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"You wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

Çyrus snorted. "You'd bring back the leader of a Horde group that was responsible for the things Kron-5 did?"

"I have no problem with one orc who would probably kill me on sight. I have a problem with a weapon that might corrupt you and cause a scourge army to march on us."

Çyrus laughed. "Scourge army? You vastly overestimate my goals."

"If the intelligence is right, that weapon may indeed have that power and you've already admitted it affects you."

"Then we'll see, hm?"

"And if the weapon is complete, there's a good chance it will take you over."

"The risk is worth the reward."

Gentyl sighed. "Not to me. Please consider my offer. Your friend for the weapon."

"Your evaluations on my risks don't concern me."

"No, Cyrus, it wouldn't. You are like a small Imperon. You think you are invincible."

He shrugged. "Part of the training."

"Well, one day you may learn some humility."

Çyrus looked straight at her. "Rule one. You're always on the battlefield."

"Rule two," she responded. "Don't underestimate your enemy."

Çyrus shook his head. "Our rule two... your enemy is beneath you. Always make sure they know it, so as to crush their hope of success."

She smiled. "We shall see. We shall see."

He nodded and turned to leave. They followed him to the gate. He held out a hand out as he passed the territory line. The moment he passed over, the axe tore through a scar of ice and frost, appearing from air in his hand.

Finnaeus narrowed his eyes at Cyrus.

Gentyl leaned down and stroked Valor's neck. "Nice trick."

"One of many."

Çyrus's breath gave off a steady, icy haze. "Be careful, Gentyl."

"Always," she replied. "Should I be afraid now?"

"Should have been, already."

Gentyl chuckled softly.

They watched him disappear, then Finnaeus shifted uneasily. "A word."

"Yes sir?"

"It is not my place to question authority...but you would seriously consider raising his friend?"

Gentyl absently pulled her fingers through the horse's mane. "First rule of horse trading. The one who makes the first offer loses. I wanted to know his price."

Finnaeus raised an eyebrow at her. "And if it were possible..."

"He said what he wanted and when I offered it he said he needed the weapon."

Finnaeus took out a golden locket, with an image of a rose and a hammer intertwined. He does not need a weapon to raise the dead. That's probably not making him look less villainous to most people."

Gentyl nodded. "That means he is not telling me the truth for his reasons. The weapon calls to him and it already controls him."

"Indeed." Finnaeus glanced down at the locket. "I...understand...his desire to bring back someone whom he cherishes. But it cannot come to pass."

It had been a long day. They were all turning into long days.

She decided to meet the commander at the ship. They spent most of their nights there. It was peaceful for the most part. She'd grown accustomed to the gentle rocking as the ship sat at anchor. She'd grown more accustomed to the strong arms that held her each night.

He sat in his favorite chair and tamped some tobacco into the carved ivory pipe, then lit it with a sliver of wood he'd held to the fireplace. He watched her remove her armor and slip into the sleeping shift. Then he patted his knee and she padded over to him and sank down between his knees her back to him. It had become a nightly ritual.

The cherry scented pipe tobacco mingled with the lavender and vanilla sachets she kept scattered in the sheets and her clothes. The scent of his mistress, however, dominated the scene. The sea held sway here and she never let Gentyl forget who the man had loved first. Gentyl was content sharing him because, in truth, she had grown to love the sea a bit herself.

Turncutt reached into a carved wooden box on the table beside him and took out a silver brush. "So, tell me what ails m'lady tonight."

And so began the ritual. He brushing her hair endlessly while she discussed the happenings on land where there always seemed to be a storm brewing.

"Ehlina wants us to bait the Ocheliads into a trap and have a massive horde army waiting there to wipe them out."

Turncutt chuckled. "I always appreciated her appetite for war. Not sure about using the horde to achieve the end, though. I'm not as trusting of them as m'lady is."

"I don't trust them, commander. I used to perhaps, but all in all, we are enemies. Cyrus said tonight you are always on the battlefield and in that he may be right."

He continued brushing her hair, stroking it with his hand after each pass. "I think we lose focus of the true war with this bickering between ourselves. The horde is the enemy."

