new relationship with his daughter with deceit.

Jaeras slowly inhaled before saying, “When I was still on Zaldrannar and Fath- uhm… Lord Kash’k-kaar was sick, I was so afraid. I snuck into my quiet place and cried for hours until Mr. Rethandus found me.” She narrowed her eyes but kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “I think he knew what was going to happen. He took me away so I wouldn’t get involved… so I wouldn’t see.” After a moment of silence she turned to into her true father’s eyes. “I wish he hadn’t.”

The Death Knight wondered for a moment if Rethandus had brought his daughter away to safety before or after their deathmatch. Either way, it was probably in service to her stepfather. His eyes reciprocated her gaze, “I don’t. Whatever Rethandus is to me, we’ve fought on both sides of the same coin. One moment an enemy, another a friend. I’ve done horrible things to him and the people he cares about. I don’t blame him one bit for wanting to get revenge. But, at the end of the day I am thankful that he took you away from all that. I wouldn’t want you to be involved or see what happened either. It’s a burden for the previous generation to bear, not you. We dug our graves a long time ago, Zerethel, Rethandus and I. Letting you see the horrors that followed the results of our actions might have scarred you for the worst.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jaeras kept glancing around their surroundings, clearly staying vigilant for something, or someone, to come jump out at them; Tyrasam must have told her stories about the wild lynxes and the lowlife bandits that often plagued these woods. “I heard Mr. Rethandus fought you in the Western Plaguelands… that you were a very bad person up until recently. Before Z...Lord Zerethel died,” She was still clearly struggling to not call him Poppa like she did many times before, especially in Whitstan’s presence. “He would tell me scary stories at night… a-about you.” An uncomfortable silence befell the girl for some time, but before Whitstan could inquire further, she said, “Are any of the stories true...?”

“Probably…” he answered abruptly. “I mean, we’d have to go down the list for me to be certain. None of us involved in this entangled web of our past were blameless or without blemish.” Whitstan rubbed at the back of his head lightly, contemplating how to articulate everything but grew short of an answer every time. “I don’t claim to be a good man, because I’m not. But I try to be better, every day if I can. Sometimes I trip and fall back a few steps. Only thing you can do is get back on your feet and move forward again no matter how much ground you’ve lost.”

“What about my real mother?” Jaeras couldn’t keep the question to herself any longer. “I would like to know more about her. Um… please.”

Whitstan shook his head a moment, contemplating how to answer the girl. “She was bright. Full of energy and kindness. She seemed to draw positivity from everything around her and even then, it wasn’t enough. We met each other during a vulnerable time in our lives and we fulfilled a role for each other that we needed. I don’t know what else to say aside from that. I’d like to think she loved you very much.”

“Was she a queen like the Bloodfeathers?!” Jaeras asked excitedly the moment the thought popped into her head. The thought of being a long-lost princess caused her heart to flutter with glee, and she could barely contain her giggling with the bright grin spread from ear to ear.

“No, little one. She was a commoner, like me. Not so exciting, is it?”

“Oh.” Just like that the tickling in her stomach was gone. Her voice was heavy with disappointment, but she forced a weak smile all the same. “How did you two meet?”

“Well…”

Lordaeron was once a bustling kingdom filled with life and free trade. The engorged markets within the safety of the tall stone walls were loud and rowdy everyday before the sunrise and long after the sunset. Humans from all walks of life shouted at the crowd that jingled with the enticing promise of gold and silver. “Fresh bread! Fresh bread here!” and “I've got wine so sweet you'll sell your mother for a cask!” and “Hot pies! Strawberry, pecan, chicken and pork pies! The freshest you'll ever eat!” rang above the chorus of voices, but one voice stood out to Whitstan from the rest.

“Juiciest fish in all of the Eastern Kingdoms! Flayed, filleted and fried!” She spoke the common tongue but her Thalassian accent was unmistakable. Whitstan decided to risk eye contact with the merchant to get a better look; she had dried fish blood up to her forearms and spread all over her dusty apron. Her golden crown of hair was cut short just before her shoulders, and even with the dirt stuck to her face from a long day of hard labor, her smile beamed the moment he glanced over in her direction. “Ah! Hello there, fellow High Elf!” She proclaimed, leaning over the grimey table to wave him closer. Three humans were working around her in the fish shop, but the youngest looked up from his tasks and scowled at him with suspicious contempt. “You look famished stranger! We've got fresh catfish, salmon, carp and trout if you'd like to try some!”

A quick pause came in his steps as he looked around to verify she was addressing him. A fast thump quickened his heart when his gaze settled back on the girl. Centuries of rich history and ample heritage was nothing when compared to this simplest of moments: a simple merchant meeting the eyes of a simple farmer. A hesitant wave came from his as he tried his best to offer a smile in return. “H-hey.” barely a response as he approached the stall. “What… would you recommend?” an earnest question. He knew nothing of the intricacies of seafood.

“I recommend the catfish. I caught this beast just an hour ago!” She reached down underneath the table and wrestled up a massive fish nearly half her size; it was weak yet very much alive, occasionally kicking and thrashing against her iron grip.

“Syl that's the best fish you caught!” The young human protested. “Surely one of the little ones will d-!”

“The best fish for our best customer!” She interrupted, withdrawing a curved gutting blade from her hip. In the blink of an eye she brought the tip of the blade down into the skull of the fish, causing its tail to twitch one last time. Fresh blood spilled out into the table while she went to work, humming a catchy tune while the others fired up the fryer. “Are you from Quel’Thalas, Mr…?”

The teen was silent for a moment as a bead of sweat raced down his brow. “Uh…” the young man was able to barely sound out. The nervous response barely escaped his lips after having seen her efficiency with murdering and gutting a gigantic fish. “Um. N-no. I mean, yes. I am. I’m from Quel’Thalas but not -from- there. I mean, my parents raised me here.” a stumbling of the words came rolling out of his mouth. “Whitstan.” he offered with a gulp. “Whitstan Wilhelm. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Syllesia Autumnsong.” She beamed at him, seemingly not at all paying attention to the fish she was gutting. “I was born in Quel’Thalas but my family moved away for um… personal reasons.” Syllesia gave him a light shrug with one shoulder as she pulled out the entrails of the catfish. “I’ve been trying to save up enough gold to live in the capital. It’s my dream!”

The youngest human stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Syl you shouldn’t be telling him all of this personal stuff. You don’t know him. We don’t know him.” The elven woman finally pried her gaze away from Whitstan long enough to glare angrily at the human.

“Please ignore my friend Petar here. He’s just a worrywort.” Syllesia plucked a shaved wooden stick and skewered a large flank of the bloody fish meat before lowering it into the boiling oil they were heating. “And… you’ll have to forgive me as well. I’m a bit of a chatterbox as you can tell.”

A shake of the head came in response, “No… worries. I’m sure your friends are protective of you for a reason… or another. I don’t mind people who speak their mind. It’s a nice quality to have… Syl.” Syllesia’s smile only grew while she coyly looked him over, but Petar’s smoldering scowl only worsened; he seemed to tremble with anger in his fraying leathers and cheap iron cufflinks.

A few moments of calm analysis was all he needed to regain his composure as his eyes shifted from the human merchants to the woman speaking at him. “Why are they so concerned with friendly banter, I wonder?”

The hustle and bustle of the city didn’t relent during their conversation; it seemed the market grew louder and louder around them but the focus he held on the tradeswoman appeared resolute and rendered the cacophony of noise to a quiet murmur about them.

“We were robbed a week ago.” She answered, slowly turning the frying fish flank in the boiling oil. “Bandits come down from the mountain to prey on defenseless travelers. If I wasn't concealing myself with thick baggy britches and a heavy good they would have likely taken off with me as well. We almost lost Pops to them, but they ran off the moment the Lordaeron Peacekeepers managed to show up and do their jobs.”

“I could have stopped them…” Petar mumbled under his breath, but it was still loud enough for Whitstan to hear. An older human with ashen grey whiskers wheeled himself closer to the front of the shop, cradling his bloodied and bandaged arm; the wind picked up enough to move his vest, revealing more of the same bandages wrapped around his chest.

“Chopping wood and pulling wagons are a bit different than killing thugs, boy.” He coughed with a hoarse voice. “They would have opened you like a sack of thawed fish if you stood up to them. You’re no fighter, no more than I am.”

“Whitstan, this is Bren. Bren, Whitstan.” Syllesia said, stepping aside to let them get a better look at each other. “I call him Pops, but..-”

“Do you know how to use that blade, Whitstan?” He coughed, pointing weakly at the sword on Whitstan’s hip. “Or is that nothing more than an ornament to ward off would-be criminals?”

The young man recognized the scent of blood as he eyed the older one in the wheelchair. A familiar smell would fill the room whenever his sister coughed up enough of it. His hand shifted to the hilt of the blade as he felt the leather handle. “I can handle it well enough…” he responded, unsure of the man’s motives yet trying to maintain a confident facade.

“Bandits find us easy pickings when we fish down by the lake surrounding Caer Darrow.” He winced at his wounds, but there was little he could do about it. “The last time they came down the mountainside they almost made off with Syllesia. I’m too old and wounded to defend her again, and my boys are too inexperienced. I would like to hire your blade, if you’re willing. Fair wages for fair work.”

A nod came as a response, “Fair wages for fair work…” he echoed before looking back to Syllesia, “Glad they couldn’t make off with you.”

Petar flared up again. “We can't afford it.” Syllesia said nothing while she beamed, seemingly ignoring him. “We can barely afford the upkeep on this fryer! It would be unfair to hire him under these condit-”

“Take it out of my pay.” She suggested, feeling their gazes on the back of her head. Syllesia pulled the fish out of the vegetable oil, sprinkled a handful of salt and a variety of other spices, and offered it to him. “Plus all the fish you can eat! Are you in?”

Something was off in this situation aside from the obvious. The hairs on his arms stood up while he considered the offer. Whitstan gave a silent nod in agreeance. “Fair wages for fair work.” the boy parroted.

“Then what happened?” Jaeras interrupted, growing impatient. Whitstan glanced down at her and smiled, but before he could continue he noticed the familiar trees they were now surrounded by. He looked to his left to see them moving down a quiet river; to his right was the thickest part of the Eversong Woods.

“I’ll finish the story soon.” The Death Knight reached over and placed a gentle hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “But it will have to wait for now.”

Jaeras didn’t look pleased. “But… why?”

“Because we’re finally home.”

Collaborators: @syrahnbloodfeather @whitstanwilhelm

[elenariseventide]

[ Thank you to all who attended and for @whitstanwilhelm for being our officiate!]

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the undying devotion and eternal union of Cineas Duskhollow and Elenaris Eventide. Through life and death to be bound with an unyielding and unrelenting commitment to one another. Please, come closer and witness the binding ceremony. If you would, your hands please.”

Whitstan took a red string and began to cautiously wrap it around their hands. "The crimson signifies the blood, tears and sacrifice that comes with loving another with all your soul, and that undying devotion to, no matter what, trudge through thick and thin, the best and even the most hardest and most trying of moments."

He now took a black string and did the same, "The black signifies commitment through the darkest of times, courage in the face of overwhelming adversity and hope through the grim dangers that might await us.These both signify a bond through death and ties you together even in the afterlife, that the Void might recognize your eternal ties to each other. Do you Cineas Duskhollow pledge your very being, through life and death with no reservation to Elenaris?”

"I do."

“Do you, Elenaris Eventide, pledge your soul to be bound eternally in life and death, to Cineas, to never part even in the depths of the Void?” Whitstan asked as he turned to Elenaris for her answer.

“Yes, I do.” 

“Very well. Give each other your pledges that all present may recognize your devotion to each other.”

Elenaris’ words were calm and held the same low and determined tone as she often spoke. Her gaze never left Cineas’ as she offered her vows to him. “My dearest Cineas, my love, my Raven...I have seen and felt the years come and pass me day by day, the feeling of wholeness eluding me. For the longest time I was unable to see what it was that kept me from completing that portion of my being. I looked for the answer in power, in wealth, and sometimes I even looked for it in the face of death many times. It was not until my path crossed with your own that I realized it was none of those things that would ever bring me to the peace I searched for. Our souls may not wholly belong to us at this point in our lives, but what does, I believe are intertwined into each other’s futures. Everything we have done before this moment has paved the path to bring us here to pledge ourselves to one another. Therefore, that is what I am to do. Pledge my allegiance, pledge my trust, pledge the fulfillment of the rest of my life...and lastly I pledge my love, to thee, my other half. I am and forever always will be yours.”

Cineas finally broke within his stoic demeanor to smile at her, if only slightly. With their hands bound together, he had drew in a breath and diverted his gaze to focus on their bound hands. "Elenaris, there has been little moments that we have been apart sinceour meeting months ago. I've not found another person who I feel more alive with than you as you stand here before me ready and willing to become my wife. I have little use for fortune telling and future seeing, but I do believe that the cosmos has created the path in which we walk together and that this path was only meant for our two beings, whether we were to meet in this life or the next or the next. Our souls were bound by fate to find each other and explore the hidden depths that no other had traversed before. You, Elenaris Eventide, are a piece of my essence from this day forward. I am committed to your being, your essence and your soul in this life and when we find ourselves drifting amongst the Void in waiting for our next journey."

Whitstan nodded as he placed a cold hand on theirs for a moment, "Well spoken, both of you. Love does not end in death." he commented, "Cineas, Elenaris, on behalf of all those present, and by the strength of your own devotion, I pronounce you bound and married." he spoke before removing his hand. "You may seal your vows with a kiss." he continued.

Cineas shifted his gaze to Whitstan as he spoke, waiting for the confirmation to move forward with the next steps of the marriage. He nodded at the man to his right after he finished speaking and slowly took another step towards Elenaris. His free hand moved togently cup her cheek as he leaned forward to brush his lips against her own.

Elenaris smiled down to where their three hands met for that brief moment, her smile brightening before she lifted her gaze once more to Cineas. She, too, stepped forward to bridge the short gap between them. Leaning in, she met his lips with her own as her eyes closed briefly to relish in the short live moment before pulling away.

That was it, they were finally bound together by marriage, their vows and devotion for one another on display for all to see and know. 

Lord and Lady Duskhollow.

[ @cineas-duskhollow ]

#The Lady and the Raven #Cinaris #Lady Duskhollow #Lord Duskhollw

[istrys]

From the Pale Mist

Approximately a decade before the invasion of Argus….

Tyrasam was greeted by the soft orange kiss of the morning sunrise when she stepped onto her balcony. She leaned against the railing while she sipped on her tea, gazing down at the sprawling rooftops of Silvermoon City. With Jaeras still asleep at her friend Ambre’s house, she was free to do what she pleased, at least for the rest of the morning. Halfway through her morning stretch she heard the playful whistling from her neighbor Clonce across the street.

 “Gorgeous as always, Ms. Ku’sol!” he shouted, leaning out of his window. “You've got to let me take you out sometime! How about coming over for some breakfast?”

 “The city is under lockdown, Clonce.” She explained, while trying to think of a better excuse. “Anyone caught walking around is begging to be arrested.”

 “Bah, I won’t tell if you won’t.” he winked, causing her to furtively furrow her brow at him.

 “Sorry Clonce, but I still have a man off fighting in Northrend.” She pulled her shirt down to conceal her midriff. “Why don't you ask Ambre? She looks like she would love your company.”

“Ambre doesn't shine in the sun like you do.” he admitted, casually shrugging. “If you change your mind and need some company during these lonely nights, I'm just a walk and a knock away!” Tyrasam gave him a fake smile and a wave, doing her best to stay polite to a High Elf that just tried to tempt her with adultery. She turned to gaze back at the sunrise to continue her morning routine, but she would wait until her neighbor was back inside before stretching again.

