World of Warcraft®

Noikona lay on the examining table as the doctor felt her leg with a grave expression. She spoke sternly “Lieutenant Momlir how long has your leg been like this?”

Noikona shrugged as she replied “Almost two years”

The doctor shook her head as she jotting down further notes “And your pinkie? When did that injury occur?”

Noikona looked at her hand, a scowl formed over her lips “Around six months ago.”

“I see, and this abnormal temperature you seem to have. Does it impair you in any way?” the doctor asked.

Noikona shook her head “No, it’s a result of something that happened a many years ago. It doesn’t cause me discomfort”

The doctor sighed as she turned away “You may dress now, give me a few minutes while I talk to my superior”

The doctor left the examining room, walking several paces to an office that seemed to be bustling with activity. Behind the desk was a draenei, stern looking with a quill in one hand and a document in another. There were others in the office talking amongst themselves, discussing prognosis’s and remedies to aliments. Doctor Sharlen approached the desk clearing her throat “Colonel, I have a lieutenant that has come in for her physical, but I am afraid her injuries make her unfit for duty.”

The colonel narrowed her eyes and sighed deeply trying to give the doctor the attention she deserved “That is unfortunate, we are losing many in our current efforts. Do you have her papers?”

Doctor Sharlen nodded and handed over her notes

The colonel took the notes, briefly scanning over the documents, shaking her head she replied “Yes, I see what you mean.” She pulled out a formal looking document and filled in what she could “Inform your patient that she is to be discharged for medical reasons. She will be entitled for some benefits but we are strapped as it is.” She signed her name on the bottom as she looked up “Fill in the rest of your patient’s information and get this to operations.”

Doctor Sharlen nodded her head “Thank you Colonel Indigo I will see that it is”

Doctor Sharlen returned to find Noikona dressed and waiting, her tone softened a bit as she spoke, “Lieutenant Momlir, you understand that with your current injuries you are of little use to us? Your leg has damage beyond what our best healers can repair and I doubt with an injury like that to your hand, you will lack the dexterity or writing skills that we would find satisfactory. I’m sorry, I know this may come as a shock, but you have been medically discharge. I do hope the best for you, now if you would excuse me; I have other patients to see”

Noikona nodded her head slowly attempting to fill her face with mock sorrow. It was hard to hide the elation that filled her. She had showed up to the physical without her leg brace, a brace she had spent a massive amount of gold on. Without it, she was forced to use crutches. She had gambled that she would fail the examination and gambled well. She had a red mage to find and find she would.

In the main chamber of his tower in Shadowgarde, Valmy had his goggles over his eyes as he tinkered with the fluxfire feline bot he had found near Gnomeregan, and had worked on repairing for several weeks. He had called it "Smoke" for its dark color and the amounts of smoke it had emitted when he had opened the circuitbox the first time.

The claws on his right hand had extra fine needles looped over them as he checked each gear, tested each mechanical joint, the blinking of the eyes...satisfied, he closed the circuitbox, stood it up on its feet, and toggled the small switch on the back of the mechanical cat's neck. He could hear the gears working as it stretched, blinked its eyes...and then looked at Valmy, giving a mechnical "meow?" in query. He gently ran his other hand over it, knowing that it was programmed to mimic real cats, to respond to tactile contact. Sure enough, it rubbed up against his hand. "Excellent," he said with a smile, as he gently picked it up and set it on the floor. "Well, then, let's try going for a little walk."

He headed down the ramp to the door of the tower, and sure enough, he could hear the robot cat following. Its first steps were unsure as it made its way down the ramp - he could hear the faltering steps - but as they reached the bottom, it was moving much more fluidly as the lubricating oil moved through the joints. He nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. I'll have to work on muffling the sound of your gears a bit more, or at least as much as I can, but...you may come in very handy, my little friend."

"Meow?" The mechanical cat looked curious.

"Indeed...there is someone my friends and I might need your help to find."

It was late, the evening bells had just chimed eleven when the man rounded the corner. He drew no particular notice. Just another late night pedestrian heading home through the Cathedral district. Brown shaggy hair and a matching facial scruff implied this man had not seen a barber recently. Over his shoulder he hefted a large leather pack, bound by a buckle. He strolled casually towards the cathedral entry, but paused before he entered. Staring up at the monument to hope, he shrugged and made his way inside, sticking one hand into his left pocket.

He knew the layout it seemed as he strode toward the closed door of Genevra Stoneheardt's office. Pulling out something that dangled on a true silver chain he knelt down to loop it through the door handle. As he straightened out to begin walking away, he left behind a white marble pendant dangling from the door. Shaped like a small heart, the white stone shone brilliantly wherever it caught the dim candlelight. However, in the very middle of the stone was a black fissure, natural to the marble,running right down the middle.

