World of Warcraft®

((Osuru, come play with us. CC is well known for its interesting stories and welcoming attitude.))

The sun dipped below the horizon. Harmyone looked up at the sky, watching the lavender sky turn into a deeper shade of violet, and she smiled. Meriste had departed Azuremyst to report back to Hearthglen. Harmyone returned to Azure Watch, performing the remaining of her duties, before Exarch Menelaous decided to give her the rest of the night.to rest and enjoy herself. She took to walking the paths, breathing in the clean air. A light wind ruffled through the evergreen trees, shaking the branches just slightly. Harmyone trudged on, with no destination and, for once, no trouble on her mind.

Until she noticed a splotch of blood just off the side of the road.

Harmyone paused, crouching down and pressing her fingers into the red pool. It was warm – she was no experienced tracker but she could tell it was flesh. She looked on and saw that there were several more pools of blood leading into the woods. Her first instinct was to run to Azure Watch. She was not foolish enough to go into the woods alone, especially not as the darkness fell. But as soon as she turned, she heard a voice in her head that sent chills up her spine.

“Call for help and this Draenei is more than a few splashes of blood on the ground.”

It was the warlock. Malthaes.

There was no way she could go into the woods. But she also didn’t want to be responsible for the death of a Draenei. She hovered between action and inaction, her body tensed but with no idea which direction to go.

“Do not test me,” she heard in her head, and a shiver of displeasure overcame her when she could, somehow, see more blood splashing to the ground.

“Light,” she said, clutching her stomach. She unsheathed her sword, took her shield from her back, and then raced into the woods. Instinct drove her forward, her eyes darting down to follow the trail of blood. She entered a clearing, and then her entire body went cold.

One of the younger Draenei spun in a circle, floating in midair, completely upside down. Two of the Draenei’s tentacles had been completely severed, the blood running down the young lad’s face. Several other slashes oozed blood from his torso. He looked unconscious – his eyes were closed anyways. And there, standing next to him, was a grinning Malthaes Shadowbough.

Seeing him in person again sent a storm of rage and hate through Harmyone’s body. She shook, barely able to contain it.

“You’re a monster,” she hissed.

“And you do not do as your told,” he said, the smile belying the malice in his eyes. He flicked the knife across the Draenei’s chest, sending another spurt of blood to the ground.

“Stop!” she yelled. Malthaes grinned wider, and then slashed again.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, when someone doesn’t do what they’re told.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.

“I asked you to retrieve the spark of a Naaru for me,” he said simply. The Draenei spun slowly next to him. “Why you didn’t do this simple task is beyond me. This…creature…needn’t have suffered. I drained you for a purpose. If I wanted to kill you I would have done it already. You were put before a Naaru, and you blinked. And so, this happens.”

Malthaes reached over, grabbed the third tentacle from the Draenei’s face, and with one swift motion he swung the knife and removed it. Harmyone growled, pressing forward with her sword. Malthaes turned, his eyes flashing.

“You wish to fight?” he asked with amusement. “I do not spar, young one.”

Harmyone looked at the elf, hatred blazing within her. She knew that she was hopelessly outgunned. He commanded powerful magic, and she did not wield the Light. But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying. The poor Draenei would die soon if she didn’t step in.

“Withdraw your sword. We fight for his life,” Harmyone said.

“Noble,” he said. “But fair. You’ve been practicing your sword skills. I’ve watched.”

“Withdraw your sword and find out how much I’ve improved.”

Malthaes laughed, cold and merciless.

“How about a true challenge, to make this deal more interesting? Thoothun, let’s test the girl’s skills.”

Harmyone heard the thudding of footsteps behind her, and when she turned she saw a hulking felguard looming above her, a heavy axe in his hand. The thing growled, leering at her. She gulped.

“Make sure her body is intact when you’re done,” Malthaes hissed. The felguard roared, charging at her. Harmyone dove, the felguard’s axe thudding into the ground where she stood. She turned, just in time to see the felguard’s hand swing and strike her in chest. The blow sent her flying. With a heavy thud she crashed into the bark of a nearby tree, sliding to the ground. The wind knocked out of her. Her vision spun. The felguard twirled the axe in its hand, charging forward once again. Harmyone dove forward, rolling between the felguard’s knees and then lashing out with her sword. A spurt of hot demon blood came from the creature’s leg, and it bellowed with pain.

“A good strike,” Malthaes said with amusement. “But you’ll have to do better to stop him.”

Harmyone twirled the sword in her hand, holding the shield up. The creature moved slower now, which made him easier to manage. It swung out with its axe, the wind whistling as the blade sailed by her. She ducked it easily, but then the creature kicked out, sending her sprawling. The axe swung down, and she rolled to avoid it.

She kept Tolnaar’s teachings in her head. She needed to be patient. As she stood her ground, dodging the felguard’s attacks, she realized she had the advantage. The axe was heavy, and left it vulnerable to counterstrikes. The creature swung the axe again. Harmyone crouched, the blade singing just above her head, and then she swung her sword upwards. The point of her blade sliced through the flesh of the felguard’s arm, spraying more demon blood in the air. Thoothun howled.

Harmyone rolled forward, hearing the axe thudding into the ground behind her. She spun, and the creature made an angry, clumsy swing at her. She braced with her shield, sending the creature’s axe up away from its body, just as she learned when she trained with Tolnaar. In the next moment she roared, swinging out with her sword with all of her might. The sword arced down, catching the demon at the elbow, severing its arm. The axe and the limb fell uselessly to the forest floor.

The demon bellowed. Harmyone spun her sword, watching it swipe cleanly through the felguard’s knee. The creature toppled forward, blood pouring out of its wounds. The third time she swung the sword, the creature’s head rolled off of its neck, and the demon fell to the ground before blazing into the Nether. She looked up at Malthaes, who clapped.

“Well done, well done,” he said with amusement.

“Let him go now,” she said, pointing at the Draenei.

“We did agree,” Malthaes said, nodding his head. He took out his sword, jutting it into the earth and then resting on the hilt. “It would be disingenuous to renege on a deal.”

“So let him go,” she said. Her eyes met his, the smile still on his face.

“I’ve been honest with you, from the beginning,” he said, looking at her. “I told you that I had no intention of killing you, which is true. It told you that if you got my spark, you would have your Light back. All of this was honest. I exchanged you with Grymmbror on good faith with Gentyl. I have been true to my word.”