 “Huh?” she looked down to see soldiers marching through the streets, shouting at any civilians they came across to get back into their houses; the urgency in their voices piqued her interest, compelling her to go investigate.

 “You there!” a Silvermoon City Guard quickly ran up to her immediately, holding his gauntlet out. “Get back inside! The city is in lockdown!”

 “This is more serious than I thought… what's going on…?” Tyrasam took a few nervous steps back, but stayed inside the door threshold. “I thought this was just another troll attack on the outskirts of Eversong?”

 “Just get inside and lock your doors and windows.” he avoided the question, but the cold sweat glistening in his face was ominous. “This is a level three lockdown, no citizen is allowed to be out here until this crisis is-" a violent explosion rocked in the distance, and she could feel the shockwave even from here.

 “Gods, was that the city gates?!” Tyrasam covered her mouth while she glared at the billowing smoke. Her ears twitched to the sound of screaming, and her blood ran cold once she realized it was getting louder and closer. Figures cloaked in a thick fog came storming forward in the distance, but she didn’t get the chance to look at them for long.

 “I said get the fuck inside!” The guard shoved Tyrasam back into her home. “Lock the door and stay away from the windows! NOW!” the foreboding fog began rolling across the ground before he slammed the door shut. Tyrasam pressed her ear to the door to listen to what was happening outside. The sound of metal clashing and pained shouts rang through the wood, but it didn’t last. Almost immediately it fell silent, without a single sound peeping from the outside.

 “Ahhh-!” She squeaked from the sound of something heavy slamming into her house. Another heavy slam against the adjacent walls filled her with dread and confusion, causing her to slowly walk back away in an effort to stay silent. She glared out at the windows, but she couldn’t see the through the thick fog and ominous shadows. Groaning crept out from beneath the door as more and more of those invaders gathered in front of her house. Tyrasam swiped a small knife from a nearby table, ready to stab them once they began poking through her windows, but the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh and blood nearly knocked her off her feet. A hand slapped against the glass, cracking it and splattering it with blood. Another hand shattered the window, causing the woman to stumble back in fear; but as she gazed upon the rotting hands that reached out at her, she became paralyzed with fear.

“What is this nightmare…?!” Pale faces covered in blood and ice pressed against the broken glass, slicing open their flesh to reveal their bones. Without any sense of self-preservation these creatures did everything they could to pull themselves into her home, shattering their bones against the stone walls and tearing themselves open against the glass. One such creature managed to fall through the opening and land with a wet flop along the floor, with injuries that surely should have killed him. The human rose to his full height, revealing half of his face was gone and the gaping hole in his chest where his heart and lungs should be. Tyrasam finally snapped out of her stupor once it opened its mangled jaws and screamed, charging at her with startling speed.

 She immediately turned to her right and fled, barely dodging the creature’s lethal tackle as it crashed into the dining room table. She bolted up the stairs with the knife still in her grasp, turned the corner and slammed her bedroom door shut; pulled her dresser out and used it to barricade herself in, but the heavy slam from the human monster nearly caused her to fall back from being startled. The feral screams of the reanimated creatures was becoming deafening outside, but she was far too terrified to look out her window to properly assess the situation. Tyrasam crawled underneath her bed and covered her head once she heard her front door rip off its hinges, and hearing the innumerable footsteps of the undead flooding into her home turned her blood cold.

 “No no no no no no!” she frantically repeated, covering her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the pounding against her door. “Please go away! Oh Gods someone help me please! Please!” She curled up into a ball in the farthest corner of her room beneath her bed, whimpering beneath her breath and praying for this nightmare to be over. “Zereth please come back! Whitstan! Jaeras…” suddenly she opened her eyes in the wake of her panic. “Jaeras…?! JAERAS!” Tyrasam scampered onto her feet and began to frantically look around for an exit. Her heart was pounding in her head while she pried her window open, and as her bedroom door shattered against the onslaught behind her, she leapt out into the fog below.

 She ran for her life, sprinting as fast as her bare feet could take her; she couldn’t see three feet in front of her, but she knew the way to her friend’s house better than the back of her own hand. “There’s too many! Retreat! Retre-aaaauuugh!” Soldiers and city guards scrambled to defend themselves, but the undead swarmed and overwhelmed them; she jumped over mangled corpse after mangled corpse, tuned out the anguished screeching of the wounded being torn apart by ghouls, and ignored their cries for help.

 “Save us! For the love of the Light, save u-” three ghouls descended onto an unarmed civilian and his injured wife, ripping them apart with snaggled teeth and infected claws; their grisly deaths and others just like them provided the distraction she unwittingly needed, allowing her to run through the chaos unharmed. Fear of Jaeras suffering their fates hastened her footsteps, propelling her forward through the winding alleys and narrow corridors of this once beautiful city.

 “No… no!” she stopped at the other end of a courtyard to see her friend’s house in shambles. Bodies were strewn across the ground, and there wasn’t a single living elf in sight; but at least the undead seemed to have moved on as well. “Jaeras…?! I’m coming baby, hold on…!”  Tyrasam was three steps closer to the house before she noticed a gigantic mass of flesh dragging half of a corpse behind it. The abomination took notice of her immediately, opened its festering mouth and belching out a gurgled laugh. One of its meaty hands raised a giant butcher’s hook and chucked it at her. Tyrasam instinctively raised her arms in defense, but she barely avoided impalement by tripping over a body; she rolled onto her hands and knees and began sprinting toward the house again, fearing the lumbering monstrosity would grab her by her hair and tear her in half. She ran through the open door without checking if there was anything waiting for her in here first, and with the abomination making its way here, she didn’t have much time to search the house. “Jaeras!” She called out, looking around the desecrated house.

 Not a single piece of furniture was left intact in this place; the dining room tables were cut in half and shattered, the cabinets were bent and overturned, and the thick stench of blood hung in the air like a malevolent presence. There was no sign of the infant child on the first floor, not even any signs of her body. “Okay… okay…” she started, taking in long, steady breaths. “Calm down and focus. She’s in here. She’s alive. You just need to-” the abomination caught up faster than she had hoped, slamming its grotesque body against the wall and causing what remained of the house to shake. Tyrasam stumbled from the quake, catching herself before she fell face first onto broken glass; but her ears perked up to the sound of muffled crying from the second floor. “Jaeras! Jaeras I’m coming!” The stairs were also covered in broken glass and splintered wood, but she didn’t have the luxury of finding shoes to slip on, as the abomination crashed through the wall with another gurgled laugh. Pain shot up through her feet like needles pricking her soles, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins barely made the pain noticeable.

 Upstairs was a living nightmare. The remains of her friend’s parents were splattered across the hallway, like they were dragged out of their rooms kicking and screaming. The source of that blood stench covered the walls, floors and ceiling, forcing the woman to gag before moving through; their blood was still warm on her feet, nearly causing her to vomit out of both disgust and fear. Tyrasam opened each room one after another, until she found where her friend had kept Jaeras. Ambre was dead, impaled in the wall by a sinister blade that seethed with frost magic, and although her once radiant blue eyes were now dull and pale, even in Tyrasam’s frenzy she realized she was staring at something. She followed her vacant gaze to the dresser, where the muffled crying caught her attention yet again. “Jaeras! Thank the Gods you’re safe!” The baby kicked and screamed in her bloodstained blanket, but a quick check of her delicate body put some of her worst fears to rest; it was either a stroke of luck or a miracle that Jaeras was frightened yet completely unharmed. With the little girl safe in her trembling arms, and the fate of her friend Ambre sealed, there was nothing left here.

 The floor began to quake from the unholy bellowing from below. Before she had time to react, the bloodstained hook shot up through the flimsy wooden floor like a blade through parchment, and in a display of the monster’s strength, he tore the floor in half. Tyrasam screamed while she collapsed through the floor, landing hard on her back in a billowing cloud of dust and debris. Her strength was waning and her body was exhausted, but with Jaeras kicking in fear against her stomach and chest, she found just enough willpower to roll onto her side and force herself back onto her feet. The abomination grabbed one of the mangled corpses and proceeded to stuff the remains deep into its wretched and open gut.

“Scuuurrryyyy….” it gurgled, staring down at her with white, uneven eyes. Tyrasam tried to run again, but she stumbled and nearly fell from the burning pain in her right ankle; she must have fallen harder than she thought. With her free hand she steadied herself against the wall, limping away while the creature laughed at her meager attempts to survive.

 “We're going to die!” Tyrasam thought to herself, almost smothering her infant while she desperately tried to find safety. “Why is no one helping us?! Why is this even happening?! What did I do to deserve this?!”

 The pale mist was thinner here, allowing her to see further than she could near her house; the warmth of the sun still caressed her skin, but the panic and fear pumping through her veins made it impossible for her to notice or care. This boulevard was lined with houses that were boarded up, as these richer elves likely caught wind of what was happening to Silvermoon City hours beforehand; a glimmer of hope sparked in the back of her throat once she realized this street was seemingly untouched by the undead, which could only spell safety for her and Jaeras.

 “Hello?! Is anyone in there?!” Tyrasam bashed her fist against the door of the closest house, before frantically trying to peek inside the barred windows. “Please, let me in! I have a baby, please!” No answer. Either they were locked down in their basements to wait this nightmare out, or the undead got here first. She didn't waste any time limping to the next house to try her luck again. “Please let me and my baby in! We're going to die out here!”

 “Back away from my house!” Someone shouted from the other side of the door. “You'll attract those monsters!”

 “Please sir, you have to let me in!” She begged, with tears rolling down her cheeks. “At the very least take my daughter! Please! Save my daughter! Please!”

 “I'll shoot you dead bitch, you hear me?!” the sound of a shotgun being cocked whispered through the wood. “I open this door and my family dies! Get the fuck out of here before I kill you!” She could barely see the elf’s spiteful glare through the cracks between the planks hastily nailed over the window; she was desperate to survive this day, but she wasn't about to call his bluff. The woman slowly staggered back from the door, and turned to gaze down the road. The abomination stepped out of the haze with bloodied bare feet, and a few of its giant stitches popped loose when it turned it's tiny head to gaze at her with a cruel grin.

 Tyrasam held Jaeras close as she turned to flee, no longer able to risk knocking on any more houses lest she risk getting within reach of the monster’s hook. All of the homes she limped by were boarded up and silent inside, compelling her to hiss curse words under her breath; if she managed to survive this ordeal, she would remember this street. The sound of the undead breaking through windows and gunshots caused her to limp as fast as she could and not look back.

 “You! Sammy!” a familiar voice called out, catching her attention. “Come here child! Hurry!” the old neighborhood drunk Argo waved her down in front of an inconspicuous door in the wall.

 “Thank the Gods!” she wept, almost collapsing in his arms. “Thank you so much!”

 “Get inside Sammy!” he huffed, escorting her through the door. About thirty other elves were huddled inside, weeping and whimpering, but safe; he closed and locked the door behind him, peeking out through a tiny hole to keep watch of any more survivors in the area. Tyrasam wasted no time trying to find a spot to sit down for some much needed rest; with the adrenaline leaving her system, only now that she felt safe and secure did she realize how exhausted and in pain she was. She sat in the back along the wall of this little bunker, setting Jaeras into her lap to begin soothing the poor girl.

 “Tyrasam? Is that you?” another familiar voice graced her ears, compelling her to glance up at her neighbor Clonce; his shirt and arms were covered in blood, but the relieved smile in his face suggested it didn't belong to him. “Holy shit, you survived that nightmare too, huh? I thought I was the only one to make it off our street in one piece.”

 “I thought I was going to die for sure.” She weakly spoke, staring down at her trembling hands. “I don't think anyone else made it. There were just so many of those… things… one of them even let me go… it was laughing at me…”

 “You made it. Your baby girl made it too.” Clonce assured, sitting down next to her. “In the end that's all that matters.”

 “Will you two shut the fuck up?” a stranger hissed, glaring at them. “The last thing we need is those freaks hearing you talk!” Jaeras grimaced away from Tyrasam’s touch, upset, scared and hungry. “And shut your brat up too! I want to live, damn it!”

 “She's not going to calm down with you screaming at us.” Tyrasam snapped raising the infant up to rest against her shoulder. “Shhh Jaeras, it's okay… we're safe now.” The child kept crying into her collar, despite her attempts to get her quiet again.

 “Shut your fucking brain dead kid up before I shut it up for you!” the elf rose out of his seat to glare gratefully down at Jaeras.

 “You're not going to touch her.” Tyrasam hissed, turning away to put herself between her daughter and the increasingly infuriated man.

 “Calm down there buddy.” Clonce quickly jumped to his feet to get in the stranger’s face. “She's just a baby. Plenty of people here are crying, and for good reason, so why don't you turn around and go sit back in the corner.”

 “Don't waste your breath on him Clonce, if he even tries to lay a finger on Jaeras he’s- argh!” Tyrasam winced when she tried to put one of her feet down; blood was still dripping from the soles of her feet, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the shards of glass and wood splinters were putting her in an incredible amount of pain.

 “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

 “I think I… ran over some broken glass…” She winced again from the pain, but she let him lift one of her bloodied feet for a closer inspection.

 “Your feet are torn up pretty bad,” Clonce started, “and you're bleeding a lot. We need to remove some of this glass and get you healed before any of this gets infected.”

 “Oh no…” the stranger muttered, staring at her bloodied feet. “You said one of those things let you go…? You stupid bitch… they let you go to follow the trail of your blood! You've led them straight to us!” Before Tyrasam could open her mouth something heavy slammed into the reinforced door, nearly ripping it out of the wall. The startled elves backed away from the door while the bunker was filled with nervous murmurs. Ice began to form along its edges, stirring them into a panicked frenzy.

 “Tyrasam?! Tyrasam hang o-” Clonce was cut short as the crowd tackled him and knocked Tyrasam off the bench and onto the floor. In their desperation the survivors surged away from the door to try and claw at the tiny window on the other side, but despite their attempts, the barred window wouldn’t budge; Tyrasam used all of her strength to shield Jaeras from their trampling, fearing even one good stomp would easily end the fragile girl’s life. She could hear the shattering of wood and iron from the door being obliterated, but she heard little else beneath the rising chorus of screams.

 Shards of ice tore through the crowd like a hail of bullets, shredding their bodies and ripping them into shreds. Their bodies dropped shortly after their agonized cries fell silent, burying Tyrasam under a bloodied pile of severed limbs and broken bones; she could barely breathe with the massive weight of the dead bearing down on her; Jaeras was uncomfortably silent ever since they were trampled, but there was little she could do to help her.

 “Start loading them into the wagons.” A dry and sinister voice hissed from above, but she couldn’t see who it belonged to. “I want this block cleared before we leave.” Tyrasam managed to work her arm beneath her to uncover Jaeras’ mouth, but the heavy sound of footsteps crushing bones compelled her to freeze in place. She saw his boots, ironclad in an icy and black alloy she’s never seen before; she slowly glanced up through someone’s fingers to see his burning blue eyes and the frost clinging to his pale skin. A survivor leapt up from behind and desperately tried to make a run for it, but the undead monsters sifting through the bodies quickly turned and tore him apart. “Some of them survived, did they? Find them and bring them outside. I want them inspected.”

 “No! Wait!” Clonce weakly begged as one of the creatures pulled him out of the pile. Shards of ice were jabbed into his side and he was coughing up blood. “Please! Wait!” Tyrasam watched in horror while the ghouls dragged him off outside, but her attention was cut short as a sudden surge of weight was pressed onto her back. She felt her ribs bending while her lungs were squeezed empty, forcing her to gag and gasp for even the slightest breath.

