World of Warcraft®

The cart that had recently been moved via portal to Sputterspark's Shadowgarde fortress rocked back and forth with the motions of the draft horses. In the back, Tyvian an another carpenter sat atop stacks of fresh lumber and goods arrived from their own Azeroth. As the cart meandered through the bustling fort, Tyvian idly lounged and thought about recent events. His foot dangled casually off the side and he was at ease, somehow here, in Shadowmoon. Perhaps it was knowing what had become of the 'other' Shadowmoon valley that calmed him.

Footsoldiers, an Ogre or two, craftsmen, engineers, and many other folk were gathered here. All for the Professor's promise of safety. Glancing over at two rifle armed gnomish sharpshooters overseeing the handful of goblin laborers, it was truly an odd place to find safety. Nonetheless, he had his own concerns. His precious Raven was unleashed, Sputterspark was secure, Aschaere was satisfied with the last news he had given, Alex was still traveling, and his own fortune was growing drastically; it was a good time except for two things.

First, the original problem of the madman Trenetir. If not for the man's lunacy, his irrational rage and clear lack of foresight, much of the elf mirrored himself. The relentless pursuit, the ambition, the callous demeanor. How to deal with this nuisance was conflicting. He had recently acquired the means to possibly give Trenetir all he wanted of "Grim" and more, but something Kordrion Stoneheardt had told him. Ignore the petty lunatic, and let his own fury drag him to hell. That was a thought, let the pawns play while the puppeteers go about their own. He would have liked to press the matter with Stoneheardt more fully, but the Watch had arrived, and as the flyers, threats, and gossip traveled, he'd rather not let the Watch 'detain' him.

Secondly, his problem with this "Sekhesmet." Rolled up in his back pocket was the fool's article in the Stormwind Herald, and his inconvenient revelations. Yet another snag in his plans. This one would have to be dealt with as well. The tone implied a relationship with Rakeri, one perhaps that he could exploit? Few knew of Rise at Dawn's existence, let alone who was a member. It would be an excellent trap, pulling a few strings to lure in foes.

Hefting his belt of tools onto his shoulder, he glanced over at Sputterspark's keep, and grinned as he hopped off the cart. So many delicious choices.

Alone she sat staring into the blazing hearth. Flames of orange, yellow, and green burned within, consuming what appeared to be common tinder.

Where once she had eyes now only hollowed sockets faced the intense flames. Blind to the natural world she found ample illumination from the darkness and the power she harnessed from the void. In this instance she peered through her mind's eye to gaze through a single eye of kilrogg. A simple enough spell to conjure and maintain, even over these distances, the disembodied eye had been sent along with her succubus servant Disxia and the imp Kupnam. Their assignment simple. Find a worthy mercenary to hire, and find one they did.

She watched as the klutz of an imp invaded the Feathers of Iron business in Booty Bay. It made a mess of things. Despite its ineptitude the pathetic creature managed to find a worthy candidate.

A draenei, no less.

Delighted that the mercenary accepted the lead the imp offered, Raven silently observed while the mercenary met with her succubus within a small cave near the bay. Terms and conditions were established and a deal struck. With a small degree of satisfaction Raven leaned back in her arm chair and relaxed a moment.

It was the briefest of moments.

Almost immediately the pain returned. It radiated throughout and in that instant she relived the horrors of her... transformation. Her only respite, numb the pain with more pain. She channelled the demonic fel energies which wracked herself in more pain, but this was of a different sort. Crawling up her spine was that odd sensation of pleasure that also accompanied the fel. It was strangely welcomed.

Through it all she never faltered. She couldn't. Not even a moment, for in that moment the growing menagerie of demons she commanded would pounce. None of them would hesitate to rip her to pieces, claim a trophy, and desicate what remained. No, she could never falter. She would never.

My will is Iron.

She watched as the mercenary turned away to her mission. Disxia shrouded herself with an invisibility spell and reclined to await the others return.

Good. This succubus knows her place. That klutz of an imp however...
She stewed on its fate. Staring sightless into the hearth she wondered if she'd add its corpse to the other tinder.

Tiny imperceptible (save to those with the sensitivity) threads of shadow magic crept throughout her small extra-planar abode. In a small adjacent room where she conducted most of her ritual preparations a small team of imps were hard a work putting the finishing touches on a new regalia. If her preparations were correct and complete, and they almost always were (she was nothing if not thorough), this newest set of robes, hood, and mask would aid in her control the physical pain that constantly numbed her.

Soon her gear would be complete. Soon it would be time for her to step out into the world again and fulfill her master's command.

A wicked grin stretched charred lips across a jagged maw. Morandil has no idea what I've instore for him.

Crazed maniacal laughter filled the small hide away.

The welcome din of the hazy bar helped drown out Halfblade's thoughts. There'd been far too much turmoil lately, and the volume of the whispers in her mind threatened to take hold once and for all. She medicated herself with rare meat and strong whiskey, even admired the fried strips of sweet potato. Mostly, it was the whiskey that helped.
Lost in her darkness, she didn't notice the ugly little creature at first. But she'd felt the eyes on her as soon as she'd begun her meal. Hating not knowing who was looking at her, Zatia decided to commission another set of runes to prevent spying and extend her senses.
Or maybe she was being paranoid...
When she finally noticed the imp on her table, she scowled inwardly. The ugly little creature's eyes bored into her, sizing her up. She stared back with a brow cocked, challenging it.
"Prove!" it squealed. Whatever that meant.
But the scroll promising a cave of riches was enough to lead her away from the bar (and the scorn of the owner) and into the jungle.

