Flying west from Caer Darrow, mind racing, Artimus Devaneaux landed gently outside the gates of Sorrow Hill Cemetery. Stepping from his Ebon gryphon, which became incorporeal and then vanished completely as he walked away, he walked along the well-manicured paths, the retaining walls fixed, the lanterns glowing bright. He took in the sound of crickets chirping and birds singing in the moonlight, and was heartened to hear life in his long-dead homeland.
He had not set foot in Caer Darrow in nearly a decade, and it made him think. That woman from the Messenger Service had said they planned to do the same with all of Lordaeron one day. It was a fool's hope, he believed - but in this day and age, was hope a bad thing?
As he at last came to a plot across the way from the tomb of the Lightbringer, next to the caretaker's estate, Artimus halted before a particular grave there. A bed of flowers covered the burial site, and the headstone bore the symbol of the Church of Light and the lion's head of the Alliance.
"Hello, Saav," he said, kneeling. "Sorry it's been a while...business."
The inscription, blessedly untouched by dirt or moss, read:
Saavedro of Stratholme
Knight of the Silver Hand
Champion of the Argent Crusade
Warrior - Healer - Friend
"They want to revitalize Caer Darrow, can you believe it? Of all the places they could have picked. Good that they didn't go with Andorhal..." Artimus sighed. "I mean, we already tried that, and Sylvanas ran us out like sheep fleeing the wolves. Or in this case, fleeing the val'kyr."
Of the associates of Saavedro who had served with him in Northrend, only four still visited him: Taeril'hane Ketiron, a Blood Knight Master who'd recently retired to Silvermoon to chronicle history; Sir Oren Tanis, a young warrior who had risen from captain to general in the battlefields of the north; the Farseer Jaeden'laek, the draenei who had served at Saavedro's side since Outland; and lastly, Artimus himself.
He was not entirely certain why he came here. Perhaps because, in the end, the paladin had been the closest thing to a friend that he had since he was freed from the Lich King. Oh, he had his brothers-in-arms, the Ebon Blade - an order that had largely gone along the wayside, with its task done. But Saavedro, after an early mistrust, had grown to respect the death knight, and his quest. Both were natives of Lordaeron - Artimus the son of minor nobility, Saavedro of a village magistrate. Both had endured great trials, and both were given a chance to avenge the destruction of their homeland - and in Artimus' case, much more. And they had served just long enough to see the great task complete.
The Lich King was dead, and Lordaeron was avenged - but of the two of them, only Artimus would see its revitalization...a fact that inexplicably troubled him.
"It makes me think," he mused. "If a group of people can come together to try and revitalize a death-cursed city on the lake...what else can they do?"
He had not set foot in Caer Darrow in nearly a decade, and it made him think. That woman from the Messenger Service had said they planned to do the same with all of Lordaeron one day. It was a fool's hope, he believed - but in this day and age, was hope a bad thing?
As he at last came to a plot across the way from the tomb of the Lightbringer, next to the caretaker's estate, Artimus halted before a particular grave there. A bed of flowers covered the burial site, and the headstone bore the symbol of the Church of Light and the lion's head of the Alliance.
"Hello, Saav," he said, kneeling. "Sorry it's been a while...business."
The inscription, blessedly untouched by dirt or moss, read:
Saavedro of Stratholme
Knight of the Silver Hand
Champion of the Argent Crusade
Warrior - Healer - Friend
"They want to revitalize Caer Darrow, can you believe it? Of all the places they could have picked. Good that they didn't go with Andorhal..." Artimus sighed. "I mean, we already tried that, and Sylvanas ran us out like sheep fleeing the wolves. Or in this case, fleeing the val'kyr."
Of the associates of Saavedro who had served with him in Northrend, only four still visited him: Taeril'hane Ketiron, a Blood Knight Master who'd recently retired to Silvermoon to chronicle history; Sir Oren Tanis, a young warrior who had risen from captain to general in the battlefields of the north; the Farseer Jaeden'laek, the draenei who had served at Saavedro's side since Outland; and lastly, Artimus himself.
He was not entirely certain why he came here. Perhaps because, in the end, the paladin had been the closest thing to a friend that he had since he was freed from the Lich King. Oh, he had his brothers-in-arms, the Ebon Blade - an order that had largely gone along the wayside, with its task done. But Saavedro, after an early mistrust, had grown to respect the death knight, and his quest. Both were natives of Lordaeron - Artimus the son of minor nobility, Saavedro of a village magistrate. Both had endured great trials, and both were given a chance to avenge the destruction of their homeland - and in Artimus' case, much more. And they had served just long enough to see the great task complete.
The Lich King was dead, and Lordaeron was avenged - but of the two of them, only Artimus would see its revitalization...a fact that inexplicably troubled him.
"It makes me think," he mused. "If a group of people can come together to try and revitalize a death-cursed city on the lake...what else can they do?"