“You knew you couldn’t hide forever.” the voice hissed in her ear, yanking the bodies off her; Tyrasam tossed Jaeras’ sheet over the baby’s face in a desperate attempt to hide her, just as she was pulled up by her hair. The undead dragged her across the blood-splattered bunker by her hair, letting her legs slide over the once-living. She grasped at the monster’s hands but to no avail; she was too injured from being trampled, too exhausted from running, and she was beginning to feel dizzy from her blood gushing out of her feet. She couldn’t tell if the ghouls had noticed Jaeras in the back of the bunker, but it was only a matter of time until she was found. Tears and blood burned at her eyes while she glanced up to see several others already lined up in the open courtyard, surrounded by nightmarish creatures and people shrouded in thick black cloaks.

“P-please…” Tyrasam weakly pleaded, catching the undead’s attention. “Get this over with… k-kill me….”

 “I’ve been watching you run around this block. Your desire to push through your fear and save your child was… touching.” He released his grip on the woman’s hair, letting her collapse onto the ground. “I’m afraid your death will be neither quick nor painless.” A heavy amalgamation of metal and wood rolled up to the captives, reeking of rotting flesh and fecal entrails. “You see that?” he plucked her off the ground by the back of her neck, forcing her to gaze forward at the twisted metal blades protruding from the machine. “That’s a meat wagon. You’re going to go in there feet first, little lady. But I assure you… those blades you see there? They were razor sharp once… but I’d be surprised if they could cut butter.”

 “Let her g-go…” Clonce hissed, coughing up more blood.

 “What do you plan to do if I don’t, fleshling?” The undead asked, with a cruel smile spread across his cracking lips. “Are you going to… what? Bleed all over me?”

 “I’ll k-kill you…” he hissed, causing the undead to throw his head back and laugh. “I’ll shove each and every one of you into that… into that wagon myself…!”

 “That one still has fire in his voice. Even as his light fades.” The creature paused, gesturing to the cultists. “Show him the path.” A blade was ran across his throat by one of them, spraying his collar and chest red while he collapsed to his knees.

 “Noooo!” Tyrasam screamed, reaching out to Clonce as he collapsed face-first onto the ground. “Cloooonce!”

 “You’re to thank for their deaths.” His words struck her like a blunt club. “If we didn’t follow your trail, we likely wouldn’t have found this little treasure trove of fresh meat. For your service to the Scourge, you get to die last.” He snapped his fingers, causing the minions at his command to start pushing the flailing survivors toward the meat wagon. He reached down and grabbed Tyrasam by the chin to hold her steady. “Watch.” he commanded, just before a few ghouls lifted the first captive off the ground to push their feet into the wagon. Tears rolled down her pale face as she was deafened by their blood-curdling screeches. The mechanisms in the wagon began to turn, grinding and pulling them apart while the blades sank into their bodies. “Only the fiercest of your kind are allowed within the Scourge. Your friend over there… Clonce, was it? He will become a champion like me.” Cultists moved in to lift his corpse off the ground and carry him off into the mist. “You are brave, running through my maze to save your child. But bravery alone isn’t enough. You will join the others in the wagon.” he dropped her onto the ground again, and placed a boot against her back. “The wagon will be full soon. I hope for your sake it doesn’t stop halfwa-” Something beyond her perception stopped the armored undead mid-sentence. He stood up straight while he unsheathed his ruined runeblades, and squinted his frosty blue glare in the direction he sensed a disturbance. An undead like stumbled into view and collapsed onto the ground.

 “W-Wendigo…!” it pleaded, reaching out to him; a large silhouette appeared behind the fallen undead, and it raised a large greatsword high above its head. Instantly the creature burst into flame, writhing and screeching along the scorched cobblestone floor. Tyrasam weakly glanced through her hair to see seven Paladins casually stride out of the mist, clad head-to-toe in painted titanium steel and radiating Holy magic.

 “Prince Kael’thas sends his regards, undead swine.” The tallest one hissed from beneath his helmet, balancing his burning claymore on his plated shoulder. The cultists carried their quarry off and vanished into the mist while the undead horde surged forward to destroy them. The High Elves blessed the very ground beneath their feet in consecration, igniting the monsters as soon as they stepped too close; their blades cut through the wretched bodies of the damned like they were made of paper, leaving only crumbled heaps and ash in their wake. Wendigo snarled while he took a few steps back.

 “You’ve already lost!” he hissed through his broken teeth. “Kel’Thuzad will be renewed! The Scourge has already feasted upon those you swore to protect!” The tallest Paladin dashed forward and dragged his claymore across the ground. His mighty swing nearly shattered the undead’s runeblades, forcing him on the defensive as the Holy Light jolted through his body with every connect. The other Paladins moved in to clean up the rest of the undead in the vicinity as well as search for any survivors.

 “You there, stay with me.” A soothing voice called out, gently touching Tyrasam’s cheek. “Are you still alive? Please, answer me.”

 “M-my baby…” she weakly raised one of her hands and pointed her finger at the bloodied bunker, but her blood-loss was becoming too much for her to handle, and the floor was starting to rapidly spin around her ghostly pale face. She saw the Paladin begin to briskly walk toward in the direction of her finger, but soon after her vision went black, and she fell unconscious.

  Tyrasam slowly opened her eyes to the warmth of the sun peeking through a crack in the curtains. Her body felt heavy, threatening to sink into the bed and suffocate her. The woman glanced down to see both of her feet covered in thick bandages, but Jaeras was nowhere to be found.

“What… what?!” She weakly shouted, frantically glancing around the room. “Jaeras? Jaeras?!” Her heart skipped a beat from the door suddenly opening. One of the Paladins that rescued her cautiously walked in with his helmet in his hands.

 “Ah good, you're awake.” he gave her a convincing smile, but she was far too focused on his burning green eyes to even notice. “My name is Augustus… but everyone just calls me August. I was part of the team that rescued you from Falconwing Square.”

 “My child…?” Tyrasam weakly spoke, struggling to think clearly with her throbbing headache.

 “We found her buried beneath a corpse. She will live. Right now she's resting from her injuries.” August paused to set his helmet on the nearby table before pulling out a chair to sit in. “I can only imagine what you two went through yesterday…”

 “Yesterday…?!” Tyrasam shouted, but the blinding pain in her temples caused her to gasp and clutch her head. “How long have I… how long have I been out?!”

 “Thirty hours.” He calmly answered. “You almost died. The glass that was in your right foot cut into an artery.” The Paladin quickly rose from his seat to pull the curtains away; Tyrasam froze at the sight of Silvermoon City in the distance, with plumes of smoke still billowing from the ravaged buildings. “That’s not all, I’m afraid. I have some very bad news about… us. Our people.”

 “What happened…?”

 “King Anasterian is dead.” August sat back down in his chair again and looked her dead in the eyes. “As his only heir to the throne, Prince Kael’thas will rule Quel’Thalas by birthright… well, what’s left of it, anyway. The Scourge- the undead that ravaged our homelands, is led by the human prince, Arthas Menethil.”

 “Wh-what?! But… that’s not possible…!” Tyrasam’s gaze dropped to her trembling hands. “My husband… he joined Arthas on his expedition to Northrend! If Arthas is here, doing this to us… then…!”

 “Don't give up hope.” He warned. “The Holy Light works in mysterious ways. Was he a footsoldier?”

 “Warmage.” she answered quickly, looking up into his gaze again. “His name is Zerethel Kash’kaar… have you heard anything from him?”

 “I'm afraid not.” August started, briefly pausing to stroke his beard. “No one has seen or heard from the Northrend deployment for over a month. But I’m familiar with House Kash’kaar; if your husband is as strong as his brothers, you have nothing to worry about. Pyromancy is a powerful craft against the undead… I'm sure he's still alive.”

 “O-okay…” Tyrasam smiled unconvincingly, lifting her sheets a bit to see the bandages wrapped around her sore ribs. “So… what happens next?”

 “The traitorous prince has thankfully left our city, but the Scourge he left behind still hold a considerable presence. You’ll have to stay here along with the other survivors until Silvermoon City has been scrubbed clean of undeath.” August’s ears perked up from the sound of the door being opened.

 “There you are!” A female Paladin hissed, glaring angrily at him. “Lor’themar has ordered us to return to the capital already! Stop flirting and get going!”

 “It appears my time here is up.” August shrugged light-heartedly, before plucking his helmet off the table while he rose to his full, towering height. “Farewell, ma’am. I wish you the best on your trials to come.”

 “Wait!” Tyrasam called out, ignoring her blinding pain to sit up. “Can you… bring me my daughter…?”

 “At once.” he bowed moments before putting his helmet back on. “A mother should never be away from her children for long.”

 Mentions: @whitstanwilhelm

[k-sunrael]

#Kaevia #Whitstan #The Dreadful and the Light

[lordrethandus]

The Wayward Son Pt 4

On the third day in the final hours of the dwindling sunlight, they waited. Sir Sorlu and his platoon of armored guards stood silent and ready before the steady hum of the arcane prison, accompanied by several towering constructs for added measure; but they have waited all day, and despite their strict discipline, they were beginning to grow restless.

The Red Raven circled overhead, still bathed in the orange sunset while the Amber Glade beneath them was shrouded in the great shadow of Azeroth. Miriam swirled a glass of wine in her hand while she glared impatiently down at the scene through the observation window.

“We agreed to three days.” She started with an irritated huff. “Did he need more time?”

“I’m so sorry this is taking so long.” Syrahn gave Lady Kaevia a warm but nervous smile. “I should have planned this out better. In fact, we should have tried this months ago.”

“Better late than never at all.” Kaevia did her best to smile, but it wasn’t easy; this was the first she’d heard of her father in months. Many believed he was dead. She was ready to accept the fact that he was gone, yet now she had to struggle with those emotions all over again. Viridias ignored Miriam and her whining, instead choosing to keep Lady Covaya Sun’rael distracted from what surely was a trying time in her life. She seemed relaxed enough when they talked about their sons, Arden and Taen.

“Well I’m not prepared to sit here and wait all night.” Miriam sneered, turning her back to the observation window. “Two more hours and I’ll need something stronger than this swill to-”

“What… oh Gods!” Syrahn cut her sister off mid sentence and sprung to her feet. A bright flash of light flickered in the distance. “What is that? At the south entrance?!”

Covaya slowly rose to her feet and approached the window in silence. With the distant flames came a presence she hadn’t felt in months; the soft glow was unmistakable. The Lady of War pressed her hand against the glass as she fought back the swelling frustration and eagerness in the back of her throat. “Syrahn.” She spoke in a low whisper, but Syrahn heard her well enough. “Take me to my husband.”

A roaring pillar of blistering flame erupted at one of the side entrances of the Amber Glade. The guards were sent into a hysterical frenzy as they scrambled away from their posts to mobilize a sizeable defense; the alarms howled in the air over the shouting and cursing, catching the attention of the gatekeeper. The handful of defenders on the scene clutched their blessed weapons tightly, fearing the Burning Legion had come to lay waste to their secluded home at last. As reinforcements hurried out of breath to rally to their defense, they formed a phalanx against the impending onslaught of demons, but something wasn’t adding up.

Whitstan had escorted his beloved to the Glade hoping that some semblance of peace would be established; If not for the sake of the woman he held dear, for the sake of his child. The man slashed angrily at the earth before him showering the immediate vicinity with dirt and sand. He lifted his sword as its tip tore from the root and twine of the surface. The smell of the freshly unearthed soil permeated throughout his vicinity. Whitstan had hoped for a friendly and peaceful visit. He had been mistaken. He fell to a knee as if offering penance to some deity, yet he maintained his composure. “Grant me the strength needed to trudge through this trial.” the Knight pleaded. “Gods, angels, demons, beasts or… men… give me the strength to cut through all those would harm those I care for.” With that prayer, he took to his feet and brandished his blade. His faithful undead horse was summoned at his side with a mere stroke of his gauntlet. As he pulled himself onto the saddle, Whitstan turned to the pillar of smoke on the horizon, and began his approach at full gallop.

A figure stood in the blinding smoke of the ruined portcullis, alone and armed with only a radiating gladius and a large gilded shield. Confident it was some sort of fanatic instead of a demonic invasion, the guards broke formation and charged into the smoke to subdue this trespasser to bring him to justice. Yet the stranger moved like a demon all the same, seemingly unencumbered by the thick plate that covered him head to toe and undeterred by the smoke that surely blinded him. The stranger’s shield tasted teeth and blood, and one by one the guards were knocked unconscious with broken bones and shattered faces. The gatekeeper arrived on his hawkstrider at last, raising his hand and barking something incomprehensible to order his men still on their feet to retreat and regroup.

“Surround this intruder and wait for my-” The gatekeeper made the mistake of taking his eyes off the assailant for a moment too long. When he looked back the stranger was upon them with the familiar hum of Holy Magic coursing along his open palm. The unwary elf was snatched off his bird like a misbehaving child, lifted over the intruder’s shoulder and slammed face-first into the ground. Another explosion of searing flame expanded from his body, sending the other guards airborne and unconscious. The gatekeeper was incapacitated but still somewhat aware of his surroundings. All he could hear was the hissing of flame crackling along the ground, the faint wail of the Amber Glade sirens, and low, labored breathing; instead of finishing him off, the stranger decided to press forward. With the defense force completely overwhelmed, the southwestern gate was left in ruin, exposed, and compromised.

One at a time, soldiers were introduced to the ground. Whether they ended up on their knees, stomachs or faces, they all met the same fate; defeated by an overwhelming force but allowed the sanctity of their own lives. Nothing seemed to deter the stranger rampaging through the entrance of the Amber Glade. “... Syrahn…” the man uttered as his eyes burned with an unstable holy flame, finally facing one of the men who had fallen before him. “Where is she?”

The guard weakly looked up at him through his dented helmet; blood rushed from his nose and mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Lady… Bloodfeather…?” He winced, struggling to sit upright. “Uuugh… go to hell. And take... your b-bloodlust… with you…”

“Bloodlust?” the strange assailant asked incredulously, “Bloodlust…? No. This isn’t bloodlust. This is justice.” A quick jerk introduced the guard’s helmet to the attacker’s own faceguard with full force. The man went limp in his grip as he allowed him to fall to the ground. Reinvigorated with the man’s reluctance and his own sense of justice, he stepped deeper into the territory of the Glade. In the distance stood the Amber Castle, a place he’d heard of before yet never seen himself; it was the largest and brightest building in the Glade, and most importantly, the best guarded.

The second line of defense remained hidden in the sparse trees, concealed in the darkness of the growing night. Archers let loose a flurry of arrows at their target in hopes of turning him into a pin cushion. A raised shield released a blinding reflection as he summoned an Aegis of Light around him while the man dashed forward. The arrows either found themselves a mere moment behind the location of their intended target or deflected altogether. A goal was in mind and the unrelenting force wasn’t going to stop before he reached it. The archers turned to fall back to the inner walls, clearly intimidated by the single man who managed to cut through the outer defenses effortlessly. The guards standing watch along the innermost defenses were much older and less swayed by this stranger’s actions, gripping their weathered blades with stalwart determination; five veterans dropped over the heavy iron gate and cautiously strode toward him, keeping their shields and swords handy.

“Trespasser! You have spilled blood on these sacred grounds, and now stand before Sorlu Bladefathom! What is it you want, intruder? Speak!” The grizzled old man shouted, slamming his lance against his shield.

“Syrahn.” he responded curtly without losing momentum. He still made his way toward the opponents in front of him, showing no sign of hesitance while he pressed forward. Eventually his feet slowed to a stop as he regarded the guardians before him. “Truth, and justice.” the Paladin responded. “That is what I want… And none of you can give me the solace I seek. You’re all only obstacles to what needs to be done. Move aside, or be purged by the Light. I won’t warn you again.”

Sorlu shrugged with a welcoming demeanor, and with a wave of his lance the others slowly retreated back to the gate to give them some room. “Being your obstacle is our job. If you seek audience with our Lady, I’m afraid you’re too late for today. She’s sleeping in these early hours… and she will not be disturbed.” The moment the guardian finished speaking a heavy shield was launched to his location. He raised his own in kind but vanished in the explosion of Holy Magic, rocking the nearby trees and sending a handful of the guards along the wall to their knees.

