Nether and Necrosis: Westfall, part 4 - Hope

“Now … Eli wasn’t his real name, no,” Sal Saldean began, pausing to gather his thoughts before he went on with the story. “Y’see, he was one of the first orphans Salma an’ me took in, way back when th’ Orcs were pushin’ northward durin’ th’ First War, an’ our oldest boy, William, took t’ callin’ the kid Eli.” Sal chuckled softly. “Th’ nickname stuck, and we’ve kept on calling him Eli since.”

“He was such a sweet dear,” Salma chimed in, her eyes moist from the memories. “I dun think he was more than seven years old when he showed up on our doorstep, all covered in soot an’ scared nearly witless … we knew near all the homesteads out southaways must’ve been burned t’ the ground by all them greenskins.” There was a grim pause before she continued. “Most children his age would’ve grown up with a seethin’ hatred for what’d been done to him by them Orcs, but he never did hold a grudge.” Salma smiled weakly. “I guess that jus’ added to what he was. He was a light of hope to us.”

Her husband picked up the unspoken cue. “He lived with us fer several months, maybe a few years. ‘Twas like he was one o’ our own. In fact, he an’ Willy were practically brothers by th’ time we figgered it wasn’t safe no more fer all the orphans we kept takin’ in, Eli included.” Sal sighed heavily. “So we sent ‘em off to the local port an’ shipped all of ‘em youngin’s t’ Lordaeron, where we figgered it’d be better fer ‘em all. Salma’s sister up that a-ways was a priestess o’ th’ Light, and she took all o’ them in once she got word they were headed her way.”

“Th’ boys’d write us back reg’arly,” the elderly housewife continued. “That’s how we learned Eli got enrolled in one of them fancy academies up in Lordaeron. Willy, o’ course, didn’ want none of that schooling stuff.” Salma chuckled quietly, but her eyes were solemn. “He was about thirteen by then, too old t’ get enrolled anyhow. He headed back down t’ Westfall as fast as he could.” She smiled wanly. “He did go back t’ Lordaeron ta visit a little bit fer us ev’ry now an’ then … keep tabs on our loved ones.”

“When Eli finally came back from Lordaeron, he let on that he was trainin’ t’ become a paladin!” Sal Saldean slapped his knee, his voice edged with pride. “Who would’a thought it, tha’ little sooty boy who showed up at our doorstep all them years before, learnin’ t’ wield the Holy Light?”

Eli blinked.

Nether and Necrosis: Westfall, part 3 - Homecoming

There was a palpable sense of awkwardness in the air as the Death Knight and the she-rogue gathered their wits and their rides for the trip south. Mama Celeste stood almost protectively at the threshold of the battered homestead, a huddled group of haggard transients peering out from the door behind her … all of them wearing expressions of gratitude, mixed with uncertainty, anger and abject horror. Eli could hear a forced smile from Jim when the limp man was told about the Death Knight’s single-handed kobold extermination in the Jangolode Mine, but there was no mistaking the fearful derision in the old candle hunter’s voice. It made sense that the same brutal effectiveness Eli had employed in the mines could just as easily become applied to taking on a group of armed thugs.

Chaos reigned the waning day, with terrified transients fleeing to parts unknown and investigators poking their noses where they shouldn’t. Confusion coloured words spoken either in thanks and distrust. In the end, there seemed at the very least to be a genuine air of concern for the adventurers when they finally untied their steeds and saddled up, followed by what would be described as a collective, unanimous sigh of relief when the odd pair finally hit the road.

The trip southward was understandably silent between Tuan and Eli, the Death Knight eerily introspective of what had transpired at the Furlbrow’s old farm. It was starting to feel like those first few tentative weeks in Stormwind after he had rescinded his dark and bloody past as a Death Knight in an honest effort to turn over a new leaf; the mixed feelings of compassion and hatred were ballooning in the air, rising in the heat of the sun that kept beating down relentlessly. It was an atmosphere he was admittedly still getting used to for the most part … even after all this time.

Eventually, his mind’s eye began to wander again into fragmented memories of golden fields stretching for miles, all of them ripe with grain and produce, waving at the push of a cool ocean breeze under a clear blue sky. In his reverie, Eli swore he heard a young girl laughing in happiness off to the side of the road, and his memories reflected what he heard; the ghostly recollection of a girl who seemed barely fifteen, running barefoot in the fields in his direction, waving at him with a warm and encouraging smile. As quickly as it came, the bright memory would flash away and melt back into the formless, grayed-out reality of his present, and then he only heard the steady footfalls of his and Tuan’s respective steeds while the two of them continued southward at a slow trot.

“Eli,” Tuan spoke up, finally breaking the silence. “Hey. You alive over there?”

Nether and Necrosis: Westfall, part 2 - Stir the Broth

The two riders trotted slowly along the dusty, half-way overgrown westward road.

“I have to admit, I’m a little surprised no-one’s tried to make off with our horses yet,” Tuan remarked idly, leaning back in the saddle and letting the reins hang. “Golden opportunity for a quick getaway from this craphole.”

Eli opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Dionysus’ sharp snort, the Deathcharger tossing its bony head for dramatic effect. Tuan’s mare nickered dismissively, shaking her mane lightly.

Tuan arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. “… you gone and got yourself your very own bodyguard?” The she-rogue chuckled and rubbed the horse’s mane when the mare whinnied playfully in response. “You clever girl, you.”

Eli let show a lopsided smirk. “Never thought that about ya, Dio.” The spectral steed let out a somewhat slighted huff.

Tuan sobered up and straightened herself. “Well, here we are. More or less.”

They tapped their respective mounts into a short gallop, thundering north off the path, through a gaggle of screeching vultures and across the short stretch of windblown grass to the small pumpkin farm that sat unassumingly between the road and the cliffline bordering the Longshore.

The farm appeared virtually as derelict as the stead they had departed from minutes earlier. Handfuls of wild-seeded pumpkins sat forgotten in random clumps on the hard-packed soil, most of them either thoroughly dried-out or halfway rotten. At the far north end of the field, a small cottage still stood with a ramshackle windmill creaking morosely nearby whenever the breeze would pick up enough to rattle its well-worn sweeps.

As was to be expected, a collection of homeless and transients had taken up a form of residence in the building. Outside, by the doorway, one man was stood that appeared only slightly less destitute than those unfortunates idling about the fences – although in a hustler’s terms, he could most likely be considered the equivalent of a Stormwind merchant noble.

He had shoes. On both his feet.

Nether and Necrosis: Westfall, part 1 - Fates and Papertrails

--Three Weeks after Deathwing’s Razing of Stormwind--

A leather-bound folder landed with an unceremonious slap on the desk in front of the she-rogue.

“Give that a look,” the master assassin spoke sideways, straightening himself to standing and beginning to pace his side of the desk.

The she-rogue casually undid the straps on the protective wooden clapboards sandwiching the papers. Most of what was on the brittle parchments appeared to be reports of minor and varied goings-on in Elwynn Forest; most of them her own. The rest were official documents: deeds, wills, citizen papers – nothing out of the ordinary as far as the lady-sellsword was concerned.

“What else is new, Mathias?” The she-rogue sat back rakishly, tossing the folder back onto the table and rocking back onto the chair’s rearmost legs in boredom.

“Add this to the mix, Tuan.” Master Mathias Shaw produced another parchment from the mysterious compartments of his workdesk. Upon immediate inspection, it was seen that one side of the parchment was crudely decorated with scrawled handwriting, while the other clearly looked like official documentation of some sort. Tuan took the parchment cavalierly from Mathias’ hand and read first the handwriting, then the documentation.