"Cyrus was an orc. If the weapon takes him over, his true feelings may once again surface. If my intelligence is correct, it could give him power over other death knights and to an extent a scourge army. I have no doubt Pia would be destroyed if this is correct and that would only be the beginning of his march. Who knows how many innocents would die before he was stopped?"

The brushing stopped for a moment and he drew deeply on the pipe. "Then throw down the gaunt and do battle. None of this treachery horse !@#$."

She closed her eyes when he began brushing her hair again. "Agreed. What price victory if we lose our honor?"

(Updated through the meeting with Cyrus)

"Crush them!" That voice spoke. It was an ever-penetrating presence that consumed every thought. It screamed and shrieked, drowning out the rational thought he needed to outwit an order like Pia Presidium.

All his arrogance aside, they were not the very small group they were so recently. They'd grown in size, and by association, strength. Conclave, as well as the Tenth Legion were their allies. They had formidable fighters, and what was even worse was that the Ocheliad was going to have to take them all on at once.

Cyrus sat in the lower holding area in Hearthglen, chains having been pulled loose and coiling at his sides. Gentyl had been right, those chains ran all the way down to the foundation. However, link for link, Cyrus had been able to drag them up enough to get free. A lot of good it had done, though. That cell door at the top of the stairs was solid, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in the Molten Core he'd get through that. With a heavy sigh, he waited. He knew that after the Presidium had taken him captive in Feralas, their next move would be to do as much damage as possible to his weapon before the Ocheliad arrived to retrieve him.

That thought had no sooner entered his mind, than Desmend had burst through the doors upstairs, leading into a larger dining hall. Taelanas had been pacing, but stopped upon the druid's arrival. He spoke rather calmly, given Desmend's hasty entrance. "Desmend, what's got you so worked up?"

Desmend had been clearly running, but being a druid that was quite used to that, he recovered quickly. "Ocheliad forces were spotted in southern Lordaeron. I believe they're already coming after Cyrus."

Taelanas muttered something he'd likely not repeat to Gentyl under his breath. "That was fast... Alright. We have to get together what support we can, and head them off. Sepha will not want the fight being brought to Hearthglen. If the Ocheliad intend to take Cyrus, we can't have their goal sitting right in our order's base. Get him restrained or put under so he can be transported. Under the assumption the Ocheliad get the better of us, it would be better to hand him over than jeopardize Hearthglen or any further casualites."

Desmend nodded, twisting into the shape of a bird before hastily making his way out. He was likely going to inform Gentyl, just to be sure she approved of Taelanas' plan. quick as he was to come up with a plan, it would be unwise to act without her say-so.

Cyrus had heard what the situation was. It had only taken a day for the Ocheliad to locate him, which was impressive considering how far Hearthglen was from the site of the ambush.

Cyrus was being held near the back of the assembled Presidium and allies forces. This was, by far, not the first time he'd been held by humans, but he was keeping his tauntings to a minimum. He wanted the Presidium to focus on what awaited them. Because just as the sun was starting to near its set behind the Presidium, the Ocheliad appeared in force.

Imperon Showdah, in his usual flare, was sitting on his horse, his forces aligned and awaiting orders to proceed. His black hat was tipped slightly forward, shielding his eyes from the sunset ahead. Normally, it wouldn't make sense for forces to be attacking into the sun, but the message seemed more important. Imperon was making a statement by making sure the Presidium saw the Ocheliad coming.

"Ocheliad. Recover the Captain," Imperon spoke at nothing higher than a typical room volume, yet his forces rushed down the hill. A few remained back to keep an eye out for anyone that would try to take them from behind. Shylen in particular seemed uninterested in leaving Imperon's side, remaining quiet and focussed on the conflict at hand.

As soon as the Ocheliad forces moved down the hills toward the Presidium, Gentyl pointed her sword forward, and Pia rushed out to engage them.

Cyrus was left in the hands of a few Argent guards that Pia had brought with them. Being allies must have its perks when it comes to a group with so many warriors. Pia having rushed down into the valley to fight the Ocheliad, Cyrus couldn't see the battle. The three Argent guards were relaxing a bit, the battle feeling far away, but it wasn't as far off as they believed.