“So uphold that word now and set him free,” Harmyone responded. Malthaes frowned.

“But, my dear, you do not understand,” he said, false gravity oozing in his voice. “How has my good faith and honesty been rewarded? Here I stand, spark-less. And you wish more concession from me?”
“We had a deal,” she said, brandishing her sword.

“Indeed, we did,” he sneered. “And you broke that deal. There is a price to pay for ignoring our debts.” He took the blade out of the grass, the smile gone and replaced by that unbridled anger she remembered so well from the dreams she had.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “He did nothing to you.”

“His death is the punishment for your lying,” he hissed. “The death of one of these creatures is nothing to me. You took the head of my servant. Now let me take one of yours.”

Harmyone screamed, but it did nothing to stop the sword from swinging through the air, lopping the Draenei’s head off and hearing the sickening thud of it landing on the ground. The rest of his body spun again, blood pouring onto the ground. It made her sick. She saw the look of rage on Malthaes’s face, and she took her chance. She hurled her shield at him. She watched as it blazed towards him, striking him in the chest, dazing him. With a roar she ran forward and leapt, the sword pointed down in a fatal strike towards his heart. But in the next second a beam of shadow struck her in the chest, sending her flying backwards and the sword falling out of her hand. She landed in the grass in a painful thud.

“Nice trick,” he said. He waved a hand and an explosion of shadow blasted her into the air and then into the ground. Her entire body shook with pain. She could barely lift her head.

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” he hissed. “This is the price for defying me.”

She pressed her gauntlets into the ground, and with every last ounce of energy she had left, she stood. Her knees wobbled, ready to give at any moment. She raised her eyes to him.

“You will not break me,” she said to him. He looked at her.

“I have no intention of breaking you. I’m here to get what I need.”

“You can’t have the spark,” she said. “I’ve already told the Naaru that I refuse it.”

“Indeed,” he said. “But I know something you don’t.”

“And what’s that?”

He flicked his arm, and she felt her own arm move, independent from her own will. He flicked his arm again, and she felt her leg move forward. She looked at him with horror.

“I filled you with demon blood, girl, from the very beginning,” he said, approaching her. “I have seen through your eyes. Watched you. Commanded you from afar. Let my thoughts mix with your thoughts. How did I do this? I didn’t merely drain you of your Light. I mixed you so full of demon blood that right now your body is as much demon as it is human. And because of that, girl, you cannot wield the Light. And because of that, I can control you.”

Harmyone’s eyes widened with horror. She meant to respond, but she could not open her mouth.

“I did not wish to resort to this,” Malthaes said. “A Naaru is powerful enough to see that a human girl is pumped full of demonic. I didn’t think it would trust you if I had piloted you into the Exodar from the beginning. I thought, perhaps foolishly, that if you went in of free will, you would do what was required.”

He got close, dangerously close, his face so close to hers. She wanted to lash out, but she had no control over her body.

“But that is the difference between you and me,” he said. “You, blinded by your principles, decided that you would not seek a power to strengthen yourself. I have no such restrictions. You’ll be going back to the Naaru, and if it does not give me what I want, I’ll have your head sent to Azure Watch along with this Draenei’s.”

Harmyone watched, her mind thinking back to the conversation she had with the Naaru. She had done her best – it would be up to O’ros to see through this and stop the warlock. But she could feel the warlock pressing into her mind, pushing her out.

“Now, let’s get us a spark of the Naaru,” Maltheas said. It was the last thing she heard before Malthaes took her mind, and she faded out.

((I am so caught up in this story, I can't wait to see the next post! O.O))

Malthaes stared through Harmyone’s eyes at the gleaming Naaru floating just up the stairs. He grinned, feeling the grin reflect on Harmyone’s face, and he stepped upwards. He heard tell of the Naaru’s ability to project beautiful music, inaudible and yet perceived by those in a Naaru’s presence. All he heard, however, was the discordant notes of music that indicated, to him at least, that the Naaru was troubled. That the being in front of him was perturbed made him grin further.

You are not Harmyone.

The thought came to him, foreign and yet in his mind.

“And so the wind chime is perceptive,” Malthaes thought in bemusement.

So you are the one that inflicted such cruel pain and torture upon her.

“You misrepresent my work. I merely created some leverage to get what I want.”

At her expense.

“And that is her doing. That she was too weak to stop me is on her shoulders.”

It was strength that allowed her to survive you.

“It was my mercy that allowed her to survive,” Malthaes corrected the Naaru. He walked Harmyone’s body up the stairs, standing in the face of the Naaru with a look of casual disinterest.

Mercy would have stayed your hand from taking her in the first place.

“But then we wouldn’t be having this delightful chat.”

Malthaes turned the girl’s gaze upwards, staring at O’ros from top to bottom. The Light was dazzling, and even he could not deny the immense power radiating from the Naaru’s crystalline body. But he stood fast, not intimidated – the Naaru could do no damage to him while he possessed Harmyone’s body.

“I hope you don’t mind if I abstain from kneeling? I do not subject myself to the whims of others.”

I have never demanded the deference of those who visit.

“How magnanimous of you,” Malthaes thought. “How exceedingly gracious.”

What have you come here for aside from mocking me?

“Let’s not feign ignorance now,” Malthaes thought, wrinkling Harmyone’s face in a sneer. “You know exactly what I’ve come here for.”

A spark, O’ros chimed, the music growing increasingly discordant. Something you desire so much that you nearly destroyed this young girl to obtain it. And yet not enough to request it yourself.

“Am I not here now?”

Under the guise of someone else, using an innocent girl as a shield. Would it not have been a greater triumph to wrest what you wanted on your own power?

“Taking this girl was my own power,” Malthaes thought. “She is mine to control and command, by my will and by my skill. You court my pride at the expense of underestimating my intelligence. I am not foolish enough to stand against a Naaru alone and hope to claim victory.”

And so you subvert rather than conquer?

“It is no different than killing a warrior in his sleep rather than standing against him in combat. Same result, less risk, more effectiveness.”

But with no honor.

“Honor is nothing but a sentiment,” Malthaes thought. “It yields nothing but foolish ideals and even more foolish behavior.”

You once believed in honor.Malthaes paused, hesitating. If anyone else had said this, save Anyanara, he would have taken it as a bluff. But the Naaru seemed above lying, above such deceitful tactics.

“Did I?”

