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Caro'thel Vendross had been many things - heir to (and then lord of, and last of) a Highborne noble family, Knight of the Argent Rose in the Pia Presidium, scholar of Genevra Stoneheardt's Conclave, archmage of the Kirin Tor, soldier of the Wyrmrest Accord...now he added another to his list of jobs: Officer of the Stormwind City Watch.

It was only fitting, given that Stormwind was the center of the Alliance...plus, there was no chance in Hell of ever serving in Darnassus as long as Kyalin was a warden. He didn't begrudge her prejudice; not so long ago, the feeling had been mutual. Now, he understood where she (and other traditionalist kaldorei) came from...but he didn't like it. The sins of the father curse the generations following, it seems, he thought sadly. But he had made a name of himself by overcoming obstacles...be it those placed before him by life, or those built by his own hand.

Two days ago, he had secured a meeting with Commander Orwyn at Stormwind Keep, and had taken his oath as a recruit. He had started "from the bottom" when he had served under Gentyl, and he did not mind doing so again. He had a lot to learn. Though he felt that he recognized the threat posed by Rakeri Sputterspark and his kind more than Orwyn himself did, he knew that the professor was not the only threat that lurked in the shadows, and he had to learn how to deal with all of them. Such as this little gem that had fallen into his lap: Last night, he received his first case.

It was his own fault, and he would be the first to admit it; he had volunteered (or rather, been volunteered) based on his insistence on pointing out other alternatives to Laman Dirkhaven's theory of cultist activity in Elwynn Forest. I did walk into that one, though, he conceded to himself with a grin. You get what you ask for. He did not mean to sound disrespectful - as Orwyn said to him in private, the sergeant had three decades of service under his belt - but Vendross felt that most people of late were always prone to screaming "CULT!" whenever something unusual happened. It made the threat of a real cult less likely to be believed.

Vendross stopped into the Blue Recluse for a drink, and began consulting the notes Laman had compiled on the case. If the veteran's theory was right and these incidents were ritualistic, his expertise in magic made him ideal for detecting it.

He hoped he was up to the task.

A warm spring rain fell in Elwynn the next afternoon when he set out from Stormwind, riding a horse he had named "Stormcloud" for its color under the armor and for its temperment; the animal had been a gift from Artimus Devaneaux, his late mentor from the days in the Presidium. After the snow and rugged terrain of Kun-Lai, riding through a forest in the rain was something of a blessing, for both rider and steed alike.

Deciding to investigate the source, he rode first through Goldshire and west along the King's Road that connected Westfall to Redridge, heading for the farms along the river that made up the forest's western and southern borders. The Stonefield farm, if he remembered, raised pigs; the Maclure farm next door was a vineyard. Down river, near the Redridge border, was a pumpkin patch, and along Mirror Lake was an orchard. The cows were usually free-grazers, and usually around the small secluded houses not far from Stormwind's gates. Hopefully, it was just an isolated incident, not widespread...but it was best to have all the contingencies covered.

He dismounted as one of the farmers came up to him. "Can I help ya, stranger?" the human asked, slightly warily as he could see Vendross was a mage - as if the flame-charged staff carried on his back wasn't a clue.

"Good afternoon, sir. Caro'thel Vendross, Stormwind Watch. I'm investigating incidents of oddly-butchered livestock, I'm wondering if your farm's lost any pigs?"

"Yeh, we've had a few turn up dead, yessir. Damnedest thing, some of the organs were missin' but none of the ones that usually get eaten. Heart and guts were taken out, liver was untouched. None of the meaty bits were taken, either."

Vendross nodded. Just like the cows Sergeant Dirkhaven reported, he thought. "How long ago was this?"

"Oh, 'bout a week or so."

"And what did you do with the carcasses?"

"Hell, Officer, we ate 'em. Ol' Auntie Stonefield there makes some damn good pork pies, I tells ya. Perfectly good meat, hadn't spoiled yet, couldn'ta been there longer than a day." The farm worker scratched the back of his neck, almost thoughtfully. "Somethin' weird though."