Walking out of the holy halls, he paused to look to the left at the Watch office. Noting a dim light burned in some windows as some poor guardsman had to finish one of the plethora of reports. Drawn to the light like a moth to a flame, the man walked over and set down a small golden ring, exquisitely shaped to form the face of a lion, it's mane flowing backwards to form the golden loop. What was most noticeable however, were the glistening sapphires that sat in place to serve as the decoration's eyes.

Ambling slowly up the ramp, the man gave a quick peek inside, before reaching out to place the ring on top of the coffee train. Letting it wait there for it's intended recipient.

After he was finished, without a look backward, the tall, sturdy man made his way out of the city he'd never return to. Leaving behind a home he could not glimpse again. Reaching up to idly brush away a few loose strands of hair with his scarred hand, his sleeve fell down just enough to let a flicker of moonlight dance across something silvery and sharp before the sight was gone.

With that, the man was gone. On a mission he knew he'd likely never come back from. Searching for something he'd never find. It was fitting, for a man such as him. He'd always predicted he'd be forgotten, and now that it was his time...
He felt relieved.

((A joint post between Noikona and myself...))

Alieth smiled to herself as she incinerated the letter in her hand. Genevra's devoted bodyguard wanted to talk...fortunately, she had the opportunity to level the playing field. She teleported into Stormwind's mage tower late that night, when most of the keepers had gone to bed...and when she left the tower, she weaved the illusion of one of the city guards around her, complete with a sword at her side. She knew where Noikona lived, having seen her going in and out of the wharf house quite a bit before.

Thus it was that she landed on the stone near the wharf on a white gryphon, like that flown by the city's aerial patrols. She dismounted, and saw a draenei standing on the dockside, looking across the pond. "Miss Momlir?" she asked, as if to confirm her identity.

Sure enough, it was Noikona, as she looked over her shoulder at the "guard". "Yes?"

"Oh, good. This saves me from having to hunt across half of Azeroth for you." She laughed as she unleashed a wave of fire at Noikona. Caught off-guard by the attack, the draenei warrior raised her hands and turned her face away to avoid being burned by the flames.

"Just want to listen, indeed. Do you really think I'm that stupid, minion of Stoneheardt? Try to lure me into some private place...where you can murder me, no doubt!" Alieth waved her arm, dispelling the guard illusion, showing her fire-charged robes. The sword was replaced by her staff, held in her hand. She then removed her headdress, letting her long reddish-blonde hair flow, and letting her enemy see her face. "Now then," she said cheerfully, "in what manner would you like me to send your corpse back to your Matron? Intact, just the head, or in two dozen small boxes, courtesy of the terrorists in the AAMS?"

Noikona's eyes flashed a deep emerald; Alieth was surprised. Not your typical draenei, then...she is fel-touched! she thought. She could feel residual traces of fel aura...as if it was smothered. Hidden. "I told no one, and this is how you react," Noikona snapped, her hand on her sword hilt. "Paranoid and ignorant!"

"I do not treat with traitors," Alieth retorted. "I burn them!" She raised her staff into a combat stance.

"Traitor? Tell me, Taldir, what is the definition of a traitor in your eyes?"

"A fel-tainted freak like you, for a start!" With that, the mage loosed a fireball at Noikona, striking her in the chest. Doubled over in pain, but still standing, the warrior demanded, "Fel-tainted? Where do you get such ideas?"

"I can smell the fel stink on you...the secret you try to hide." Alieth realized that perhaps she was completely unaware. "Including from yourself..." She tried to remember what the draenei word was for it. Not eredar, that described the people. There was something else...

"The Matron does not want you dead, but you are pushing my patience," Noikona said, as she slowly drew her sword.

"What is the word...ah, yes." Alieth smiled coldly. "Man'ari."

As expected, Noikona flew into a rage. "And for that I must silence you!" she shouted, lunging at Alieth, attempting to slash at her with her sword.

Alieth raised her staff, catching the swordblade - both fighters locked in that position. A malevolent smile crossed the mage's features as she taunted her opponent. "Are you a Sargerei, who fights for Gul'dan...or something far worse? I wonder..." She could feel Noikona's rage rising, and twisted even further. "I especially wonder what your precious Matron would think of that! A virtual demon in her own guard!" She snorted derisively. "Of course, the woman is a weakling and a coward, who consorts with Forsaken and warlocks, so maybe nothing will come of it...but who knows?"

"Silence!" Noikona screamed, as she lashed out with her shield. Free of the weapon lock by the movement, Alieth spun on one heel, knocking the shield aside with her staff in one hand, as she loosed afireball with the other. This time, however, the draenei saw it coming, and moved nimbly out of the way. "You talk too much," Noikona hissed venomously. "I will cut your tongue out when I am done with this!" She made to leg-sweep Alieth, to knock her off her feet, but the mage blinked forward right at that moment.

"Never fought a mage before, have you?" Alieth taunted, loosing another fireball, which struck Noikona in the back of the head before the warrior could turn to face her. Noikona staggered and collapsed to her knees.

"Stop!" she shouted.