With a hunt to banish the whispers, she strode into the designated lair. The dim light, she knew, would make the dull glow of her eyes stand out, and that made her wary. But the scrape of foot and shuffle of cloak, or wing, gave away her employer.
Another demon.
Zatia suppressed her disgust for the succubus, more interested in the job than any pointless bigotry. She skirted the brass flirtations, trying to stay on point. A bag of promises and a sickening task later, she strode out into the afternoon sunshine, darkness clinging to her like fleas.

Smoke drifted away from the forges in the mountain city. Zatia curled up between two stalactites, in a shadowy crevice. She liked it here, among the Dwarves. They didn't pry, their questions were direct, and they never bothered to look up.
Rolling onto her stomach, Zatia checked her desired route on her map. Again. She hated this assignment, but the reward was too good to pass up. Either way,, she would have ended up hating herself over this. She circled the city of Silvermoon with her finger idly, losing herself in memories.
Silvermoon.
She hadn't been there in years. Not since Cel'anar had died, anyways. After he was laid to rest, she'd turned her back on the Horde for good. Now she wandered between the lines, giving able service to whomever paid the highest. Or, rarely, returned her services in the most satisfactory way.
Tomorrow she'd work her way North, along a route she knew few would take, or patrol. She just prayed that people would stop mistaking her for a Draenei, or her mission would be nearly impossible.
But first, there was information to gather.

The battle raged on, black tendrils of the night swirled closer, causing the tiny spark to shrink back. With each retreat the nightmarish wisps increased their claim on the now scarred and blackened soul. Noikona could feel the retreat with each passing day. It was no longer something she dwelt on, she knew what was happening, in the past few days she finally came to terms with it. Would it change what she was? No, she would never let herself become the chaotic force of evil that haunted her dreams. Those were days long past. The knowledge, wisdom and feelings she now possessed proved to herself, that one like herself could strive to become something better and take steps to demonstrate it. The one that she has feelings for had even told her “It’s not what you are that dictates if you are good or evil, it’s your actions.” Those words rang in her head.

The last couple of days she had been tasked to train a few of the Union rookies in the art of combat. This was a task she took serious. Part of her hoped that if she could lose herself in work, the high tide of vengeance that threatened to wash over her would fade away. It was not be, but only increased her attention to the work at hand. True to her word to the Commander, she didn’t kill any of the new comers, but there were a few cuts and bruises. Noikona made it very clear that if she caught any of the students using her techniques on a citizen of the Kingdom, she would not hesitate to report them immediately. The art of combat she taught was not for apprehending a common criminal, but for use on the battlefield. The techniques she taught were full of deceiving tactics to throw off your foe and to attack the defended rather than the defending.

Sighing deeply she left the training area. Her detail for the month was over. The next few weeks were her own. Her thoughts filled with images of Imperon and a new name which she had just learned from conversations in the Recluse, Trenetir. She slowed her breathing to control the rage she held back, waiting several heartbeats before she continued. Walking along the canal she stopped to peer into the water. As always, the face she saw was not what others perceived. She clenched her teeth, again the words echoed in her mind “it’s your actions”.

Her eyes narrowed at her reflection as she whispered “Then perhaps it’s time to delegate”

The letter had been sent, now the waiting. Part of Yuuko hoped her request would be denied, another wished for it to all be over. If she were caught what would happen? She had nothing now so why did it matter. The business she had fought for was no longer hers. Her partner had used her to the very end. Not even her Order would side with her. Her eyes shut as the anxiety rose. Their learning of her deception would be her end. If she could only let them know, she was not a betrayer. She had no qualm with them it was only towards Trenetir. Alas it was too late to turn back. The AAMS had the letter, in time someone would read it.

The knowledge she had was valuable, but she would not part with it so easily. There would be a deal or she would walk away. The pirate known as Grim, must be brought to justice. To let him roam free without retribution was a travesty beyond comprehension.

The night was full on Stormwind, bars and taverns cast rays of light from windows into well lit rooms, shopkeepers putting away their stores, and making ready for the next day. It was out of one of these bars however, the Pig & Whistle, that a man named Chester Halland exited. With a spring in his step, a light in his eye, and a belly full of liver destroying alcoholic goodness, he began his journey home to Goldshire. He was a salesman in the city, and had just finished his post-work drinking session with two friends from the neighboring shops and his business partner. At least that's what everyone thought. So he walked through the gates of Stormwind, nodding the guardsmen and continuing his way.

He had done this trek hundreds upon hundreds of times. Four years of it to be precise, so maybe it was thousand or so? He couldn't keep track. He continued down the road, the booze in his gut making him not fear the night as so many others do. To him, nighttime was just a friend who put work away and let him have fun. Yet the fun must end, so homeward bound he was. It was about halfway home that he felt it. A pulling sensation in the back of his mind. Chester blinked and looked around, Here? Now? Who would call want to talk him now? Especially one of them he thought. With a sigh, he hopped off the road and into the trees.