You once believed in honor. In a sense of duty, responsibility to others. You were a powerful mage in your time, and you courted one of the fiercest defenders of the Light in all of the elven kingdoms. You’ve come far from those days.

“The days where I was a slave to another’s moral codes, a servant to their convictions. I follow my own. I pave my own way.”

Indeed. Though that did not stop you from beseeching the Light and Naaru for assistance when you needed it most. Malthaes twisted Harmyone’s face into an unpleasant scowl.

“You seek to play mind games with me while I hold the girl’s fate in my hands?”

Not games, Malthaes. It is no game to remind you of where you came from. It was not a game when one of your own, a fellow Blood Elf, rammed a knife into your side while in the Netherstorm and drained you of your magic. It was real when he then tossed you off the side of a floating island, leaving you to die as you fell helplessly through the Nether.

“That’s enough,” Malthaes said.

You fell, weak and unable to do anything, and you beseeched the Light and the Naaru. We heard your call as you fell through the Nether.

“And you did nothing,” Malthaes thought with malice. “You let me fall.”

But you gave us no chance. You summoned your imp as you fell, and the imp took you through the Nether to safety. And then after, when Anyanara tried to help you heal, you insisted on rebuffing her. You pushed her away. The Light away. Because you thought it left you powerless.
“Enough,” Malthaes hissed.

You did not have faith that we would save you, and in so doing you turned to a power that since has consumed you. You felt powerless, left weak at the hands of one of your fellows, and what have you done since then? You could have joined with Anyanara and helped to empower the weak to stand against those who seek to sow malice and chaos. Instead, you have made your life as a monster, inflicting a pain upon others that you would not bear yourself.

“These people aren’t victims,” Malthaes raged. “These Draenei, your wretched Alliance – they are the agents that use and discard allies as if they are tools. You Naaru wield mortals as your own puppets, toy soldiers to dispense against your foes in the Burning Legion. Do not pretend you do not manipulate the weak to achieve your own ends.”

The mortals fight with us, not for us.

Malthaes laughed, the girl’s voice echoing in the Seat of the Naaru.

“And yet you do not see fight to help your allies in their time of need. You could have spared the girl this torture if you used an iota of your power to cleanse her of the demonic.”

I would not need to if you did not take her in the first place.

“Semantics.”

Reality. We would not need to undo the suffering in the world if those that resided in it would take care of one another rather than antagonize, bully, victimize. What happened to you was abominable, but does not grant you the right to victimize others in turn. You drain the girl of the Light, the druid of his humanity. You kill, maim, and torture to achieve your own gains. You claim power but you show desperation, an attempt to ward away the feelings of hopelessness and dread that you once felt at the hands of another. Rather than learn from it, you let it drive you to horrific actions to achieve a sense of comfort.

“All irrelevant,” Malthaes thought. “I do not feel remorse for the things I’ve done. This girl? She is leverage to get what I need. You speak of guilt, blame, when I only look at the position we’re in. I stand to lose nothing, and she stands to lose everything. At the base of it, you know in that shiny, arrogant, and omnipotent heart of yours, you know that I hold all the power here. You could attempt to blast me out of the girl’s body, and undoubtedly you could do it. But you know I would fight, and the resulting conflict would scar her forever. Render her completely useless. A shell. You would not pay such a price to achieve your ends. I would do it a thousand times over and never blink.”

You would doom yourself to darkness unnecessarily. It is not too late to turn back from your madness. The Light embraces all who turn to its wisdom.

“And abandons all those who turn to it for protection,” Malthaes thought.

You do not see what is truly there. All you see is tainted by your lust for power. Your need of it. You are a slave to your desires.

“I am a slave to no one,” Malthaes thought back, his temper flaring. He had half a mind to incinerate the girl’s body here in front of the Naaru.

And yet here you stand, in the young girl’s body, without the thing you came here for.

“If you do not give me the spark, I will kill her. Your choice.”

A false choice. You could retreat and not kill her.

Malthaes laughed, and spoke through the girl’s voice.

“You would kill me, O’ros? Condemn me to die to make a point?”

I appeal to your better instincts, because I know you have them. You do not need to do
this.

“Don’t let him do this to me,” Malthaes said, speaking through the girl’s voice. A wound opened on the girl’s cheek, blood blossoming from the wound. “It hurts.”

You would destroy her and still not have a spark.

“The blood is on your hands, Naaru,” Malthaes thought, and the wound elongated. More blood dripped from her face. “You can end this.”

To give you the spark would undo all the progress your people have made. You would deny your people to prove a point? Your Sunwell gives them hope.

“You speak of choice and yet you gave none to the Blood Elves when your precious M’uru and your fawning Draenei rebirthed our Sunwell to your own creation. The new well will be born of Blood Elf intent, to a Blood Elf’s purpose. You manipulated, subjugated, all to advance your puny Light. I will not repeat myself, Naaru. Give me a spark or I will split this girl open, and her blood and sinew will reflect your glorious Light so that all can see the price one pays in service to such a cruel and dishonest power.”

The music from the Naaru clanged, the dissonance unpleasant in his mind. He had clearly pushed the Naaru to anger.

You do not see all ends, Malthaes. The spark will be your undoing if you continue on this path.

“I see far enough,” Malthaes thought. “Give me the spark.”

There was a pause, the horrible music growing louder in his head. For a second he thought the Naaru would balk, and he prepared to split the girl asunder. But the Naaru emitted a brilliant flash of light. He threw the girl’s hands up to shield her eyes. In the next moment, a blazing orb of Light hovered in front of him.

Take your prize, Malthaes. I hope you find the price worth what you receive.

It did not sound malicious, merely sad. Malthaes turned the girl’s face into a sneer.

“When I draw power from the Voidwell, the first thing I will do is come for you,” Malthaes said through the girl. “I will turn you to your Void state, and you’ll thank me for empowering you.”

You have what you came for. Take it and go. You will not touch this girl again.

Malthaes reached out with the girl’s hands. Her fingers touched the spark, and an immense heat and warmth flowed through her. He gazed up at the Naaru in victory, and then –

He was in the woods, back in his own body. The spark was still in his hands, glowing against the darkness of the Azuremyst forest. He tried to enter the girl’s mind again, but he found he could not. The Naaru had purged his demonic power over her.

“An unfair trade for you, Naaru,” he said, looking down at his glowing prize. His heart pounded in his chest. “Piztal.”

The imp appeared next to him chattering.

“Back to Quel’danas. We do not have much time to change this to a Void Spark. We must go.”

