World of Warcraft®

Another typical day in New Tinkertown for Marennia Sputterspark. Another day of being on guard, her fellows keeping their distance, and being stared at - even though their eyes were hidden by goggles, or their heads hidden by helmets. She knew why they stared. She knew what they were thinking. It was the same reason Genevra Stoneheardt shunned her...and why she chose to room in Ironforge rather than stay here.

Arsonist. Traitor. Lunatic.

She could probably die tomorrow, and she would not be allowed to forget. She had accepted it at first. Now, it was tedious. Taldir was dead, Rakeri was dead - how much longer would she be punished for them?

Flying back to Ironforge at the end of her shift, she walked into her small house and set her helmet down on the table, sighing. She had debated quitting the Gnomeregan militia and simply going on her own as a sell-sword, but she wondered if anyone would bother taking her services, with the reputation she had. Maybe she'd go to Draenor; they could probably use an engineer/blacksmith's services. Especially the draenei....

As she went to make some food, she realized it was becoming uncomfortably warm in her house. More so than it should have been for Ironforge. As she stopped and turned, she could see why. She looked up...and up. "Hello, Sputterspark," her visitor said with a smirk. "Surprised?"

"Taldir." Marennia spat the name. "Leave it to an amateur to send a mail bomb. If it had been me, I would have vaporized you."

"She'll pay for that mistake soon enough. As for you..." Marennia suddenly felt her feet leave the ground, and then was slammed hard into the wall, crashing to the floor. "You betrayed me, Sputterspark," Alieth Taldir said, her eyes burning with hate. "You had an opportunity to strike a blow against those who subvert the Alliance. Now I realize the Alliance's greatest mistake - opening it up to non-humans. Your priorities are so horribly skewed."

"As opposed to yours, which are perfectly reasonable?" Marennia retorted.

"Indeed. I act for the preservation of my race, diluted thanks to people like you and Stoneheardt. Which pains me, you had such promise...but there is no time left to me for regrets. You beg for her forgiveness, but she will not give it. She preaches understanding and tolerance, but she practices debauchery and blasphemy. She is a stain...and soon enough, all will understand that."

"So you plan to kill her then?"

"Physically...no. Spiritually, mentally...not directly there, either. Her demise will be by her own hand. Madness is a bit like gravity, after all." Alieth grinned wickedly, as she channeled a spell. "All it needs is a little push. And you...I will let you live to see it. For now." And with that, she was gone.

Despite the warmth of the room, Marennia felt a shiver go down her spine.

The streetlight stood motionless as any lamppost should, doing its job from night to night. A loyal inanimate object designed for the purpose of lighting the streets and giving passerby’s a sense of security. It’s hard to explain the events that happened next. The sounds of destruction probably woke many from their sleep. The once proud streetlight was left in a mangled heap. It’s not known if there were any witnesses, but it’s imaginable that they fled in terror.

Slowly Noikona’s rage subsided. She looked over her shoulder at was left of the lamppost. She sighed heavily, but the face of Aleith was still etched clearly in her mind. Noikona wasn’t accustomed to failure, it wasn’t a feeling she dwelt on. There would be no attempt to destroy the mage from a distance. If confrontation arose, it would be dealt with, face to face. Aleith had somehow survived. This time Noikona would check for a pulse.

She walked slowly up to the next streetlight but paused as she looked at it “You best not be standing here tomorrow.”

Eldred Valmy had gone back to his tower at Shadowgarde and locked himself in his library, disgusted at the selfish rat who fawned over Genevra like a love-sick puppy. (Ironic, given the inevitable dog jokes the self-righteous twit had thrown at him.) He opened up the tome he had been working on before he left, trying to focus on it...then, roaring with rage, he tore the book in half and threw the halves across the room, slumping into a nearby chair.