“The Furlbrows, huh?” the she-rogue mumbled. “I thought they got this back already …”

“Well. They didn’t.” Mathias stopped pacing and turned to face the she-rogue. “Give the date on the note written on the back a good look, then go through that folder again. Tell me what you see.”

Nether and Necrosis - The Rogue

--One year before the Shattering--

Eleutherios did his best to maintain his balance in the saddle as Dionysus trotted into Lakeshire late one night. Not bothering to raise his hooded head, the Death Knight nevertheless picked up the confounded and prejudiced stares of the townsfolk still milling about at this hour as he approached the town’s inn. He felt the faint pinprick in the back of his head that he was somehow supposed to know some of these people, but he simply could not reach back far enough into his fragmented, wind-scattered memories to understand why. Shaking himself away from those sombre thoughts, Eli pulled the letter he had received a few days earlier from a friend of his out of his vest pocket, and perused its contents. It was nothing more than a blank paper with a single glyph, actually, but it served as an analogue to one of those fancy memory stones this particular friend often employed.

The message contained in the memory rune was simple: there was an acquaintance of the rune’s sender waiting at the Lakeshire inn, and Eli had been instructed to help her out. Along with the message were several gold coins, a small, smooth, spherical object, and a description of the person Eli was looking for … or, at least, an audio snippet of the voice he was to be listening for, sealed into the glyph inscribed onto the paper. In the back of the Death Knight’s mind, he couldn’t help but think that he recognized the woman’s voice in the rune.

Tying Dionysus’ reins to the nearby horse post, Eleutherios pulled out several oaken casks from his mount’s massive saddlebags, and walked into the inn, the house’s tavern filled with noisy patrons. He trudged toward the bar, trying to listen past the laughing and chatting and the occasional jeer shot in his direction. Some people were suicidal when drunk.

“Eli! I was wonderin’ where you were,” the tavern's barkeeper, Daniels, greeted the courier, a broad smile heard in his voice along with a tone of relief. “Got the goods?”

“Right ‘ere, Daniels,” Eli replied, smiling lightly himself as he set the casks down onto the counter. “The usual weekly deliv’ry: Duskwood Moonshine, Elwynn Pinot, Goldshire Sweet Rum, and Thunderbrew Ale straight from Westfall.”

“They’re always drained before week’s end, Eli,” Daniels said wanly, inspecting the casks before putting them behind the bar. “Shame we can’t get you deliverin’ here more often.”

“Ya ain’t my only customer, Daniels,” Eli reminded the barkeep. He then leaned forward onto the counter and whispered in a very low voice: “‘Sides, I’m stickin’ ‘round fer another job, and it ain’t the d’liverin’ kind.”

Daniels only raised an eyebrow, assuming the same furtive volume. “Who are you meeting here, then?”

Eleutherios shrugged. “Search me. Alls I know’s that it’s a woman, an’ an ornery one.”

“Ahuh.” Daniels coolly cleaned a tankard and set it aside. “A woman fitting that description rented a room here, and she’s stuck around nigh a week now. I figured she was waiting on someone. Might be a good idea to ask her yourself.”

“Jus’ point me in ‘er direction, Daniels.”

Nether and Necrosis - Liberator

--Two Years Prior--

He awoke to darkness.

His first instinct was to gasp for breath, and as he did, he cried out as he felt pain lancing through his broken body. The cold, hard, damp stone floor under his back made it clear he was naked, stripped of any and all possessions he had had in life. He groaned as his stiff muscles tensed and reacted to a dark ritual that kept feeding the dark energy coursing through his coagulated veins. His consciousness started to clear ever so slightly, and with an excruciating heave, he managed to roll over and pick himself up on his hands and knees.

The first thought that came into his weakened mind was simply thus: “Why can’t I see?”

He raised a trembling hand to his face in the hopes he could make out his hand, but there was only blackness. As he laid his fingers on his face, he felt the rough linen bandages that literally held his head together. For a moment, he recoiled in horror internally, but he did not have the foggiest idea just why. Part of him screamed that this entire situation was wrong, but there was a small voice – a small, terrifying, but oddly soothing voice – that was stating otherwise.

Other voices were then heard, this time from beyond the confines of his mind. Whispers. Some were concerned, others giddy. Most were chanting something eldritch over and over and over … still, above it all, that small but terrifying voice held sway over his disordered attentions.

“Where am I?” his fragmented mind asked the deep, dark, and comforting voice that had made itself known to him.

“Where you have been reborn …” the voice hissed and echoed in return. “Where you will serve me …”

“This one,” an authoritative voice beyond his mind barked. “Dispose of it. It is taking far too long in the raising circle to get to its feet.”

“Patience, Lord Razzuvius-ssss,” a meeker voice spoke in pleading. “This one was once very potent in the infernal ways of the holy Light …” – there was no small amount of acid at that word – “… and it is taking all our effort to purge its power from the husk. He should be able to hear the Master’s voice right about now.”

“If it does, then maybe it will be of some use … but if it cannot prove its strength in the immediate future, then I am consigning the weakling to the Liches for experimentation.”

“Of course, Lord Razzuvius-ssss …”

As if responding to the threat Razzuvius had made, the small voice in the raised corpse’s mind turned from a whisper into a roaring bellow. “RISE UP, YOU WORTHLESS SCUM. YOUR MASTER HAS NEED OF YOUR POWER.”

Nether and Necrosis - A Strange Case

It had been a long night.

Eli, as the locals had taken to calling him these days, sat at the table under the staircase within the Pig and Whistle tavern in Stormwind’s Old Town. The spot was often saved for the tavern's more taciturn guests. It had been yet another “day” of more of the usual for the reformed Death Knight – running about from one end of Stormwind to another, ferrying packages of varying importance hither and to. The technical term for his occupation was “freelance courier”, but he knew he was really not much more than a glorified delivery-boy that just so happened to have the mark of death and the Scourge written all over him. It was somewhat of a monotonous duty, since most of his clients were the usual shopkeeps in and around town, and they often supplied each other with the materials for wares they sold off during the daylight hours. Had he been the adventurous sort, this monotony would have been torture, but it was a welcome sign for one who had come back from the dead and sought to find his place among the living once again.

Dropping by the Pig and Whistle was basically what he did when he had finished his usual errands, and at that dark and early morning hour, it allowed him some time to reflect and learn from the day. The nature of his death before being raised by the Scourge left him with nary a memory of his life before he became a Knight of the Ebon Blade, and that was on top of a very impaired sense of vision and the occasional headache. This time by himself to learn and reflect was key to why he was so well adjusted among the living citizens of Stormwind, as opposed to most of his brothers in the Ebon Blade. In his hands were papers – some were letters, others scrawled over with notes – and over a pale ale, he studied them by running his fingers over the lines of ink, lighting each letter briefly with the dark magic he was forced to house so long ago … His hope was that these pages he no longer could see with seeing eyes would reveal the answers he had been seeking for so long.

It had been nearly two years since he had walked down the guarded halls of Stormwind Keep with Thassarian and a score of other Knights of the Ebon Blade, and pledged their allegiance to the Alliance, to Stormwind, and the King. Unlike others of his kind, who were eager to return to Northrend to exact their vengeance upon the Lich King for his treachery, Eleutherios had chosen to stay behind in Stormwind in an effort to learn from the people, and perhaps to find clues as to who he was before the Scourge claimed his body as their own. In that time, in between courier jobs and the occasional security or bodyguard detail, he had studiously gone through the records kept within the Royal Library of Stormwind (the clerics had made it very clear that he would not be welcomed within walking distance of the Cathedral Square) in the hopes of finding out his name or if anything could ring bells in his revived mind.