“I told you, I won’t warn you again.” the stranger responded grimly with an iron grip on his gladius.

“Then die on your feet with that sword in your hand!” The old man roared, standing up straight again while he let his dented shield fall useless to the ground beside him. The stranger dashed forward in a flurry of attacks and parries that lit up the night sky with the sparks from his tenacious onslaught. His lance shattered in half from a brutal overhead swing, forcing him to discard it with a curse beneath his breath. His curved khopesh came up in a flash, reaching around the intruder’s shield and biting into his shoulder.

The blade dug deeper into his flesh as he forced himself closer to his opponent without pause. Eyes burning brightly with a teal hue burned into the old man along with a stern visage consumed by tenacity, “You won’t defeat me. You don’t have the strength.” They held each other’s wrists tightly, preventing any more swings of their weapons; but the guard was trembling, and he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

The old man coughed with a sly smile spread across his lips, but he couldn’t hide the forceful strain in his voice. “I'm not trying to defeat you.” What sounded like a roaring applause arose from behind the old knight; crested helms beyond counting shuffled toward the edge of the wall, wielding crossbows and rifles. Another surge of troops poured out of the portcullis like a golden wave of armor and shields; before long they were surrounded by the full might of the Amber Glade. “You've lost.” Sorlu continued, keeping his weary eyes fixed on Alucieus. “But it's not too late to surrender. Lay down your weapon… we can.... help you.” One of the guards at the edge of Alucieus’ vision began pacing back and forth.

“Father…!” He coughed out, causing Sorlu’s face to grimace.

“Stay back, boy!” The old man sounded more strained and exhausted by each passing moment. The gentle whistling of a portal echoed over the countless helmets of the Amber Glade’s might, revealing five elven women now standing on the edge of reinforced wall.

“Alucieus?!” Syrahn shouted out before covering her mouth. She wasn’t prepared to see him in such decrepit state; black circles hung under his sunken eyes, and it looked like he hadn't eaten since Dalaran. “Alucieus stop!”

“Stay back all of you…!” Sorlu forcefully grunted. “He must make... this… choice… him… self…!”

“Stand down, Justicar!” Miriam shouted with a commanding voice. “Don't do anything you'll regret!” Lord Augustus Sun’rael stepped into Alucieus’ line of sight behind the venerable elf. He said not a word, for the disapproving glare was more than enough to get his message across; being bested by an elf that was doomed to die sooner than later was a price Alucieus was not willing to pay. Sorlu saw the flash of fel corruption behind his eyes; it was still a foreign concept to him, but he knew madness when it stared him in the face. Out of options and out of time, Sorlu popped a serrated blade out of his knee and he brought it up as hard as he could, hoping to bury it into his opponent’s stomach. If defeating him was out of the question, gravely wounding him for safe capture was his best bet.

The Paladin released his grip on his enemy’s wrist, instead opting to drop his shield and grasp at the blade digging into his flesh. He instinctively swung his head backward to protect his vital functions, the helm dropping from his crown while he attempted to dodge the attack. Still, the unexpected weapon found itself lodged in its target’s stomach. A worn and weathered visage seemed to meet the old man, eyes laden with hatred as he felt the blade pierce his torso.

“I already told you… you won’t stop me.” the man coughed out with blood escaping his lips. He flipped the blade within his hand to shift from a slashing motion, to a stabbing one; he brought the tip of the gladius closer to the older man’s chest while it was resisted with all his strength. In an instant the old man’s strength failed him for the first time, for the last time. The blade punched through his chainmail and cut through flesh and bone, forcing a weak gasp from his dry lips.

“Nooo!” One of the guardsmen shrieked, stumbling forward until he collapsed on his hands and knees.

“Thank you… for your countless years of service… but your skills are no longer needed now...” a raspy voice whispered those final words to the gentleman, while simultaneously burying the blade deeper into his body. Sorlu stared into his eyes for one silent second before his legs gave out beneath him, causing the guard to collapse into a tangled heap of his armor and cloak.

“Now… it’s time to have a chat with my young and foolish friend, Syrahn.” Alucieus violently tore the sword from the man’s chest. “She owes me some answers. You served her well. Rest.”

“Alucieus!” the all-too familiar voice called above the roaring flames behind him; when his fel-scarred scowl rose to the wall, the maddening whispers of his surrounding ancestors became deafening. The other faces around her melted and blended together, forcing his burning eyes to focus on Syrahn as she glared down at him with nauseating fear. Her lips moved but he could barely hear her voice.

“Behold.” Augustus hissed with malice dripping from his lips. “The fruits of her treason have blossomed; she has turned your wife and daughter against you.” Seeing Covaya again after so long, only to be standing beside the enemy, encumbered Alucieus with a weight he had never known. He threatened to collapse to his knees, but the smoldering fire searing the inside of his head would not allow him to relent; what little reprieve he experienced seeing his wife and daughter was short lived, replaced with an irresistible urge for violence.

“What… happened to you…?!” Syrahn’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard against his ears; every moment that passed with breath in her lungs was an affront to everything he stood for.

Miriam wasn’t willing to stand around and wait for an answer. “With Sorlu’s death, Alucieus’ life is forfeit!” She commanded, raising one of her hands. “Prepare to fire on my command!”

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on him!” Covaya snapped out of her dreadful stupor at the threat on Alucieus’ safety. “Syrahn the fel corruption is compelling him! He’s innocent!”

“Belay that order!” Syrahn commanded, shooting a feral glare at her older sister before returning her gaze to Alucieus. “Alu… please! Lay down your weapon and turn yourself in! This isn’t you!”

A cruel grin unbecoming of Alucieus spread across his face. “Areus said those very words too, once. No… if I’m dying, it’s on my feet with my sword in my hand.” Kaevia flinched, staring down at her father with bewilderment. “What has he done to Uncle…? What is happening?”

“To hell with this.” Miriam hissed, glancing around at the crossbowmen at her command. “Sorlu is dead. The law is clear, this man must die for what he’s done!” Just before Syrahn, Viridias, and Covaya could interject, the crumbled heap of cloak and armor at Alucieus’ feet sputtered and twitched. Sir Sorlu coughed up a lungful of blood, and he was turning blue in the face with his chest cavity filling.

The Priestess wasted no time leaping off the side of the wall, and with a small whispered incantation she landed harmlessly in the grass with a gentle plop of her feet. “Alucieus…” she called out, fearful of the bloodsoaked gladius still firmly in his grip. “Let me save him. Please…! If he dies…!” Kaevia moved to join her former mentor, but her mother grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back to her side. Covaya watched Alucieus like a hawk, studying his erratic twitches and the subtle shifting of his feet, yet she remained completely silent.

“Lower your weapons!” Miriam shouted, glaring hatefully down at the High Justicar. “I said lower your weapons! If any of you hit your commander I’ll kill you myself!”

“Our moment of triumph is upon us.” Alucieus’ father whispered in his ear, compelling him to take a step back as a token of goodwill. Syrahn drew closer with every second despite her sister’s warnings, keeping her eyes fixated on the bloodied gladius still in his grasp. The Holy Light fluttered from her fingertips the moment she was upon Sorlu. The fel corruption searing Alucieus’ mind flared the instant she took her eyes off him, compelling the High Justicar to act.

“Syrahn!” Viridias shouted at the top of her lungs at the sight of him lunging at her youngest sister. His injuries against Sir Sorlu belied his punishing strength, completely catching Syrahn off guard when her eyes snapped back up to his outstretched hand; instead of cutting her down with a single strike of his heavy blade as Miriam, Covaya, and Kaevia feared, he snatched her by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

“Order your men to lay down their weapons and retreat back through their portals!” Alucieus commanded, pressing his gladius beneath Syrahn’s chin. “Or I'll bleed her like livestock!” Syrahn remained silent while she struggled to breathe with such a sharp edge so close to her throat, as Miriam froze in place, glaring down at Alucieus with a hateful fear she had rarely known. “I will not tell you again!”

“Do as he says…!” Syrahn fearfully stared at Miriam, Covaya and Kaevia when she managed to speak the words, causing the surrounding guardsmen to reluctantly drop their weapons and shields.

“She trembles like a leaf in your grasp.” Augustus sneered, running the back of his hand against her cheek. “Syrahn knows she is guilty. Her penance must be pain.”

“Father!” Kaevia finally snapped out of her stunned stupor and approached the edge of the wall. “You can't go through with this! I know you can still hear me… fight this corruption! You have overcome far worse! You are stronger than this… better than this!”

“Better? Better?!” Alucieus snapped back, tightening his grip on Syrahn’s arm. “Everything I have ever done, was for my house. For my family! To preserve House Sun’rael as my father did before me, and his father before him!” Syrahn furtively pointed her hand down at Sir Sorlu in a desperate attempt to heal his grievous wounds to stabilize him, hoping her deranged captor wouldn't notice. “You are willing to toss away our legacy… for what?! For him?!”

“Arden is growing taller and stronger every day.” Covaya assured, standing beside her daughter. “Our family legacy is secure. Light of my life… don't let this misguided hatred be the end of everything we have!”

Alucieus stared at his family in silence. They were his world, from dawn to dusk, to dawn again. The two people in this world he cherished the most, the two he would gladly trade the world for just to ensure their safety. He remembered the day he met Covaya all those years ago, addressing his wounds from a reckless duel in some forgotten tournament. That moment he looked into her shimmering blue eyes, he knew she was the one, and despite invoking his father's fury, he made her his. The day he held Kaevia in his arms, his world grinded to a screeching halt. How could a baby so small make so much noise? Sixteen grueling hours of childbirth left his beloved Sunlight exhausted, allowing him to clean his firstborn himself. That was the day every other man in this world became a threat; the day he knew he would raze Azeroth to the ground to protect her. But now, in his most trying of times, they forsake him.

“Misguided hatred…?” He repeated, while slowly sheathing his gladius; for a moment relief washed over their frightened faces. Only for a moment. “This is just the beginning.”

“AAAAAHHHH!” Syrahn’s sudden shrieking caused Viridias to clasp at her mouth. In an instant her arm shattered, twisting in directions it was never supposed to; with a surge of strength the High Justicar had snapped her bones like a child breaking apart a twig.

“See how easily she breaks.” Augustus tsked, slowly shaking his head in disapproval. “Pathetic.” Miriam and Viridias were stunned at the sight of Syrahn flailing and kicking in his grasp. Every time she moved the splintered bones in her arm jolted agony, but she was in too much pain and panic to stop. Alucieus’ other hand shot up at the zenith of her screaming and caught her by the throat, plummeting the surrounding field in silence.

“I want Whitstan’s head!” The High Justicar bellowed, as Syrahn feebly clawed at his gauntlet to free herself. “Do you hear me, Bloodfeathers?! Bring me his head or I will give you hers!” The color from Syrahn’s face was quickly fading, and in her current state she wouldn’t retain consciousness for much longer.

“Stop…” Viridias spoke in a frightened whisper. “Stop…! Stop we’ll give you whatever you want!”

“Father no! STOP!” Kaevia shouted, while a helpless weight threatened to flatten her against the railing. Covaya didn’t say a word, horrified at what her lover had become. Before anyone had the chance to move, a familiar neighing echoed along the wind of the open field.

Whitstan appeared atop his deathcharger, leaping clear over the wall in a single bound. The undead horse landed hard against the grass and almost buckled from the weight, but kept steady while it slowed to a halt. Alucieus’ surrounding ancestors began screeching in a deafening crescendo, filling the High Justicar with a deep-burning malice. “Whitstan…!” Kaevia thought out loud, breaking her gaze away from Syrahn only for a moment to look at her undead beloved.

“Alucieus.” Whitstan started, swinging a leg over his saddle before landing silently in the grass beside his horse. “Let Syrahn go.”

“Drop your blade, ghoul. Or I drop your traitorous savior.” The hatred dripping from his voice was almost tangible. Whitstan seemed unmoved at the sight of Syrahn’s unnaturally twisted arm, but he furrowed his brow at her ruthless strangling; if he didn’t quell this problem, a certain Hunter certainly would.

“You know that’s never going to happen.” Whitstan spoke in a calm voice, reaching over his shoulder to pull the sickeningly crimson greatsword off his back. “Killing her will force all of those guards to return. How many could you take down before you’re overwhelmed? Ten? A hundred? Your quarrel is with me… and if you want my head so badly, come and take it.” Viridias shrieked at the sight of Syrahn’s free arm falling limp against her side, and her eyes slowly rolling back before closing. A brief lapse in his building fury caused Alucieus to release Syrahn, letting her fall face first into the grass like a sack of grain. He then took a few steps calculated steps forward with the Holy Light forging something ominous in his open hands.

“Out of all your bad ideas, this one is certainly the worst.” Ellyria whispered from the hilt of Whitstan’s runeblade. “Your plaything is going to be disappointed no matter this outcome.”

“You fought a High Justicar before…” Whitstan huffed in response, pointing his blade at Alucieus; the Holy Light within his grasp took form, revealing a dazzling and elegant sword with a serrated edge and glimmering handguard.

“Yes. And if it weren’t for sacrificing all of my precious thralls I wouldn’t be here, trapped in your blade.” The attitude in her tone almost caused Whitstan to smirk, but given the current circumstances, it would have to wait.

“Any tips?”

“Don’t get killed.”

Collabuddies: @k-sunrael @whitstanwilhelm

[whitstanwilhelm]

Home, Sweet Home

“This child… His future is marred by a terrible darkness.” A wheeze came. “A black cloud looms over his spirit, tainted by it, waiting to consume him. To consume life… all life.” A sinister viridian glow spread across the room.  The seer’s corrupted eyes bore into the infant. “Death will never relent, remaining beside him as a haunting companion that will never leave his side. Anguish and torment will blanket his soul… swaddling and rocking him into the cradle of the deep. If you have any mercy in your heart Soren Sungrave, it would be better for him to die now.” “Death will follow him all his life.”

