World of Warcraft®

There was no peace any longer for Marennia Sputterspark.

By day, she lashed out in frustration at any foe she could find, be they wooden training dummies or giant beasts. By night, she drank herself into a stupor, trying to blind out the rage, the pain, the hate. Trying to blur the smug, smirking elf face burned into her brain - the face of the scum who murdered her brother. In the morning, the cycle would begin again, the pain of her hangover driving her to even higher reaches of fury.

So it was after her...overly dramatic display at the Feathers of Iron open tavern held in Booty Bay the previous evening. She had lashed out against the draenei in the Feathers wait staff, as well as their organization's leader (though she had thought of Franziskah as maybe just a bouncer), spitting racist insults and condemning them for being complicit, given Battlelord Velenkayn's part in running Rakeri out of Shadowgarde, which then led to his demise at the hands of Taeril'hane Ketiron. She had been out cold on a piece of floating debris in Booty Bay this morning, and preserved what little dignity she had left by using her hearthstone to leave.

Now she was back in Stormwind, back searching for a fight. As she passed the ruins of the old barracks near the entrance to the harbor, she...felt more than heard a voice: It's not going to do you any good, you know.

Marennia looked around at that, her matching lightning-steel greatswords in her hand. "Show yourself, trickster. I have no time for games."

"Alright then." The figure revealed himself - her mentor, Wilbert Blunderwitz. The mechpriest wore richly-patterned robes and carried a tol'vir staff he had found in Uldum. "You waste your talents here, Marennia. Drinking yourself stupid, making scenes in public...spitting out hate and anger with every word. And for what? Because Rakeri is dead? I see no reason to work yourself up about that."

"And why the hell not? He was my brother, Wil, not some --"

"Because," the gnome priest interrupted, "not too long before, you were debating doing so yourself. Is it truly grief for his death that motivates you now, or are you just mad that Ketiron beat you to it? If so, that's petty and stupid, and you should be ashamed of yourself."

"How dare you belittle my pain!"

"Life is pain, Marennia. The real test is how you choose to cope with it. I ease my pain by easing the pain of others, which does more good than muttering vengeful oaths and washing away all vestiges of dignity in cheap dwarven booze." Blunderwitz's stern demeanor melted for a moment, and he smiled. "I know of a better way, though."

"Another treatise on how the Light loves us and will provide? No thank you."

"Surprisingly, no. I had something else in mind. I have a friend, you see - someone who can help you. He probably won't be able to bring Rakeri back, but he can give you a way to make your pain bearable. He is powerful in his own right, but recognizes the need for a good blade."

Skeptical but attentive, Marennia sheathed her swords and folded her arms across her chest. "And when do I meet this friend of yours?"

"Tomorrow, in the gazebo behind the Cathedral. The one that Miss Stoneheardt uses on this day of the week; tomorrow, it should be quieter." Blunderwitz put a hand on her shoulder. "Trust in me again, Marennia; I have never steered you false."

The Gnomeregan militia captain sighed. "No, I suppose you haven't...alright, Wil. I'll meet your friend. But it had better not be a waste of my time." She walked off, looking for the nearest tavern.

Blunderwitz watched her go, and with a smile and a voice that was not his own, said to himself, "It certainly will not be a waste of mine."

Marennia arrived at the gazebo, and found Blunderwitz standing there. "Alright, Wil, where is your friend?"

"It's not who you think it is, Marennia," the gnome priest said. "And for that matter...." In a burst of concentrated fire, Blunderwitz's form disappeared entirely, replaced by a human female with long reddish-gold hair, wearing a red and white robe with runes of power embroidered around the hem and the sleeves, carrying a fire-enchanted staff. A purple-covered spellbook with glowing runes floated at her right shoulder. "Neither am I."

"Who are you?" Marennia demanded. "And what have you done with Wil?"

"My name is not important, Marennia Sputterspark. As for your friend, the 'mechpriest', he is unharmed. I merely used an illusion of his form to more readily communicate with you. I could not just ask Stoneheardt to arrange a meeting, as you appear to have no more respect for the elf-loving witch than I do."

Marennia's eyebrows went up. "You know about Genevra and Ketiron?"

"Of course I do. A Horde general dropping in on a human priestess in Alliance territory on Draenor? You don't think that information stays a secret, do you?" The mage (for mage she had to be, in an outfit like that, with powers like that) smiled coldly as she stepped from the gazebo and sat down on a bench in front of it. "You are not alone in your distaste for him, or for those who would enable him."

Marennia remembered hearing about Ketiron arriving at the sermon held in Shadowmoon Valley on Draenor some weeks earlier. "What's your beef with him?"

"Taeril'hane Ketiron is a noted member of the Argent Crusade...the one mistake I consider Fordring to have made, allowing Horde filth to join his order. The Alliance can defend Azeroth without asking for help from monsters and criminals. It's why I'm glad Lady Proudmoore has finally broken from her foolish idealism and taken steps to purify the ranks of the Kirin Tor, and bring us back to our roots, keeping our allies to humans, dwarves, gnomes, and the like...rather than the mongrelization of our order under Rhonin."

"Get to the point, or I'm leaving. With or without your head in a knapsack, that's up to you."

"Very well, I will cut to the chase. There are an increasing number of people, like your unfortunate choice of benefactor, who turn too much of a blind eye to the crimes committed by the Horde for the sake of appeasing individual 'friends' they've made in the ranks. There is a Forsaken war criminal roaming free around our streets because he has successfully used his influence with such friends to avoid justice for the murder of countless thousands of innocent people, including Highlord Fordragon at the Wrathgate and the citizens of Southshore and Hillsbrad."

"Wait, wait - you're suggesting Genevra is league with Sekhesmet? You must be joking. She utterly despises him."

"Does she? She preaches forgiveness, tolerance...and has even extended it to the Dark Father, a man who concocts plague and allies with lunatics. She speaks cordially to him and discusses philosophy like they were old friends. Plus, Sekhesmet still aids and abets his Horde allies; for all that your brother was a fel-tainted madman, he was still a citizen of the Alliance, and everyone has stood by and done nothing while his murderer is allowed to remain free. He should have been dealt with by one of us, a loyal defender of the Alliance. You know this as well as I do."

Marennia nodded. "What are you suggesting, mage? Do you have a plan to strike at that smug elf freak?"

"In due time. First, we must clean our own house. We cannot fight the enemy in the field if we are undermined by the enemy within. There are the two we have spoken of, hiding their treason behind their corrupted interpretations of the Holy Light, as well as Genevra's zealous inner circle...like that murderer Velenkayn, or that mongrel Zherron. Their treason must be answered with true justice - especially that of Sekhesmet."

"So, what, are we going to arrest them or something?"

"No," the mage answered, face utterly serious. "We are going to kill them. If Orwyn and his so-called Watch are too weak to do the job themselves, we will do it for them...starting with Sekhesmet."

The part of Marennia that clung to her moral fibers balked at the suggestion. "We would become no better than them. We would be left to rot in the Stockade, or worse."

"If we are discovered, and make our intentions clear, the people will vindicate us...but as you see, I have my ways of concealing my true visage. I can help you to do the same. You cannot bring justice to these criminals yourself, and neither can I...but together, we can strike a blow for the Alliance that our so-called protectors are too timid to do themselves." Her blue eyes bored into Marennia's soul. "Will you help me, Marennia?"

Marennia was silent, conflicted...but then her face hardened with hate, and she met the mage's gaze. "Yes."