Of Light and Void, chapter 18

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The various guards and drudges of the Sons of Lothar went about their multitudinous chores, in much the same way as they always did and had for the past decade and a half. The fortification had long since adjusted to its manpower being constantly at a premium, and those living in it were not going to grow lax due to the recent influx of material and military support from their only just re-established superiors in faraway Azeroth. Hence, personnel rotations ground in years ago remained firmly in place, every single man and woman knowing exactly what was expected of them in every waking moment. These were people that had weathered the charge into an entirely unfamiliar world, withstood the full fury of the Legion’s machinations and endured through and beyond the climactic destruction of Draenor and the momentous resealing of the Dark Portal that was even now ferrying fresh supplies and soldiers to bolster the battlefront raging beneath the Stair of Destiny. In a way, they had become the epitome of the tenacity inherent in the Alliance’s finest, and it would take quite a display of power to jostle them from their stoically carried-out duties.

Such as the dark and brooding Hellfire Citadel, far away along the gruesome Path of Glory, suddenly becoming enveloped in a blazing spike of surging felflame that could be seen across the entire region.

Trained warsteeds nickered and stamped their feet nervously as a faint tremor ran through the very bedrock itself (what remained of it, at any rate), and those versed in the mythical arts could swear on their ancestral graves that they heard a demonically charged roar of vindictive rage roll through their minds like the buffet of air that follows a distant explosion.

Trollbane was already on the topmost rampart of the main keep, gripping the worn stone tightly with gauntleted hands as he stared, eyes cold and hard, at the flaring beacon that even now had begun to fade away. His lieutenants were behind him, talking agitatedly among themselves, but he paid them no heed.

“Light help me, if I have sent you three to your doom …” he whispered hoarsely, bowing his head and shutting his eyes tightly to hold back the tears of regret that kept burning just behind his eyelids.

“Commander Trollbane! Through the northwest gate! They are back!”

Mercurial Twilight: Dragonbound - Chapter 5

Yalda welcomed the freed spirits with open arms, and the adventurers were duly thanked for their kindness. Keeping her end of the bargain, Yalda basically confirmed what the wind lords had confessed, and that the image of Archdruid Pterneldan had left Yalda a rather cryptic message behind before vanishing:

One would have to dive deep in order to hear. One would have to drown before they can see.

“Do you understand what this message means, young Master Crossdeep?” Yalda asked.

Saphrit sighed at first, and then he smiled slightly. “An’da loved to speak in riddles when it came to time-sensitive information, Auntie Yalda,” the young dragon paladin replied. “I’m sure that is him talking in that message, and that I will understand what he is trying to tell me about in due time.”

There were nods of understanding all around, and a long moment of pensive silence fell upon the group.

After a while sitting in the contemplative atmosphere, Hollee broke the quiet at last. “What’re we gonna do now?” she asked.

Of Light and Void, chapter 17

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It hadn’t been more than few days before a small racket was heard treading loudly on the path between Honor Hold’s central keep and the local inn. An ornery tornado of a woman stormed into the inn with much uncouth ceremony, and made a beeline for one of the rooms upstairs.

The door flung open, rudely slamming into the adjacent wall after swinging on its hinges in a graceful arc. It was more than enough of a jarring interruption to make the two men studying their various tomes and scrolls look up with a start at the woman standing in mock triumph in the open doorway, her hands on her hips in an akimbo pose. The woman remained as such for a moment, a wide smirk on her face, only barely acknowledging the mixed expressions on her audience’s faces.

“Good news, guys,” Tuan announced perkily to the Paladin and Priest. “Danath wants me to go inside the Citadel proper, and he’s given me permission to choose whatever aide I want. I hereby rope you two into covering my back while I snoop.”

Theluin and Eleazar only traded considering expressions before the Elf turned back to address the she-rogue. “Well, the Ambassador is currently presenting a sermon at the Temple of Telhamat, and he could stay there for another day or so—”

“Sounds to me like you’re in, Thel,” Tuan interrupted, almost too gleefully. Theluin could only reply with a slight, defeated smile. Satisfied, Tuan then turned her smug face toward the Paladin. “What about you, Lightbulb?”

Eli only looked Tuan in the eye, leaned back in his seat with folded arms, and returned the ornery rogue’s smirk.

“Fel. It’s about time.”

Mercurial Twilight: Dragonbound - Chapter 4

The ornate bindings of a freshly summoned wind elemental dropped with a clatter at Saphrit’s feet. It was the remains of just one in an army of agitated wind elementals that had swarmed the Ruins of Auberdine. Grimly, Saphrit collected the elementals bindings scattered around him, pulled his scarf a little further up his face to stall the blinding bite of sudden gusts of wind, and made his way to Auberdine’s moonwell; the only surviving landmark in a town that had been reduced to rubble and splintered wood. At the moonwell, Tuathann and Aaron were waiting, the restless wind bristling the fur on their collective hides.

Aaron had shifted into his Worgen state in an effort to stay warm in the growing chill brought along by the incessant buffets of wind. He had chosen to stand watch for any other elementals that may wander too close to the moonwell while his companions tended to the elemental bindings they collected. It was a simple request on the part of the Sentinel leader back at the refugee camp: thin the ranks of the invading elementals, and dunk their bracers in the soothing waters of the moonwell to undo the shackling magic cast upon them and keep them from returning to the material plane. So far, the elementals weren’t putting up too much of a fight … then again, these were lesser elementals, intended to be summoned in large numbers. Of course, summoning was the only logical way for so many wind elementals to appear all at once and so suddenly. Aaron sensed that Saphrit and Tuathann were coming to that same conclusion – it would only be prudent to find whoever was responsible for this invasion, and soon.

Taking a moment to survey the landscape one last time before turning back to his traveling companions to discuss what their next course of action should be, Aaron sensed a strange wind blowing through the already agitated air. To the unfamiliar, wind was just wind, but to Aaron, this wind moved differently than the angry atmosphere the wind invaders brought with them. Following this strange wind, Aaron turned away from the moonwell again and noticed a lone house still standing amidst the devastation. Standing on the small stone porch of the house were two apparitions, a man and a woman that were both Kaldorei, and they seemed to be engaged in deep conversation. The man turned his hooded head toward Aaron and looked the Worgen in the eye with a wise smile, and after a moment, Aaron recognized the spirit right before it vanished with the wind. The woman’s spirit then turned herself to face Aaron, a patient expression on her face.

“Master Saphrit, Lady Heartglen,” Aaron called out over his shoulder. “I think you should see this.”

Of Light and Void, chapter 16

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Danath looked up sharply as the door was flung open with a bang, but recomposed himself easily when the she-rogue came striding through, kicking the door shut behind her.

“Commander Danath, sir,” she greeted only minutely mockingly, throwing a sloppy salute. “I heard you needed to scout out that quaint little Citadel way over there.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “And I should assign this mission to you because …?”

She stared at him for a moment, and then threw her hands in the air with a tragic face. “Riiight. I forget. You folks been blindsided here for a decade and half. I suppose I shouldn’t expect my reputation to carry through the Dark Portal itself.” She dropped her arms and crossed them, staring matter-of-factly at the Commander.

At this, he actually cracked a faint smile. “I’ve already heard plenty of your little heroics out on the Path earlier.” He indicated with a nod the still-visible ichor stains present on her armour. “That was cold-blooded, merciless, and highly efficient.”

“Why thank you.” She shot him a sly grin.

“And I suppose I could put that to further use, if you absolutely insist.” Even his voice carried an unmistakable smirk.

She regarded him with a different kind of attention now; one that was absolutely professional and brooked no indecision.