After a two minute walk, he saw the person. Waiting behind a tree, leaning against it was a person he knew very well, so he smiled and greeted the waiter with a merry "Good evening, Grim. You're the same as ever. Too careful for convenience and pleasantries." Grim watched him approach and uttered a hacking cough before speaking, "Chester, it's been long since you've come to our meetings. Getting cold feet? I'm just here to find out why. You still practice the arts, as I can still feel the Fel in you, so why not come?" Grim straightened from the tree and stood there waiting for the answer. Chester frowned a bit as he thought how to answer. Grim was a long time acquaintance of his, from a different coven, but had always been less friend, and more...rival. Why would he come of all people who met for the inter-coven discussions? "I'm sure you don't have this problem Grim, but some of us still need to be able to work for the bread they eat. We have to be seen in public. I'd rather not starve because of getting a sword in my back at the market."`

Grim was silent for a moment, before waving his hand dismissively, "Fair enough. Do you have anything to discuss?" Before Chester could answer, something tickled his worry sense in the back recesses of his mind. Why was Grim doing this? What did he even know about this man? Going back years, the Grim he recalled just sort of appeared out of the blue as a monster of Fel arts. He had seized control of his own coven and began acting as if it were commonplace. Chester had long considered Grim his rival, as both their groups never saw eye to eye on certain matters. While the man had a slight hunch, Chester estimated he and Grim were around the same height, and while the robes hid much, he would wager they were about the same weight as well. Too similar, except for all those burns and whatever had happened to his face. Shot full of Felfire looked like. Scorched his very throat from the inside. Still, what he didn't know about this man was what suddenly worried him.

Answering thoughtfully, "I have other matters I'm attending to. My plate is full. Surely you can understand?" Grim nodded, and his hoarse voice came from the void behind the bone mask, "I do all too well, which brings me to the why I'm here. The reason." Chester controlled himself, he had been suddenly taken by the urge to take a step back, to run. He could do nothing however, about the cold trickle of sweat on the back of his neck. Grim continued, "You and I share many things Chester. I have need of you. Don't worry, your sacrifice will not be in vain, you'll be getting that hero's treatment after what you'll accomplish."

The sharp blast of Felfire to his face was the last thing Chester saw before something hard struck him from behind, knocking him out.

The bodies were stacking up, or rather, the body -parts- were being amassed. Trenetir sat in an atrium within the estate. The sun was bright and the winter air cold, but it seemed not to faze the Sin'dorei as he sat with his hands still bloodied from the last doing. Long auburn locks were worn loose around his face. This coupled with the paler than usual palor and crazed look that had overtaken Trenetir as of late, he looked like a man gone mad.

There are many who would argue that to go mad, one would have had to have been sane in the first place. Trenetir smirked at the thought, running a bloodied hand through his hair. Gennic was on the lookout for this Halforcen who presumed to have a meeting. A meeting? He laughed out loud, "What would posses such a vile creature to think that I would converse with it?" He asked the air across from him. To the onlooker, there was of course, no response, but that did not stop Trenetir from continuing to hold his conversation.

"They just don't seem to care how many I kill." He mused, "It's both frustrating and invigorating." He paused, cocking his head to one side, "No, I don't intend to stop, I am a man of my word." He spoke to the air.

"Gennic will find the beast, and who knows he may find my ships as well." Another pause, a long one. Trenetir leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, tenting his fingers. "She's a loose end, you have to know that she'll be tied up before this is through. I regret that I did not kill her when I had the chance."

This was the longest pause, "The rotter could finish things off nicely. See that she suffers. She broke her once, she can break her again."

Francil stood just out of sight of his lord, the look of worry on the servant's face was unmistakable.

((Transcribed))

Koudo jumped off the peculiar disk she had been crouching on, it hovered for a few heartbeats before rapidly shrinking, until it was the size of a small coin. Koudo snapped it out of the air, stowing it away in a leather pouch at her side. Her gray armor reflected little light as she strode along and entered the fortress at the peak, where Kordrion had summoned her.

Kordrion glanced up from where he was lounging and waved “Hey, Let me take Dallin upstairs quickly, there's hot tea and snacks if you're cold.”

Koudo nodded finding a seat, removing her gloves and pouring herself a cup of tea “Take your time, it was a long flight.”

Kordrion nodded and scooped the boy up eliciting a fit of giggles before heading upstairs to pass him off to a nurse. A few minutes later he jogged downstairs with an odd little wooden package.

Koudo looked up from her tea, “Art? I hope it’s packaged well. The humidity is in flux this time of year.”

Kordrion nodded “IT will be before I send it, I thought you might be interested in seeing what you are delivering by way of warning.”

Koudo raised a brow “Is it necessary? Who is the recipient?”

Kordrion cleared his throat by way of answer and simply sets the print down in front of her

Koudo stared at the print, her jaw dropping as she muttered a few expletives in Thalassian

Kordrion peered around at it then grins impishly “I thought it was rather apt don't you?”

Koudo shot Kordrion a look, “You plan to goad him further? For what purpose?”

Kordrion shrugged “He's the one that sent me body parts. Maybe he will get the point that he's nothing really but an annoying laughing stock. I can get rather creative if he keeps it up till he puts himself in a position that someone locks him up for his good and ours.”