He was sick of all of this. He had begun to question whether he wanted to maintain what was clearly becoming a rather unhealthy association. He had done some research, and found that the people in Genevra's inner circle usually ended up corrupted, dead, or both - including most of her paramours. It was all there, black and white, clear as crystal. He wondered how long before Reaverden would follow suit, and smiled coldly to himself. But the fact remained: Genevra stank of death, and invited it nearly as much as she inflicted it. But not against her enemies, no - against those who stood with her, supported her. Taldir would do what other lunatics - including that vile plague-monger Sekhesmet, who stalked her constantly - had been doing for years...and Genevra would do nothing. As usual.

A snuffling sound from the ramp leading downstairs indicated that one of the keep's worgen guards - part of Eidan Zherron's Shadowhowl pack, who had joined Velenkayn's death knights in defending the place - had come up, in spite of his demands that he be left alone. "Pardon me, Lord Valmy," the man said, in a very un-worgen voice, "but might I have a word?"

Valmy frowned, his ice-blue eyes glaring. "Who the hell are you, really? I can see the illusions around you, but not through them..."

"Now that we're alone, I think I can dispel them." The pseudo-worgen raised a hand and the illusion shimmered and faded, revealing a diminutive man with a slightly hunched back, attired in richly tailored robes...bearing the sigil of the Horde on the gloves and shoulders.

Valmy's eyes went wide with rage, as he took in the insignia, the paleness of the man's polished-bold head, and the bones protruding from his robes. He knew exactly what this creature was. "Forsaken! You dare violate my sanctum, heathen?!" He rushed at the man, claws out. But the Forsaken was more nimble than his frail appearance looked, as he leapt over Valmy's head, and loosed a burst of fel energies to knock the worgen down to the ground.

"Stay your bestial instinct, Valmy," the Forsaken said with a hint of amused malice. "If I wanted you dead, I would have burned your little castle to cinders before you could even blink. No. I'm here to talk with you...to discuss our mutual allegiance. The one that we don't usually advertise."

That stopped Valmy short before he could snarl a reply...he looked up at the corpse-man with an appraising look. "You're with the Council."

"That's right. And I am here to offer you what you want. Freedom from your allegiance to Stoneheardt and her pitiful little band...and to the Alliance. With what is coming, what side you're on won't matter a damn."

"With what is coming? Are you here to spit riddles at me?"

"Consider. Even as both sides followed Khadgar through time and space to this world, they continued to fight amongst one another. Ashran turned into a warzone, just as Tol Barad did during the Cataclysm, just as Wintergrasp did during the war against the Lich King. Only men unfettered by the necessity to follow a flag or a nation will prevail against the Legion of the Lower Planes."

"Says the man wearing a robe festooned with Horde insignia," Valmy retorted as he came to his feet. "How do I know this isn't some trick for your Dark Lady?"

"The Dark Lady has given me this new life, that is true, but her goals are far too narrow. She wishes to conquer all of Lordaeron in the name of the Forsaken, in a campaign that has an unnecessary cost of lives and resources. Andorhal was an example of this...as was the invasion of Gilneas. When we slaughter one another, that leaves us far fewer champions to stand against the Legion when it inevitably arrives. You saw what happened in Tanaan. You've seen the Felwood, what nearly became of Quel'Danas. Next time, the scale will be far greater than all of these combined...and do we want to focus on pointless patriotism and warfare for it, or do we want to do something to help prevent it?"

"What are you suggesting?"

The Forsaken walked over to the Conclave banner hanging from the wall in the tower library. "This." He touched the banner, and channeled fire through it, burning the cloth to ash. Then he did likewise to the Gilnean and Alliance banners nearby. "Do not be Conclave, or Gilnean, or Alliance. Be Valmy. Be what you are, not what they want you to be. Forget about Stoneheardt...or this lunatic mage Taldir. We are warlocks of the Black Harvest...and doom is coming. Are you sure you are ready for it?"