He turned to the situation table and rummaged through a few sketchy maps stacked on top. “We need intelligence first and foremost about the Citadel’s outer lines of defence – scouting patrols, surveillance equipment, the guard shifts along the ramparts.” He turned back to her, his gaze unflinching. “Can you do that?”

“All in a day’s work. How fast do you want the intel?”

“As fast as you can manage. We’re on a tight schedule.”

“I’ll be back in two hours. Three if I find anything particularly interesting.”

He nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She smirked back. “Consider it done, Trollbane.”

Mercurial Twilight: Dragonbound - Chapter 3

The padded footfalls of two nightsabers approached the lone camp that had been hastily pitched just a hop, skip, and a jump east from the former town limits of Auberdine. Sounds of shivering, frightened, and injured survivors could be heard from the vicinity of the camp, accompanied by the calm prayers and ministry of the local priests and druids. Thin canvas and linen stretched on splintered wood stood as makeshift tents, sheltering at least four or five survivors that were too injured to run the gauntlet up to Lor’danel, and it was clear that the few healers present had their hands full.

“Heavens …” Aaron whispered under his breath at the sight. “What a sorry mess this is.”

Saphrit, however, was respectfully silent as their borrowed mounts casually walked through the rows of makeshift tents up to the leader of the few sentinels that had chosen to stay behind and care for any and all who managed to escape the ruins of their home.

The sabers stopped and growled to announce their arrival, signalling their passengers to dismount. Saphrit and Aaron did not need to be reminded twice, and passed the reins of the nightsabers to the local handlers stationed near the outskirts of the camp. As they did so, they were met by the sentinel leader, who in turn directed them at the Druid of the Talon and the Priestess of the Moon waiting by the fireside. The two were conversing as Aaron and Saphrit approached, and they could hear snippets of their conversation regarding a suspicious glut of wind elementals infesting the Ruins of Auberdine and the sudden appearance of Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage in Darkshore.

Of Light and Void, chapter 15

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The escorted delegation moved slowly along the Path of Glory, stopping every so often to offer up prayers and words of cleansing to unseen entities and wayward spirits. The armed escorts kept to either side, watching for ambushes and other dangers. The Ambassador and Exarchs rode upon the road itself, the wide, soft-soled feet of their elekks cracking and splintering the brittle remains beneath them. Theluin’s Stormsaber padded along with great care, though it couldn’t keep its powerful claws from scratching against bone every so often, and Eleazar’s and Tuan’s steel-shod chargers broke bones and skulls with every step. It was deeply unnerving to constantly have to listen to the dry crack-and-snap and the following jangle of bone shards cascading down through the gruesome pavement, and the sound spoke volumes of how deeply stacked the skeletal remnants were.

Eli kept a modicum of his attention on Tuan, who had also been allotted a string of prayer beads. She kept absent-mindedly counting them with her thumbnail, staring down at them with unseeing eyes, but at least she was being quiet. Something about her countenance nevertheless drove the Paladin to edge up to her as the Draenei dignitaries gradually progressed along the Path.

She didn’t look up as he pulled alongside, nor did she speak at first. Wise to her currently rather unpredictable temper, Eli chose to remain silent and let her take the initiative, if she would so choose.

She did.

Mercurial Twilight: Dragonbound - Chapter 2

Tuan sat comfortably leaned-back – most others would probably call it ‘precariously’ – on the simple wooden stool, tearing into her spider kabob with idle gusto. Spending a sufficient amount of time acquainted with Kaldorei did have its side effects; while it had been a long and sometimes arduous process, she had eventually learned to appreciate the more … exotic sides of the Night Elven cuisine. No-one could ever claim that the imposing World Tree wasn’t literally crawling with raw material. Using a few of her personal seasoning mixtures did help to take the less wanted edges off the peculiar tang that cooked spider meat inevitably possessed.

She glanced across the table at her luncheon companion – a young human male seemingly in his early twenties, dressed in casual cindercloth trappings, black, lustreless hair tied back in a simple ponytail. He kept picking glumly at his own food, a small bowl of Dragonbreath Chili. The fact that the bowl had almost stopped steaming spoke volumes of his reluctance, and even though he kept his face down, there was no mistaking the intermittent amber flicker in his cinnamon eyes.

Tuan dipped another length of kebab meat into the spiced sauce (her own concoction, naturally) and chowed down on it, shooting the young man another look.

“Come now, Terro,” she chided with her mouth full. “That’s your favourite dish. I can’t have screwed up the seasoning that bad.”

Terrothanes merely mumbled something intelligibly and kept picking at his meal, but his eyes flared briefly with that same, fiery glow. It did not escape the she-rogue’s attention span, and she continued to regard him out of the corner of her eye.

After another few tense minutes, Terrothanes finally let out a heavy sigh, plonking his spoon back into the chili bowl and putting his face in his hands. “I …” he began falteringly. “… I don’t have much appetite right now.”

Under most every other circumstance, the ornery woman never would have let such a statement go without a biting repartee in return, but recent events had rendered that practice a pointless display of small-mindedness. Instead, she simply remained quiet; keeping a discreet but attentive eye on what had effectively become her unofficial protégée over the past number of weeks.

“It’s Deathwing, isn’t it,” she finally ventured in a low voice.

Of Light and Void, chapter 14

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--a few hours later--

An inhuman shriek was heard by almost every ear within the battered walls of Honor Hold. Several of the fresher soldiers that the Alliance had installed at the Hold bolted to a rapt and minutely terrified attention in response to the unholy sounds coming from the forward base’s only Inn, trading equally stunned and uneasy expressions amongst each other while voicing mutual shock and morbid curiosity. In contrast, the Hold’s veteran soldiers only gave the inn a cursory glance, muttering about this and that before turning their attentions back to whatever mundane tasks they were attending to prior.

Meanwhile, within a guarded and quarantined room in the inn’s hastily emptied cellar, a Draenei Anchorite sized up the hissing and spitting, demon-possessed mess of a man being barely pinned down by several able soldiers and a considerable amount of rope. All available Paladins and Priests in the Hold had been called to the Anchorite’s aid in preparation for an emergency exorcism, and that included Theluin and Eleazar.

The man being pinned to the floor was Colonel Jules, one of the commanding field officers of the Sons of Lothar. It had been discovered that he had come under the thrall of the Legion when he had attacked the Draenei Ambassador Eleazar and Theluin had been accompanying. Thankfully, the attack had happened in the situation room with Force Commander Trollbane and other ranking officers present. It was Trollbane’s direct command that this possession be dealt with immediately, lest Jules would be lost to the Legion.

Mercurial Twilight: Dragonbound - Chapter 1

It had been a week or so since the Crossdeep Clan had left Stormwind Port for Kalimdor. Not more than a day or two had passed after settling down in Darnassus before they heard that Auberdine (and much of Darkshore) had been ransacked by Deathwing. It took some doing to convince Rii-nee (and Tuan!) to stay in Darnassus with Terrothanes, Eli, and Theluin, but in the end, Rii-nee only allowed her brother to go if he took a companion with him. Aaron volunteered, wishing to learn more about the lands and the people that took in his kinsmen, and perhaps to help shed more light onto the strange case of the clan’s missing patriarch: Archdruid Pterneldan Crossdeep.

~||~

Saphrit and Aaron dismounted their Hippogryphs at Lor’danel, slowly taking in the reality they had stepped into. Survivors were still trickling in, battered and worn from fleeing up the coast through a gauntlet of enraged water elementals … and judging from the number of bodies being dragged into the outpost, some of the refugees didn’t even survive the trip north. Worried and wounded civilians packed Lor’danel’s inn, many wringing their hands or praying to the point of tears as they waited for word from missing or injured relatives, and there was heard the occasional cry of grief when bad news was delivered.