A crossbow bolt from behind felled one just as Cyrus heard a whisper behind him. "Move quickly," Sathrasa instructed, dropping what looked like a green marbel onto his metal cuffs. Behind him, he could hear the acidic compound eat through the metal and quickly cool. No longer bound, Cyrus stood and attacked a guard at his side that had just spotted Sathrasa. With the ring of metal still around his right wrist, Cyrus assaulted the guard in the forehead with the restraint.

Cyrus felt the human's skull depress and he dropped to the ground without the slightest bit of resistance. The final Argent guard had Cyrus' axe in his hand. Pia Presidium had obviously thought it too dangerous to be left in Hearthglen. The Argent guard had lost sight of Sathrasa, but he had a very angry, very large Draenei staring at him. The guard, being true to his calling, did his best to hide any fear he felt.

"Hm... quite a pair you've got on you," Cyrus muttered, his hand icing over as he controlled the weapon from a distance. The guard suddenly became aware of something terribly wrong. He couldn't release Cyrus' axe. Ice was creeping up through his armor, and the Argent warrior panicked, swatting wildly at the offending cold. Cyrus' grin was a little too entertained. "There it is..."

The Argent quickly succumb to the attack and went into shock. Shortly after, he was still, his entire right arm frozen solid. Cyrus strolled over, wrenching the weapon from the dead guard's hand. "I'll be taking that," He said, the guard's hand shattering when the axe was removed.

A flare travelled high into the sky, having been set off by Sathrasa. It was apparently the signal that Cyrus was free. All the Ocheliad soon retreated, not having the needed forces to actually defeat Pia in open battle.

Sathrasa withdrew another marble from her satchel, this one black with a blue eye on it. She stepped up to Cyrus, tossing it down. In a swirl of black smoke, the two vanished, retreating back to the Tower as the remaining Ocheliad forces withdrew from the fight.

reserved

reserved

reserved

Sathrasa calmly leaned back against a support beam within Hearthglen Keep, idly listening to the conversation below her. It had been only a few days since the attack upon the Argents and Cyrus' freedom. She smirked a little at her speed in the matter, left hand gently running along her satchel of spellgems. Chipping away at a random gem in her hands, unheard from above, she casually listened in on the conversation of Sir Taelanas.

She didn't learn much from it, an annoyed frown on her face; simply a chat about how Pia would move forward or some sort of moralistic word. She didn't care, it didn't pertain to anything interesting. As if it were a natural thing, she stood and hopped over to the top floor, walking out from the keep and to the roof. She called for her gryphon and few off, her mind reflecting on the previous attack.

It had taken great difficulty to break through the Argent line, yet incredibly none of them noticed the wolfen rogue flowing through the shadows of the trees and stone walls behind them, shifting from one patch of darkness to another. She recalled considering whether to stab or shoot the guard, but subtlety was required at that time, she considered. Reaching the end of that thought, she again looked to the crystal she had carved to bring Cyrus to safety; it wasn't tested before, and could have failed. Skilled as she was, she never did know just how well a spellgem would work until attempted in combat. Luckily, the spell went flawlessly.

As she flew away from Hearthglen, she pocketed her jeweler's knife and the gem she was chipping away at, glancing back to the keep with a light smirk. Mission accomplished, in her mind at least. She gave the home of the Holy Guard one last look before urging her mount towards Stormwind City.

((Reserved!))

The orc on the floor was pretty big, but he was an orc. Big came with the territory. He had a glinting black nose ring, with maching snake-bite piercings. Tattoos riddled the brown orc's body, only half of which Cyrus knew the story behind. He'd brought Rimyx's corpse here to the citadel in hopes that he would be left undisturbed while trying to resurrect it.

Pia Presidium had shown itself, openly objecting to what Cyrus was doing, but they seemed to be at least held at bay by Jern, Sigren and Lyov. His back was to the entire group, knelt over the corpse.

Those three were very outnumbered, so why wasn't Pia attacking? Were they afraid? No. As much as Cyrus hated to admit it, the Presidium was unafraid of the Ocheliad. So, why weren't they stopping him now?

Cyrus shook his head, deciding it better to count himself lucky. He stood, weapon held over Rimyx. The axe assumed a blue glow and a frigid wind swept through the citadel, seeming to swirl around his feet. The captured souls of Val'Kyr were proving to be an acceptable power source to revive the fallen orc. This had to work. So much had happened so Cyrus' mentor could walk again.