Alieth sneered, approaching her foe with contempt evident in her gaze. "Pathetic." She kicked Noikona in the ribs, causing Noikona to double over, coughing.

"I see...there is no part of you that wishes to explain anything," Noikona said through painful breaths. "You only wish to destroy."

(cont'd)

"Destruction is the only answer," Alieth replied bitterly. "For twenty years, we've tried everything with the Horde...endless ceasefires and peace agreements that they keep breaking, while their spies in our society undermine us and leave us open to horrors like the Scourge and the Legion. No more! Burn them all where they live, and hang all those who sympathize with damned orcs, plague-mongering corpses and traitorous blood elves."

"You speak like you are the only perfect person," Noikona spat.

Surprisingly, Alieth laughed, a sad and pained laugh. "I am not perfect. I am not so arrogant as to think myself so. But I am one of the few who loves their homeland, and remembers when the Horde burnt it to the ground." Noikona swung her sword at Alieth's legs, but she saw it coming and kicked the blade out of her hand, across the wharf. At that, Alieth's anger rose. "Who remembers their father being left maimed, a shell of his old self, who died broken and alone!"

"Well, you are wrong!" Noikona replied, as she tucked her chin to her chest and charged - much like a talbuk or a Dun Morogh ram - at Alieth, knocking the mage back several steps. Alieth grasped the horns, even as she felt the fabric of her robe tear from the movement. "How little you learn," she mocked, as she tried to lift Noikona up by the horns.

But the warrior put her own weight (with the added bonus of armor) into staying immobile. "Puny mage," she taunted right back, as she grabbed Alieth's ankles and pulled back. Losing her balance, Alieth fell flat on her back, grunting with the impact on the hard wood of the wharf. "Now I shall cut your tongue out!" Noikona snarled, as she raised a plate-mailed fist to punch the mage in the gut. But once again, Alieth blinked out of the way, standing on the edge of the wharf. Noikona cursed, attempting to stand to face her enemy.

"Too slow, sellsword," Alieth sneered, as she stamped her staff into the stonework, releasing a shockwave of kinetic energy that staggered Noikona back several steps, followed by another fireball.

But some instinct kicked in, and Noikona was able to dodge the fireball without realizing it. "This is not ending well for either of us," she said, as she stamped a hoof hard into the dockside, sending a shockwave of her own at Alieth. Too surprised to shield herself, the mage flew backwards into the pond. Retrieving her sword, Noikona looked over into the water for her.

Alieth leapt from the water into a nearby boat moored to the dock, soaked to the bone...and now steaming with rage. "ENOUGH!" she screamed.

"Me, take orders from you?" Noikona tapped the flat of her blade in her free hand. "I think not."

"Keep smirking, demon witch..." Alieth leapt from the boat, her staff stamping hard onto the stonework, releasing a far more powerful shockwave. Noikona was thrown backwards by the force, smashing into a wooden post, shaking the entire wharf with the impact. She could hear the sound of bones breaking as the draenei finally collapsed to the dockside.

Breathing heavily from the exertion - and the exhilaration of the fight - Alieth approached the prone form of her opponent. "I should kill you, you know," she said. "But I am not ungenerous...send a message back to Stoneheardt. Remind her that I am always watching...and the next one of her minions I visit, she might not get back alive."

Noikona watched the mage walk out of her field of vision...and then could hear the telltale sound of a teleportation spell. A moment later, Alieth was gone.

((Needs to buy some new dice. Mine are broken))

Aura Shadowstorm rolled out her beautifully embroidered enchanted tapestry and gingerly stepped on. The carpet took off toward the K-bane, the Bards of the Lion hangout at the Stormwind Harbor. As the ship came into view, she tried to clear her head of the late night's events.

She'd received a message from Lady Dalton through the Mindcellium Stone while she was taking care of Olivaw at the K-bane about an hour ago. Noikona was gravely injured and needed a healer outside of Cathedral Square. Aura had flown around and run through the streets, eventually finding her, being looked over by a human boy that couldn't have been much older than an adolescent. He seemed to know the draenei well though. Come to think of it, Aura never did quite get the boy's name. Before attempting to heal Noikona with a prayer to Elune, she remembered her encounter with another Crimson Blade member. The healing hadn't gone so well previously. She'd asked Noikona if she'd be receptive to healing magic, and the worried and panicked face on the draenei was enough to say "definitely not." The boy then turned into a drake, and said he had a plan to heal her. Noikona was taken to the tower above the stockades, and once settled, her skin began to glow softly. It took a little prying, and a little scolding, but Aura then learned Noikona could only be healed by the presence of negative emotions.

Aura fiddled with the damned choker around her neck. Her most recent affliction, she'd thought an absolute curse. Since it was "given" to her, she'd been having visions and hearing voices telling her to do terrible things, reliving old memories that were painful and sad, and being ten millennia old, there were certainly a lot of those. She found if she shielded the purple stone and concentrated on suppressing the visions, the influence would temporarily stop. It was incredibly inconvenient, among other things. But this time...it had been too useful.