“Whitty! I finished it! Come and see!” she scampered off to her room with her brother in tow. “Look!... Look!” “Okay, okay. Calm down. You know you shouldn’t be running around and getting all exci-” words were cut short as his sapphire eyes settled down to the floor. He knelt, inspecting the emblems drawn on the wooden flooring as Clarissa bounced up and down on the ball of her feet clapping excitedly. “I did it! I copied the book perfectly this time! Watch!” He knew what it was but a sense of disbelief filled his mind. “This circle won’t do anything. Help me clean this powder up befo-” “Don’t touch it!” she squeaked. “It works! I drew it exactly like the book and it works!” Whitstan shook his head, “You’re telling me you can use magic now? Without a tutor? Without a mage to teach you or a scroll to cast?” “Just watch! It helps focus la…. late… laten mana!” “Latent. LatENT. Okay fine.” He corrected her and relented. A part of him couldn’t help thinking how cute his little sister was when she was energetic. A solemn expression came over him while he wondered how long it would last this time. The teen entertained his little sister for a moment and watched her kneel next to the circle. At the center was a storybook. “Watch carefully!” she exclaimed holding her hands aloft in front of her. A few deep breaths and nothing. “Clara…” Whitstan started. The arcane dust was about to seep into the floor and they couldn’t afford to lose a single ounce of it. Their father was still out on his trade routes along the seven kingdoms. They had to make due with whatever money and marketable materials were left until his return. A soft white glow began to emanate from her hands while his eyes widened with shock. The storybook shook. Was he seeing things right? Another shake. Then another. An uneven lift-off then a quick rebalancing took place while the book levitated. He glanced back to his sister. She shot her eyes open, the softest golden hue escaped her irises. The image was so brief and faint Whitstan was unsure if what he saw was even accurate. A quick thud sounded as the glowing light faded, knocking some of the dense dust into the air. “See? The symbols help me focus my mana from my hands to the book!” “So… they’re magic runes?” uncertainty continued to creep into his mind. A shake of the head came as if he was trying to dispel the fog that loomed over it. He wondered what made him ask such an obvious question he already knew the answer to. “That was… amazing Clara. I didn’t think anyone as young as you could control your mana like that… and you didn’t even need to chant anything… I thought most casters had to prepare spells in advance or invoke incantations...” A meek series of coughs escaped her as she hunched over slightly. A worried expression wore on his features while he looked to Clarissa. It was her turn to shake her head and give a forced smile, “I’m fine… it’s nothing! I promise. I’ve been doing better ever since papa brought that yucky medicine home.” A sigh escaped his lips “Okay...” An awkward silence fell over them for a long moment. “Okay! Now that I can use this, I can test out the orb!” “What… orb?” he looked to her inquisitively. “This one!” Clarissa dove under her bed, her raven black hair flying every which way before wiggling out. “You’re going to get your dress dirty, don’t go rolling around on the ground while you’re wearing white…” Whitstan chastised while grimacing at the thought of having to handwash the dress with bleach. “Look!” she shouted again, though this time her brother’s worried expression wouldn’t go away. She held out a clear orb with what looked to be a tarnished bronze base casted into the shape of dragons holding the sphere in place. It looked like an old heirloom left over in an attic that some crazy grandma would use to pretend she can scry. The kind that would deprive the paranoid or desperate desolates of the few copper coins they had left to their name. “Where’d you get that… we can’t afford to waste money on junk Clara… where did you even get that?” “It’s not junk! I got it from the old lady by the market that trades coins from different places! It’s supposed to tell what kind of magic you’re good at.” “You mean magical affinity?- Anyway when did you even get a chance to get that and what how much did you spend?” “She gave it to me the last time you took me to the market… you know…” she explained, “When you were talking with that one girl at that one fish stand. The elf. Do you like her more than me because she’s like you?” she said with an overtly jealous tone, narrowed eyes and a slight pout of her lower lip. “Uhhhh, so what does the orb do again?” he quickly veered the subject back to the item. “So. someone can touch the orb and it will draw their mana es… essence. She said if turns blue, it’s frost or water magic, if it’s violet it’s arcane magic, if it’s red, it’s fire, if it’s like a bluish-green color… t...tea?” “Teal.” “Yeah, that. It’s nature magic. Dark purple means shadow. And if it’s bright green it’s bad stuff. But if it turns gold or yellow, that means Holy! You can heal people!” she exclaimed hopefully, “...maybe even...” she looked down sheepishly. “So how does it work?” “Just watch.” Clarissa stated as she replaced the book at the center of her markings with the orb. She took the kneeling posture that was taken just prior to her previous spell, holding her hands out like before. After a few moments the orb began to glow a murky white color. “Okay, it’s ready…” she explained before putting her hands on the bauble, concentrating all-the-while. “I just have to push press some of my mana into…” she started to ramble. Whitstan watched as she focused on the orb sharply while the murky substance that resembled a cloudy liquid began to change colors. It seemed to lighten until the hues shifted into lighter shades of gray. Slowly a gold-color substance began to shift and take over the orb. Then another color, and another, until the colors melded into a blackness. Nothing could be seen in the orb except an empty dark, not even a reflection from the glass. Clara seemed to stare into it deeper and deeper, seemingly mesmerized by the orb. “Clara?...” he softly called to her. There was no response. “Clara.” this time it was more of a command to get her attention to no avail. “Clara!” he shouted. She jumped a bit, her hands jolting off the orb as she jerked her eyes to her brother, “Whitty… what’s wrong?” “You… were zoning out there.” he explained as he glanced back to the orb which was now a clear glass sphere again. “It changed to black… and it looked like you were… stuck staring at it.” “Oh… it must not have worked…” she replied with a discouraged tone. “Oh, I know! Why don’t you try it. Then we can tell if it’s broken or not!” “Uh… I don’t know how to do it like you did.” Whitstan commented frankly. “I can cast the spell like before and all you have to do is touch it. Try it Whitty!” Clarissa encouraged him. And like before, her hands shifted out to reveal a murky haze in the orb in shades of white. Slowly but surely, albeit reluctantly, he moved his hand toward the sphere. Something felt off as his hand touched the cold glass. He could feel the cloud inside phase around and take on a different form. The orb began to shift colors again except it remained murky and clouded, nothing but the color of ash and shale. Hues of grey shifted about and a low humming could be heard. Quickly the humming transitioned into a light ringing but it grew louder by the second. The ringing stung at the ears for a moment as it heightened to the point where it felt sharp and persisted a few seconds as they winced. Before they could regain their bearings the ringing abruptly stopped and the glass cracked in all directions from Whitstan’s hand. The orb returned to a clear state but was shattered. The glow of the arcane dust and magic were no more. “Huh…” they both sounded out at the exact same time as they fiddled with their ears. “I guess it’s broke-” she started. Clarissa couldn’t get the words out before she erupted into a violent coughing fit. Whitstan immediately moved to her side and helped her on the bed as she coughed and choked until blood began dripping from her mouth. He quickly reached into the nightstand next to her bed to grab one of several handkerchiefs, simultaneously wiping and covering her mouth while she coughed into it. He watched her helplessly. He should have been used to it by now. He should have known the medicine wouldn’t have made any difference. Slowly, her fair skin turned pale and he was once again reminded of the frailty of human life. She was sick. She could leave the world at any moment. Even if she could be healed… how long would she have? A few decades at best and a few years at worst? He would live for centuries, perhaps even a millenia. Yet here she was, someone he cherished and loved sat there dying since she had been born. Slowly. Dying painfully in his arms. But… She was a fighter. Everyone had said she wouldn’t last the first year yet here she was. Then every year, the physicians and healers of Lordaeron would say the same thing. ‘She won’t last the winter.’ In her, he saw the true frailty of humans, yes, but he also saw their resiliency. Though he wasn’t her brother by blood it didn’t matter to him. He cared for her as a sister in spite of that, because he chose to. This was their home. He would always be there for her and take care of her as long as she drew breath.Her eyes turned red and teared up from the force of her constant coughing. As her fit calmed slowly she breathed in sharply through her partially clogged nose. “I’m sorry Whitty…” she spoke weakly, “I… I thought I was getting better.” Finally she had come to terms with it and admitted she wasn’t any healthier than before the medicine. “It’s okay… Clara... I’m here…” Whitstan softly spoke to her, rubbing her back gently as he held her. “I’ll always be here for you.” “...Promise?” “I promise.”

Whitstan looked down from the front gates of the Ruins of Lordaeron out to Brill. Blight permeated what was once his home like a choking mist. He had spent the better part of the day fighting off Alliance attackers with the other undead and Horde allies. He had to buy enough time for the Forsaken civilians to escape. He returned to his home to see it marred by a green mist killing everything it touched. His knuckles turned white from the tight grip on his blades as his eyes settled across the field. Sure, his hometown was destroyed again and again; this time it was poisoned to stop the Alliance. But that’s not why his chest felt like a sword had been plunged into it. His sapphire orbs shifted to where Brill once was. Or what was left of it. Where his sister was buried. The tattered Alliance banners and broken war machines of the humans made his blood boil. It wasn’t enough that he had lost what was once his home to the Scourge, and now this blight. They desecrated the town his sister was laid to rest. The voices of the Draenei, Humans and Ren’dorei echoed in his mind, ‘For the Alliance!’ They shouted the mantra again and again like drones as they attacked the city while citizens ran for safety. The irony of their attack was not lost on Whitstan. While condemning an act of war as unlawful, dishonorable and atrocious due to civilian casualties they acted the same in retaliation while spouting hypocrisy of honor and that same old tired phrase that filled him with rage. Thanks to the SI:7 agents attacking unarmed civilians within Undercity he knew now for certain that if they had not bought time for the non-combatants to escape, they would have met the same fate as the ones who died in Darnassus. At least the Kal’dorei had plenty of time to evacuate beforehand whether it was on the drawn-out attack that was stalled again and again or while the army marched a considerably vast distance. At least when the Queen ordered Teldrassil burned, they had the opportunity to evacuate leading up to those events. They had the gall to speak of honor. Of justice. Of mercy. He stared at the blue flags waving in the distance. The voices started to seep in again. ‘Kill them all. Make them all suffer like she did. Like you suffered.’ His supernatural echo carried his undead voice across the ramparts as he spoke softly but dryly. “Alliance… all of you… so proud and honorable. Spit words out like ‘justice’, ‘righteousness’, ‘honor’ and the ‘light’ as if any of that makes you any better than the Scarlet Crusade. You call us dishonorable, call us cowards.” “To quote an old ‘friend’... You speak of justice… of cowardice... I will show you the justice of the grave. The true meaning of fear.”

[syrahnbloodfeather]

A Little More Time

Tyrasam took the news of Alucieus’ death a lot harder than she expected. Losing the only man her late husband could call a friend placed a heavy burden on her shoulders, especially considering he too died as an indirect result of fel corruption. She didn't know the details of the High Justicar’s demise but she didn't need to; the burns on her daughter's hands told her all she needed to know.

To think Whitstan would kill both Zerethel and Alucieus was a nightmare that kept her awake for more nights than she cared to remember. It was a reality she fought against in the snowy woods of the Western Plaguelands and beyond. The moment happened at last, forever burned into her history, yet she still didn't know how to feel about it. With Jaeras now under strict supervision at the Amber Castle, Tyrasam was free to visit Syrahn at her leisure.

She knew what she would see when she arrived at the gates of the Amber Castle, but she still wasn't ready. Rows of coffins lined the left side of the courtyard, draped in black cloth with their names engraved in gold. Countless guards and families alike surrounded them, many leaning over the coffins and sobbing; a bit no older than six stood beside his weeping mother, saluting what had to be the remains of his father. It wasn't something Tyrasam could stomach looking at for long. Worse still, an angry crowd was growing outside of the gates. They were demanding answers Syrahn likely didn't have. Fortunately the guards keeping them from getting any closer to the castle recognized her and let her pass without incident, otherwise she would be sent straight back home.

Tyrasam found Syrahn’s family in the gilded halls beneath the Seat of the Exalted; while the adults did their best to keep their spirits high despite the trouble gathering outside, the children were blissfully ignorant of the situation, and at best, curious from the tension in the air around them. The guards didn’t pay the Paladin any mind, so neither did any of Syrahn’s relatives, allowing her to slip past them seemingly unnoticed to ascend yet another staircase that led to Syrahn’s private chambers.

Her office was a mess. The large wooden desk she sat behind was overflowing with letters and blank sheets of parchment, with several inkwells cluttered near her functioning hand. It wasn’t until Tyrasam cleared her throat did Syrahn even notice her presence. “Oh…! Good morning, Sammy. Sorry for the mess… I didn’t expect you to get here so soon.”

Tyrasam gave Syrahn a comforting smile before meandering toward the alcohol cabinet. “No need to apologize, Syrie. So…” she started while pouring herself a drink, “Keeping yourself busy with writing these days, hm?”

“They’re letters to the families of the guards who died from Alucieus’ onslaught.” The Priestess lowered her head after saying his name; soon that name would belong only to a distant memory, like Ashelin, Areus, and Ehalu. “I don’t think it’s going to help ease their pain one bit, but, it won’t make things worse. Did you see the coffins outside?”

Tyrasam walked around the table with a bottle in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. “I did… along with the crowd.” She couldn’t find a chair that wasn’t covered in paper, so she decided to lean against the wall instead. “They seem angrier at you than the man that took their sons and husbands away…”

“They want answers for the attack. Answers I can’t give them.” Syrahn almost seemed apathetic to their plight, but perhaps she was just emotionally drained from this whole ordeal. The woman finally put her quill away to lean back in her chair. “The commonfolk are convinced it was an assault by the Alliance, and they want blood. The great houses blame House Sun’rael for Alucieus succumbing to the fel corruption, and the meeting yesterday decided Lady Covaya would compensate us for the destruction of our property.”

“How much would that cost?”

“Just over six million.” Tyrasam almost choked on her wine and threatened to spit it across the room, but she proved to be exceptionally talented with holding her liquor.

“Six million?!” She coughed out, wiping wine off her bottom lip. “That’s insane! All he destroyed was a garden, a gate and some statues!”

“That statue was in honor of Lord Kael’kro Sunlust and his lingering legacy.” Syrahn furrowed her brow while she stared off into space. “It was created by Benjamin Kess, a legendary mason that traveled all the way from Stromgarde to cut the statue - by hand - out of the largest boulder in Quel’thalas. Kings would have to wait decades just to get their hands on his craftsmanship… until the Third War happened.” Syrahn closed her eyes and slowly reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose; a surefire sign of her frustration. “I have no desire to make Covie pay for my mistake, especially with her house on hard times now that the war against the Legion is nearing its end. But you must understand… I can’t keep giving my friends favors while ignoring the people I’m charged to protect. My authority isn’t as strong as it needs to be, and it’s only getting weaker by the day. I have to prove to these people that I’m capable of keeping them safe. I can’t tread on their traditions in one moment, then demand their respect and allegiance in another. It’s just…” Syrahn rubbed her temple with her thumb. “Lately I’ve been trying to do what I believe is right, and it’s been causing me nothing but trouble. I don’t know why I keep bothering.”

“It's not just you.” Tyrasam assured her. “I was the one who first attacked Whitstan at the gates of Silvermoon City…” She paused as she rubbed the center of her chest. “Almost died that day… if Whitstan didn't restrain himself, I certainly would've. I guess what I'm trying to say is… never regret doing what's right. If I saw Whitstan but minded my own business my husband would still be alive, Zaldrannar would still be afloat, which means Alucieus would still be alive… everything bad that's happened to us after stopping Hellscream in Draenor could be traced back to my impulse to kill Whitstan.”

Syrahn was quick to retort with, “That's not true. Whitstan was only in Silvermoon because I brought him back from the brink of death after Areus left him to fade away near Scholomance. If I had left him alone, none of this would have happened.”

“You did the right thing.” She softly yet firmly said, placing a hand on Syrahn’s shoulder. “You were the only one to see good in him. You alone. You suffered for it too… I… heard rumors of what Ashelin did to you in the Exchange…” Syrahn slowly inhaled, but said nothing. “You were right to spare him. You were right to defend his right to live. You were right to unlock his memories. You were right to try and save Alucieus. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have the strength and tact to do the same. Jaeras wouldn't even know her real father, the Amber Glade would probably be in ruin with my husband in charge…” Tyrasam did her best to make light of the situation, but she wasn't sure how successful her attempts were. “You're a strong woman. You'll persevere… you always have.”

Syrahn slowly turned in her chair and took Tyrasam’s hand before tears started rolling down her reddened cheeks. “Th-thank you Sam. I… I really needed to hear that from someone…” Tyrasam knelt beside her chair and pulled her in for a hug, but she was careful to avoid her bandaged arm. They stayed frozen in each other’s arms for quite some time, and Tyrasam refused to let her go until she stopped sobbing. It wasn’t until she could no longer ignore the ache in her legs from kneeling for so long did Syrahn finally settle down.

“Are you going to be okay?” Tyrasam asked affectionately. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

“N-no…” Syrahn sniffled, wiping her face dry of tears with the palm of her hand. “But there’s… more news. It’s about Whitstan…”

A coldness gripped the Paladin’s stomach. “Oh Gods, did he...?”