The axe's glow intensified, but right when Cyrus believed this was going to work, the glow ebbed and seemed disrupted. In the background, the three Ocheliad were taunting the crowd that had apparently come to stop Cyrus. It was rather impressive those three had kept them occupied this long.

But now, the attention had shifted to Cyrus and a silence befell the large group.

Rimyx, the orc cyrus had sacrificed so much try and revive, had been completely destroyed by the weapon. "No!" Cyrus shouted, taking a knee and placing a hand on the pile of ash that remained. "What... what happened?" He had hardly caught it without blinking. The weapon had been glowing, and Rimyx's finger had even begun to twitch, but something went wrong. The body shook violently and merely fell to ash.

Cyrus stared at the spot on the citadel floor, paying no mind to the taunts and insults being thrown by those who had gathered. "No..." Cyrus said quietly, seemingly unable to process what had just happened.

"Did it not work, Cyrus?" Cray had said during the dull commotion. Typically, Cyrus would be on his hooves, ready to strike out, but he felt nothing. If anything, the taunts were digging holes in him. He'd failed.

Cyrus stood, turning to the group and stepping past the Ocheliad. He looked down slightly at Gentyl. "You thought this weapon controlled me? You thought I could be wielded?!" Cyrus shouted out of frustration. Gripping the hilt with one hand, blade in the other, he pulled. With a sharp snap, the weapon's blade was in two pieces, its energy bursting upward and vanishing in a haze of blue mist.

He threw down the portion in his right hand, the powerless fragment embedding in the ground at Gentyl's feet.

Gentyl had said something to the effect of "Yes," but Cyrus had already returned to the empty armor and ashes on the floor. He took a knee, reaching down and pulling a silver Horde symbol from the armor. He closed his hand over it, standing.

"Ocheliad.... let's back to the Tower..." Cyrus said, closing his eyes. Under his breath, he muttered, "Aka'Magosh, Rimyx."

Sigren set a hand on his shoulder from behind, nodding. "You heard the Captain, Ocheliad. Return to the Tower," She said, glancing back to see the other Ocheliad teleporting out. They were quickly followed by Cyrus, who still hadn't gotten a handle on what had happened.

((I completely forgot to turn on my chatlogging, so I had to put all that happened in a nutshell. Feel free to post individual accounts of what was said and done all before, during and after the event! :D))

Finn stood atop Mardenholde Keep, his gaze shifting across Hearthglen. He began to acclimate himself to this location. He found peace there, and he was beginning to learn every nook and cranny on the roof better than the Argent Guards. It was only here that he felt truly comfortable spending non-combat time in his Worgen form.

A calm settled over him. He watched a few Pia amble to and fro, and he was grateful that no lasting harm came to them. More importantly, he felt a bond with them now. Bemusedly he thought that he owed that bond to Cyrus and his attempts at raising his Orc friend, but he knew better than to thank the Draenei openly for that.

After much consideration, he felt at peace knowing that Cyrus's weapon was destroyed, and that he failed at raising Rimyx. What surprised him, however, was that he had a lingering compassion for the Draenei and his failure. Cyrus's methods were unsavory, distasteful, but Finnaeus could not deny that he empathized with Cyrus's desire to undo death to save a cherished one. Finnaues held his prized golden locket in his hand, idly tracing the intertwined hammer and rose with his finger; he knew the heavy burden of loss and the burning desire to undo it. But that cost was a price assessed by the natural order, and to undo that order would threaten the balance. As horrible and painful as it is to accept, Finnaeus firmly concluded that death needed to regain some of its finality. Maybe then the living would truly appreciate what they had in life.

But while Cyrus continued his constant gaze backwards, at the past and what was lost, Finnaeus finally decided to shift his gaze forward. It would be a long road, letting go of what he had lost since Arugal and his worgen experimentation changed Gilneas forever, but Finnaeus finally felt that there was something to look forward to. Perhaps Cyrus would try again at raising his ally. But that seemed far less daunting now that Finn decided to firmly stand with the Pia and devote himself to their cause.