The imp grabbed the hem of his robes, and they disappeared in a flash.

(( Bravo! ))

The sun was setting, and Finnaeus needed to make a decision.
He stood atop Mardenholde Keep, his favorite spot. Suppressing a cough, he watched as a few of the Argent Guards patrolled the area. With a sigh he moved closer to the edge of the keep, the toes of his boots jutting out over space. He had to make a decision, and yet he was finding it difficult.

It hadn’t been too long ago that he requested permission from Gentyl to infiltrate Silvermoon again. The request came as a surprise to the Sepha, for obvious reasons – the last time he went behind those enemy lines, he was temporarily disabled by the warlock and had to be sent to the Emerald Dream to recover. Even he was not thrilled in going back there. But the scarier alternative was letting Malthaes run free. Finnaeus had to stop him from turning the Sunwell into his own personal font of Void Power.

She insisted that he bring someone along, a request he could not easily oblige. Perhaps it was that in the initial days of his stealth training, Desmend had taught him to trust and rely only on himself. Maybe it was that he did not wish to endanger anyone else in the mission –though the Presidium did not lack able guards who were more than up to the task,
Finnaeus had not had the chance to work with any of them personally, and he was loathe to put them in the line of fire against such a cruel and formidable warlock. And, if he was honest with himself, part of it was a sense of pride. Malthaes had gotten the better of him last time they met. He wanted to even the score.

He coughed again, the tightness in his chest increasing. The cough disappeared last he visited Erelyn, but it had returned a few days later. The clock was ticking on Finnaeus’s time, and he could not afford to waste anymore. So far he only had a persistent cough, but lately his right hand shook for no reason. How much longer could he wait before his instincts slowed, his reflexes dulled? Gentyl had noticed his condition last they spoke, and Kordrion and Erelyn practically berated him for not taking care of himself. He shivered, recalling their reaction to the decision he made. His life for information he never would have had otherwise. Reckless, they called it, selfish. Perhaps. But he made it knowing that the path ahead was clear.

Despite his predicament, he cast no thought towards his own life. Instead he trained all of his thought to Silvermoon, and to the magic font of power in the Sunwell. He thought of alternatives to going back there. Diplomatic gestures through the Horde? AAMS couriers? A strategic strike? All of them carried their risks, and would take time to coordinate. Time that he, nor the Sunwell, truly had. A small, tactical hit would be the perfect way to counteract the warlock. Finnaeus knew Malthaes would be by the Sunwell, and could therefore spring the trap.

He watched the grounds in Hearthglen, his heart pounding. He told Gentyl he would consider taking someone along, but on this mission he could not. He promised her that, upon return, it would be his last solo mission, and that he would re-focus his efforts on building up the ghosts, training the new recruits. He would spend more time in Hearthglen, teaching and training. And he would live up to that word, should he manage to procure himself a future. He coughed again, as if the debt he paid was reminding him of his cold reality. But he didn’t have time to spare a thought to the warlock’s spell.

“The balance must be preserved,” Finnaeus muttered into the wind. His life’s motto. No sacrifice was too great to protect the balance. He had grand plans should he live. He would re-dedicate to the Pia. He would spend more time with Erelyn and Kordrion, helping them grow and teaching them all he knew. He would fight against the Modas and help bridge people together. But that future would have to wait, and if that was the price he had to pay to ensure that the Modas would not wield such a terrible power, then so be it. Those who survived him would understand in time. But that did not make the choice easier. His heart clenched again, taking in Hearthglen as if it was the last time he would see it again.

Stepping off of the roof of Mardenholde, twisting into the form of a crow, Finnaeus flew off into the air. He cast aside all thoughts of those he loved, and the horrible debt hovering above his head, like the guillotine waiting to plunge. He had no room in his mind save for one task.

He had a warlock to kill.

The Naaru’s spark hovered over his desk, the light dazzling and blinding. Malthaes lowered goggles over his eyes to get a better glimpse of the object. It pulsed with energy, almost limitless power. His eyes raked over the crystalline orb at the center of the Light. It was perfectly circle, with no imperfections. It pulsed with Light, giving off brilliant rays of warmth. He could almost hear the music of the Naaru, dimly playing at the very edge of audibility. He grinned, licking his lips.

“What real music we’ll make when I’m done,” he said to himself. He reached over and picked up his ceremonial dagger. The demonic runes engraved on the blade sparked and singed green. Light from the spark glanced off of the blade and hissed. Malthaes grinned, lowered the blade, and pushed the sharp end into the spark ever so slightly. Almost instantaneously the blade quivered, meeting impossible resistance. Malthaes pushed further, the point penetrating the spark’s surface, and the blade glowed with a golden hue before smashing into a million pieces. Malthaes dropped the hilt, and peered closer. A thin crack had formed in the spark. He smiled wider.

With eager anticipation, Malthaes picked up the spark and walked past the orb of Nightmare swirling in its runic prison. He could hear it speaking to him.

Quickly, before it mends.

“I know,” Malthaes said. He passed the orb of Nightmare and reached the far end of his office. Crouching, he took the corner of the plush red carpet and pulled it back. An elaborate purple rune, engraved in the floor, pulsed with energy. With a few words in demonic it flickered and glowed. Above it, a matching rune on the ceiling became visible, also glowing purple. He released the spark of the Naaru, and it hovered between the two.

Those runes will not stand in the face of such Light. They will be purged.

“I am counting on it,” Malthaes said. “These runes are runes of summoning. They can open the gateway for demons to enter into the world. Greater than lesser demons, but nothing too potent. The gateway will lure these demons to try and enter through the portal.”

And the spark will attempt to purge anything coming through.

“Correct,” Malthaes answered. He looked over his shoulder, watching the Nightmare swirl upon itself faster, as if excited. “It will attempt to purge the portals. The stress of such a task will drain it of its power. Damaged, weakened, it will follow its natural life course, and turn into a Void spark. Much like M’uru turned to its Void state when the Blood Elves had damaged it beyond repair.”

How long?

“It will happen quickly. M’uru was a full Naaru. This is but the spark.”

Malthaes raised his left hand to the ceiling, and lowered his right to the rune on the floor. He began the ritual of summoning. Purple energy swirled around him, the room growing a bit darker. Purple beams of shadow erupted from his hands, one connecting with the ceiling rune and the other with the floor rune. Both of them glowed brighter, and the patterns began to move. The runes spun, faster, until he could only see a constant blur of purple energy. He watched, grinning, as green eyes appeared at the edge of the purple. A demon.