He leaned over pouring himself a cup of tea “And yes, I am shamelessly playing on your connection to him to make sure he doesn't shoot the messenger”

Koudo shook her head “This stinks of trouble. You wish to have his eyes on you? This will most likely do so. Is that what you wish? His ability to harm others is far reaching. You know this”

The rogue leaned back with a slight smirk “Oh do let him come, he might find he bit off a bit more then he can chew. I have my reasons Koudo, some of which yes involve goading him. Irrational men make stupid mistakes that lead to their own downfall, history has shown us this time and time again and he is no different.”

Koudo frowned, a bit of distaste on her face “The AAMS will deliver your package. Although I don’t personally agree with it. I think you are poking the hornets’ nest and I don’t wish to see others get stung.”

Kordrion replied “They're already being stung Koudo. Or do the people who have been shipped in pieces Via AAMS not count?” He sat up and giving her a pointed look. “Would you rather people just sit back and continue to let him go mad? Or would you prefer we lead an army straight through the heart of Silvermoon after one mad elf? You may not like it, but not everything is able to done the nice and neat way. If it was war would not be fought nor would there be any reason for peacekeepers, but yet we have them.”

Koudo looked at Kordrion, “I will never defend the killing of innocents. Trenetir will answer for what he has done, this I am sure of. I have never known Trenetir to act in such a horrendous action. He has a vile tongue, but never crossed the line into the darkness that he is now in. It makes me think that whatever was done to him was just as horrendous or worse.” Koudo looked away “Yes I think Trenetir must pay, but if the rumors are true, then what of the one he seeks?”

Kordrion responded “Grim will get his own, everyone does in the end. But for now he is not the active issue.” He pointed back at the picture “If he asks, tell him who it's from. Otherwise, let him assume it was Grim.”

Koudo closed her eyes swallowing “As an AAMS courier and shield, your package will be delivered. Our neutrality is what makes us what we are.” Koudo’s face softens “On a personal level, I don’t think this is wise. I think you put yourself in danger.”

Koudo shook her head “I will not lie and say it was from someone it wasn’t. If you wish to stay anonymous that I can do that”

Kordrion spoke “Not exactly a new development there. And not asking you to lie, simply do not state who it is from unless he specifically asks.” He glanced up to her as he sealed the package “If you could do me one other favor? If you pass through the main office re-instate the request that all packages be held securely for pickup no matter how mundane they may seem.”

Koudo looked at Kord “The only office between here and Silvermoon is in a place I rather not go. I will never forget that fleem gas delivery nor the client. But I will make sure that your request is heard” She slowly rose, setting her now empty cup down “So be it. I will not state who it was from unless he asks.” Koudo sighed a look of aggravation of her face “I should double the fee.”

The fleem gas delivery gets a confused look that quickly changes to a chipper grin “If it makes you feel better.”

Koudo frowned “Well then is that it?”

Kordrion nodded “It is yes, and...sorry for putting you in this position but it's better then the alternative of people he might hurt.”

Koudo shook her head as she narrowed her eyes at Kord “To use someone isn’t a very nice thing to do.” SHe reached down to pick up the package mumbling as she tested its weight “Maybe he won’t be home”

Kordrion’s look changed to one of pure innocence “I could always have asked for Kezrin?

Koudo stared at Kordrion “That’s not funny Kezrin is my friend.”

Kordrion commented “I know it's not, but nice or not it was the best option and you know it.”

Koudo covered the package in a protective blanket, she looked down at the table and snatched up a few of the snacks before heading to the exit “I will remember this Kordrion. Payback may be hell”

Kordrion laughed “Fair enough. You're always welcome to stop by for tea if you're nearby."

Koudo rolled her eyes as she pulled the small coin out of her pouch. She flicked it high into the air watching it cartwheel. It grew quickly in size as it tumbled and fell. A mere arms distance from the ground and large enough to stand on, the now large disk hovered above the ground. A cloud seemed to hold it in space. Koudo knelt down upon it, drawing the package close and rose in the sky, vanishing to the north.

Cool winter's mid-day rain.

Large droplets tapping the broad leaves of the dark canopy. Thudding heavily upon the thick mat of grass. The unmistakable chill lingering in the air made the droplets all the more frigid.

*tikkity-tikkity-tak*... falls the rain through the trees.
*tikkity-tikkity-tak*

Upon the bone mask that hid the creature. Atop a small grass covered null she laid staring up through a break in the trees. The bits of armor and belts that comprised her raiment were undone and her robes lay open. The cold beads stung her flesh for a moment, only to sizzle away due to the immense heat her fel twisted body generated.

Moments such as these worked to ease her storm, dulling the pain of her fel appetite. The liquid ice pelts soothed the inner turmoil. Their rhythmic thumping quieted the dismay of tortured memories. In sparse rare moment such as these she almost felt gnome again. A thing which was so easily forgotten.

The hellish transformation that she called upon herself that day in the forgotten grove was purposefully not complete. She stared into that abyss and found the calling she so craved and with that power came a price. She paid willingly and the abyss stared back at her. It snatched her from the world and tried to make her its' own, but that was not the bargain. So instead it twisted and deformed her mortal form to create a vessel worthy of containing such potential, but also to mark her forever for her sin.