Tabatha sat on the small abandoned dock along the stream that bordered Westfall and Elwynn. The quietness of the area and drastic contrast between the two territories made it one of her favorite places to think. While in her training, Genevra used to ask her what she saw in things. Asking her to see deeper than what was obvious and not to take things at face value. This area was one such place she thought reflected much of her own life. The hardships and struggles of Westfall, then the beauty and calm of Elwynn.

She sat thinking of the rumors that the Alieth had returned. Unlike the others that spoke of dread, she actually thought that maybe this was a sign. She had prayed for Alieth in the past, maybe this was an answer. Maybe Alieth was being given a second chance. Tabatha knew that people could change, after all it wasn’t too long ago that Genevra had caught her building a still in the Abby. If she could change why not Alieth.

Sighing deeply Tabatha bowed her head and prayed.

The air was as bitingly cold as it had always been in the Howling Fjord, but Rocangus Snowhammer paid it no heed, coming from a snowy and mountainous region himself. His hand rested on the hilt of his hammer, tapping in a rhythmic pattern as the boat made its roundabout in Daggercap Bay before docking in Valgarde.

For months, he had lived off the land here in the frozen north, only occasionally returning to the southlands. This most recent trip bothered him, however; he had heard from an old friend in the City Guard in Ironforge that Alieth Taldir had returned, and that she had visited the house of Marennia Sputterspark near the Great Forge. After that visit, Marennia had fled, and had not been seen in Ironforge or New Tinkertown since. It was clear to him that she was not hiding from authorities...she had suffered imprisonment and being committed to an insane asylum, and had ben ostracized by pretty much everyone around her. No, she was hiding from Taldir, he was certain.

Genevra's response to that bit of news disturbed him; he had found her at the library in Stormwind Keep, and had been exasperated by her stubborn refusal to take action, or to consider that Marennia was not the monster that Genevra had made her out to be. Taldir was the real monster, and Marennia had simply fallen (figuratively) under her spell. It reminded him of when he had been convinced - be honest, when you convinced yourself, he thought - that he could steer Marennia's elder brother, Rakeri, from his destructive course. Instead, everything he had worked for went up in smoke, and the professor's life ended at the end of Taeril'hane Ketiron's blade.

Genevra would hear none of it; her course would not be changed, and he began to wonder if she would end up suffering the same fate as Rakeri: Madness, followed by death at the hands of another.

It was with that in mind that he travelled to Northrend again, and now made his way to the Grizzly Hills. It had been where Rakeri had committed his most heinous crime - he had murdered his hated enemy, Saavedro of Stratholme, and used his life-essence to resurrect Sekhesmet. He had thus far avoided the actual "altar", the great tree trunk of Vordrassil, now the furbolg village of Grizzlemaw. Partly because of the corruption of Yogg-Saron that had seeped into the roots from Ulduar, and partly because of his own ties to Rakeri and the crime he committed.

Stepping off the ship as it dropped anchor to let off its passengers, Rocangus walked across the dock and onto terra firma before calling for his gryphon. Lifting off and wheeling around, he turned to the northwest, towards the Grizzy Hills. He was not certain what he would find there, but he knew it would be something. Perhaps it would be an answer....perhaps not. The spirits did as they willed.

He supposed he would find out.

Noikona opened the door to Azheira’s home. She had been staying with Calent for the past few months but would soon be moving back to her own place. She had finally regained control of a rather inconvenient side effect resulting from the destruction of someone close to her. Calent had let her stay until she recovered, now she would slowly start moving her things back. She walked into the familiar entryway, it was quiet, there were three others that lived here, but they were most likely out about doing their own things.

Noikona walked to counter where the mail had piled up, her eyes caught sight of a familiar envelope. One that she had sent Alieth only a few days ago. Frowning she picked it up as it was unopened and immediately she saw the ward, it was too late. She saw the glowing words “You can try”, and then a burning sensation as the letter burst into flames. She tossed the letter away as she backed up and quickly ran to the wash basin, flinging water over the flames. She closed her eyes as things settled down and spoke to the air “Oh I will do more than try”