Vendross felt a pit in his stomach; he was worried that the man was about to say people were getting sick. The fel plague in Westfall - which had also been sent to Hearthglen but caught before it could spread, if rumors were true - had begun with tainted food. However, he remained calm as he asked, "And what was that, sir?"

"Well....yer a wizard, right?" At Vendross' nod, the man went on. "Well...there was this weird feelin' around the place, like there'd been somethin'...not quite right there. It went away when we brought the meat back to the farm, so it wasn't the pigs...but it was the place where we found 'em. Not far from the river. Maybe some kinda magicky thing." He pointed slightly to the southwest, towards Duskwood. "Wonderin' if it was somethin' comin' over from the other side. Place ain't right down there, no sirree."

"I'll look into it. Thank you, sir." Vendross watched the farmer return to his work as he mounted his horse, riding in the direction indicated. He could smell it before he could see it; the "unsalvageable" parts of the slaughtered swine were probably burned, but the odor of blood and gore remained. Flies buzzed everywhere, feasting on what little scraps of rotted pig flesh remained. He pulled up his white face mask, which he'd picked up during the campaign in northern Lordaeron during the Cataclysm War, fighting against the Scourge, and dismounted a distance away to avoid having his horse run like mad to escape the stench. He knelt near the dark stains in the grass, and he could feel...something. Almost faded completely away, but there was something there. Dirkhaven was right; something was amiss. It seems I owe the sergeant an apology, he mused.

Standing and returning to his horse, he rode back to the road and then up through Goldshire once more back to Stormwind. He had to double-check the case file - the incidents reported were more recent. As he approached the gates of Stormwind, he saw one of the other officers from that night's briefing - a night elf, riding a Pandarian tiger - talking with a large cat. A druid, worgen from the more feral look of him. Asking if something was amiss, he was told that the druid was being knighted - and as he looked up to see the white-robed form of Gentyl, carrying the Pia Presidium banner, he knew exactly by who. He flashed back to his own knighting ceremony, what felt like an age ago. He felt a slight twinge of guilt...he had become distant from the Presidium over time, and separated to find his own way, just as Artimus had. That had led Artimus to his final death; Vendross only hoped that this would not be his fate, too.

Lining his horse up behind his fellow officer, Vendross put the case in the back of his mind as he rode with the small party to the Cathedral...

"Yo, elf - what's yer name...Vendross, that's it. Sarge is lookin' for you." The officer on watch in the office, a big, burly-looking human with a full beard and goatee and a flinty look in his eye, looked amused as Vendross entered after his stop in the Recluse. "Barely your first day on the job, and you're goin' off like you're Captain Stormwind or somethin', thinkin' you're all big and bad. You're nothin' yet. And if you keep goin' off like this, you're gonna be nothin' here, too, because the Commander's gonna boot you to the curb."

Vendross was wrongfooted. "Excuse me?"

"Y'know, maybe you were big back in Kalimdor, or Dalaran, or wherever the hell you're comin' here from, but you don't get to go off on your own thing here. You're in the Watch now, bucko, and here, we have something called orders. You weren't given an order to investigate the thing yerself, you were ordered to do it along with the Sarge. And you may think you know more than he does, and who knows, maybe you're right - but he's your boss, this is his investigation, and you're to follow his lead, not go off half-arsed runnin' amok in Elwynn." The human crossed his hairy arms across his chest. "You wanna help us, right? You're not here just for giggles?"

Taken aback by the bluntness, Vendross nonetheless answered, "Of course I want to help."

"Well, then, learn the drill! Orwyn's probably the most patient man in this whole damn kingdom, and given the kinda scum he has to deal with in this job, he has to be. Now you're probably a good mage, I've heard somethin' about how you fought in the war. When it comes to workin' the Watch, though, you're a rookie. You made a rookie mistake. And those are forgiven - for a while. Make enough, though, and even the Commander's gonna warn you not to let the door hit you on the way out, if you catch my meaning."