This time, Aura would fight Noikona's curse with her own. She'd let the purple stone flare, let the visions overwhelm her mind, and all the emotions with them. She revisited her mother's and father's death, her best friend facing exile, and then that same best friend only recently being torn away from her just as quickly as they'd been reunited. Noikona had pleaded for her to stop, the draenei's skin had radiated so brightly. Her injuries had healed magnificently, but she'd felt everything Aura felt. Aura had tried to stop, but she'd never allowed the necklace to work its curse for so long. It wouldn't let her cover it. It took the help of the young boy to deactivate it, but by then Noikona's body had transformed into something worse. Aura had recovered her wits, for the most part, as Noikona fled and the boy gave chase.

Aura landed on the top deck of the ship and carefully rolled up her magic tapestry. She walked down into the galley of the K-bane, and the young little gnome girl ran up to her with a smile. Aura softly smiled at her and looked up at Lady Dalton. "Lady Noikona is restored. I do not know where she went, but her wounds are healed."

Lana looked at her friend with concern. "Do you feel you've done your part now, Priestess? In helping your targeted 'friends' with this Red Mage business?"

Aura nodded and watched Oli pour herself a drink. It was times like this she loved her facial tattoos, which perfectly concealed the tear stains down her cheeks.

The cemetery again, as he had been much of the day. As he had always been these past few days. He had fallen into a pattern - he meditated, he practiced...he brooded. He brooded particularly over Sekhesmet's words several days before. Part of it seemed like wisdom, but he was not so inclined to hear it...it sickened him how self-righteous the man sounded, especially given that he had killed so many.

How could Vorian reconcile the fact that the mad priest spoke truth with the crimes he committed? How could he do reconcile the fact that one who had been a trusted friend of his family - practically considered part of it herself, in fact! - was committing acts of violence against all who opposed her? He had given Orwyn and Genevra the information they needed...

Why had they done nothing about it?

You choose to mope around and wait for your "Aunty Ali" to incinerate you, Sekhesmet's mocking voice echoed in his mind, to erode the stone of your family tombs with wasted tears of self-pity. There are better things to do than that!

"Hello, Vorian."

Vorian's blood turned to ice water at the sound of that voice. Not her, he thought. Please let that have been my imagination. He turned and...no such luck. "Magus," he said formally.

"Is that any way to greet me, Vorian?" Alieth was in less elaborate gear, a crimson-and-white robe with runes of power embroidered on the sleeves and hem. Her hair was flowing freely across her shoulders...and her lips were curved in a wicked smile as she loosed a fireball into Vorian's chest, knocking him backwards over his father's table-tomb. "You didn't think I forgot about you, did you?"

Vorian, pandaren-trained as he was, recovered quicker than the mage expected, but showed the pain in his face. "Why are you here? Stormwind's guards are looking everywhere for you."

"Let them. I have my share of friends in the royal army and in the city guard. Orwyn's paper soldiers can look all they want, and find nothing unless I want them to." Alieth chuckled. "I have proven to the fel-cursed witch Genevra calls a bodyguard that I can strike anywhere I please, at any time I please, and that her precious friend Orwyn can do nothing. I would imagine she has found out by now, and is quite angry..."

Her smile faded, and her teeth were bared in a snarl. "But I wonder, who will care a whit about what happens to you?" She unleashed a great gout of flame, and Vorian cried out as he raised his hands to protect his face, even as his hair and flesh were singed, and the leather armor he wore seared away. "You betray me to Orwyn, you betray your father to giving his battle-flags to Horde agents..."

"My father... served along with Ketiron in the battle he fell in," Vorian said. "He, Lord Saavedro, and Packleader Zherron... they joined the House Guard and attacked Sekhesmet in Andorhal."

"Lies!" Alieth snapped, loosing another fireball. Vorian collapsed to his knees. "Oren would never side willingly with backstabbing blood elves. It was that fool Saavedro, I'll bet. Sekhesmet's proudest student, working with the Dark Father and the elf scum to murder a general of Stormwind! There is no other way that could have happened... or do you dare to call your father a traitor to the Alliance?!"

"According to you... he was," Vorian gasped.

"Stupid boy!" Alieth kicked him in the face. "I knew him far better than you did! He would not do that! Saavedro was a weakling! Zherron is a weakling! Oren was nothing like them!"

"He was my father, Aunty Ali," he retorted angrily, spitting blood at her feet. "You... can never know him... like a son knows his father!"

"Idiotic sentimentality," Alieth sneered. "How well can you know your father when you're still barely out of diapers?"

"He said your father was wrong."

Alieth stopped dead at that. "What?"

"Before he left for Andorhal, and I asked him about the elf... what your father would have said about that, since we knew you had followed his every word. He said, 'Aram Taldir has nothing left to him but his hate. The orc's axe took his leg, but he gave everything away with it, just because he couldn't kill more. I will not become like him.' And then he left to meet his destiny." Vorian glared fiercely into Alieth's outraged eyes. "I will not become like him, either, Aunty Ali. And I certainly won't become anything like you, you... you LUNATIC!"