What remained of the gnome Lilith? A revenant occupying its space within her oblivion against the demonic abomination she would otherwise become. Neither gnome nor demon, Raven was something else altogether and the one thing that either kept her going or held her at bay were the subtle quiet moments such as these.

*pik-puk-pik-puk*... falls the rain upon the padded grass.
*pik-puk-pik-puk*

...

The long moment gently passes as the rain eases its end, likely pausing to reconstitute itself within the dark clouds that always loom over lower Elwynn.

A large black wolf softly padded nearby, curious as to the thing that lay so brazenly in the open. It knew better than to draw any closer, as most of the creatures of Duskwood had come to learn to give this loathsome being a wide berth. Beginning first as a tingle that sharply grew intense a surge of dark shadow magic reanimated the prostate Raven. She drew deeply a breath and arched her back. The sudden movement startled the wolf, who wisely fled.

Recovering from the sensation Raven folded her robes around her and fastened her gear before rising to her feet. The fel surged within and her hunger returned. The little creature hunched forward, breathing deeply as a predator for its prey. A clawed hand withdrew an item from a pocket within a sleeve. It opened and held aloft a slender deep purple stone. Its dull texture waivered as it gradually doubled in size and became crystalline.

The banshee's soul sharde. Her work is done then, and she has failed.

Even in her own head, her voice was low and menacing. Raven slowly clasped her clawed hand around the sharde. It mattered little. The elf's forsaken agent was no longer a factor. Her soul belonged to Raven now, in its entirety, and she would put her newest minion to great use against the Morandil. Sooner, or later, his insanity would get the best of him and that bloody elf's soul, one way or another, would also be hers.

Raven tucked the sharde back into its place. She held aloft her other hand. The air popped and sizzled from the excess moisture as it heated. A long gout of fel flame flashed, illuminating the surrounding shadows. From that flash appeared her staff, the long wicked blade that perched atop craned its talon protectively over the hunched feathered figure. She gradually made her way into the thicker darkness, towards the path of the wolf.

She was eager to begin her work anew, but first came the hunt. Certain appetites demanded to be sated.

Smoke filled the cramped hallway as the two miserable creatures appeared through the portal. One, a fiery red thing, all whimpers and whines. The other, a twisted, misshapen thing that reeked of sulfur and despair. Together, the imps approached the door to a guest room of a cheap Inn near the Slaughtered Lamb.
The door opened with a protesting creak, having not been latched at all. The fel imp, Zilyal, sneered up at the occupant while his companion cowered behind. Her lithe form was bent over the fresh corpse of a spent lover, and for a moment it almost seemed as though she were kissing him goodbye.
"Whatisthis?! YouaresupposedtobeWORKING!" Zilyal snapped indignantly.
Zatia turned and let her blazing green eyes bore into the imp. "I am working, Zipyap. Forgive me if the pace is not to our Master's liking. Now, if you don't mind, I am busy."
"Itisnothtepace! Weknowwhatyouaredoing, slave! YouwillabandonthismissionandreturntotheMasteratonce!"
The woman sighed, draping her legs across the torso of the corpse. Her "Master", the foul and stinking creature who had supposedly given her life, was being ever so demanding. She chaffed at his rules, his limits. Maybe it was time...
"You know, Zipyap..."
"ZILYAL!"
"Whatever. I think I have had just about enough. I shall do what I please, when I please, so long as I am getting paid to do it," she drawled, her voice low and soft.
Sliding off the bed with all the grace of a serpent, she crossed the tiny space and knelt before the imps. "Take your pet, Zipyap, and leave. Stop spying on me, or," The woman snapped her fingers, and the entire bed burst into white flames. The heat drove both imps backward into the hall, and they hissed at the light. Zatia grinned, baring her teeth.
"Or I shall deal with you next."

Later on, after haggling with the Innkeeper over the room full of ashes, Zatia perched on a roof overlooking the harbor. The cool breeze from the incoming tide pulled at her hat and cloak, like a playful child. She stared at a scrap of parchment in her hands, tracing the design inked into the corner.
"I think," she whispered into the wind, "that it is very much time to go North and tie up loose ends. Starting with this... Trenetir."
That, at least, would win her quite a bit of assets and notoriety. And, if nothing else, she would be out of Alliance lands and no longer subject to their laws. Not that she'd let them take her alive. Zatia was quickly growing weary of the Eastern Kingdoms. All the excitement was away on some world called Draenor. That's where she wanted to be. Amid the action, the spoils of war.
But first...
She would need a few things to finish her current job. She'd already make one rookie mistake while hunting her prey. That would not happen again. She dropped from her perch onto the paving stones below, still scorched by dragon fire. The whispers gathered here like ghosts, begging for relief. Begging her to help. She wished they would just be silent.
From stone to stone she leapt, making her way out of the Harbor. Zatia grinned to herself, putting the city at her back and racing up the coast to a path she once traveled. She could almost feel the glittering shard on her hip pulse with eagerness. It matched the one around her neck, almost perfectly. Except her soul was free, the gem cracked.
She almost pitied her prey.
Almost.

The days pass melding together and the twisted gnome continued her work.

She stood from her armchair throne and strolled to a small adjacent room. Within she observed the industrious progress of several imps. Each hemmed, sewed, and adorned a new regalia as per her strict commision.

Their payment? They earned the privilege of not becoming tinder in her blazing hearth.