Suddenly the spark blazed to life. A column of brilliant Light erupted from it, shooting into the ceiling and blasting into the floor. There was an otherworldly screaming coming from the portals, as the Light from the spark disappeared through the portals and into the Nether.

It’s working.

“Of course it is,” Malthaes said, lowering his hands as the portals swirled on their own.

Without the goggles Malthaes would have been blinded. He watched as the spark pulsed with energy, spiraling Light above and below it. Piztal chattered next to him, pointing at the rune on the floor. A giant clawed hand of a powerful demon had reached through the floor, gripping the carpet. The Light blazed downwards, striking the hand and sending it screaming back into the Nether, cursing.

Malthaes watched, for how long he knew not. Outside sun had disappeared and the dark of night had settled in. The time passed, his eyes drawn to the Light burning above and below him. After a period of time he had an idea. He raised his hand, chanting, and a bolt of shadow erupted from his hands and launched at the spark. The shadow hit the outer halo of the spark and collided violently. Sparks flew from where they collided. He blasted again, and again, each time the shadow colliding with the Light. He leaned forward and saw that the small crack he put in the spark had widened. The Light of the spark grew dimmer.

It is growing dimmer. Keep going.

“We must be careful,” Malthaes said. “Too much structural damage will destroy it completely. It needs to be Void, not destroyed.”

We do not have much time.

He turned, the Nightmare swirling faster, pushing against the barriers of the crystal orb that contained it. The runes on the glowed with the effort to contain it.

“We will get there,” Malthaes said. He turned his gaze back to the spark, and saw that the Light grew dimmer. “We are but the catalyst. It will fall into a Void state on its own, with enough provocation.”

The beam of Light spiraling into the ceiling grew thinner. Malthaes could see a pair of gleaming red eyes lurking just beyond the portal, waiting for the Light to subside. He would have to be careful lest he let a demon run amok in the office. He raised his hand, chanting, and the portals above and below the spark closed. The runes had depleted, the energy glow completely gone. Only the scratches in the surface remained.

You know what to do.

Malthaes took the spark in his hands, the warmth considerably diminished. He opened the crystal orb to the Nightmare energy, and then thrust it in. He sealed the orb again, and watched as the Nightmare energy swirled over the spark, crawling over the Light. Several bolts of Light cracked against the crystal orb like bolts of Lightning. He saw the Nightmare seep in through the crack in the spark’s structure, and the Light grew dimmer.

Malthaes watched, his heart full with triumph and relish. He licked his lips. With excitement he walked to his door and opened it up, peering through the door. He spotted a Blood Knight standing down the hall, undoubtedly put there by Anyanara to keep an eye on him.

“You,” Malthaes said, pointing at him. “Send for Anyanara and tell her I request one final visit to the Sunwell. Then my business will be concluded. Tell her that tomorrow will do.” He paused, and then grinned. “Tell her that sunset will work best.”

The Blood Knight nodded, and marched down the hallway. Malthaes closed the door behind him, and he strode towards the orb of Nightmare. He peered through the dark cloud and saw that the spark had dimmed significantly.

“As the light dies, the shadow is born,” he said, nearly giddy with anticipation.

The gleaming waters of the Sunwell glittered before him. The golden waters of holy and arcane energy lapped gently against the well’s edges, a soothing sound to couple with the warmth of the air around it. It was supposed to bring comfort, joy, relief, and, most importantly, hope to a broken and endangered people. Malthaes could not find it in him to wipe the smile off of his face as he watched the waters gently ebb and flow, taking in its serenity. No, he thought with smug malice, passivity. There was no urgency to the waters, no agency or action. It was simply Light, rocking back and forth with no intent or purpose. It was, as he came to believe, a symbol of everything wrong with kingdom of Quel’thalas. Without purpose, content and lazy.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Anyanara said. He flicked a gaze towards her and wrinkled his nose. The look on her face disgusted him. Her expression reeked of gratitude, appreciation, even joy, at this new Sunwell.

“Not yet,” Malthaes muttered to himself, grinning. He compulsively cast a glance to his left and saw the giant wooden crate next to the Sunwell. In it was the orb of Nightmare energy and the Spark of the Naaru, both of them just about ready to fulfill his purpose.

“How much longer until you complete your research?” Anyanara asked, looking at him.

“My research is complete,” he said, returning his gaze to the Sunwell’s waters.

“Then why is your crate here at the well?” Anyanara responded, an eyebrow raised with curiosity.

“A few last touches,” he said. A silence fell between them.

The sun had set on the isle of Quel’danas, and the guards were patrolling the outside of Sunwell Plateau. Anyanara secured them time alone by the well – probably, as Malthaes suspected, to get one last shot at something personal between them before she finally gave up on him. He expected this, and relished that he would not have to spill any unnecessary Blood Elf blood to achieve his ends. Only Anyanara would be present to see his rebirth of the Sunwell.

“Where will you go when you leave here?” Anya asked, her tone even and polite, unnaturally formal.

“I’ll take my findings back to Lord Aziel,” he said. “No doubt he’ll be interested in the results.”

“I find it curious that the “lord” of the Modas would be invested in cleansing corruption rather than spreading it.”

“You continue to betray your own prejudices,” he responded in good humor. “Lord Aziel’s mission is to cleanse the corruption of this world.”

“If you would call life corruption,” she said. “That you serve such a monster…it makes my skin crawl.”

“Serve…perhaps that’s a strong term,” he said. “I endeavor to ascend the ranks of the Modas, and that involves quite a bit of personal subjugation. But he knows, I suspect, that the many in his employ are agents of their own agendas. While these agendas align, there can be cooperation. He knows this, because he knows trust and faith are blinding ideals, as substantial as the wind and just as fickle.”

“I marvel at how quickly you’ve mastered cynicism.”

“It is true,” Malthaes responded. “We trusted the humans, once. It was the humans that nearly purged us from this world. We trusted Prince Kael to lead us to prosperity, and he sold us to the Burning Legion. Trust and faith are dangerous, like putting on a blindfold and stepping onto a minefield. One can trust that their allies will guide them through it. More likely they are to push you onto a mine and claim for their own what was once yours.”

“Perhaps you came to this conclusion because you associate yourself with those who would do such a thing,” Anya said. “There are those who would honor that trust.”