Saphrit looked around, recognizing faces among the displaced citizens, and gradually learning more of the fate of one of his An’da’s most frequent ports of call. The young dragon paladin practically grew up walking and flying along the long dock and into town. Auberdine, during the time he spent wandering the world with his adopted father, was as close to a home as he could imagine, and one of the few places that openly accepted him in spite of his draconic heritage. To hear that people that he had come to accept as extended family had perished in the wake of Deathwing’s ‘triumphant’ return – it was safe to say that it was hard for Saphrit to process, especially given his tender age. He could remember walking the beaches and documenting anomalies with Gwynneth Bly’leggonde, or learning more of Kaldorei culture from Thundris Windweaver, all while waiting for his adoptive father to finish re-provisioning for their next port-of-call or running errands for the locals. Now, people he grew up knowing as mentors and friends we gone, killed in the wake of the cataclysm his An’da had seen coming years before.

For Aaron, the grief here was more palpable than the grief shared by all Gilneans. From what he understood, these were a people that had shared life together as friends for thousands of years, and to have it all torn away in a terrifying instant was something Aaron knew he would never be able to fathom. Yes, Aaron knew that his past was tragic, but the tragedy here on these dark shores dwarfed all of the drama that was his own.

Of Light and Void, chapter 13

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It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.

There is no up or down anymore, no right or left, no forwards or backwards – eddies and vortices are jolting her in every direction imaginable; a thunderstorm of raw energy sweeps her up and carries her into the darkest pits of hell.

It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.

There is no sound, or at least not how one would define sound – the screaming is projected directly into her mind, a never-ending, dissonant chorus of unearthly howls, wails and roars, all competing against each other in a maddening race for supremacy where none can emerge the victor.

It lasts no time at all, and it lasts an eternity.

They cannot be called voices, because voices imply a certain degree of control, a certain amount of substance.

There is none.

They tear into her in nauseating waves, one blood-curdling tsunami of unspeakable agony after another, whenever they don’t become veritable spikes of undiluted pain.

And it doesn’t stop.

And she desperately wants it to stop.

And she desperately wants it never to stop.

Because she knows that behind this mind-shattering cacophony is something else, something much vaster and far more terrifying than all the demonic clamouring in the universe.

Because she knows that as long as they keep up, they offer the only harbour for her naked soul.

Because she knows that the moment they stop, there will be nothing left between her and it.

Between her and—

-flash-

Of Light and Void, chapter 12

---

The Keep was alive with activity even before what passed as dawn came to the fortification. There was little chatter; whatever words that were exchanged were simply for basic communication and relaying orders and instructions. Supplies were distributed quickly and efficiently as the men filed out, the gravity of their impending relocation having wiped the rank-and-file clean of any distracting thoughts or merriment.

The dignitaries were the last to join the dispatch as it stood in its usual formation outside the Keep’s walls, all neat rows and columns, every soldier standing to attention. The Draenei ambassador was cool and collected, the faces of his Exarch companions set in stony expressions of stoic determination. Theluin’s complexion betrayed little else but his usual, quiet calm.

Eleazar allowed himself a brief observation of Tuan as she let Sandy pull level with Abolition. The she-rogue hadn’t said much during the necessarily brief morning meal, and now sat in her saddle with her back hunched, leaning against the pommel on her palms with her head bowed. Apparently noticing his silent scrutiny, she raised her head and shot him a faint, weary smile. At the very least, she didn’t seem nearly as much of a wreck as she had been the previous night.

The ram’s horn sounded once, twice, thrice. A single metal trumpet answered from the Keep, and that was all the farewell they got. The dispatch filed out.

When the infantry had picked up its usual marching speed, Eleazar rode close to Sandy again. Tuan looked over at him almost before he pulled level and gave another light smile.

“No need to worry, Eli,” she mumbled quietly, more out of consideration to the nearby delegates than any overt exhaustion.

Eli allowed himself a measure of relief. “Ye’re feeling better today, Miss Tuan?”

She nodded lightly and stared ahead. “I’d like to imagine it was the sleep more than anything. But yeah, I think that infusion managed to set back the migraine a whole day.” She rubbed her face discreetly. “Here’s to hoping it’ll help when …” She petered off, her hand dropping and her eyes hardening.

Of Light and Void, chapter 11

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It had been the worst day. Tuan’s temper kept deteriorating at about the same rate as the by now all-too-familiar migraine kept doing its number on her composure. She was aware that she was being an absolute pain, but she didn’t care one jot about it. Out of her way or suffer the consequences – that was the maxim she had lived most of her life by. Sure, she knew when to be discreet about stuff, but goodness knew she could flip a Venture Co. Shredder right over when her patience was up.

Thankfully, the resident commander did indeed recognize her – if only by description – and dealt with her incessant snarky peanut gallery commentary with remarkable patience. Though on second thought, that was probably due to Theluin’s presence. Alright, all Theluin’s presence. The old Night Elf had a way to defuse just about any powder keg about to go skyhigh; it was one of his more notable talents that she had learned to (somewhat begrudgingly) appreciate.

Luckily enough, or likely because she made such a fuss about it, she had been given a room of her own to reside in. The dispatch was to spend the night resting, reprovision the next morning and immediately set off for the Portal.

She did not relish that last prospect at all. In fact, right now she was busily trying to convince herself of exactly every single reason why this had been the stupidest thing ever to go along with. She kept twisting and tossing in her bed, biting down every so often on the bile that rose intermittently in her throat. Eventually, she simply got up, put on her usual pants and shirt and flopped back onto the thoroughly undone bed, sitting at the top end with her back against the stone wall. The ever-present chill of the thick, carefully shaped and fitted blocks was faintly comforting, but it didn’t help her trepidation.

“… I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal,” she whispered dejectedly to herself.

She turned her head sharply at a soft knock on the door, and cursed under her breath when said head replied vehemently to the sudden movement. “Yeah? Who is it?”

Of Light and Void, chapter 10

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The column kept a reasonably brisk pace throughout the afternoon, despite or possibly because of the oppressive humidity of the swamp surrounding them. The human soldiers would ever so often glance warily to the sides as the incessant growls and cries of the native fauna filled the air unceasingly – by noticeable contrast, the Draenic cohorts maintained their stoic discipline and kept their attention fixed on their forward momentum, save for those on the flanks who kept their eyes trained on their surroundings to either side in case of an opportune ambush. The road was distinguishable only by simply being a particularly well-beaten passage through the choking trees; the Draenei ambassador remarked once to the dispatch captain the possibility of reinforcing it with cobblestones, but Theluin diplomatically intervened, pointing out the inherent difficulty with the poorly supported mud sediments pervading the marshy landscape. The topic was not brought up again.

The column picked up almost imperceptibly as the trees suddenly began to thin out, a palpable air of relief among the human ranks. The transition in terrain was no less unnaturally abrupt as that between the infamous mountain pass far to the west and the soggy swamp they had just traversed, but it was still fundamentally different. Like before, the swamp trees petered out within a few yards, the fertile soil of the swamplands yielding to barren earth and naked rock, but where the soil of Deadwind Pass had been a dreary, inert grey, this land was a dark, almost purplish red.

There was another, much less tenable but nevertheless perfectly noticeable divergence. Deadwind Pass was for all intents and purposes a dead land; nothing but thorny, resilient shrub would grow in the huge, winding ravines, and what little wildlife eked out a paltry existence in its depths kept to itself, away from the main road. There were other roads that led elsewhere, but few ever had a reason to venture along those and fewer still returned. The only thing that ever seemed to move was the wind – dead, carrying no promise but bone-chilling cold and misery, whistling and whining through petrified trees and branches turned to stone, that would never carry leaves or flowers again. It was as if the landscape itself had been slowly drained of its very life force over the years until nothing but void remained. And so it stood, an enigma to the perpetuation of life, sterile and abandoned by redemption until time would loop back to its genesis and the world would be reforged anew.