The wooden mannequin stood atop a pedestal, just at her height. She carefully inspected their work, making certain that each embroidered rune was correct and placed exact. Various skulls of various creatures she'd procured herself, some human, some not, enhanced the aesthetic as well as served mystical purposes.

A small box on a nearby shelf held several small crystalline shards, pulsating according to the soul each contained. Nothing had been enchanted yet. That would be the final step once preparations were complete.

On a table atop a separate wooden mannequin head sat the head dress. Still mostly in pieces, it was being meticulously assembled by two older and more artistic imps. Each creature wore an apron with pouches holding fine tools. A set of magnifying spectacles rested on their long noses. Sitting by the side was a rather sizeable round jewel which would be the center of the head piece.

Raven lifted the jewel and held it as if gazing into its dark swirling unfathomable depths. Her eyeless sockets watched the circular gem carefully utilizing an altogether different method of sight. Something move within. The sensation of something else staring back at her made the twisted little gnome grin slightly. Where her dark feathered regalia helped her harness the chaotic fel energies that often surged from her being, this new dress would help gather, focus, and thus better harness the fel tainted darkness.

Exciting things were coming. Things for which she needed to prepare, and this was just the beginning.

In a larger room across the main hall a team of both imp and succubae worked feverishly to assemble a large, delicate, and very intricate set of alchemical tubes, vials, beakers, and burners. Across from this several imps painstakingly cultivated a long planter full of earth. Soon she would begin growing particular plants that she would find useful in her alchemical concoctions.

One way or another, Morandil would be hers.

Exciting things indeed were coming.

Tyvian Reinheart hobbled up and down the deck of the Naga's Folly, watched by captain Everrard closely. His noticeable limp was emphasized by the swaying of the waters underneath. It was hard to keep balance with a completely shattered knee.

Muttering to himself, the man continued to pace. He cursed Sputterspark, he cursed Moradinel, and he cursed his own lack of control. He was finally healing from the high velocity bolt that had gone blasting through his knee. Fitting for the height of Sputterspark to aim there. As Everrard watched on, Tyvian's fleet sailed south towards Tanaris, for the shores where he could bring the vessels to Rise and be protected. Alexithima and Aschaere would see to it while he dealt with his...

Elf problem.

To say that Trenetir Moradinel was an elf gone mad was an understatement, just ask the small host of goblins both business partners and couriers who had seen him most recently in what can only be called a state of distress.

How long had it been since he had washed? The blood was caked on his hands, arms, beneath his fingernails, in his hair. How many had died while he attempted to rout out Grim? He laughed as he tried to recall the number, finding that he couldn't.

"Dellis!" He called to night air. No one came.

"Dellis!" He called again. Finally it was Francil who entered, "You're not Delli---Oh that's right." The state of confusion on Trenetir's face lingered. The servant who was now very used to his lord's behavior awaited an order.

"Bring me Gennic, and that rotter.... Banshee... Both Forsaken, call for them at once."

Francil did not wait for another command before he skittered off, in search of the Forsaken, doubting that even when he summoned the pair of Forsaken that it would assuage Trenetir.

Kezrin examined the neatly packed bag; the AAMS had taught her how to travel lightly and pack rather efficiently. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed a couple of random books off her shelf and tucked them in a free spot; she had no idea how long she’d be gone, afterall.

Wish TAE had been more specific.

After even a longer moment’s thought, she reached behind a couple of other books, knocking some over, to find the latest Oarwind novel and tucked that securely underneath a piece of clothing. On top of everything went the vial of ointment Iceia had made for the burn on her arm and a clean wrap for her wrist. She closed everything up, then she went to her desk to write a quick letter.

She wasn’t running away, but it was clearly a bad idea to continue staying at her home in Booty Bay where she’d be easy to find. She just… wasn’t sure what she was hiding from.

The question kept bothering her: as clearly crazy and homicidal Moradinel was, why hadn’t he killed her? Why offer to have her kill him? Why let her go? It was as if she were dealing with three different people who switched places more rapidly than a coin during a shell game.

At one point during his ravings he said she wasn’t safe. As ludicrous as the idea was that he’d be protecting her in some twisted manner, now she wasn’t sure she should dismiss the claim. Last night her friends had discovered evidence that Bragdus, or someone working with him, was causing trouble again.

So… whether it was an insane bipolar elf, evil demon, or something so far undefined, she wasn’t taking any chances. But neither was she going to run away; she finished her letter, written neatly in Thalassian, and signed her name.

She started to fold up her letter, but then a tipped over book caught her attention, a worn copy of Meditation and Peace of Mind. Kezrin grabbed it off the shelf and set it next to her bag. She then unfolded the letter and added a quick postscript.

p.s. You asked for help; I think you need this book more than I do.

Letter went into envelope; envelope was tucked into a page of the book. She’d drop off both in the office, with the appropriate TAE fee included, before letting Brae know where she was going and how to find her.

It was impossible to tell how long the corpse had been standing at the far end of her room, staring across it at the open window. She had no idea how she'd come to be here.

Where had she come from? Surely she'd come from somewhere, but memories of her arriving simply didn't exist. She just....was. Simple -was-. She existed. Standing at the far side of the small decaying room high within the tower that was once her's in life... or at least, it felt that it should have been. It was all a blank and her vision was all a blur. Time just didn't exist.