“Fools, then,” Malthaes said. “I would rely on no one but myself. I can trust my own motives.”
“But you do not have eyes in the back of your head. Who will look out for you when you close those eyes and rest? Or when your back is to the open and the darkness blinds you?”

“It is the Light that blinds,” Malthaes said, grinning now. It was nearly time. He turned to her, gaining her full attention. Behind Anya a glowing green rune appeared on the ground. He would need her to step onto it, which would imprison her. Then he would have the Sunwell to himself.

“Why did you come here, if you hold such a contempt for the Light?” Anya asked, staring at him. “You hate it and yet you need the Light to cure this corruption you are researching. A bit hypocritical, is it not?”

“Oh no, you’ve just simply misunderstood,” he said, leaning forward. “The Light is the corruption I’m studying.”

“I don’t follow,” she responded.

“This miraculous piece of work,” he said, sweeping his arm over the Sunwell’s waters, “Can be seen two ways. In your eyes, it is redemption, satisfaction, and a blanket to warm you in the cold of night. It saves you of your addiction, and it allows you to wield the Light.”

“The other?”

“It is a pacifier,” he said. “A gift from our enemies, a curse inflicted upon us to sedate our people, to keep us in line. The one thing that Kael had correct, Anyanara, was that he knew that the Elves of Quel’thalas could no longer sit idly and wither as a proud people. He knew we needed to take action, to find stronger sources of power to embolden us against our multiplying and deadly enemies. Inaction and complacency led us to destruction at the hands of the Undead. We were sure that we had the power to defend ourselves. Blinded by our arrogance.”

“But Kael’thas would have us as servants to the Legion,” she said, looking horrified. “You are saying this is right?”

“No,” he said. “But I also believe we cannot become complacent. And your Sunwell has done that. Forced upon us by the very enemy we fight. Wielding a power that is sedate, conditional, and full of sacrifices to some false ideals that we do not share as a people. This Sunwell is a shackle, clipping our wings to keep us grounded when we are meant to soar.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that this Sunwell is but a shadow of what it could be,” he said. “And I will not let some false Draenei prophet and his shimmering paragons of Light blind our people into becoming the submissive creatures that we’ve become.”

“You seek to destroy the well?” she asked, grasping the hilt of her sword. “I cannot allow it.”

“An addict’s defense,” he said. “I will not destroy the well. But I will rebirth it, to the benefit of all of Quel’thalas, so that we may wield a power strong enough as befitting of our people.”

“You’re mad,” she said, withdrawing her sword. “How could you do this?”

“Like this,” he said, and he flicked his wrist. The wooden crate splintered apart, and the crystal orb of swirling Nightmare floated in the air, spinning and coming to rest hovering over the Sunwell. The black cloud crackled with power, and at the center was a dark spark.

“Stand down or I will run you through,” Anyanara said. “I told you I would not hesitate to raise a sword to you if need be. If you will not see reason, Malthaes, if you will not see through this madness that has overcome you and be more the elf I once loved, then you will force me to disable you.”

“Idle threats,” he said. “Bronrida, please take care of this…distraction.”

There was a crack, a pop, and suddenly a whip coiled around Anyanara’s throat. She dropped her sword, her eyes wide with shock. Behind her, the succubus laughed, her demonic wings flitting in anticipation. She jerked the whip, pulling Anyanara backwards towards the rune.

“To business,” he said. He waved his hand, and the runes on the crystal orb dimmed and died. The crystal orb exploded, and the dark cloud of Emerald Nightmare expanded over the Sunwell. The Sunwell’s waters lapped angrily against the edges.

Malthaes chanted, energy coiling around him. Below him a violent red rune spread on the ground, crackling and hissing with power. A red vortex of energy rotated around him, rippling through his robes and his cloak. He raised his hand, and a huge beam of shadow erupted from his fingertips and met with the Emerald Nightmare. The cloud thundered angrily, responding to the input of energy. The room seemed to dim save for the bright light of the Sunwell. The waters began to spin.

To his right, Anyanara struggled with the succubus. She grasped at the whip, her breath coming in tight wheezes. She lifted her hands and a harsh blast of light emanated from them and struck the succubus. Bronrida howled, the whip loosening. Anyanara spun, the lightning quickness born from her Blood Knight training, and she slid across the floor and grabbed her sword. But Bronrida was gone.

Anyanara wheeled towards Malthaes. She made to run at the warlock, but the succubus appeared from nowhere.

“Going somewhere?” she crooned, and she cracked the whip. It struck across the chest of Anya’s armor, bursting with shadow and sending her flying backwards. She landed roughly, just before the hissing green rune on the ground. Her eyes flicked towards Malthaes, watching him channel power into the black cloud above her, and she realized she didn’t have much time. She watched as the succubus advanced, the sultry smile on her cursed face. With every step the demon cracked the whip, the sound snapping in Anya’s ears and pushing her backwards towards the rune. Bronrida blew her a kiss, and then sent the whip snapping towards her. Anya reached up, her hands glowing with the Light, and she grasped the whip mid-air. The succubus gasped in surprise, and Anya jerked the whip, pulling the demon closer. Anyanara raised her sword, ready to give the killing blow, and –

A firebolt struck her in the chest, blasting her backwards. Her foot stepped onto the green rune, and a pillar of green light spun upwards. Piztal chattered, hopping excitedly. Bronrida smiled, blowing another kiss at Anyanara as she turned away from the paladin.
Malthaes turned, grinning. He watched as Anya tried to wield the Light to escape her prison, but it would only cause her pain. He had her trapped.

“No more distractions,” Malthaes said, turning back towards the Emerald Nightmare. He refocused his efforts, channeling more energy into the cloud. Soon it would be ready to plunge into the Sunwell. It would only take a few more moments. Victory was so close, he could taste it. It would only –

A deafening scream filled the air. He turned, and he saw giant black cat clenching its jaws around Bronrida’s neck. A sick crunch filled the air, the succubus’s head turning awkwardly, and the body disappeared into the Nether with a burst of flame. In the next moment, the great cat swiped at Piztal, who disappeared before the blow hit. The cat turned towards Malthaes, its gleaming eyes glittering with hatred and purpose. Malthaes sneered.

It was Finnaeus of the Presidium.

Finnaeus changed into his human form, fury emanating from every inch of his body. He looked at the warlock, studied his gaze. Was it fear that he saw? Or simply frustration?