The territory that the column now entered was in some ways similar, and in others utterly opposite. Where Deadwind Pass was little more than a single, precipitous canyon stretching in an odd S-shape from north to south, this place was an open wasteland of jagged rock and scorched earth. Where the wind of Deadwind Pass only smelled of dust and eons, the atmosphere here was saturated by an altogether malevolent aura, a metallic, stinging stink only barely on the cusp of mortal senses, reminiscent of some dark mixture of blood and sulphur and a strange, otherworldly quality that could only be described by one word.

Nether.

Of Light and Void, chapter 9

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“… you actually read that?!”

Eleazar didn’t stifle a hearty chuckle at his riding companion’s hushed exclamation. “Of course, Miss Tuan. After hearin’ Brother Kristoff’s sermon on Fortitude and its necessity for practicing the Virtue of Tenacity, I thought it’d be a good idea to read the book he ref’renced so heavily to.”

There was a moment of silence on the she-rogue’s part. “So, what’d you think of The Stresses of Iron?”

Eleazar smiled, half-sheepishly and half sincerely amused. “Ain’t no s’prise that I found it a rath’r boring read. Did have some interestin’ tidbits about metals that may come in handy when it comes time to re-forge my kit.” The sheepishness faded into a contented expression of foresight. “I reckon that might come fairly soon, given our destination.”

Tuan’s expression also receded into thought. “Yeah …” She was quick to change the subject, ducking a growth of moss hanging low from the trees as the column of soldiers crossed the border between the unnaturally barren Deadwind Pass and the overgrown humidity of the Swamp of Sorrows. “Besides looking into books used in sermons, what other books do you read?”

Eleazar leaned forward slightly on his mount, and patted Abolition’s armoured head. The charger whinnied lightly, and then shook off Eleazar’s hand with a playful chuff. “Whatever looks interestin’ …” he finally replied, straightening himself. “But I have devel’ped a taste fer history in general. Knowing why a particular people are what they are really helps in unnerstandin’ them an’ their terms when it comes to devel’ping peaceful relations.”

“That makes a good bit of sense.” Tuan paused again. “Any favourites?”

The paladin chuckled. “Miss Tuan. I have little room in my heart and mind for favourites.”

“Didn't think so,” the she rogue smirked. “You don’t seem to be the type to. Any notables you’d recommend? Not a big fan of history myself, but—”

“Company! HALT!”

Of Light and Void, chapter 8

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--present day--

Eleazar followed a step behind the regiment captain as they approached the small group of dignitaries that were to accompany the dispatch through the Dark Portal – a trio of Draenei emissaries, one a robed ambassador and the other two fully-armoured Exarchs, each with a pair of adjutants that were currently standing to attention at a respectful distance as their superiors engaged in small talk with a fourth individual: a tall, stately Night Elf Priest wearing the traditional diplomatic mantle of the Kaldorei. Eleazar quickly disguised his smile of pleasant surprise as the captain introduced him to the delegates.

The captain bowed curtly. “Your Excellencies, I present to you Ambassador-Paladin Eleazar Thomaius Abraham.”

The Draenic ambassador smiled lightly. “Ah, yes – the esteemed Eleazar of Light’s fame.” Eleazar smoothly curved his spine in reply, and the Draenei returned the gesture. “I do believe you have made yourself a bit of a name among my peers,” he continued with an appreciative look.

Eleazar righted himself and smiled as well. “<You pay me much too great a credit, Wordbearer,>” he replied in only minutely accented Draenic. He exchanged bows and similar greetings with the Exarchs, before turning back to the ambassador. “<I am surprised that you would speak of me so highly.>”

The Draenei’s glowing eyes became solemn, but his smile didn’t falter as he replied in Draenic as well. “<The Prophet is a benign and attentive leader, but it is still considered a most high honour for anyone to speak to and be spoken to by him.>” The ambassador inclined his head slightly. “<I must say, your Draenic is impressive.>”

“<My thanks, Wordbearer,>” Eleazar replied with a smile and another bow. “<The result of studiosity.>”

The Draenei nodded and, with another exchange of diplomatic phrases, turned back to his kinsmen. Eleazar stepped away respectfully, and then turned to the Night Elf with a far broader and jovial grin.

Of Light and Void, chapter 7

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--two months earlier--

She kept pacing restlessly around the topmost lookout of the keep’s central tower, one hand perpetually at the side of her head as she would alternatingly pinch the bridge of her nose or press her wrist against her temple in vain, repeated attempts to ease the pounding inside her skull. As much as she detested having only this tiny area to move about with any degree of freedom, she had long given up trying to coax the local commanders into giving her looser reins. She couldn’t blame them, really – the Keep of Nethergarde had been constructed for one very simple reason, and the jagged, tortured landscape surrounding it was a constant reminder why.

That being said, she still hated it.

“Why can’t they just let me leave whenever I’m done here?” she muttered to herself for the umpteenth time. “I swear, every time …”

Around and around, one circle after another, in never-ending loops of nothing but empty time ticking past. Light, she hated it. Especially when she would forget where she was for a split second and turn her head in any direction not resembling north.

Like now. She bit back an oath and quickly lowered her head another inch, careful not to look up as she once more crossed along the southern rim of the rampart. For a lopsided stack of crudely hewn monoliths tossed into a deformed crater the size of the Stormwind Park, that Portal certainly was a noisy piece of work. She mouthed a few choice invectives and continued her self-imposed circuit.

She glanced up and nodded curtly to the guardsman that had just ascended the flight of stairs below to replace the current tower watch ensconced in the small, fortified alcove above the rampart. He took little notice of her, as was the wont of most of the troops stationed in the Keep – only those few warriors that were directly attached to the Argent Dawn paid her much respect these days. She allowed herself a cold smirk while the two men’s backs were turned towards her as they took the opportunity to exchange small soldier’s talk. It wasn’t like there was anyone there that would bother reprimanding such insignificant breaks in discipline.

Her attention was suddenly seized by an odd movement in the corner of her eye. She looked up and squinted, trying her level best not to cringe as the churning headache intensified briefly. “What’s that?”

Of Light and Void, chapter 6

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--present day--

Dawn came to the dark and dreary skies of Duskwood, if pitch black night lifting into dull, somber greys could be called a dawn at all. Though the sun shone bright above the clouds, its light only lit the cursed cloud cover just enough to signal the start of a new day.

An Azerothian reveille sounded out through a ram’s horn, calling forth the soldiers from their slumber. It did not take long for the whole regiment to get on their feet and go through their routine of gearing up and striking down camp. The whole regiment was abuzz before the rest of sleepy Darkshire stirred, recruits and veterans alike milling about camp, chattering and cleaning up before heading out.

It was in this controlled chaos that the distinct golden glint of a Paladin’s armour could be seen moving through the sea of the tin-silver of the common soldier. A few of the conscripted men saluted as Eleazar passed, others thanked him for the fascinating sermon he had presented the night before. The man in the Argent Dawn tabard returned their responses to his passing through in gracious kind, his respect for the nearly nameless soldiers just as deep as their respect was for him.

As Eli neared the center of the camp, the regiment officer looked up from the makeshift situation table and acknowledged the approaching paladin with a nod. Eli returned the nod from a distance and quickened his pace until he stood at the table with a salute and ready stance.

“Paladin-Ambassador of the Argent Dawn, Eleazar Thomaius Abraham. Reporting for duty, sir.”