"HOW DARE YOU!!!" the mage shrieked, raising her staff. "You dare insult my father?! He was a great man who loved Stormwind! But it's people like you who left him with nothing to live for!" Her hands shook. "I was going to see if you could be retrained for my purposes, but it seems you are too weak for it... fine! THEN YOU CAN DIE!"

A gunshot rang out across the Cathedral Quarter, taking Alieth in the shoulder, knocking her over a gravestone behind her. Shrieking, Alieth rapidly teleported out, before anyone could investigate...

(cont'd)

Once Alieth was gone, Vorian staggered to his feet, trying to make his way to some kind of help. But the attacks had weakened him, and he collapsed face-first to the cobblestones, breathing raggedly. As his vision faded, he saw feet approaching. No, not feet... paws. A worgen?

"What'll we do with 'im, Captain?"

"Take him to the ship, put him in my cabin. We'll deal with him there."

That was the last thing Vorian heard before it all went blank.

----

He awoke several hours later, lying in a bed in a rather small but well-decorated room. No. Not a room... a cabin. He was onboard a ship. But where?

A worgen female entered, carrying a cup of medicinal-smelling tea. "I know you've got into the pandaren stuff, so I asked them for a bit of help... you'd be surprised how well they handle burns. Guess they don't want scars showing in their fur, eh?" She gently held the cup to his lips and helped him drink it.

Vorian could see the stock of the rifle over the worgen's shoulder. "You shot her?" he whispered.

"She was about to kill you," the worgen replied, as she set the teacup aside and checked his bandages. "It was the first I've seen her in years... oh, I'd heard about all the things she's been doing, but I didn't believe it until just now."

"Why didn't you...kill her?"

The worgen looked down at him with a sad expression. "Would you kill your own sister, Vorian?" As he started, wondering how she knew his name, she shifted into her human form - a form not unlike that of Alieth. Long reddish-gold hair, similar faces...only green eyes, not blue.

Vorian's eyes went wide. "A-Aunty Liya? But...but you're..."

"Dead?" Saliya Taldir smiled grimly. "Not quite, my boy."

Terra donned the hood, letting it cover much of her face. She wore elegant dark and red robes, a graduation gift from Matron Momlir, her teacher from her days at the academy. She had only dressed in them once as she thought them much to gaudy for everyday use, but Noikona had told her it was important that she look the part. Anxiety coursed through her as she approached the desk. An elderly woman sat comfortably in a chair, smiling at her as she approached.

Terra sighed deeply before she composed herself and spoke in a tone that she wasn’t accustomed to, “I am here to make a donation.”

The lady at the desk beamed happily at the news “Oh? This is wonderful. It is so nice to see people of the community stepping forward for such a good cause. So many families of the war are broken apart and forgotten.”

Nodding her head, Terra produced a small bag, gently placing it on the desk “Yes, I know and it doesn’t appear as if the times are going to change”

The lady sighed “No, I fear you are right.” She looked up tilting her head “You do realize that our charity is an outreach to those families of the Horde that have been broken apart? It’s our way of extending an olive branch, to let others know that we do care no matter what your race?”

Terra nodded and smiled “Oh yes I do realize this, it’s why I’m here.” With that she opened the bag, letting several travel gems fall onto the desk and continued “I want to do my part”

The lady at the desk eyes grew large “Oh my goodness! This is a rather large donation. Are you sure ma’am?”

Terra looked down the gems and smiled “Oh yes, I’m quite sure”

“Who shall I say this donation is by? Or do you wish to stay anonymous?”

Terra shook her head “Oh no, I won’t stay in the shadows. You may have my name, my name is Alieth Taldir, let it be known too. I want others who know me to hear what I have done so maybe they will step forward and help too”

The lady smiled even more as she wrote the name in her ledger and deposited the gems in a safe. She looked up “Oh don’t you worry; I will put together a press release for your gracious contribution”

Terra left the building a bit hurriedly not really knowing why she was told to do what she had done. Noikona had only said it was important that she use that name and keep her own face in the shadows.

((I can't take credit for the idea, I merely acted on it ;) ))

((Oh, that is genius. I think I'll kill you. *grin*))

A message was left at Watch headquarters, bearing two wax seals - the sigil of Conclave, and what looked like a nobleman's crest. The writing was ornate, but readable. There were also a number of sketches - of Alieth Taldir, with her long red hair and red robes; of a burly-looking man with his left leg missing, leaning on a crutch; on an elder woman in mage's robes, looking similar enough to Alieth; of a woman with the same long red hair as Alieth, wearing Gilnean hunting leathers; the same woman, but as a worgen, with cream colored fur and a wild mane; and lastly, a young man with blond hair tied back in a ponytail, well-cut leather armor, and a pandaren cord belt and bamboo staff.