“You’ve gone far enough, Malthaes,” Finnaeus said. “It ends now.”

“Oh it does indeed,” the warlock responded. “You’re too late.”

Finnaeus snarled, leaping forward into his cat form. With a great bound he leaped into the air and struck the warlock. The force of the blow sent him sprawling off of the rune and onto the ground. Finnaeus wasted no time swiping at the elf, blood spurting violently into the air. There was a blast of shadow, and he felt himself lifted off of the warlock and onto the ground. He spun, gathering to his feet, just in time to see a wave of fire blasted at him. He ducked it, leaping forward, but another blast of fire hit the ground where he stood. The concussion sent him backwards, hitting the wall of the room before slumping to the ground. He shook it off, striding forward again, but the constant barrage of fire would not let him advance. He spun into his human form.

“Is the cat declawed?” Malthaes asked gleefully, blood blossoming from his robes. “Does the kitten fear a bit of flame?”

With a twirl of his hands roots sprouted from the ground, latching onto the warlock’s hands and feet. Finnaeus charged forward, turning into his ursine form. Malthaes waved a hand, the roots disappearing into nothing but ash, but Finnaeus raised a paw, roaring and swiped at Malthaes. The impact sent the warlock flying, his elven body bouncing off of the ground with a sickening thud. He looked up, blood oozing from his mouth, and inexplicably he was smiling.

“Brute force,” he said, “Can be counteracted with a strategic advantage.” He waved a hand, and horrific visions filled Finnaeus’s head. He could see his wife dying, his daughter dying, the blood coming from the vicious knife wounds in their chests. All he could see was blood, everywhere – but that wasn’t right, he was at the Sunwell –

He came too, the visions disappearing from his vision, just in time to see that his body was on fire. Before he could turn and cleanse himself of the fire, the flames conflagrated, exploding and sending his ursine form thudding backwards. He spun, reverting to his human form, and in the same motion cleansed the immolation from his body. Patches of his skin screamed with pain from the burns.

Finnaeus looked up at the cloud of Nightmare. It raged, unchecked, crackling with purpose. He could hear its voice echoing in the chamber, a voice of unrestrained rage and power. Malthaes followed his gaze, backing up towards his red rune of power.

“It’s too late,” he crowed.

Finnaeus leered towards the cloud. He saw that Malthaes already had qcquired a Naaru’s spark, and it had already been converted into a Void Spark. With a chant his hands glowed green, and a beam of silver moonlight appeared in the middle of the cloud. The Nightmare hissed, spreading to avoid contact with the Light. In the center he got a good look at the spark. It had a thin crack on its side, but it pulsed with dark energy. Finnaeus’s mind worked rapidly, piecing things together.

“Your puny druid magic cannot compare to the might of mine,” Malthaes roared. Finnaeus turned, a blast of fire heading in his direction. He dodged it, and then he felt a violent shudder through his body. He coughed, and when he raised a hand to his mouth, he felt the warmth of blood oozing out of his mouth. Was Ursula claiming her debt now? He needed more time.

“Not yet,” Finnaeus he said, trying to overcome the onset of weakness that slithered over his body. He looked up in time to see another burst of flame approaching with frightening velocity. He leaped out of the way, but the warlock debt he bore slowed him. He howled, the flame striking his arm and sending a scorching burn up his skin. He cursed, and he turned his attention instead to mending his arm before the damage spread. The moonlight he conjured disappeared completely. Malthaes laughed, and then waved his arm. A wall of fire erupted from the ground between himself and Finnaeus, the green flames shooting twenty feet into the air. The heat from it was overpowering. He backed off, sweat pouring from his brow. He couldn’t get close to the warlock, who had now stepped back onto the rune. The beam of shadow reconnected with the Nightmare, and it pulled together again, swirling with purpose.

He’s holding it together, Finnaeus thought, his eyes training upwards. Giving the Nightmare power. Finnaeus saw that as the Void spark pulsed, the Nightmare cloud around it grew thicker, more violent. The beam of shadow that Malthaes produced kept the Nightmare from growing too fast, from tearing the spark apart. He had to knock Malthaes off of the rune, but the walls of flame were too thick. They would melt him before he could get through. And even then, Malthaes wouldn’t let him close enough to do the deed. He coughed again, the blood flowing more freely now. But he ignored it.

There is a way you can do this, he thought. The idea of turning into his worgen form around the warlock unsettled him, but what choice did he have? He could control it now – why else did he go to the Dream if he would fear himself as he was? And now was not the time to be scared.

Finnaeus turned, his body viciously contorting into its worgen state. He peered at the wall of flame, lowered onto all fours, and then snarled.

“This is it,” he said, and he charged forward.

Malthaes felt victory coming. Despite the vicious gashes in his chest, the blood flowing from the wounds on his head, he knew he had victory. The Nightmare grew above them, and the Sunwell’s waters spun as violently as the Maelstrom. It was almost time.

He turned to Anyanara, who banged on the column of green light trying to escape. He could hear her screaming at him, begging him to stop. But he would not relent. She would know true power when the Voidwell filled her with energy. He turned his head to refocus his effort, when he heard a terrifying roar. He spun and saw a worgen leaping through the air, appearing through the walls of flame, its eyes narrowed with a wild malice. It landed with a thud before him, and before he could move, it lashed out, its claws ripping into his shoulder. He grunted, knocked off the rune from the blow.

“You have angered me for the last time, dog,” Maltheas snarled, and he curled his hands.

“I am no animal,” Finnaeus responded, his once pleasant voice graveled with feral rage. Finnaeus charged at him, moving with quick speed, but Malthaes raised his hands to the sky. Burning fire pulsed from his body. Finnaeus howled, the flames lapping at his feet and hands, and he backed up. He had the druid pinned between himself and the wall of green flames.

“You will not get close to me,” Malthaes said, his hands wreathed with flame. “I will burn every inch of flesh from your bones.”

He waved a hand, fire shooting towards the worgen. Finnaeus dodged it with ease, but the dodge took him closer to the wall of fire. Malthaes smiled.

“Why come here, when you are no match for me? Have you come to witness the dying of the Light? See it first hand, druid, when I birth a font of power that will cleave the Alliance and bend its knee?”

“Because there is something far more important than power,” Finnaeus said, narrowing his eyes. “Life, and the balance it takes to keep it from teetering towards oblivion.”