Of Light and Void, chapter 5

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--two months earlier--

Dungar Longdrink strode back and forth, occasionally stopping by one of his magnificent charges where they lay idle in their roosts, waiting for a would-be traveller to carry across the kingdom. While distinctly a Stormwind human, he had earned his surname’s inherent reputation several times over from the intermittent drinking binges he’d share with his Ironforge colleagues in the Dwarven District, along with a healthy (less so for him) respect from his height-challenged peers. He was widely regarded as one of the finer gryphon keepers in the profession, and considering the scrutiny of the Dwarven flight masters, that was certainly saying something.

He turned his head as the distinct sound of gryphon wings reached his well-honed ears, and squinted into the early morning mist cloaking the Valley of Heroes. He furrowed his brow slightly – those weren’t the wings of a typical travelling gryphon. The beats were stronger, faster.

And approaching at alarming speed.

He was only given a split second to throw himself out of the way as the colossal War Gryphon came swooping into the Roost with a deafening roar, narrowly avoiding smashing clean into the stone column dividing the two entryways. The beast came to a screeching halt on the reinforced floorboards, massive claws tearing into the woodwork for traction to halt its momentum, and it only barely kept itself from careening into the stockpiles of supplies neatly stacked against the opposite wall.

Of Light and Void, chapter 4

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Soothe my heart, dear Light,
Meet me in this place.
Calm this warrior’s soul,
Be ever present with Your Grace.

In this quiet, I bask in Your rays.
In the cold and cloudy dark,
You are my Sun, always.
My heart, my soul, body, and mind,
I have dedicated to thee,
Be the solace in no other source will I find.

Steel my heart for battle, O Light.
Still my quaking soul.
For at any time war calls for my might,
Keep me focused, keep me whole.

In this quiet, I bask in Your rays.
In the cold and cloudy dark,
You are my Sun, always.
My heart, my soul, body, and mind,
I have dedicated to thee,
Be the solace in no other source will I find.

A man in his early thirties sat in a quiet room with a prayer book open on the chair next to him, both hands pressed together in meditation. Laying next to the prayer book was a summons to service with the royal seal of the Kingdom of Stormwind seen clearly on the parchment.

He was ruddy and sunkissed, typical of a man who had traveled long or spent many days working the fields, and the lilting, drawling accent that coloured his low tenor indicated that he was a native of Westfall. His hands were rough, as if though he had been steering the ox and plough or spent many days mastering the art of the Shield and Warhammer, and his ice-blue eyes glowed faintly with the very Light he had dedicated his life to. Sandy blonde hair cropped short and close to his scalp framed his face, matching a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, and a few scars from various battles he had participated in decorated what skin his simple off-duty clothing exposed.

And if I fall before I once more rise,
May I stay ever loyal to you.
If the deepest darkness take my eyes,
Light, keep my paths true.

In this quiet, I bask in Your rays.
In the cold and cloudy dark,
You are my Sun, always.
My heart, my soul, body, and mind,
I have dedicated to thee,
Be the solace in no other source will I find.

A polite knock was heard on the door leading to the room.

“Paladin Eleazar Abraham?”

Of Light and Void, chapter 3

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The sun kept dipping in and out of the clouds as the infantry column marched briskly along the road leading through eastern Elwynn. The guardsmen normally patrolling it were all stepping aside with wide, wondering eyes; not so much because it had been nearly two years since a prospect like this was at all commonplace in the kingdom of Stormwind, but the fact that the frontmost third of the column was made up entirely by the curious new additions to the grand Alliance – a head taller than a man, digitigrade cloven hooves and luminous blue skin, the precise rows of the Draenei warriors marching in near-perfect lockstep were certainly a sight to behold.

She tapped the tall, armoured palomino into a small trot, catching up to her friend. The elderly Kaldorei sat comfortably astride his own steed; a massive, sabre-toothed tiger with dark, mottled fur, wearing the ornate, jewelled plating of its master’s native culture. The muscled beast padded silently alongside the Draenic cohorts, the tip of its tongue lolling as it panted slowly in the bright early-summer sun. The stallion snorted matter-of-factly at the tamed predator’s presence, and his rider clicked her tongue in a low note to bring the horse back to a controlled walk.

“Nice weather,” she remarked off-hand, leaning back in the saddle and letting the reins hang.

He looked up at her. “You two seem to be getting along fine now.”

“Eh.” She rolled her ankles in the stirrups. “He’s not a complete idiot.” The stallion let out a huff, and she chuckled and leaned forward to rub its flaxen mane.

The aged Night Elf merely smiled. “We are making good headway. At this rate, we may cross into Duskwood before afternoon.” True to his words, the forest was thinning out rapidly, the scenery beginning to shift into the naked, reddish earth and cliffsides of the Redridge mountain range.

“… mhm.” She squinted ahead, her lips pursing in momentary thought. “Hold on.” She kicked the stallion into a gallop, swiftly reaching the front of the formation. “Be right back,” she quipped as she thundered past the mounted captain spearheading the march. He opened his mouth to shout indignantly after her, but thought better of it.

Ahead of her, the road forked distinctly into three passageways: one leading onward into the undulating landscape, the next taking a sharp turn to the south-west, and the third leading back the way she had just arrived. Right at the intersection, a lone guardsman had just taken a brief stop to survey the surroundings. He unhooked a small watersack from his belt, taking a metered swig.

“Parker!” she called out, throwing a friendly wave. “Still patrolling the dusty old warpath, I see.”

Of Light and Void, chapter 2

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“… I’m not trying to be delinquent about this! All I’m saying is, I don’t see the point!”

“Ma’am, if you would just calm down for a moment …”

“It’s got four legs, a head, a tail, and a back for me to sit on. What more do you expect from a horse??”

“With all due respect, ma’am—” The statement was marred only slightly by the noticeably annoyed furrow in the quartermaster’s forehead. “—there are customs to be observed here.”

She facepalmed with supremely fabricated amazement. “Oh, right. I forgot. Can’t have a simple beast of burden looking like it just got dragged through the Fargodeep prancing around in front of our new best friends. Right. It’s all about appearances, isn’t it.”

He glared back at her, his patience evaporating. “While I certainly would expect that particular attitude from your ilk—”

“Please, if I may interject.”

Both combatants turned their heads at the deep, melodious baritone. Theluin was stood nearby, bedecked in his diplomatic robes, a calm, gentle smile on his face. He reached out a hand lightly, and the agitated she-rogue immediately broke away from the imminent confrontation and stomped over to him.

“I’m telling you, Thel, this is ridiculous,” she growled. “They’re being ridiculous.”

“How long have you had your little mare by now, my friend?”

She shot him a look. “A year and a half.”

“And how far have you travelled in that time?”

Her eyes took on a distinctly resigned expression. “Back and forth across both continents, at least three times each.”

He smiled reassuringly. “About time for the steadfast girl to have a vacation, wouldn’t you think?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes heavenward.

He put a light but firm hand on her shoulder. “You know this is the best solution for her. Our destination is an open war zone, and it is only prudent that our steeds are accustomed to such. She is a travelling mount, not a warhorse.”

She facepalmed in defeat. “Fine. Fine! Light.” She looked back up at him, her previous anger completely dispelled. “You know, this is why I hate arguing with you. Three lines in and I can’t even remember what I was being so worked up about in the first place.” She turned on her heel and addressed the quartermaster again, who was staring in profound perplexity at the tremendously mismatched pair. “Can I at least choose?”

Theluin leaned in minutely. “I am sure the provisioners will know what they are doing.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Argh!! You win! But if I have to spend more than an hour breaking it in, I’m holding you exclusively responsible.” She rounded on the quartermaster one last time. “Make sure she always gets a red apple with her morning oats.” Then she stomped off, muttering under her breath about saddles and bridles.