Unto Commander Orwyn of the Stormwind City Watch, greetings.

A meeting of senior members of our Conclave has recently concluded at Northshire Abbey, where I divulged information I was able to obtain - from the library of Stormwind Keep and, surprisingly, the archives of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran - regarding one Magus Alieth Taldir, alias "the Red Mage". Archdruid Eidan Zherron and I conducted our own personal investigations, and have put together a biographical account of the woman in question, and her potential motives.

Alieth Taldir is a native of Stormwind, born some thirty-three years ago. Her father was a sergeant in the Royal Army of Azeroth (as it was known then) named Aram Taldir, who lost a leg to an orcish battleaxe at the Battle of Blackrock Spire. Sources indicate that he became depressed and maddened by hate, disappointed that he could no longer "bathe the earth with the blood of the foulspawn"; he died about five years or so ago. Her mother was Leticia of House Keston, a noble family with branches both here and in what is now the Eastern Plaguelands of Lordaeron, and with a tradition of wizardry in both Stormwind and Dalaran that, so far as I can tell, goes back to the founding of both nations.

In something of an ironic twist, Leticia and Alieth fled to Dalaran just before Stormwind fell to the Horde during the First War, and then fled to Stormwind just before Dalaran fell to the Scourge during the Third. Leticia Taldir's last known location, according to Dalaran's archives, was in the town of Ambermill, in Silverpine Forest. Her fate beyond that is unconfirmed; it is widely believed she was killed when the Forsaken sacked the town, but it is also possible she was raised as a Forsaken herself, adding fuel to the fire.

Packleader Zherron and I have also spoken with Alieth Taldir's younger sister, Saliya. A teenager who ran away from her tyrannical, hate-maddened father and found her way to Gilneas, she joined with Zherron's rebel cell (and later his worgen pack, the Shadowhowl) before making her way back here. Another source of information, surprisingly to me, was Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth, who informed me that Saliya Taldir is employed as a privateer of the Crown of Stormwind. Her vessel is the Queen Mia's Revenge, presently moored in Stormwind Harbor.

Lastly, there was an incident about four days ago that may bear some interest to your case; Saliya Taldir made the incident known to Packleader Zherron and I. A young man named Vorian Tanis, a sort of adopted nephew of the Taldir sisters, was attacked in the Stormwind City Cemetery by Alieth Taldir, and the only thing prevening a killing strike was a gunshot fired by Saliya Taldir's hunting rifle, injuring her elder sister in the shoulder. Young Master Tanis is onboard Saliya Taldir's vessel, being tended to by herself and the crew.

Dr. Mahlr'd, our curator, has sent what information we've found to a mage friend of his, who will pursue the Dalaran connection further. As I mentioned, Lady Proudmoore has expressed similar views on the Horde herself, and there are no doubt others in the Kirin Tor more overt in their hatreds. Whatever information I can collect, I will be sure to send your way as soon as feasibly possible.

Yours sincerely,
Lord Eldred Valmy

Genevra looked at the cloak folded neatly in the corner of her office. Idly she brought a hand to the marble stone that hung around her neck. After a night of drinking, wandering and finally some rest she had time to reflect on what had transpired the previous day. What if he could help? She sighed as she understood Velenkayn's sentiment. Am I like Saavedro? These thoughts darkened her morning while she tried to decide her next course of action.

Daisy sat at the desk across from her, reading A History of Uther as part of her morning studies. Genevra watched her daughter, who showed no inclination towards the Light's practice but leaned more towards the martial ways. What future was Genevra preparing for Daisy? One in which her mother could not trust her friends, or one where Daisy could truly know peace.

She took a deep sigh and pulled the parchment closer to her and penned the following letter:

Sekhesmet,

I am ready to hear your confession.

Stoneheardt

She made it as short and sweet as she could as it was painful to admit that she had to do this.

She moved to the other piece of parchment,

Velenkayn,

It ws too hard... some things could not be expressed in writing. She sat there for several minutes waiting for the words to come but they never did. She looked at the neatly folded cloak then to Daisy, "I made a mistake." She said to her.

Daisy looked up at her mom, "That's okay mommy, you just have to try again." Genevra smiled warmly at her daughter, "Yes I suppose that I do."

((Since I'm going to be out for a race this weekend...))

Sekhesmet read the parchment with a tired sigh, nodding to himself. He was seated on one of the low walls, overlooking the harbor - his focus on the privateer ship moored there, and wondering about both the young man recovering from a mage attack...and the ship's captain. So our foe has a sister. Interesting.

He had heard something about Genevra breaking down into a drunken tirade the other night, going from the Blue Recluse to the home she stayed in along the canal outside Cathedral Square, and the small gaggle of folk who followed her. Velenkayn had also gone off the deep end himself, was the rumor. They're starting to crack, he thought. They let this "Red Mage" get to them too much, and now they're starting to fracture. He smiled sadly to himself, remembering another instance they had done this. Just like they did with me, way back when.