“Well spoken for a mongrel pup,” Malthaes said, stepping back onto the rune. Above him he saw the Naaru’s spark pulsing, the thin crack widening as the unchecked Nightmare drew from it. He would have to channel soon, or the spark would be destroyed. “But ultimately pointless. You cannot stop me.”

He raised his hand, and the beam of shadow struck the Nightmare. It coalesced again, the crack in the Naaru halting. A few more moments of power. He turned and saw that Finnaeus had his eyes closed, his big brutish claws waving, wreathed in green magic. Malthaes laughed, refocusing his effort into channeling into the cloud. With an explosive sound like that of a thunderbolt, the cloud of Nightmare spun upwards, curled, and then flowed downwards into the Sunwell. The room shook, and the Sunwell’s waters crackled in resistance to the Nightmare. Malthaes laughed in victory.

“Your useless druid magic could not prevent this,” Malthaes taunted, leering at the worgen. But Finnaeus kept waving his hands, the green light around his hands glowing deeper. What was he doing, if not trying to stop the Nightmare?

“You embarrass yourself,” he taunted. “Your magic yields no results.”

“Only to those blinded by the pursuit of power,” Finnaeus responded.

“A ridiculous sentiment. You’re on the edge of your own doom, and –”

A huge pain erupted from his chest. He looked down and saw the pointed end of a paladin’s sword jutting out of himself. He could not believe the sight, the sword covered in his own blood. With a gasp, a gasp that felt wet and hot, he turned and saw Anyanara. Tears gleamed from her face. Regret and sadness overcame her. His eyes met her.

“I hate you for making me do this,” Anyanara said, and she twisted the sword. He felt the strength leaving his body. His knees gave way. He blinked at her.

“Anya...I...”

“You may have taken our bright future together away,” she said, leaning forward. “But I cannot let you take away everyone else’s.” She kissed him on the lips. “Good-bye.”

Malthaes turned back to the Sunwell, unwilling to face her. His knees gave out, his body catching on the sword. He felt no more pain, only the sensation of the sword sliding out of his chest. He fell to his knees, blood pouring out of him. It took effort to grasp to the ends of consciousness before it left him. He saw a bolt of pure moonlight appear from the sky, but before he could make sense of it, he closed his eyes, and lost consciousness.

Finnaeus chanted, and a bolt of pure moonlight struck the Naaru’s spark. He channeled all of his might into the blow, and he watched as the crack in the spark grew wider, before finally it exploded. He covered his hands, a great energy exploding outwards and lifting him off of his feet. Shards of the spark glittered outwards from the explosion. He hit the wall behind him. It took a few moments for the dizziness to clear, and when he came to he saw the Sunwell’s waters gleaming with pure Light. The Nightmare, no longer fueled by the Void spark, could not compete against the Light’s purifying energy. He could hear the screaming of the Nightmare, the anguish it felt at its own demise. And then, as quickly as it had all started, the Sunwell’s waters calmed as if nothing had just happened.

He turned and saw the paladin girl rising to her feet. She had eyes only for Malthaes, who was face down, his body turned at an odd angle from the explosion. It didn’t take a mind-reader to have divined that these two had a history. He could not imagine Malthaes as anything else than a cruel monster, but perhaps he was once something more. The turns that life take are often violent and cruel, and not everyone responded to those turns the same. Some turned to monsters.

Before the girl could get to the body, there was a small burst of flame. An imp appeared next to the warlock. Finnaeus made to move, but the imp merely grabbed Malthaes’s body, and then they both disappeared. It was odd that the demon would claim his dead master. A monstrous cough shook his body, and it drove the thought from his mind.

“Thank you, stranger,” the paladin said, approaching him. “I don’t know what conjured a worgen druid to the Sunwell to protect it, but I am glad for it.”

“I’ve been trying to thwart his efforts for some time,” Finnaeus responded, looking at her.

“I should have done the same,” she said. No more tears flowed from her eyes. “I suppose he was right. I was blinded by the Light. By its capacity for redemption. I thought if he got close to its powers…he would see reason.”

“There is no shame in offering the chance at salvation,” he said to her. “It was his choice not to take it. All you could do was hold it out there for him.”

“My people owe you greatly for this,” she said. “I owe you. And I do not even know your name.”

Finnaeus hesitated – she was part of the Horde, and though they fought on the same side here, they could very well be enemies tomorrow. But he also saw the opportunity for an ally in the Horde, and he took his chance.

“Finnaeus, of the Pia Presidium,” he said.

“And I am Anyanara, formerly of the Blood Knights.”

“Formerly?”

“My job here was terminated the moment my superiors learned that I had let a Modas warlock near the Sunwell,” she said. “They gave me a few days to pack my things. I used them to try and save Malthaes.”

“Where will you go now?” he asked.

“Somewhere I can do more good,” she said. “But I’m afraid it leaves me with very little opportunity to give you a gift in thanks for your efforts here.”

“You owe me no debt,” Finnaeus said. “The balance must be preserved, and I will do whatever it takes to maintain it.”

“Then be content in knowing you have an ally, however insignificant, in the Horde.” She offered out her hand. He reached forward to shake it, and in a wild moment he realized he was still in his worgen form. Talking to her as if he was still a human.

You are still a human, Finnaeus thought. His clawed hand took hers, and he shook.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” she said, looking to the Sunwell.

“Indeed,” he responded, backing away from her. While he wanted to share a few moments with her, in the presence of the comforting waters of the Sunwell, he knew he was still in enemy territory, and he had to escape from it. And then he had to confront his fate with another warlock. She was so wrapped up in the Sunwell that he turned into his cat form and stealthed.

“The one thing I wonder is how you got passed my guards?” she asked. But when she turned, he was gone.

Harmyone stood, her stance apart just so. She raised the bow and arrow, notching the arrow, and let it fly. The arrow fell uselessly from the bow, landing in the grass. Exarch Menelaous let out a booming laugh.

“Perhaps you should let Meriste teach you,” he said.

“I think you might be right,” she said, laughing with him. It felt good to laugh. She did not know what happened, but she felt lighter, carefree. She did not feel the constant presence of Malthaes on the back her of mind, and she knew without understanding how that she was finally free of him. With a grin she reached down and picked up the arrow.

“But I’m going to try again, anyways,” she said.

“Perhaps this one will go four feet,” Menelaous said, a warm hand on her shoulder.

“It’ll be progress,” she said.

"And you have plenty of time to grow, little one," he said. She nodded, and then she readied the bow.