The usual light from her lit candles did little to illuminate her surroundings, yet that light wasn't needed. Though the darkness cloaked her like a thick heavy blanket, she could see just fine. The colors were more muted than she remembered, faded and greyed, and object seemed to lose their definition, blurring at the edges, but otherwise she could see just fine.

The corpse drifted across the room to the window. Why, should couldn't say. She expected to see the ruins of Lordaeron as it seemed she always had before... Leaning out the window everything appeared as she expected, but yet different. Without any clear motivation, she descended the tower and meandered through the familiar streets of the once grand and sprawling kingdom. Hours, days, years, there was no way to tell how long she'd wandered, but it felt like ages. And then it came to her. A gradual notion that grew into an idea suddenly blossomed her epiphany.

I'm the only one here...

The ruins were vacant. Void of all life and unlife. The usual presence of the undead that she'd expected to see as she wandered weren't there. Dilapidated buildings where vendors once staged to hawk their wares were empty. Familiar corners and nooks where the usual rabble gathered stood empty.

Where... in all the void... am I?

The void. Could it be? The meandering corpse halted in the middle of an open plaza. Slowly she straightened her arched back and twisted her neck. She expected to feel her joints pop and complain, but they didn't. She continued to straighten herself and peer upward into the heavens.

The sky swirled and twisted in a hypnotic blend of darkness and dimly glowing light. At a point seemingly directly overhead the sky gathered, opening as it were a gateway.

She glanced back down at herself. Holding her arms out she saw then that they were not desiccated as they once were. They were whole. She was whole.... and strangely naked, but she was whole. ...and yet...
Her skin pale of color, neither warm nor cold to the touch...

Was she... dead? Finally, completely, forever, eternally, dead?

Uncertain of the answer, she lowered her arms to her side and continued walking through the ruined street as she felt she always had before. At some point an answer had to come.... shouldn't it?

The store clerk gasped as he watched the woman stumble, falling into his intricate display, causing produce to scatter everywhere. He rushed forward attempting to aid her, but was hesitant as he wasn’t trained in such matters. The woman, a raven haired sin’dorei convulsed on the floor, her eyes stared at the ceiling, one hand pressed against her chest, the other on her head. Blood trickled out both her ears and nose. The clerk jumped backwards, just as he was about to reach her as she shrieked in agony, now both her hands clutched her chest. A crowd had started to gather to see what was causing such a commotion. The woman laid still, her eyes staring unblinking, her chest ceasing to rise or fall.

Someone from the crowd murmured “Is, is she dead?”

The clerk knelt next to the woman, his hand shook as he reached down to feel for a pulse. His face turned ashen as he wasn't able to feel anything. He began to rise, but stopped, under is fingers he could just barely feel a feeble but steady rhythm. As it strengthened, the rise and fall of her chest gave relief that she lived.

Chalar blinked a few times as she looked around. A lingering crowd looked on from the door and a man still holding her wrist knelt next to her, grimacing she quickly took her hand away. “Don’t touch me!", she barked.

The clerk quickly backed away a bit frightened. “I am sorry ma’am; I was only trying to help”

Chalar quickly rose, gathering her things. Her face flushed in embarrassment at the scene she had created. She looked back at the clerk and threw him a few gold pieces commenting “For the trouble”. Sighing deeply she turned and pushed her way through the crowd.

As she walked her mind raced, she knew what to do, but hadn’t expected this day to come. The tugging within her soul caused her body to ache. Walking was almost a chore; she knew it would only get worse until she did something about it.

Her choices were simple, release him or bring him back, she couldn’t live like this. The decision had to be made soon. Her Ser was dead.

The tiny impacts of innumerable grains of sand blown against the glass of the window. This was simple background noise as Tyvian sat in a plush armchair, sitting in the midst of his dark paneled quarters. The deep brown wood shelves lining the walls contained an impressive display of books, tomes, manuscripts, biographies, and charts. The stone was soft sandstone, letting the sunlight illuminate the room in soft yellow hue. The man himself atop his chair was tucked in a corner, the rug slightly covered in loose pages of paper. His feet were kicked up on the stool that was set among stacks of books, and anyone who entered his circular chamber would see a man at apparent ease at first glance. Anyone else whom had spent time with the fel magister would realize something was clearly eating at the man.

His usual attire, the disheveled raven feather robe was even dirtier than usual, and he had tossed his bone mask across the room, where it had cracked and lay among the books. The hood had be ripped clean from the neckplate and without those, all the magic that maintained his illusions of darkness in the hood, and of a horribly disfigured face were dispelled. An imp was poking and prodding at his left knee, making certain that the kneecap was healing correctly.

As he read, Tyvian fumed constantly, he was hiding, HIDING! from a lunatic elf who posed no real threat. The fact that he had had to abandon the seas, dry dock his ships here in Tanaris and wait. Going to Sputterspark to apologize and offer his help in exchange for his help was a mistake. His blown out knee was testament to that fact. Still, he had managed to catch a few glimpses of the Professor's work while he had been there, and had Rise at Dawn's staff working on producing a few configurations of engineering works of his own. That still didn't equate to coming out ahead in his mind. Maybe he should arrange for Sputterspark to meet 'him' somewhere instead of the other way around. Maybe.