"I may have something here, Claire," Finn muttered. He spotted Gentyl idling among the garden, and he smiled. Her enthusiasm for virtue and bettering the world around her proved to be infectious.

He took one lingering look at the locket, images of his wife, his child, his father, swirling around in his mind. With a smile, he transformed into his human form, and put the locket into his pocket.

His thoughts mirrored Finn's in a way - he too felt a surprising twinge of sympathy for the corrupted soul, and for those who found it in their hearts to love him. After Cyrus had departed, his plans in ruins, he had stepped forward and offered aid to Ciellia, putting aside his distaste for her choice of mate and choice of allegiance, and speaking as one druid to another. He was a servant of the Cenarion Circle - all druids were, even those from Gilneas, from the Echo Isles...or in the service of Imperon. The Circle took care of their own, regardless of whose flag they waved outside the Moonglade.

After returning to Hearthglen to set things right with Taelanas, he had flown over Lordamere Lake, across the blighted glades of Silverpine - careful to avoid Forsaken bat patrols - and into Gilneas. The land was eerily quiet, like a tomb. He entered Gilneas City, landing on the doorstep of a house in Greymane Court. On the mailbox outside the smashed-in front door, faded gold letters could still be read:

Z H E R R O N

Whenever he found himself in Lordaeron, if he was able, he always journeyed into Gilneas, usually to meditate within the hollowed boughs of Tal'doren in the Blackwald. But today, his mind awash with thoughts of family, he came to the last place he had seen them alive.

He had a far greater curse than the one that had warped his body (and, for a period, his mind): His memory...

Alma had come downstairs to see what the commotion was, having heard a crashing noise downstairs. She had told Elmira and the girls to stay upstairs, and not come down unless she was certain it was safe. Standing in her front parlor was a worgen, his eyes wild...a wound at the juncture of neck and left shoulder that was beginning to heal.

Though she could not have known simply by sight alone, she knew at once who it was. "Eidan..."

The beast suddenly leapt, claws ripping into the old woman's body, slashing her neck. Arterial blood sprayed all over the creature and across the walls and floor, as she tumbled back onto the stairs. The beast continued on, smelling others in the house. As it bounded up the stairs, it saw the younger woman and three young girls, cowering - and, at the sight of the blood-spattered worgen, screaming. It leapt once more, and the air was filled with the sounds of bones crunching, blood dripping over the bannisters onto the floor below, and the screams suddenly going silent.

All except for the silent screams of a soul who had once been human, trapped within the feral beast...

Standing in the front parlor of his old house, where he had committed what he felt was his greatest crime, Eidan Zherron felt the desire - as he had ever since he had ransacked this house and killed everyone in it, while under the grip of the Rage - to do anything to bring back the people he loved. His mother and father...his wife...his daughters. He had blamed himself for their deaths for years, and had prayed for the power to bring them back. And yet he knew that he would never get that power. Nature, the Elements, the Light - regardless of what power you called on, you had to accept that they had a plan that was far greater than what you wanted.

He wondered if Cyrus could ever see that...

((Sorry it took so long to get to this, folks. I just felt that a final post on this would be nice, as well as complete the "dream" that drove Cyrus to do all this.

Part one is in the original post.
Part two is on page two, about half-way down.

Here's the conclusion! Enjoy!))

Cyrus had learned how to sleep peacefully after the initial sting had worn off from his defeat at the hands of the Presidium. The knowledge that he'd never be able to repay Rimyx and the others for what they'd done for him was worse than any guilt. It was a palpable cloud of depression.

Though, at least with the finality of these events, the returning dream would no longer wake him in the night. He could watch it visibly and accept what had been done. Because at the core of his techings, Rimyx always believed a warrior should apply what he's learned and become stronger.

At last, Cyrus could finish the dream that caused so much pain...



Cyrus was seemingly captivated by the sight of the human corpse. With every man he or the others killed, he felt a little more quenched of his hatred for the race. Rimyx, Veare and Gyose stopped and looked back after a moment, and Cyrus finally looked away from the body, rejoining the group.

As the four of them reached the crest of the nearby slope, a strange whirring sound gave a moment's warning before the snow beneath their boots lifted in shock from an explosion. It had been pretty close to Cyrus, and he was thrown several feet away, his armor catching most of the shrapnel.