He had showed his readiness for this step some time before, but she had made efforts to avoid him. Now she had reached that point herself. Whether it was desperation, constant hounding to "let this whole mess go", or an epiphany brought on by drink, he was not entirely sure. But part of him wondered - why should he dance to her tune? Why should he come running just because she had, only now, made the effort? After all...he had been made to wait for this, by her own stubborn streak.

He nodded to himself as he stood, walking along the outer edge of the Cathedral into the canals, and over to the inn by the bank. He had made his decision - to take a gamble, and turn the tables.

Now it would be her turn to wait.

Velenkayn had gone back to Shadowgarde after leaving Genevra in Cathedral Square. He was done with her, with Conclave, with Stormwind, with all of it. He had gone back, looking over the animals in the stable that Zherron had suggested he build there, before going to the small shine not far from the keep, where Rhudran held his sermons on Draenor.

As he knelt at the reliquary, he heard footsteps behind him. He stood quickly and turned...to see Genevra standing there. "Velenkayn," she greeted him simply. "I need to talk to you."

"Another rant about your precious 'principles'? Another effort to make a monster out of a shadow?"

"I do understand where you're coming from, Velenkayn, I really do; I just need you to understand where I'm coming from."

"I understand well enough. I have told you what fate awaits you if you continue on the path you walk; your attempts to justify your own self-destruction mean nothing to me. Begone, Genevra. I wish to speak to you no further."

To his surprise, Genevra smiled. "I was hoping you would say that," she said, in a voice that did not belong to its apparent owner. Before he could react, she had slammed a fireball into his face, knocking him backwards onto the floor. Recovering his wits, he watched as "Genevra" shifted into the familiar, smirking form of Alieth Taldir. "That was a foul trick your friends played on me, Velenkayn. Sending money in my name to a charity for savages?" Her smile became more malevolent. "I did warn the demon-witch that the next minion of Genevra's I visited would not be coming back alive. How sad that you're not one anymore...still, I think killing you will have the same effect on her as if you still were. The guilt. The anger."

"I've killed wizards and warlocks long before you were born, Taldir," Velenkayn snarled. "It is you who will die today."

"Think you so?" Alieth laughed. "Come then, Battlelord. Let's see what you're made of." She tapped her staff against the floor of the shrine, and vanished - then appeared in every archway around him...as the crystal light-sources around the shrine suddenly faded to darkness; Velenkayn looked around, seeing nothing but shadows.

Alieth's voice, echoing from multiple directions, taunted him. "Your hubris blinds you just as readily as your foolish sentimentality. What I have done, others have done before, and others will do after. Stop me here, another will rise to replace me, as I have risen to replace them. The cycle goes on. The cause continues, until victory is won. I am not the first; I will not be the last."

Velenkayn could hear in her voice that she was clearly insane - but it was a madness combined with a distinct lack of empathy. She knew she was causing harm, and she didn't care. This was all a game to her, and it didn't matter who suffered from their loss, only that she would win...and even if she lost, she would still win. Despite himself, he felt a shiver of fear. Steeling himself, he swung the great axe through the first solid figure he saw, but watched as it dissipated into nothing. A fireball from behind him knocked him off-balance, and he swung again in the direction it had come from. Another illusion. "Fight me fair, mage!" he snapped. "Enough of your illusions and trickery!"

"A fair fight, you say?" Before Velenkayn could react, the brightness of the glowing crystals returned, temporarily blinding him, as Alieth swung her flame-charged staff into his face. Colored lights exploded in his vision from the blow. As she prepared a fireball, however, Velenkayn had recovered, silencing her with a burst of frost magics. The air around him began to swirl with freezing air, and Alieth raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sting as the air solidified around her, freezing her in a block of ice.

"I warned you that I had killed my share of sorcerers in the past," he said. "Now join that number!" He swung at the ice block, which shattered from the impact...but she was no longer within it. She had blinked out of it.

Enraged, the Battlelord spun on one hoof, swinging again. Alieth caught the weapon with her staff, locking him into place. Remembering what her father had taught her, the mage twisted the locked weapons around...and then flipped hers upwards. She dropped the staff as the massive battleaxe flew out of Velenkayn's hands.

Time seemed to slow for that moment as the axe flew into the air, twisting and turning, until Alieth's slender fingers wrapped around the hilt...

...and, with a cry of triumph, brought the huge weapon into a downward slash across Velenkayn's chest.

The Battlelord's eyes went wide as he watched the Silver Hand tabard, the gift Saavedro had given him, flutter away from his chest, severed from his armor. He sunk to his knees, feeling his dark life leaving his body, and the proud, sweat-drenched, heavily-breathing figure of Alieth standing before him, his own weapon in her hand.

As his vision faded, he could hear the familiar chimes of the naaru in his mind. It was K'ara, he knew; the great naaru of Karabor. The one the orcs had called the "Dark Star".

Lord of Battles... your struggles are now over. Turn your thoughts now to the Light, and to the world to which you go. We will be there with you, as we have been since your people's travels began. Be at peace.