Here at Rise's hidden garrison under the dunes, he was safe, but he was also useless. He channeled quickly, and retreated his consciousness to the eyes of Kilrogg he had scattered across the worlds. Finding the one he desired, he focused and the Blue Recluse tavern sprang into view, sights and sounds half the world away availed his senses, but the room was empty for now. So he retreated and checked the shores of Tanaris, where he had placed several eyes, hundreds of meters in the air, and scanned for anyone coming for HIS ships. Nothing yet. Fine by me, I'd rather not deal with anything right now. So he backed out of that reality and decided to see what that gnome was up to. So he went to draenor, his mind following the miniscule tendrils of magic until Shadowgarde sprang into view. Except there was a problem.

It wasn't the Shadowgarde he remembered. Death Knights crawled all over the place, and the Professor had renovated ALL the buildings? No this wasn't righ-...Oh my. This was an interesting change. That gave him a card to play. Still, he needed to do something soon. Very soon.In the meantime he would use something he would take from Moradinel himself. Putting down the book he rose to walk to his desk and with an irritated snatch of a quill, penned out a few sentences before thrusting the paper to the imp in the room. "Take this to the printing press. Then, see that it's scattered everywhere, and I mean, EVERYWHERE in Silvermoon."

On the note was three sentences.

"Sin'dorei, if you wish to see Trenetir Moradinel disposed of, bring him to Thousand Needles.
A wrathguard stands ready to take delivery of him.
Leave your name, the mad man, and walk away with a large chunk of coin."

It wasn't until after that last thrust of the blade by his own hand, dragging it to his heart, that his life slipped away. He slumped to the ground, an arrow protruding from his head, fresh blood adding to the already caked on blood that had been there for weeks now. The poison that was poured into the open cavity did nothing, for Ser Trenetir Moradinel's life had already left his body.

She would know now, Chalar, the chosen one. In the beginning stages of his attempt at revenge, (or was it vengeance?) he had trusted her, the survivor of the Songstress with his life. As his life left him, his last thoughts were not of her, or love, or anyone, for his mind was too far gone to think of anyone but himself.

The officers of the Stormwind Watch hauled the body away, to Stormwind no doubt.

Chalar raisds her hand; she looks at it as it shakes "My Ser? You are within me and me in you. Are you able to hear my words from the world beyond? Your soul tugs at my very being, does not my do the same to you?" From beyond his spirit was jolted from the nether at her words, at her calling, his presence was more felt than heard, "Yessss... I am here...."

Chalar bows her head "The task that bares down on my is tasking, it demands much" The spirit was not all fel, a feeling of the Light's assurance would wash over her, "Sacrifices had to be made..." His spirit hissed.

Her shoulders slumped "I am bringing you back into the world of the living. In hopes that the maddness has fled your impeccable mind.

"Madness...." his spirit seemed distracted, distant.... "You are my only hope Chalar. My only servant.... My only..." She moved a few items on the table and produced a knife which she cut along he inside of her left hand, letting the drops of blood drop on the table. Speaking softly she spoke "My blood is your life, although you will take on what you once were." She took another vial out which looked to be labled with his name.

His presense grew more urgent with her words, as if by her words alone she was already starting to bring him to life. Chalar opens the vial and pours its contents onto the table "Then come to me, come and be home. There is much work yet to be done. You aren't finished" She watched the table, her brow rising with interest. Chalar whispered "Come home, manifest yourself, become what you once were."

A darkness swirls around her, the form coalescing just in front of her on the table. His form, taken by the Stormwind Watch, resting in the morgue turned to ash upon the table it was held on. A low guttural sound erupts from his lips as the elven form solidifies. Chalar looks on in wonder "You live..." She tries to find the right words "How... how do you feel?"

Trenetir shifted and sat on the table slowly, carefully. He He looked across at Chalar then around the room, "Home..."He said as if it were an almost foreign concept.

Chalar nodded her head slowly "Yes, you are home. You should eat. You have been through much. I don't know what ramifications this has brought upon you, but you live again"

Trenetir rubbed his face, trying to remember all that had happened. He rached on hand to his chest, the other to his head. "Why can't I recall it all?"Chalar set two glasses next to Trenetir, one full of wine, the second water. She also sets a platter down with meat and cheese

Chalar shook her head "My Ser, I don't know what happend. You left the estate. I felt your death and brought you back"

Trenetir gulped down the wine and stands, stretching his limbs as if he was sore. He took a deep breath and then settled his gaze upon Chalar, "I am in your debt. Whatever you ask I will give it to you."

"Why would I be in your debt for doing a task which was expected of me?

Thinking of Yuuko he said, "Just because it is expected does not mean that one must do it."

"You speak truth, but there is so much left for you to do. Look around you. Look at what you have created and think of what yet you could be become. And you are my teacher, I am still learning from your wisdom."

Trenetir took the glass of water and drains it, setting it down on the table. He does as she suggests, looking around and realizing..."Grim... Yuuko...." He said bitterly before adding, "Koudo." He settled his gaze upon her, "You're right, the work is not done yet, but I've been going about fighting it all wrong."

"There has been no word on Grim for many moons. Yuuko I have not seen since she left. Miss Koudo has been elusive as well."

"It seems I have much to do Chalar."

"You should rest now. "