Theluin turned to the baffled man with an apologetic smile. “She did not mean anything personally, Quartermaster.”

He composed himself. “She … has a temperament, Elder.”

The ancient Kaldorei chuckled softly. “But her heart is in the right place. Now, about the translator we will be bringing along …”

---

Originally written by Tuan Taureo

Of Light and Void, chapter 1

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I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

Osborne had to jump aside to avoid being bowled over by her as she came unceremoniously stomping out of the gate leading to the SI:7 headquarters. She didn’t even grace him with a cursory glance, continuing straight across the small square towards the exit that led into the labyrinth of channels crisscrossing Stormwind.

I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

“I heard a story about this golden fish—“

“You’re making that up.”

“— and if you caught it, you would get—“

The two boys were forcibly interrupted by the towering rogue as she stormed past right between them, heading up the bridge. “Hey!” “Whoa!”

The first one was about to shout something foul at the uninvited party crasher, but was held back by his friend. They were left standing on the base of the bridge, staring half crossly, half awkwardly after the tall, athletic woman disappearing on the other side.

I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

The Trade District was as utterly choked with peddlers and bantering city dwellers as it always were during high noon, but she weaved with great expertise through the milling throng, instinctively snagging a shiny red apple from a fruit stand while the merchant was busy receiving payment for some exotic jungle delicacy. Admittedly, the citizenry were giving her a somewhat wider berth than they usually would have – which she indubitably would’ve noticed had she bothered to pay more attention to her surroundings. The fact that her chiselled face was set in an only minutely restrained expression of frustration and barely contained rage had most likely a fair bit to do with it. She ploughed through the central square with little thought, veering sharply into the south-western exit.

I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

Clearing the next channel bridge by the absolute minimum amount of strides, she dove into the entrance to the Mage Quarter, immediately feeling the distant needles and pinpricks in the back of her head from the numerous arcane researches going on in the elegantly carved buildings arrayed around her. Right now, however, she couldn’t care any less about the discomfort.

I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

She made a very mindful point of not looking up at the tower standing proudly in the middle of the central garden. She didn’t need to; the faint pressure behind her forehead informed her in no uncertain terms of the etheric constructs being housed within its walls at the end of the seemingly unsupported stone arch leading up to the ridiculously elevated, crested entrance. Instead, she walked up the lower stairs to her left and entered the Blue Recluse.

I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.

The tavern was virtually deserted and didn’t seem to have had any visitors that day; all the chairs stood neatly around their tables, the tavernkeep busily polishing mugs and tankards that had nary a spot of dust on them. The man looked up as the she-rogue pulled out a chair from one of the tables and threw herself into it with little to no gracefulness. With practiced ease, he made his way over to her with a jovial smile.

“Hello there – welcome to the Blue Recluse. Care for a refreshment, madam?”

She glanced over at him and, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded curtly. “Whatever you would recommend for getting your mind off something exceedingly infuriating.”

The tavernkeep smiled understandingly and vanished downstairs to the cellar. He returned a few minutes later with an antiquated bottle and poured a medium-sized glass nearly full with the rich, red wine, smoothly placing the glass in front of her before retreating once more to the counter.

She took a deep draught of the wine, put the glass down and leaned her head back with an exhausted sigh.

“… I don’t want to go through the Dark Portal.”

“I had a feeling this would be revolving around that particular form of subject.”

Who are the Dragonguard?

"We're law abiding citizens. We're good people. We are moral and just. Were we anyone else, we'd be model members of society. We'd be heroes and treated as such. So why are we on the run? Why are we treated as criminals by the very nations we serve and protect so faithfully? Simple. We just happen to be hosts to a terrible run of bad luck." - Saphrit Crossdeep

"The things that are bad merely serve as motivation to do what is good." - a proverb of the Second Pack

Guild Name: Clan Crossdeep aka "The Dragonguard"
Guild Type: Clan, Business, Para-Military, Underground/Black Ops
Structure: Company, Tribal/Hierarchal, Honor/Trust-based
Domninant Alignment(s): Lawful Good, Neutral Good, Chaotic Good, Lawful Neutral, True Neutral

Who are we? Who are the Dragonguard? What do we do? What have we done?

In A Nutshell--
Clan Crossdeep, aka "The Dragonguard", is a Good-Aligned Organization that is on their surface a law-abiding clan and business (Crossdeep Couriers and Security), but they maintain ties to the Horde, the Steamwheedle Cartel, and the dark underbelly of the Alliance. The Clan itself is cavalier about the law and status-quo under the law-abiding veneer of its business, and acts upon its honor rather than the laws of the land.

History--
"The Dragonguard" is the informal title and operative handle of Clan Crossdeep, a name coined by the clan's patriarch and founder of operations, Archdruid Pterneldan Crossdeep, initially used to refer to his inner circle (which consisted of his family and closest friends) and his most trusted clan agents. With the backing of another mercenary guild, Clan Crossdeep founded a small, discreet, but otherwise quality courier service to serve the local shopkeeping community of Stormwind, and the business was left in the care of one of Pterneldan's most trusted agents while the Archdruid completed his popular book of lore and travelogue of pre-Cataclysm Azeroth.

The courier service eventually served as a front for more dangerous missions the clan patriarch would often give his agents on behalf of his old guild, but they were largely discreet, and most of them legal; these were usually bodyguard services or security detail (and, yes, they could pick up the rare item retrieval missions if they had to.) It didn't take long for Clan Crossdeep and its small courier and security business to stand on their own apart from the guild that originally backed it, and it continues to benefit from its good standing with other mercenary guilds.

One day, due to his contribution in the outing of the Twilight's Hammer in the Alliance Capital of Stormwind, Archdruid Crossdeep went missing under suspicious circumstances, and the public-at-large believes him dead. The archdruid's adoptive son, Vindicator Saphrit Crossdeep, rose to the rank of Clan Leader by default, and he continues to oversee the clan's operations with his adoptive father's inner-circle serving as his councilors.


Business (Hiring Affadavit)--
Crossdeep Couriers and Security is a law-abiding establishment, and all new and existing employees are subject to background checks and interviews upon hiring. All potential employees are expected to have some combat experience upon submitting their work application. Further training will be provided on the field.

Our services are parcel delivery and premises surveillance and security. Couriers are paid on commission per package, and security guards are paid by the hour. Field operatives are paid by commission and bonuses are given to field operatives according to customer review.

To maintain a clean front, the courier service is manned by the members of Clan Crossdeep that have, thus far, have either no criminal record or simple, mundane offenses. The exception is the lead courier and business manager, the Death Knight, Eleutherios, aka Eli Abraham... though his current civilian status and good standing with the local community has rendered Mr. Abraham's otherwise bleak record null.

Within the city limits of the Alliance capitals (in order of freqency of service: Stormwind, Ironforge, Darnassus, and The Exodar), the CCS itself handles the details. These are usually simple, relatively safe missions; they usually entail the simple ferrying of packages or supplies to and from shops and paying customers, or simply providing a protective, but discreet, presence at large private gatherings for the affluent. Field missions often only entail escorting goods and personnel to outlying towns and locations.

Missions outside of the major Alliance Captials, and outside of simple supply deliveries and personnel protection to the outlying towns, fall upon the "Dragonguard" -- the fighting underground heart of Clan Crossdeep. These are the more dangerous missions and can only be requested after submitting a password. The Dragonguard missions often involve the protection and/or assisting a mark, securing and providing surveillance to a location, or, rarely, retrieval of certain items. The "true" Dragonguard, the inner-circle of Clan Crossdeep, oversee these missions, and if the situation warrants it, the inner-circle will handle these missions personally.