He pitched forward onto the floor of the shrine in a crash of armor, the blue light in his eyes shimmered...and faded.

But as his life finally left him, Battlelord Velenkayn did something that seared itself into the memory of Alieth Taldir, a sight she would not forget as long as she lived.

He smiled.

Kitrik had seen Ketiron in several different levels of rage, but there were only three occasions that had made him fear for his own life in his commander's blind fury. The first time had been when Rakeri Sputterspark had killed Saavedro and resurrected Sekhesmet; the second had come when Sputterspark murdered the Lady Areinnye.

This was the third.

When he received the message from Lord Valmy at Shadowgarde, Ketiron had screamed Thalassian obscenities and threats for more than an hour; Kitrik recognized some of it as promises to hang Alieth Taldir from the fortress gates by her intestines while still alive. The Blood Knight now paced the main hall, tearing at his now-dissheveled white hair.

Kitrik looked over at his younger twin brother, Kellik, and the rather...solid figure of Lazhna Trueflight, both of whom watched the whole thing with a grim expression. One more horror they had the privilege of being a part of. Kitrik himself had only met Velenkayn twice, but Ketiron had thought very highly of him - just as he had thought so of Saavedro and Oren Tanis. Another dead friend in the Alliance, another severed thread in the efforts to craft a "personal peace".

Ketiron took a deep breath and turned to Kitrik. "Enough fooling around with this, Kitrik," he said without preamble. "I want you to return to Azeroth. See if you can't meet with Genevra, or Dr. Mahlr'd, or someone in their circle. Make it clear: Anything we can do to end this lunatic's rampage, we will do it, and we will do it gladly. Then I want you and Lazhna to go on the hunt. Do not stop until Taldir is dealt with."

"I hear you, General," Kitrik replied. "But if the Watch should send agents to capture her and imprison her, what then? I don't want to attack 'em to get at her, and get them ticked off at us when we're only tryin' to help 'em."

Ketiron glared at him, and Kitrik took a cautious step back, fearing that he would lash out. Then the blood elf smiled sadly, and nodded. "You are right; we must take steps to maintain our friendships in Stormwind, and reassure their authorities that we are not the monsters that Taldir makes us out to be. Do what you can."

Kitrik was relieved. "I'll do my best, Taeril'hane. You have my word on it."

"I know you will, my friend. Go now."

Kitrik nodded and quickly left the great hall, running over to the tower where the mages kept the fortress connected to the main Horde base in Warspear...and from there, he would head to Orgrimmar.

We're runnin' outta friends over there, he thought. Fates help us if we don't have any left...

Terra strode along the streets of Dalaran, a city she hadn’t been back to for over a year. Not much had changed in that time. She smiled as she passed familiar sites; it only seemed like yesterday when she had graduated from the academy. Yet, she wasn’t here to visit she was here to scout. Noikona had given her instructions to keep a look out for the one called Alieth. She was told under no circumstance to approach her, only to observe her from a distance, but Terra couldn’t help but wonder if she might know the woman.

Noikona had told her she was a member of the mage guilds in both Dalaran and Stormwind. Surely there paths must have crossed. Terra just didn’t know. She had seen the sketch that Noikona had drawn, but sketches can only reveal so much. Perhaps she didn’t know her after all. After all Terra was strict to her school of arcane. She cared nothing for the use of fire, but she could only wait and see, if the opportunity ever arose.

Checking her post office box outside the jeweler's shop in Dalaran, Alieth frowned as she saw it was a parcel of some sort. She didn't remember ordering anything that day...and then she saw the postmark. She smiled to herself at that, and wondered what it would be - a severed limb, some kind of dark artifact, or something to try and "intimidate" her...

She began to pull the parcel out of the mailbox as she heard...is that ticking? she thought. Then her eyes went wide, realizing the import. She blinked away from the mailbox just as the bomb went off, shattering the windows and the wall of the jeweler's shop, and flinging flaming shrapnel around that corner of the Magus Commerce Exchange. The blastwave knocked Alieth flat on her face, shredding her robes with the shrapnel, and shattered the windows of the nearby shops of the alchemist, engineer, miner, leatherworker, and tailor.

Then there were secondary detonations inside the alchemist shop from the combustable chemicals exploding, and several alchemy novices ran screaming from the shop, set ablaze by the mixtures they had been working with.

Robes in tatters, legs bleeding from the shrapnel, Alieth shook her head to clear it as she got up onto her hands and knees. "Magus Taldir!" She could see some of the city guard running up to her. "Are you alright, Magus?"

"I'm fine, just a few scrapes and burns..." She got herself to her feet; despite the stinging pain from the shrapnel, she could walk. The debris from the bomb fluttered into the air...with a torn glove, she reached out and grabbed a fragment of the paper wrapping from the parcel.

Noikona Momlir, Canal District, Stormwind City.

Alieth's blue eyes burned with fury.