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They say there's a place
Where dreams have all gone
They never said where
But I think I know
It's miles through the night
Just over the dawn
On the road that will take me home

Flying back to Shadowmoon Valley from Stormshield, Battlelord Velenkayn's ragged, cursed soul was a morass of conflicting emotions, the confrontation (for lack of a better term) with Genevra Stoneheardt fresh in his mind.

As he left Cathedral Square to call on a mage to teleport him to Stormshield, the Alliance base of operations on the island of Ashran, his first thoughts had been sadness that she could not accept his decision. Then, as he made his way to the gryphon master to fly back to Karabor, it had been anger at her presumption. She accused him of being selfish, which had further enraged him. Like Eidan Zherron, he saw that she was not concerned that he was seemingly leaving the Alliance, though he had technically done no such thing; it was because he was leaving her, choosing to remain with his own people, however different they may be.

Now, as he landed back at the Tranquil Court, his thoughts now turned to the task that lay ahead. He had witnessed the rebirth of K'ara from Elodor, and had immediately rallied with Vindicator Maraad and his forces to join the Karabor honor guards against the Iron Horde invaders in the temple itself. He had placed Ebonshard, the weapon that Marennia Sputterspark had crafted for him, into a secure vault in the Exodar before leaving for Draenor, and instead carried a crystalline warblade, etched with his personal runes, and wore armor salvaged from both slain defenders and Iron Horde invaders alike.

The only two items he kept from his Azerothian service were his tattered tabard of the Hand of Argus, and the pendant from his wife Taelina. He had said she had died in the battle for Shattrath, but that had not been true...it was a secret only he, his daughter Ammenkayn, and his comrade Jaeden'laek had known, and the latter two were dead. Taelina had in fact become Krokul, or "Broken". He did not know if she still lived or not, for it had been decades since he had seen her, but he still felt shame all these years later at having cast her and the other Broken aside as some hideous "subspecies", denied by the Light. Genevra's sermon earlier that evening had awakened that guilt anew.

Velenkayn had three major concerns as he continued to explore this familiar, yet somewhat different, landscape: Firstly, the continued campaign against the Iron Horde; second, the emergence of Rakeri Sputterspark and his "Shadowgarde" fortress; and finally, the bit of information Zherron had given him about another of him, another Velenkayn, a vindicator of Telmor - just as he himself had been at this exact same moment. Zherron had spoken to the vindicator, and to Captain Restalaan, about him. Though he was acting as a guardian of Karabor at the moment, he wished with all his heart to go back to Telmor, the city he had called home.

Would Restalaan accept another version of one of his men, who was obviously animated and empowered by dark magic? Would his other self see him as an ally....or as an enemy? Velenkayn was hopeful that there would be no emnity, for he had not been so ostracized by the guardians of Karabor; though they had feared him at first, sensing the darkness in him, they had witnessed his power and skill at arms during the final battle in Karabor Harbor, and saw that he still did the Light's work despite his "wretched" state. Some of them, Auchenai adepts commanded by Exarch Maladaar, had seen him as a "fitting protector of both living and dead alike" - one who had died and returned to serve his people again. Like the Hand of Argus back on Azeroth, the Karabor guardians had taken to calling him "the Black Vindicator".

Stepping away from the flight master's landing, Velenkayn walked over to the edge of the battlements, and gazed across the valley, and he felt he had made the right decision to come here. Like Rakeri, he had grown tired of the Alliance's petty politics and Azeroth's constant, wasteful warfare, and sought to find solace here...but his motives, unlike those of the warlock, were far more pure. It pained him that someone who claimed to trust him could not accept his reasons.

But, he reasoned grimly, that was no longer his problem.

Is there a flame in the dark?
Is there a bright hard star?
These creatures look the same now
We freeze wherever we are
We wake alone in the blackness
We sleep wherever we fall
One dream all around us
This big hush infects us all

The first place he had gone after arriving in Shadowmoon Valley was Elodor, the city west of Karabor. The expedition had rescued a man from Tanaan Jungle that he wished to meet while he was still among the sane, among the champions of the draenei - Exarch Maladaar, the Speaker for the Dead.

He had drawn stares at first, of course; the cold aura of death about him, the dark sigils worn upon his armor, the icy face of death projected by his crown, and the black magic of his weapon. He had requested a meeting with the Exarch upon his arrival, and when the time was available, he had been brought to the Auchenai leader. Maladaar had not looked in his direction at first. "I extend my most humble greetings, honored Exarch," he had said. "I am Battlelord Velenkayn of the Hand of Argus."

Maladaar had turned to him, his eyes seeming to pierce into his soul. "You feel as if you should be in my care, and yet you walk within flesh," he had said without preamble. "What magic is this?"

"It is the magic of a legion of undead from Azeroth known as the Scourge," Velenkayn had answered. "I am known as a death knight. I was brought back from death by the Scourge's dark master, the Lich King, to serve as a champion of his armies." He tactfully did not mention that the Lich King had begun his existence as Ner'zhul - the same Ner'zhul who now used forbidden magics to destroy the draenei heartlands for his iron masters. "But I was brought back to my free will by the Light's grace, and joined with my living people and our allies in the Alliance to destroy the Lich King. I have fought for my people since."

"Ahh...you are one of the new people, from the portal. Draenei, like us, and yet not like us." Maladaar had looked him over thoughtfuly. "This Alliance of yours includes a rather interesting assortment of folk. Some like you...and some who wield man'ari powers. A rather diminutive one was here when your Alliance first arrived; a rather curious fellow, interested in our mechanical gadgets."

Sputterspark, he had thought. He befouls this land with his very presence. "The Alliance is very open," he had replied. "Those who use the man'ari powers, though they are corrupted by their very nature, use them to fight the Legion - as we do. They understand the risks of their powers, and do not seek to allow the demons to run rampant over our world." He spoke the words as if he didn't believe them, and he didn't.

The Exarch had gazed unblinkingly at him. "Much like you."

"There is a difference; I did not choose to be raised from the dead, but once I was free of the Lich King's grasp, I was given a new choice...and I chose to use my powers to fight him - and to fight all enemies of our people." Velenkayn had met the Auchenai lord's stare. "And now Draenor has returned to my life again, a second chance to fight against the orcs and prevent a tragedy that brought our people to ruin in the past."

"You have made another choice, I see it in your face...you do not mean to return to Azeroth, do you?"

Was it so obvious? he had thought. He had been silent for a moment, thinking...was he willing to sever the ties he had forged, the friendships he had made? "No," he said aloud at last. "I do not intend to return...I will if that is where the Light guides me, but though my heart is dead and my blood is dust, my soul remains my own - and it remains draenei, bound to defend our people...no matter that these times are not what I remember when I was a living man."

"And what do you intend to do now that you are here?"

"I will stand in the defense of this valley, and of Karabor should it be called for...and afterwards, I will go back to the city I called home on this world...to Telmor. Perhaps there, to Auchindoun, to protect our dead - for who better to protect the dead than the dead who still walk?"

The Exarch had nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps...if that is where your path leads." He nodded once more in benediction. "Dioniss aca, Battlelord Velenkayn. May your soul find its way home."

Standing on the battlements of Karabor, as he had done every day since he arrived, Velenkayn had thought over those last words. May your soul find its way home. Was that a threat, a warning that his corrupted form would be destroyed by his own...or was it a vision of the future, a look at his own fate? Would his days among the living at last end here, as so many warriors' fates would before this war was over? Would his spirit at last rest in the hallowed halls of Auchindoun, guarded from their former brethren's thirst for souls, as every draenei hoped for?

Whatever it meant, he assured himself, he would face it with honor, his dignity intact...