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.
Were Eli any other Death Knight, he would have been shooed out of the records room constantly … but he had been a special case from the beginning. Most Death Knights that stopped in by Stormwind Port didn’t have the foggiest clue about who they were before they were raised as undead, and were quite content with leaving the memories of their living life behind for the sake of spilling the ichor and guts of the Scourge in their quest for vengeance. Eli, in contrast, did not seem to care about vengeance much, if at all, and seemed more content living a life that had some semblance of the mundane. His sincerity and oddly peaceful demeanour allowed the librarians and record-keepers to grant him the benefit of the doubt as he would go about his business, scribbling notes here and there. One archivist (whether it was out of the goodness of his heart or that he was just tired of constantly having to read records out loud to a Death Knight is not known) even taught Eli how to light up letters on parchment after realizing Eli had gone half-blind due to the injury that had killed him in the first place. In time, like Eli did with the shopkeepers on his courier route, the librarians and clerks befriended the peculiar but peaceful Death Knight, and often expressed concern when he didn’t show up like he normally would.
Tonight, however, was different. The head librarian had approached Eli with an envelope and a touch of concern and sadness in his voice. Eli, only capable of making out oblique shapes and shadows aside from the occasional sharp, defined flash of light, noted a slightly slumped and maybe ashamed silhouette in the foreground of the blobs of grayshades he could see. Eli spotted a brief glimmer on the envelope as it was handed to him, and the flash was in the shape of something that instantly rang bells in his broken memory.
A sun. A silver sun.
It was the old sigil of the Argent Dawn. The first time Eli could immediately recall seeing this sigil was when he was among the ten thousand storming the little ramshackle chapel in the middle of the Plaguelands … when he and his brothers in death had fought upon Light’s sacred ground. That was the day that the light of the dawn opened their eyes and set them free. Since then, that sigil had been surfacing in other memories that went further back than the Siege of Light’s Hope Chapel – a falling banner in the Blasted Lands. A simple tabard, handed to him in a distant past. A ram’s horn being blown in reveille, as the sigil rose for the first time like a sun of hope climbing above the horizon.
Eli took a long drink of his ale before scanning the fields of grey around him in the Pig and Whistle, wary of any suspicious shadows. Sensing that it was more or less safe, Eli broke the silver seal on the envelope and slid out the letter within. He ran his fingers over the lines of ink, and his stony expression softened into one of shock and curiosity. It was a tip from an anonymous source in the Argent Crusade. Apparently, someone had taken notice of Eli’s situation and had made an effort to aid in his search for answers. On the letter was a name – a name so familiar, it lanced his heart – and other bits of detail and information that had been unearthed. At the end of the letter was an apology for how long it took to get the information to him, and a prayer of hope that Eli would be able to meet his benefactor one day and a blessing of protection and wisdom.
This letter was the turning point Eli had been waiting for. A name, an occupation, a hometown – a lead. He folded the precious parchment back into its envelope and tucked it away carefully into the inner lining of his leather vest, and then tugged his hood a little lower over his dimly glowing eyes in a silent gesture of thanks to whoever and whatever had orchestrated this glimmer of hope. After a moment, he picked up his papers and tossed a small handful of gold coins onto his table before silently striding away and outside where his mount was waiting. The amount of coinage was more than enough to cover his tab and then some, as he sensed it would be a while before he would walk Stormwind’s streets again.
The sun was rising, the initial flash of dawn urging Eli on to prepare for the journey. Today, he would be a customer, not a courier paid by the package. Given that he would be visiting the same shops he delivered hither and to, he felt it would probably be a good time to bid his usual clients something of a farewell. Maybe they would think he was going on another bodyguard mission and would come back to his ‘normal’ life again the next day …
Such subtle signs were what set Eli at peace with the kind journeys he was often leaving for, as these shards of hope offered something for him to look forward to returning to. From his experiences over the last two years, returning was something he always intended on doing. For one, unlike most of his kind, Eli really didn’t mind a mundane life; to him, the mundane was a sign that he was accepted among the living. On the other, if something different happened, it would usually not bode well – like the day the world shook and flames swallowed bits of Stormwind into oblivion …
Today, of course, was going to be different, it had to be … and for some reason, Eli knew that, in spite of the trials waiting for him beyond Stormwind’s gates and the city’s promises of normalcy and safety, everything would turn out just fine once the journey came to an end; the simple assurance that everything will be okay.
… everything will be okay. Why would he want it any other way?
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