“No! Nothing like that…” Her voice trailed off again before she inhaled sharply. “The undead can’t breed, needless to say. Kaevia and Whitstan have grown very close, and well…”

“He wants Jaeras.” Tyrasam stood up to her full height and looked down at the Priestess with a peculiar ring in her tone of voice. “Kaevia and Whitstan want to raise Jaeras since she’s technically his. Right?” Syrahn pursed her lips while she nodded. “I knew this would eventually happen. When he confronted me on the roads in Eversong Woods, I saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. I just thought… I’d have more time.”

“Lady Covaya has offered you a position within the Sun’rael estate.” Syrahn was quick to add, unsure if Tyrasam needed comforting words or not. “... so you can remain close… and watch her grow into a fine young woman.”

“I can’t do that.” Tyrasam bluntly admitted. Before Syrahn could respond, she continued with, “I have a business I’m running. All of my greatest customers are within walking distance from my home… and I… I’d just get in the way. No sense in having three parents, right? I belong here.”

The Priestess slowly rose from her chair to meet Tyrasam eye to eye. “You know you can say no.”

“No, I can’t.” She suddenly sounded exhausted. “At the end of the day, he is her father. Her true father. And he’s done a better job in the few times he’s visited than Zereth ever did, that’s for sure…” Now it was Syrahn’s turn to embrace Tyrasam. “I just… I j-just…! I wish I had more time…!”

Tyrasam’s composure shattered once Syrahn pulled her in for a hug. “You can visit her whenever you like. You can still be there for her when she needs you. You know this… S-Sammy…!” She felt her own eyes begin to flare up and sting again as the tears returned. They fed off each other's grief, when one trembled and sobbed, the other did it louder and heavier, and up and up they went. Syrahn and Tyrasam became so loud that they didn't even hear the door across the room open.

Miriam creaked the door open and poked her head inside before saying, “Syrahn are you almost done with the-...” She stopped in the middle of her question the moment she realized her sister and one of her friends were weeping uncontrollably in each other's arms; Miriam didn't know what they were crying over, but she wasn't about to stick around and find out. “I'll… come back later.”

Mentions: @alucieussunrael @k-sunrael

[elenariseventide]

[Collab between @areussunrael and myself! Lead in story thanks to @k-sunrael!]

The familiarity of Quel’Danas assisted him. His birthplace wasn’t one he was unfamiliar with over the decades, or even centuries. Ward after ward, rune after rune, even out in the gardens, the Eventide estate was protected more heavily than he anticipated. He slithered about using the darkness as his ally, avoiding guards one after the other. On top of guile was magic that assisted him. A slight mental suggestion incepted into the minds of his targets helped him avoid those that might cross his path. A premature visit to the bathroom, a decision to patrol down the right instead of the left, small choices here and there that averted interception of his presence helped him land his feet on the outside ledges of the highest tower in the eastern wing.

Luckily for him, the Lady enjoyed a cool breeze coming in from the seaside. He casually walked in the window and didn’t attempt to hide his presence. If he knew she was in there, she knew that he was outside and chose not to act. “Lady Eventide…” he offered in greeting as he sauntered about, a slight limp in his step.

He sniffed at the air behind his mask, a familiar smell of smoke and alcohol wafted about the room. “Is that… a hint of bloodthistle paired with a bit of red wine? Very refined if I say so myself.” Areus commented.

The Matriarch would be found in a rather lounged manner, her feet propped up comfortably and each hand held just as he suggested due to the scent in the air. Her gaze slowly lifted to meet the man’s, head tilting not quite out of curiousity but moreso in approval. The wine stained lips curled into a soft grin as she nodded to a vacant chair to her right, adjacent to the table that held the remainder of the wine and an empty glass.

“Areus.” She stated simply, returning her vintage once more to enjoy the taste. “Refined, indeed. Care to join me? I assume you might be here for a bit, seeing as you took such detail in making it to my chambers in the manner of which you did instead of simply asking for me.”

“I do relish a challenge,” he responded with a hidden smile, “However, I relish an opportunity for drink and conversation with an old friend even more.” The man shifted into the empty seat, pouring a glass for himself next to her. “Remind me to bring you something from my own reserve next time we meet. I suppose I was remiss in planning because I was so motivated to see you.” he responded, removing his own pipe and lighting it with the flash of his fingertips: a simple trick for a spellflinger. He tilted his mask down just enough to situate and puff from his elegant pipe, “For what little it means, I did miss your company, Elenaris. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

She retained her gaze toward him for the time it took for the masked figure to find his seat and pour his glass. A simple breath filled her lungs, the rise of her chest preluding to the slow release while her attentions turned once more toward the horizon just on the other side of the balcony. “Ah, Areus, you are quite the charmer, hm?”

A single inhale came as her lips cupped the small pipe between them, the trail of smoke soon following. Lids lowered as she relished in the often frowned upon vice, placing it at her side as she no longer needed it. “It has not been that long, though I suppose if you miss someone’s company then you miss it despite the time.” As the words flowed, she found herself looking over to him yet again. “And yet, I feel as though there might be something you want as a more likely outcome.”

He sighed lightly, taking another puff from his pipe. He reached over to the wine to give a light sip. “You certainly do have taste. I prefer the more bitter stuff though.” he commented. His eyes found hers and and an appropriate reply. He placed the glass back down before he opened his left hand, attempting to hide the wince he held due to the pain at his side. An orb formed within his palm consisting of shadow energies swirling with no end. The energies found form and converted into a raven that flapped its wings. “I understand that you’re delving more into the darker side of our talents. Embracing the shadow. I wouldn’t dare presume my experience is more well-versed than yours into the darkness because each of our journeys are distinct and unique. However… I would caution you as you step closer to the void. That is the purpose of my visit and my desired outcome.” he continued, “The line between sanity and justice become a little more convoluted with each step we take toward that darkness. You are a paragon of Light, as is my brother, his wife, and to an extent their daughter- your apprentice. But… both you and her dance about a dangerous line that’s very easy to cross. She errs on the side of caution. I feel… the draw of power is more prominent in you. You were never one to allow others to decide your fate or strength, where I think Kaevia takes after you and draws hers as well. But…” his voice took a darker tone,  “She is more cautious in delving to the darkness. However, conversely, this would be an appropriate source for you to bolster your own strength… at a price.”

The dim glow of her green hues held over him as he spoke, ever growing interest with each word. With yet another sip of the wine, she found herself chuckling lowly as a simple gesture came in the form of denial. “Oh, Areus, I suppose this is coming from a place of concern?” Her tone was low, dripping with the tinge of sarcasm as she inquired of her friend.

“The public may view me as a beacon of Light, a shining star among the night sky, or even a guiding hand through a bitter and dark path… but that is not what I am and you should be far more aware of that than most. The Light left me years ago, and I in return shunned it from ever having any power over me by any means.” The woman leaned toward him, her weight resting upon her arm that rested against the chair. She reached her own hand outward, after having set aside her glass, swirling it through the gathered shadow energy that levitated above Areus’ palm. “However I am curious, what makes you so sure that I seek to delve further into the void?”

He sighed, “Because, the void calls to you. It calls to those who seek it and embraces them. In the same manner as those paladins and priests who seek to worship the Light find the Light… the Darkness finds those who want it. I know you tread a different path, I was just afraid you’d dive down into it further than most and drown into it. Especially with the draw it has to you. I’ve taken an item that rightfully belong to those who serve my niece, but I felt its hunger. And I felt its desire to connect with you. Nothing good can come from this, but it isn’t my place to obstruct it.” he muttered out as the shadow raven in his hand collapsed, the dark energies spinning yet again to form a simple stone. “Whoever contracted my niece drew her to danger by doing so, I couldn’t let her take possession of it lest I risk it corrupting her. Yet here I am, drawn to its object of obsession and asking you to turn a blind eye, and not accept the voices that escape from it.” The diamond shaped relic spun and shined a purple hue along the runic incantations carved onto the small stone.

Just as quickly as the shadows faded, her eyes fell to the familiar item. The twitch of her lips upward in a smirk came almost unknowingly to her conscious mind, her features slowly turning into something darker. “I told Whitstan not to give it to her, at the very least it fell into better equipped hands.” A silent moment came over the two as she spent the time to take in every little minor detail of the item. “And if I were to agree to your...pleas of concern for my, what would you call it, well being?” The movement of her head to offer her yet another gaze over Areus came in a bit of a jolt. “What would you do to it?”

“Lock it away.” he responded, “It’s too precious and near to the void to destroy. It might be what makes or breaks our war against the Legion, or even further enemies away in more distant stars. I can’t risk it getting into the wrong hands. But… yours, might be the right ones. However I’m sure you sense my hesitance. If it corrupts you, there’s a lot that I imagine I’d be responsible for… for instance…” he paused to take the glass into his hand once more, downing it all in one go. “If you’d lose yourself to the darkness and harm others, their blood would be on my hands. And if ever you became a threat to my niece, no matter how good of friends we may have been all these years… I would have no choice but to silence you, permanently.” he shook his head, “That’s not something I wish for, nor something I wish to be the man responsible for initiating. I don’t mean this as a threat. Please, consider your options before you act in this. That’s all I ask. That’s all I’m here for. The darkness calls for all three of us, even little Kaevia. I just don’t want it to consume you.”

She held her hand just inches away from the relic, her gaze falling once more to it. “Your concern is properly placed, understandable and welcomed even...I suppose, however I feel this is exactly where my path has been leading me for quite some time. As for your plans to remove me from any equation that might bring harm to Kaevia, trust me when I say that I expect you to do so, even go so far as ask for your word to be promised upon in such regard should I fall so far that such a time would come. I leave it to your hands alone, Areus.” Her words were abrupt and harsh as her hand turned to offer her palm upward to him in request. “If curiosities await you, I will be sure to offer what I might find from accepting this into my possessions.”  

A slight dip in his head came from him. Not quite a nod, but rather a resignation. She had entrusted him with something he had hoped to avoid by warning her. Yet at the same time he had asked for this very responsibility by mentioning it. “I would appreciate any insight you might garner… and… I do offer my word for that I would keep that promise. I pray that the day I need to execute that promise never comes to pass.” he responds as he lightly raises his hand with the floating stone in hand to pass off to her gesturing palm.

Feeling the stone fall into her hand, it carried the weight further than what a simple pendant would, though of course it was obvious to the two of them that it was not such a thing. She retracted her hand, bringing it closer to her person before slowly curling her fingers around it. “And as do I, dear friend and I will surely do my best to veer away from that fate for us all.”  With that, she found it in herself to take the chain in hand that held the stone itself and placed it around her neck. “Oh, and of course, should I come across anything...interesting, you will be the first to learn of it.” She added, taking her glass of wine back up and sipping yet again.

He offered a gentle nod as he poured another rather expensive glass from the elegant pitcher. “Well, let’s pray for the best and prepare for the worst. In the meantime, I hope you don’t mind me finishing your costly wine.” he replied, a playful wink offered her way as he took another puff from his pipe. The friendly banter and joking would have to be carried on as long as it could, for this could be the very last moment he held an amicable conversation with the Lady. He was overwhelmed with concern, yet, he held hope. A hope he would pray wouldn’t betray him. Nevertheless, he was prepared to uphold his promise. He tipped the glass toward Elenaris, “Cheers.”

#Veil of Ashes #Areus Sun'rael #Elenaris Eventide #Void thing

[istrys]

Turning Pages Turned to Stone (Finale)

Tyrasam took her time walking down the hallway. There was a lot she wanted to tell the woman who destroyed Zaldrannar, but she was conflicted; she knew Whitstan was the one who took Zerethel’s life, yet this Istrys woman was being punished for it all the same. Guilt crept up into the back of her throat for not speaking out against this obvious injustice, but judging how High Justicar Arveld addressed the three Undead, it wouldn’t have done them any good. The hallway itself was dimly lit with candles, spiraling down further into the earth, hidden away from prying eyes and the warmth of the Holy Light. When she found the single cell and the two guards near the end of the hallway, the Paladin took in a sharp breath before they took notice of her presence.

 “I want to speak with the woman who poisoned my husband.” Tyrasam addressed them as politely and assertively as she could, hoping they were in the generous mood to give her what she wanted; but they stared at her for several moments, questioning her intention.

 “Keep it brief.” One of them commanded, while they both stepped away from the iron bars. “And you will not enter her cell… and we will be within earshot.” She didn’t respond as they walked away, giving her enough space to step to the cell. The room itself was pitch black and silent, causing the Paladin to question whether or not Istrys was even in there. After several prolonged moments in deafening silence, Tyrasam suddenly heard the woman shift around in the furthermost corner of her cell.

“Have you come to mock me?” Istrys asked, while her fading cerulean eyes opened to reveal herself. “If you have anything you want to get off your mind, now’s your last chance.”

 “I’m not here to taunt you.” Tyrasam squinted to get a better look at the Necromancer, but for the most part she hid herself well in the darkness. A part of her wanted to tell her exactly what she thought of this silver-haired witch of a woman, but it didn't feel right to insult someone waiting for their execution. Tyrasam never trusted her around her husband, and the few times she walked in on them having a conversation alone would always spoil whatever good mood she had; thoughts of Zerethel cheating on her with this harpy made her stomach churn, but she did her best to hide these feelings, knowing no good would come from such paranoid delusions. “I wanted you to answer a few questions for me. When Zereth gave the order to betray Alucieus… what was he doing? What did he look like?”

 “Looked like a man who was losing his shit.” Istrys spoke dryly. “When Rethandus and Whitstan were done with their duel, which was fantastic by the way, your hubby wasn’t too pleased. He clutched his head and collapsed to his knees, mumbling something underneath his breath. When he rose back up to his feet, he was-”

 “I get the gist of it.” The Paladin frowned, tightening her grip around the iron bars. “So it really was fel poisoning… are you absolutely sure you weren’t responsible for that? I know you likely lied to High Justicar Arveld’s face… but was what you said true?”

 “I didn’t poison your damn husband.” Istrys hissed, her sense of humor vanishing once more. “I didn’t stop it from happening either, though, so I guess that’s just as bad. Not that it matters now.”

 “It matters to me.” She sharply inhaled again, momentarily distracted by her own thoughts. “And Rethandus? Whitstan? Were they involved…?”

 “You already know the answer if you have to ask.” The Necromancer closed her eyes and seemingly vanished from sight, but she was too weak to move around. “Ask them yourself. Both of them seem to have a weakness for your pampered princess of a daughter.”

 “I saw him and the Blackguard leaving Zaldrannar when I was shopping in Silvermoon.” Tyrasam started. “I saw the plumes of smoke rising from the nearby island an hour later. Was that Zereth’s doing?”

“It was.” the Necromancer leaned forward, letting what little light leaking into her cell illuminate half of her face. “A bounty was placed on you, your little girl and your late husband. Your grandfather-in-law wanted you dead. I’m sure you’d know why better than I do.” Tyrasam remained silent, unable to speak a coherent sentence with her thoughts in such disarray. She knew Zerethel’s father hated his youngest son, and hated her for loving him, but never in a thousand years could she believe he was capable of putting a hit on his own flesh and blood, his own daughter-in-law and even worse, sweet little Jaeras; the thought of his cruel grin spreading across his wrinkled face with their three heads presented to him on a silver platter made her stomach turn. Eventually she managed to push those thoughts aside, and glance back up at Istrys.

 “He would never…” She stuttered, unsure how to handle this news.

 “When Zerethel caught wind of this bounty, he decided to strike first. He brought me along with the Blackguard Elite, and we visited the homes of both of his brothers before we found Kolos himself locked away in Dalaran.”

 “He did it to protect us.” Tyrasam declared, unconvincingly. “He did it to protect me…”

 “Did he?” Istrys asked, slinking back into the darkness. “Or did he need a reason to slaughter his kin? He didn’t just kill his father, you know. He killed both of his brothers as well. He even killed their children. Zerethel wiped out the entire Kash’kaar bloodline, sparing only you and your girl. And the worst part…? He enjoyed it.” Tyrasam began breathing heavily while she glared at this vile woman, but she didn’t have anything to say. She was frozen in place, envisioning her husband’s spellflame consuming children. Children. “You should have seen the look on his face when he was deep frying his nephew. When he watched his brother flail slowly die by his flames. This wasn’t about revenge, or the need to protect you… he enjoyed it. He was smiling the entire time.”

