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.
The Priestess turned smoothly as Saphrit and Aaron came near, curtseying ceremonially and addressing them. The Druid merely nodded politely, giving Aaron a glance of acknowledgment which the Gilnean repaid with a deep bow. Druids had a way to recognise each other.
The Priestess began briefing Saphrit on the situation at hand, and Aaron was left to stand idly by and take in his surroundings. While he had learned a rudimentary Darnassian after arriving on Teldrassil, he was still very much a beginner, and so most of the conversation was lost to him.
He felt his own whispered assessment moments earlier come back to him. It really was a miserable sight. Traumatized, drenched citizens huddling together beneath the makeshift windcovers, trembling and staring emptily into nothing, moving about like automatons. Two other Priestesses moved to and fro, administering prayers and healing balms wherever absolutely necessary, and gently advising those strong enough to begin the harrowing trek north along the coast to Lor’danel. The scale of the devastation of Auberdine was all too apparent – even the Sentinel leader, albeit on her feet and keeping the morale up among her warriors, had her arm in a simple cast and a few bandages secured around her shoulder.
Aaron’s attention was suddenly caught by a female Kaldorei who was busily reapplying a bandage to one of the more severely injured refugees. Neither a Sentinel nor a Priestess, she appeared to be equipped with the typical haphazard mix of leather armours usually worn by young adventurers coming out of Teldrassil to explore the world, but the way she carried herself spoke of a higher degree of conditioning and experience than most greenears fresh out of the safety of the World Tree. Aaron found his interest strangely piqued, and he kept observing her quietly as she brought out a small wooden cup containing some form of soothing salve and applied it to a nasty bruise on the refugee’s face. Her forest green hair was unceremoniously chopped off at shoulder-length and fastened into a simple, high-set ponytail, and she seemed a touch taller than average – even for a Kaldorei. She couldn’t be more than barely past her coming-of-age, though it was usually hard to tell with Night Elves. Having been an immortal race for millennia up until a mere decade ago wasn’t going to be erased in a hurry.
Aaron forced himself to look away, aware that his staring could be interpreted the wrong way, but it was strangely difficult. Part of him chided himself for his lack of consideration, but another part kept tugging at his consciousness, a strange sensation of recognition and kinship, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
And then, just as he glanced back, he saw the Night Elf discreetly cast a Rejuvenation spell on another, less injured refugee before quietly urging him to head north. She was a Druid.
As if on cue, she suddenly shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. While possessing the faintly meditative aloofness of most Kaldorei, her eyes were surprisingly sharp and aware, a feral presence and intensity reminiscent of a wild beast. Aaron felt his own Worgen aspect perk its incorporeal ears, and maybe, just maybe did his body language follow suit. The way the Night Elf suddenly regarded him with a faint acceptance, nodding almost imperceptibly as a way of greeting, certainly implied as much.
Saphrit noticed the wordless exchange and came over for a proper introduction. “Ishnu-alah, friend,” he greeted in Darnassian, then switched to Common. “You’re here for the refugees too, I see.”
“Ishnu-alah, friend,” she replied on cue, inclining her head. She glanced at Aaron. “Your companion is of Cenarius’ creed.” Her Common, while somewhat formal and obviously coloured by her native accent, was clear and unhindered, and her voice was a melodious alto.
Aaron bowed his head in return, tipping his hat with a little smile. “Gilnean, Miss.” She raised an eyebrow in understanding. It really was true – Druids always knew how to recognise one another.
“I am Saphrit Crossdeep. This is Aaron Braun.” Saphrit motioned to himself, then to Aaron. “I suppose you can call him Aarbron if you like.” Aaron smiled again, shrugging dismissively.
The Night Elf reacted visibly at the mention of the younger man’s surname. “Crossdeep?” she echoed, her eyes suddenly alive.
Saphrit found his breath catching momentarily. “You know the Archdruid?” He tried his level best not to let the sudden surge of hope come too obviously to his voice.
“I know of him,” the Kaldorei replied, her eyes alert and probing. “I have been his thero’shan from time to time recently.”
Saphrit drew a deep breath, fighting to keep his emotions under control. This might just be the opening they had been anticipating. “I am Master Pterneldan’s son. His adoptive son,” he added quickly when the Night Elf gave him an odd look. “I am a Paladin of the Holy Light.” He hesitated minutely. “May I inquire about your name, m’lady?”
She inclined her head again. “I am Tuathann Heartglen of Astranaar.”
“Lady Heartglen.” Saphrit smiled and inclined his head as well. “If it is not too forward of me, would you mind becoming our companion for the immediate future?”
Tuathann cocked her head to one side with a light but amused smile. “I do not think I would, Master Crossdeep.”
((This post was co-written by TheKittyLizard and Tuan Taureo))
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