His eyes and ears just weren't working, other than the loud ringing. He could hear a muffled something in the background, and the odd feeling of movement. Veare had dragged Cyrus away from the point of impact. "Cyrus, get your head back on! Can't have you gettin' hole-y on us!" Veare shouted as Rimyx and Gyose gazed down the slope.

A small detatchment of Alliance forces with accompanying seige were lobbing shells up at them. "There's no way they knew we were here. And they wouldn't send this many troops after the four of us, no matter the damage we caused..." Rimyx thought out loud. "Unless... they were already in the area..." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter! They know where we are, and we can't escape with the ice shelf behind us. They're between us and our exit..." Gyose and Veare, despite this recent news, seemed oddly unbothered.

Cyrus was recovering his senses, but in the blast, his leg armor had been penetrated on one side. He wouldn't be using that leg any time soon. Veare glanced at Rimyx, something unspoken telling the latter that Cyrus was out of action for right now.

Heaving a sigh, Rimyx looked back over the stationary Alliance forces hurling projectiles in the group's general area. "Doesn't look like they have an accurate bead on us..." Rimyx said to himself, glancing up at the thick clouds that made visibility poor unless whatever you were looking for was as big as a seige vehicle.

"Guess it's time for a jog, boys," He said. Veare and Gyose merely stared at their leader, unsure they heard him right.

"You sure?" Gyose asked, looking to the gathered Alliance forces. "Mmh... with a bang or not?"

Rimyx didn't even hesitate. "No evidence," He said, causing Gyose to lapse into silence. A think, grim feeling swept over the group, the only sound being the explosions that were becoming even less accurate by the minute.

((Continued.))

"Not a...chance in hell," Cyrus managed to croak out through what felt like broken ribs pressing down on his lungs. "Not without me..."

Rimyx roared a laugh, strolling over to where Cyrus lay. "You ain't got the strength to breath right, much less run. Sit this one out," He said, making Cyrus' eyes widen in frustration and anger as he looked up at Rimyx.

"All that sticking... together bull..." Cyrus started, to which Rimyx shook his head.

"If the three of us go down, they won't think to come up here and see if anyone stayed behind. It's that or they come up here and find all of us. Not like we'd let them have one of our wounded," He responded rather confidently. He patted Cyrus' shoulder, standing and strolling over to Veare, who had taken a few bottles from his pack.

Veare, Gyose and Rimyx poured the clear conents of the bottles onto themselves until they were all soaked. "They won't be taking us alive, Cyrus... but at least one of us will make it outta here. You being injured means you're stuck with spreading on our cause to others, and who knows? Maybe the Kron 5 will come to be remembered for this. Nobody likes a glory robber."

Cyrus lay back, closing his eyes as he waited for it. Seeing that he wasn't going to get a response, Rimyx nodded to the others, who joined him at the edge of the slope.

With a quick flick, Veare's lighter ignited all three into a blaze.

At first, Cyrus was unsure they'd do it, but the sound of a warcry getting fainter and farther away told him they'd committed. The three orcs were at a full sprint down the slope, shouting to the top of their lungs as they collided with the Alliance forces in a shower of fire and weapons. A brief moment of metal meeting at high velocity was followed by an odd silence.

The tense silence broke when the seige engines started again and the shelling stopped. They were moving away.

Cyrus cursed under his breath, mentally crying out for them to come for him as well. He'd not bear the shame of living while the others met their deaths. Even in the end, Rimyx and the others had refused to be trophies for the Alliance, and had ensured their bodies would be utterly destroyed.



The last memories Cyrus would have of his comrades would be the smell of burning skin and the echo of their final warcries. Even though he'd failed to bring Rimyx back, he had to admit that it would never be the same.

Reforging old bonds may seem honorable in nature, but nothing ever binds back as strong after being broken. New bonds would be needed to ensure that the strength Rimyx believed in survived in a weakening world.

((Great ending! This was a TON of fun to RP out in game and on the forums.))

((And say it with me, everyone: YAY! Cyrus and Ciellia are back!))

((YAY! I've been enjoying reviving Cy and Cray's antagonistic relationship!))