 “I can’t…!” Tyrasam covered her mouth, but the Necromancer continued.

 “I’m a bitch, I’ll admit it. I got a thrill from killing people even before I became undead… and a few months ago I wasn’t above killing kids… but for him to do what he did to his own family? That’s a whole new level of fucked.” Istrys paused while she let the Paladin take in her words; if she was going to die tonight, she might as well tell this poor sap the whole truth. “That’s why I left the fel rune alone when I found it. Someone wanted him dead, and quite frankly, the world is better off without him.”

 “He wasn’t a good man…” Tyrasam started while she dropped her gaze to the floor. “But he was all I had…”

 “Well, what you had was legit evil.” The Necromancer leaned back to rest her head against the cold stone wall. “Be honest… if you knew a man who was capable of something like that… would you want him around? Would you want him around your little girl? Would you stop someone else from killing him?”

 “I…” She stuttered, nervously running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to… how to answer that…”

 “You already know the answer to that one, too.” Istrys’ words cut through Tyrasam like a blade. “You seem sweet… but you’re too gullible for your own good. I never got to know you well enough to say you deserve a good man in your life, but everyone deserves better than him.” The Paladin struggled to keep her composure as her tears began rolling down her cheeks. Despite months of supposed healing, against day after day of trying to put him behind her, he still had a firm grip on her body and soul. He would visit in her dreams, wheezing and scowling like he once did; and every time she would wake up in cold sweat. The woman was harsh, but her words rang true. Tyrasam let her husband do some twisted things; it was time to set things right.

 “I’m going to have a little chat with High Justicar Arveld.” She sighed while she rubbed her face dry from her tears, causing the Necromancer to slowly lean forward again.

 “What for? Trying to get my execution over sooner than later?”

 “You’ll have to wait and see.” The Paladin reluctantly released the bars and turned her back to the Necromancer. “I wouldn't give up just yet if I were you.”

  Istrys was carried by her two guards, too weak to even lift her feet to stop them from dragging along the floor. She could barely keep her eyes open by this point, struggling to lift her head up while they set her in her podium. Rethandus watched her in a scornful silence as he wondered how he would rescue her from this nightmare in one piece.

 “Thank you all for your patience and understanding.” High Justicar Arveld started while he stared down at the Necromancer. “As you are all aware, the Undead are a blight to this world, an unholy creation with the sole purpose of destroying and converting all life. They are a pestilence, who walk a very thin line of tolerance and usefulness. That is why we must punish any creature who strays from the path.”

 Whitstan grit his teeth as he listen to the pompous and self-righteous preaching condemning his own kind.

 “This isn't right.” Rethandus thought to himself. “They are going to butcher her and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it!”

 “Esmeralda Autumnstone. I find you guilty of conspiring against High Justicar Sun’rael with Councilor Kash’kaar, and the attempted coup that ended the lives of over a hundred in our order. I find you guilty of invoking madness in Councilor Kash’kaar with fel poison, and subsequently his murder after his attempt on High Justicar Sun’rael’s life. I find you guilty for the destruction of Zaldrannar: the Black Judge, and the terrible danger you put all of the citizens of Quel’Thalas and the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms. There can be no greater treachery than your heinous crimes… and for that, your punishment is death!”

“This is outrageous!” Rethandus blurted out, catching the attention of the nearby guards. “Whitstan already admitted to killing Zerethel yet you found her guilty anyway?!”

 “Another word and you will be joining her!”

 Whitstan himself instinctively reached to grab at his blade to no avail, he was disarmed in this enclave of the Light. He breathed out a deep sigh as he contemplated his options. He wasn’t about to give his life for Istrys but this disregard for justice made what left of his blood boil.

 “This is not justice! This is not how you Paladins are supposed to conduct yourselves!” Rethandus no longer cared about the High Justicar’s threats, raising one of his boots to slam on the back of the bench before him. “The Light is supposed to help people! The Light is supposed to-!”

 “Enough, Rethandus.” Tyrasam called out, catching him mid-sentence. “She’s not going to be executed today.”

 “Hmph…” High Justicar Arveld stroked his long wiry beard for several long moments, apparently conflicted with his own thoughts. “Lady Ku’sol is right. Ms. Autumnstone is sentenced to die, but not today.”

 “What?! But her verdict is guilty!” The Draenei woman screeched, rising up from her seat; what appeared to be what was left of her family rose along with her. “She needs to die for what she did!”

 “Indeed she does.” The old man slouched in his chair while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But a High Justicar’s word is his very oath. High Justicar Sun’rael pardoned her of her crimes, and as long as his breath remains his bond, she… cannot be executed.” The crowd quickly became unhinged at his unorthodox announcement, causing many guards to move in to stop them from killing Istrys herself. Rethandus stared wide-eyed at Tyrasam, who noticed his glance, but didn’t acknowledge it. Eventually High Justicar raised his hand, no longer even holding his gavel. “But know this: if Alucieus Sun’rael dies, whether it be on that death bed in Dalaran or surrounded by enemies in a future battlefield, his word will no longer protect you.” He waved his hand dismissively while he turned away, clearly too exhausted from all of this madness today. “Reclaim your criminal and get out of my sight.”

 Rethandus didn’t waste any time getting to her the moment the guards lowered their weapons to let him pass. The Harbinger ripped through the chains keeping her locked in the podium with relative ease. Istrys said nothing while she was quickly turned around and heaved over one of his shoulders. “We’re getting out of here before he changes his mind.” Rethandus whispered to her, unsure if she could even hear him. The woman said nothing while her arms and legs swayed limp and freely while he hurried to free her of this terrible place, and her unresponsive silence only hastened his steps.

 Whitstan glanced at the two, still remaining vigilant at Kaevia’s side. “Good for them.” he commented, his eyes wandering to the bloodthirsty mob, wondering how many of them simply wished to see his kind burn for countless other reasons or buried feelings. He couldn’t help but shift his gaze to see how far along they had gotten. He spoke out to the Priestess, “Justice wasn’t done here today however you cut it. We’ll see it met and done when it all settles.”

 Rethandus continued to walk until he could no longer feel the Holy Light seeping out of the ground beneath his feet. Gently he set her down against a nearby tree, fearing the worst. “Istrys…? Open your eyes… Istrys?!” The Harbinger reached down to rudely smack her face, desperate for a response. “Don’t you die on me! Istrys!”

 “Uuugh…” She weakly mumbled, sheepishly pushing his hand away. “What… happened? Everything went black for a really… l-long time…” The Necromancer hesitated to open her eyes, glancing around to find herself in the now lush forest of the once infamous Plaguelands.

 “High Justicar Arveld sentenced you to death. But he will only carry out your sentence should Alucieus die prematurely.” Rethandus sounded relieved, clearly not caring about the potential grass stain he was begging for on his right pant knee.

 “How long has he been in his coma again…? Three… four months…?”

 “Seven.” Rethandus answered, clenching his jaw.

 “Fuck… then I’ve got some preparations to take care of before they find me aga-” Istrys’ sentence was cut short the moment they both heard footsteps, causing Rethandus to rise to his feet and face whoever approached them.

 “Tyrasam…?” The Harbinger called out, catching her attention. “Did you know this would happen? That Arveld would let her go on a technicality?”

 “High Justicar Arveld, and yes.” The Paladin softly answered, peering down at the nearly-paralyzed Necromancer. “Like I said to you before, Istrys: I wouldn't give up so easily if I were you.”

 “There's something I need to tell you Tyrasam.” Rethandus reluctantly spoke while he approached her. “It's about the details of that so-called trial.”

 “You don't have to tell me.” She insisted, taking a small step back. “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

 “I'm responsible for your husband killing the rest of his family.” His deep voice pierced her like a spear, causing her to freeze in place. “I caught wind of what Zerethel was planning for Zaldrannar, but I couldn’t approach anyone who could stop him without any solid proof. I discovered a bounty on his head, and yours, and forged it to make him believe his father created it himself. My hope was for him to confront the family he left behind and die by their hands. I underestimated his resolve.”

“Why are you telling me this…!?” Tyrasam squeaked, causing the Harbinger to pause. “How could you do this?!”

 “He was going to slaughter every living being aboard that black citadel, Tyrasam. If you knew the things he did in the Bloodsworn Vanguard… the things I helped him do… you would understand.” Rethandus watched the trembling woman carefully, but he knew he couldn’t simply leave it at that. “When I heard Aethos was dead, I rushed to his estate as fast as I could. There I found a pile of charred corpses- your sister-in-law and nephew. I held their broken bodies in my arms, and all I could imagine was Jaeras and you sharing a similar fate. I couldn’t let their deaths be in vain, and I certainly couldn’t let Zerethel harm you two. So during his rampage to finish the rest of his extended family off, I placed a fel rune in his office in hopes of it killing him in his sleep. Once again, I underestimated his fading strength…”

 “That sickness was your doing…?!” Tyrasam cried out, forsaking her composure. “When I turned to you for help, you knew exactly what was happening to him?!”

 “Yes.” Rethandus answered coldly, causing her to stumble backwards a bit. “My plan was to get you and Jaeras to safety before he finally snapped, but… you insisted on staying by his side.” Rethandus reluctantly broke his stare with the woman, glancing down to stare at his pale frozen hand. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Tyrasam, and I wish I told you this sooner… but I did what I did because your husband was going to cross a line that could have ended your life. Hate me if you want… but I don’t regret Zerethel’s downfall.”

 “I… I don’t…” The Paladin stuttered, grasping at her hands.

 “You don’t have to say anything.” Rethandus took one last step forward before bowing. “Try to get some rest tonight. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through this year.” Tyrasam said nothing while she watched him turn his back on her and pluck Istrys out of the grass. For the longest time her words were resting on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t summon the strength to speak them. Eventually she collapsed to her hands and knees once they were out of sight, forced to reopen formally closed wounds once again.

 “You really think that was a good idea?” Istrys whispered in his ear, able to speak clearly now that the Holy Light’s influence was gone, but otherwise still too exhausted to walk herself. “That might come back to bite you in the ass.”

 “Honesty was a virtue I once held to a higher standard.” Rethandus huffed, keeping his gaze on the path ahead. “If she tells Kaevia, I’ll explain myself. If Alucieus learns of this, I might be in more than a little trouble. But…” the Harbinger paused while he was temporarily lost in thought. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

 “You better be more careful, Andy.” The Necromancer warned. “You keep up with this honesty bullshit and you'll end up with more enemies than you can handle.”

 “We’re undead,” Rethandus sighed, taking notice of a wounded doe and her two fawns. The mother was stuck in a bear trap, and her children were seemingly too terrified to leave her side; the perfect opportunity to get Istrys back on her feet. “Disappointing the living and in turn making them hate us is all par for the course.”

Collabudddies: @Istrys @k-sunrael @whitstanwilhelm

[k-sunrael]

#Playlist #Vibes #Kaevia #Whitstan #The Dreadful and the Light

[lordrethandus]

Mourn Not the Penitent Finale

From the moment Rethandus dropped from his deathcharger and began the rest of the way to the Burning Legion stronghold on foot, he never felt more alone.

Wrestling with his inner demons was a daily routine. When he managed to subdue them by rationalizing his actions, he would spend the rest of the day a somber yet stable man. He knew all of the people he killed to sate his curse was wrong, yet justified; the many others that got in his way felt justified too. Thinking about all of the people he slaughtered seemed fair when stacked against all the people he saved. On the days he proved victorious the burdens on his shoulders were light and easy to carry, his sins almost negligible. Other days when he lost the battle, the world around him would slow to a crawl. He would think of all the innocent people who died aboard Zaldrannar, and for what? His skewed sense of honor? Of justice?

His desire to do what he felt was just and righteous cost Tyrasam her husband, Jaeras her surrogate father, and Alucieus a close friend. His eagerness to prove he could defeat Whitstan in a duel cost hundreds of good men and women their lives; furthermore all of Quel’Thalas was put at risk of a second undead rampage, with all the blame shifted on Istrys’ shoulders. He was a blind fool, staggering in the dark and trampling on the lives of the innocent for his misguided quest for redemption. Today he was not worth saving. Today he was not worthy of even standing beside good people. Today he lost the battle.

An entire contingent of demon reserves were dying in the dirt and dust before him. A cloud of poisonous vapors clung at their eyes and burned at their lungs, turning their insides into paste; the handiwork of Zolaar proved invaluable to reaching the stronghold unharmed. Rethandus watched them fade away with mild interest, keeping his blades sheathed and both arms crossed over his chest while he waited for the others to finish their tasks. Grandmaster Sho ran his paw against the felsteel wall of the massive complex, occasionally slamming his open palm against it to listen to the reverberating echo. The Harbinger questioned why this monk wasted time trying to find a weakness in the building when the front door would have worked just fine, but he insisted a sneak attack would help slip them past any traps near the entrance. The Grandmaster struck one, two, three, four times, until at last he found what he was looking for. A troll warrior named Moyasi knelt beside one of the demon corpses he dragged to the wall, and busied himself by carving out yet another trophy to add to his grim collection. “Here.” Sho called out to Rethandus before spreading his paw against the wall. “Are you ready, Commander?”

“Do it.” Grandmaster Sho’s other paw struck the felsteel wall so hard it rippled like it was made of water before imploding, sending fire and debris into the blackness of the stronghold. Rethandus and Moyasi rushed in while Sho was recovering from what had to be brutal recoil, but once inside, all they found were bodies. They couldn’t take a single step without sinking their boots in entrails; so much blood covered the floor, walls and even the ceiling, that it looked like the entire building had been repainted by some depraved artist. The Harbinger scowled through his helmet but pressed on, staying alert for any surprises or worse - finding the creature responsible for this massacre.

“What happened…?” Moyasi whispered under his breath, trying not to ensnare his bare feet in fel-rotten slime. “Did da Alliance get here first…?”

Grandmaster Sho reached them quickly enough, gagging on the hideous stench that filled his nose. “The Alliance would never do something like this… maybe several death knights with scores to settle and hatred in their hearts…?”

“Stay sharp.” Rethandus commanded, finally finding the end to the corpses and blood; they didn’t volunteer for this potential suicide mission to talk the Harbinger into a second grave.

Eventually the hallway opened up into a room drowned in darkness. The ghoulish display of demon entrails had ended, but there were streaks of fel blood that lead further into the stronghold, suggesting some of these corpses were dragged off by someone or something. Rethandus kept his eyes ahead while Moyasi and Sho remained at his flank; the Pandaren Monk fired several chi waves that fluttered about like wisps to pierce the silent black and illuminate the room with soft green and yellow light. The Harbinger’s scowl hardened when he found himself surrounded by destroyed portal struts, each seemingly torn out from their bases and thrown about the room. The other two gaped in awe at their work already done for them, but Rethandus was no fool - something was off, and whatever did that to the Felguards back near the entrance could still be around. “Spread out.” He commanded, turning to glance at the troll from over his shoulder. “I want this perimeter swept clean. We’re not leaving until we find what did-”

Rethandus paused. He could hear faint coughing in the very back of the chamber. While Moyasi cautiously began rummaging through the wreckage and Grandmaster Sho kept firing chi waves to illuminate the rest of the room, Rethandus walked forward, finding the source of those wet and dying noises.