Vendross was confused and angry. "But I was following -- "

"You weren't following orders, bucko, and that's all that matters. You're some big Highborne, right? Expect we're gonna follow you, kiss your behind? Well, I got news for you. This is Stormwind. This town breeds nobles like the pond next to the Cathedral breeds scum. You're nothin' special. Stop acting like it, and start actin' like you wanna be a Watch officer. You do wanna be a Watch officer, right?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then pay attention next time. And if you think this is rude and crude, there are people here who're a helluva lot worse. Thank your stars you're gettin' me and not someone like that. Now park it and wait."

As he sat down, Vendross was now beginning to wonder how good an idea this was. He dismissed the thought immediately. As he had reminded himself before, he had a lot to learn.

Vendross had followed the trail with Sergeant Dirkhaven most of the night, hearing from the (overly evasive) gnome magi of the Tower of Azora that their warlock prisoner had escaped; though the warlock was clearly fleeing someone, the magical aura left behind - the "footprints" that he and the Sergeant followed - had become less frantic as the trail went eastward from Azora and to the Three Corners. He dimly remembered that this had been where that accursed demon-spawn had staged the scene intended to imply that Shankolin had been attacked by --

No. He immediately dismissed any thoughts about Rakeri, or Shankolin. Jataa Lightsworn wanted to know the "truth" about them, but the truth was obvious. She just didn't want to see it (figuratively speaking). If she did not want to figure it out for herself, that was not his problem. He had his duties to consider, and he would not allow himself to become embroiled in someone else's personal crusade. The last time he had done that, Saavedro (as the "good Father" had been then) had gotten Vendross' elder brother, Lord Tara'thel, killed.

Besides, Vendross had already had one lecture from the Sergeant about his inattentiveness - he had called it a "selective hearing problem" - adding to the admonitions he had received from the officer on duty at the Watch office about what he had done earlier that day. He did not want to become the Watch's fool. Hopefully, he could prove his worth to the others with this case, which he had to admit was becoming stranger by the moment. Blood rituals, mutilated wildlife, strange happenings in a tower in the --

Tower. Vendross had been trying to remember something he'd heard what felt like an age ago...and opened his spellbook, looking over the maps. There was a tower much like Azora here in Redridge. He'd heard rumors when he'd visited Genevra, back when she lived out here, of a tower inhabited by a dark sorcerer. Was that where their escaping gnome warlock had run off to?

Once they set out again, he would mention this to the Sergeant...

((Since I was referenced in the first post. Imma forcin' my way in!))

The letter shipped off in the dead of night - bound faithfully upon what the records had revealed - upon its crisp, wisp culled paper, enamored with its elegant, yet mechanical handwriting, encased in it's perfectly folded envelope, and sealed with the crest of an evergreen.

Dear Mr. Caro'thel Vendross,

It has come to my attention that you've recently chosen to count yourself among the Stormwind City Watch. Let me first extend my sincere congratulations on your selection, and a bid of good luck in your new position.

As you are aware, Darnassus counts Stormwind as its largest trading partner. The respective cities' sea-trade rivals that seen between goblin ports, with all of the effects, good and ill, of that reality. Current trends suggest that such commerce and travel will only increase in coming years, which is of particular interest to those in our respective positions. I am confident that if you don't encounter the unique challenges that this phenomenon presents - be they smuggling, trafficking, or purer forms of fraud - you will soon. It is in due to those items that I am reaching out to you today.

There are Elven interests which are presently under-served in Stormwind, which visitors, migrants, merchants and traders rely on in the course of that business so long as they remain in the city. Due to lapses in communication and differences in methodologies, this has been permitted to continue. Similarly, I am sure that there are Human interests which could stand to be better served on my side of the world, as well as matters which require mutual cooperation to solve. I don't pretend that you or I can solve these issues by ourselves, and let alone in one meeting, but I would appreciate the chance to discuss re-opening those vital lines of communication, at a time of course which is convenient for you.

I eagerly await your reply.

Cordially,
Warden Kyalin V. Raintree