A Fel Lord sat upright against the wall with one hand still gripping his axe that was buried deep into the skull of a giant vile fiend. His other hand cradled his own intestines in an attempt to keep them from spilling out any further, but his grievous injuries and the pool of his own blood he waded in sealed his doom. Slowly the demon opened his beady eyes to regard the Harbinger with an unfeeling gaze. “Mortal… filth…” he barely leaned over to spit a glob of blood into his puddle; the immense strain in his voice let the Harbinger know he was in an incredible amount of agony.

“What did this to you?” Rethandus asked, glancing around to ensure he wasn't about to be ambushed.

“Does it… matter…?” Another coughing fit shook the demon’s eviscerated body, causing him to groan through stained clenched teeth. “You… cannot stop her… cannot… win…”

Rethandus reached down and pulled the axe out of the demon’s grasp. With a flick of his wrist he then removed it from the fallen creature’s skull and tossed it away; any threat this Fel Lord posed was gone. “The Burning Legion is suffering its death throes… just like you. All of the Dark Titan’s champions have been killed. Archimonde… Kil’jaeden… Kruul… Tichondrius… only Miraan remains, and she cannot defeat Azeroth and the Army of the Light alone. You've lost every major battle after the Broken Shore. You and your mistress are finished.” The Harbinger knelt down to look the Fel Lord face to face. “That looks like it really hurts. If you tell me what happened here, I'll ease your passing.”

“She will… rain chaos and death… across the cosmos…!” The demon’s rambling forced a pitying grimace on the Harbinger’s face. “The Burning Legion… will rise… again!”

Rethandus stood back up to his full height as Grandmaster Sho and Moyasi returned from searching the surrounding area. “Report in.”

“Dere be no other survivas. Da lower levels be empty too.” The troll casually cradled several freshly-skinned skulls in his arms.

Grandmaster Sho didn't sound as satisfied. “Nothing on my end either. Just bodies and silence.” He glanced over his shoulder before saying, “Why was there a detachment of felguards out in front if everyone inside had been slaughtered? Something is out of place.”

“We'll figure that out back at base.” Rethandus waited until the Fel Lord slumped against the wall with his life sputtering out before he turned his back to face his companions. “If there's nothing left for us to kill or destroy, then this mission is accomplished… but stay on high alert you two… vile fiends usually hunt in packs. Let's get out of here before they come back.”

“Imagine getting hurt on da easiest mission of our lives.” Moyasi nudged Sho with his elbow as they both grinned. “We be needing a good story on how we took down da stronghold by ourselves, no? Otherwise ain't nobody gonna believe-”

A deep rumble above their heads caused all three of them to exchange glances as if one of them knew what that was. A violent explosion from above obliterated the ceiling before any of them could blink, igniting the air around them as concentrated felfire disintegrated everything it touched. “FALL BACK! RETR-!” Rethandus could no longer hear his own voice above the deafening roar of destruction. He covered his head with his hands and tried to move for cover, but the superheated floor beneath his boots  melted and buckled like molten salt; he lost sight of Moyasi and Sho as they disappeared behind the veil of smoke and ashes.

Another barrage from above struck the Harbinger on his descent to the lower levels, his anti-magic shell shattering under the overwhelming force of raw fel magic. The impact from landing hard on the next floor snapped both of his legs, forcing Rethandus to topple forward onto his stomach. He rolled over and overloaded all of his frost runes in a desperate gamble to protect himself, but the intensity of the searing flames are through the ice as quickly as it formed. The stronghold groaned loudly before collapsing on its own weight, causing the Harbinger to fall through another melted floor, this time landing hard on his back. He barely had enough strength to raise his hands and cover his face as the building fell down on top of him.

Then there was only darkness. He could still hear parts of the building collapsing, but he couldn't see a thing from all the dust and debris. Slowly he mustered enough strength to work his arm free, allowing him to brush melted iron and chunks of stone away from his burnt face. Rethandus opened his eyes to find himself laying in a crater where the Burning Legion stronghold used to stand, now reduced to a mess of twisted felsteel and rubble. There were still no signs of Moyasi and Sho - if he barely survived, they were likely already dead. A light as bright as the sun hovered in the sky, blinding the Harbinger with a sickly green heat; he braced himself for his true death, knowing a third bombardment would surely end him for good, but the instantaneous blast of felfire never came.

Something heavy landed on the rubble that pinned Rethandus down. He weakly gasped out in pain and reached for his runeblade nearby, but a meaty hoof slammed down onto his wrist. "Your Benevolence, this one still lives.” The voice was deep and throaty, but the words the demon spoke filled Rethandus with an anxious dread. “Shall I kill it?”

“Not yet.” A familiar voice cooed, yet all he could see where flickering shadows hidden behind the glaring light. Heat seeped into the Harbinger’s body as the collapsed wall was effortlessly lifted from his broken body. The familiar nausea settled in before he was lifted off the ground by her magic, rendering him helpless in the air before Eredar Commander. “Do I know you…?” Miraan asked, turning his face over with the gentle twist of her wrist; Rethandus did everything he could to break free, knowing this could be the best chance to kill her, but his body was useless. “Yes… I spoke with you in Highmountain. I remember you.”

Rethandus looked down to see what was left of her mangled arm. It was barely held together by metal pipes and plate armor, with most of her hand gone and replaced with crude prosthetics; a parting gift from Alucieus back at the last battle of Highmountain. “Did that hurt, you gullible bitch…?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “How did you managed to fall for the oldest trick in-NNNNGH!” Her Fel grip on his body tightened, threatening to implode his chest and finish him once and for all.

“Patience, Your Benevolence… he wants you to kill him.” The Dread Lord calmly stated, seemingly dispelling her ire. “Let him taunt you all he likes. It will only make his punishment all the more satisfying.” She released him after a few more moments in agony, letting the Harbinger crumble at her cloven hooves.

“Take him aboard, Kolvarr.” Miraan commanded, turning to leave. Rethandus reached for the runeblade in the rubble again, but was scooped up by the nape of his neck by the Dread Lord. “He will answer for what his commander has done to me. They all will.”

Mentions: @alucieussunrael

#The War on Argus

[syrahnbloodfeather]

Blood of a Feather, Runs Together

Syrahn was not a morning person.

 She didn’t like how the sun blazed up over the horizon, blinding her with its radiance instead of soothing her like the soft sunset does. She didn’t like the overly cheerful songs the birds would sing in the morning either, almost mocking her in her groggy daze. Waking up to the mockery of songs and the blinding sun hiding just beyond her closed eyelids would always put her in a foul mood, but it was something she couldn’t escape; the Commander of the Amber Glade needed to be up bright and early, lest she fall behind on her duties and be forced to work well into the night.

 The Red Raven circled in the brightening skies above the Amber Glade. The Priestess sat in her office chambers in silence, as alone as she could be; the armored guards stood along both exits of the elongated room, but since they didn’t move an inch, it was easy for her to pretend they were merely statues propped up to preserve the illusion of safety. The plate of berry crêpes were getting soggy and the cool glass of milk was growing lukewarm, but she forced them down her throat all the same; her appetite was suppressed by the flurry of thoughts bouncing around in her head, and she needed to finish her breakfast and get to work if she wanted to rest easy by the time the sun dipped beneath the western horizon. Her ears perked to the low hum of portal magic stirring just outside the paper thin wall to her back. The hairs on her neck and arms stood up straight from the approaching footsteps, but her solemn expression remained steadfast as she patiently waited for her visitor to emerge from the other side of the door.

Much to her surprise it was Viridias, as regal and beautiful as always. Of her three sisters, it was Viridias that she was closest to; Miriam was always so distant and cold, and far too busy lurking in the shadows to ensure her family’s safety. Lirindas on the other hand shared quite a few quirks with her late friend Ashelin, perhaps too many for her liking. When Syrahn cried as a child for whatever reason, it was Viridias that always came running to comfort her. Ever since her teenage years Syrahn has looked up to this woman with peerless respect, and although she would never openly admit it, she saw her less as just one of her older sisters and more as a replacement for the mother she loved, yet never knew.

 “No sister of mine will eat breakfast alone if I can help it.” Viridias spoke calmly, dispersing any trace of anger left in Syrahn. “May I sit with you?”

 “You may.” The words came out dry, but Syrahn couldn’t help it; she was emotionally and physically exhausted from running the Amber Glade, and at this rate she swore death would come for her within the year. Viridias walked silently across the room like a ghost gliding across still water, nearly catching Syrahn off guard once she sat down beside her.

 “So.” she started once she got comfortable, plucking the glass of milk off the table to finish it before it went to waste; few things angered Viridias more than the reckless waste of perfectly good food, especially while lowborn elves are starving in the streets of Silvermoon City and in the surrounding Eversong Woods. “How are you feeling... after the incident?”

 “Still angry.” Syrahn said, unconvincingly. “This whole ordeal is a nightmare that won't end. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode.”

 “It will get much easier with a capable husband, I'm told.” Viridias stared deeply into her sister's eyes, searching for any reaction. “Ruling the Glade isn't supposed to be a one woman job.”

 Syrahn gave her a weak smile. “I have you to help me. Even with raising Taen by yourself you still manage to always be there for me… thank you for that, Viri.”

 “Taen hardly needs me anymore now that he's nearly thirteen.” Her sister leaned back against the couch with the cup still in her hands, now gazing off through the observation window at the sparkling sea. “But now he's starting to take an interest in girls. When he thinks I'm not looking he'll stare longingly at Tyrasam’s daughter at every gathering. I might have a word with that jeweler so those two can properly meet.”

 “You think that's a good idea?” Syrahn asked, though she already knew the answer. Tyrasam was very protective of Jaeras, perhaps far more than she should; it would take nothing short of a miracle for her to allow Jaeras anywhere near any boy. Maybe Whitstan, of all people, could convince her otherwise. “Jaeras has been… rather sheltered. There's no telling if she's even interested in boys yet or not.”

 Viridias turned to look at her with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “That would make her no different than you when you were her age.”

“Beg pardon?” She asked with a nervous laugh.

 “You heard right.” Viridias beamed, pausing to snatch Syrahn’s cold breakfast, convinced she was going to let it go to waste. “You were such a mischievous little girl, always getting into trouble. If I recall, it was you that would sneak away from your chores and scale the wall of the old barracks to watch the guards run their drills. You especially enjoyed it during the hottest time of day… when they would train shirtless.”

 Syrahn opened her mouth to protest, but there was no denying it; she remembered hiding in the outer wall in between the patrols, enchanted by all of those muscles, covered in mud, blood and sweat.

 “You started doing that when you were eight or nine?” Viridias continued. “I don't think you stopped until you were fourteen… when you could no longer slip past the guards unnoticed. You've always had a thing for older men.” The Priestess was flushed a vibrant red at this point, yet she remained incredibly silent. What her sister said was true. Men around her own age never held her interest for long, and anyone younger would be lucky if their name graced her lips more than once.

 “And what about you?” she finally spoke, perking a brow. “How old were you when you became interested in boys?”

 “Fifteen.” Viridias declared while leaning forward to set the empty plate onto the coffee table; Syrahn didn't even notice her eating in between her words, and yet the plate was practically licked clean. “At least that's when Mother started to notice.”

 Syrahn inhaled sharply, catching her attention and prompting them to meet each other's gazes. “What was she like?” She was reluctant to ask that question again, especially after pestering her sisters about it for so long. When asking Miriam, she would grow quiet and avoid answering. When asking Lirindas, she would flare up in anger and threaten to strike Syrahn for daring to reopen those old wounds; but Viridias would always indulge her, with a warm yet sad smile on the edges of her lips.

 “Kind and caring to her children, and very protective. She used to come into all of our rooms one by one and sing us to sleep.” She started. “But she was not without her flaws, to be sure. She was a scornful woman and easily angered, and she never forgot a slight to her family, no matter how small. When our family split in half and turned on each other, the ordeal left quite the scar on her psyche. I don't think she ever got over it.” Viridias suddenly grew quiet once the Red Raven turned back to the rising sun. Reluctantly her gaze drifted to the window and squinted against the glaring sunlight. “But she was still the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Even when it looked like our family was in its final days, she didn’t falter. When the early signs of complications in her pregnancy with you started appearing, she remained adamant in keeping you. ‘Syrahn will survive and our family will endure.’ she always said.”

 Viridias chose to leave out the part about their father Baeran begging his wife to abort Syrahn for her sake; no good would come out of it, and only she and Miriam knew about it. “She was never the same when father died. None of us were… and those last five months of her pregnancy were the quietest days of her life. Of all of our lives.”

 “I wish…” Syrahn started speaking quickly, but choked on her words while her gaze dropped to her trembling hands. “I wish I didn’t-”

 Viridias snatched her hand and held it tight, startling the Priestess; her glare was piercing, and the gentle features of her face had all but vanished. “You stop speaking like that this instant. She knew what would happen and she chose life for you anyway.” She spoke to Syrahn like a misbehaving child, and it made her feel like she was seven all over again. “You don’t remember this… but minutes before going into maternal shock... when she was holding you in her arms, it was the happiest Mother had ever been in decades. She loved you with everything she had, and she regret none of it. Never forget that.”

 Viridias reached out with her free hand and swept Syrahn’s bangs away, leaned forward, and softly kissed her on the forehead; the Priestess closed her eyes tightly, desperate to stop the tears from flowing freely down her face, but there was little else she could do. She wanted to embrace the mother she yearned to know, to love. Lirindas blamed Syrahn for their mother’s death, perhaps even Miriam did as well; but as long as Viridias stayed true to her word, Syrahn would remain a part of this family forevermore.

 “Speaking of family…” Viridias spoke, brushing her hand through Syrahn’s hair to run her soft locks through her fingers. “Have you spoken to Aulirael yet?”

 “No.” Syrahn muttered bluntly, still sniffling while she struggled to regain her composure. “I haven’t…”

 Her sister gave her a comforting smile. “I think enough time has passed for you two to make up, don’t you think?”

 “She killed her family, Viri. That’s not something I can just… let go…”

 “I’m not going to try and justify what she did.” Viridias sighed, leaning back against the couch again just as the blinding sun disappeared on the other end of the viewing platform. “But I’m convinced when she killed them, she no longer considered herself their family. I think… she sees you as a sister now.”

 “She sees me more than a sister.” Syrahn was reluctant to inform her about it, but she was the only one she could trust with this potentially controversial information.

 Viridias perked a brow but kept her gaze on the window. “Oh? Do tell.”

The Priestess bit her lip for a moment while she searched for the right words. “She… ahh… she wants my hand in marriage.” Viridias shot a peculiar glance over at her, but she didn’t look surprised.

 “And what do you want?”

 “Ijiro… and children of my own.”

 “Sounds like one of you is set for disappointment.” Viridias crossed her arms and shrugged casually. “I still think you should talk to her. Maybe invite her to the next meeting, not as a Sunlust, but as a Bloodfeather.”

 “How could I do that?!” Syrahn gasped, stiffening in her seat. “I can’t just… invite a murderer to our table…? Into our circle…?”

 “She killed people she thought she was close to in order to save the ones she loved. If that’s not a Bloodfeather trait then I don’t know what is.” They sat in silence for what felt like forever, causing Syrahn to reluctantly glance over at her sister.

 “What about the other Houses?” She asked. “What would they think of it?”

 “Who cares what they think?” Viridias spoke flatly. “None of their family has been harmed by Aulirael, right? Trust her… prove that she’s not the lunatic they see her as. And you never know… she just might make a fine Bloodfeather yet.”

 She slowly rose to her full height, and Syrahn soon followed. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Syrahn. I know you have a lot of work to do today, but if you ever need advice, you know where to find me.”

 “Thank you for this. Well… for everything, really.” Syrahn sighed, causing Viridias to smile. “But do you really think I should trust Aulirael…? And invite her to our own table…?”

 “The blood of our fathers run dark on our sons.” Viridias recited, shrugging again. “That goes double for our daughters. Give her another chance, Syrahn. You could always use more help, and there’s no such thing as too many sisters.”

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