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The orc squeezed his shoulder before sitting next to him. “When we met in Northrend, I came across you defending a group of wounded taunka refugees from the Scourge. You’re stronger than this, Druid. The weeping does not suit you.” Isiravos shrugged slightly, still focusing on the waters in front of him. Ror’nack sighed, not looking at the druid. “I’ll have you know I did it. After coming home from the frozen wastes, I found the orc you told me about, and planted an axe in his skull for you.”

Isiravos turned to look at the orc warrior. “You… What?” The orc turned and grinned at him.

“You showed your honor, that day in Northrend. In the coming campaign, you became my friend. I look out for my friends.” Isiravos looked back to the waters.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“Another death on my account, then?” Ror sighed and turned Isiravos to look at him.

“People die, Druid. That’s inevitable. All I did was make sure a death came to someone who deserved it. After all, you can’t protect them all.”

Isa flinched at the last words. “That’s for damn sure… I can’t protect everyone.” He stood up, turning to look unconsciously towards the Moonglade graveyard.

“Don’t go to her grave, Druid… She doesn’t deserve it.” Isa looked at the orc out of the corner of his eye, then sighed and reached for his hearthstone.

“Ror… Thanks.” Isiravos disappeared in a flash, leaving the orc alone. Ror’nack turned towards his drake and started walking towards it.

“There, you pain in the !@#. I talked to him. Now take me home, damn it.”

((3/3))

((Sorry for taking up so many posts! I promise it's within the word limit, I may have just spaced them a little too much. Anyways, once again, I love the idea! Hope you get more entries, I think it's great to have different members of the server share their stories! ^_^))

((Hmm...are excerpts of stories that would otherwise be too large, allowed?))

Yes, just give a set up for the story, and please do enter.

((Nicely written Isiravos. The following has a word count of 2,211))

1/3

Preparing to stride into the Apothecarium, Blackmold removed the tabard he wore to conceal his affiliation with the Rising Sun Fellowship; Blackmold couldn’t allow the uncle to be made aware of those he served. He neatly folded the red and white cloth, slipping it into the backpack he always traveled with. At the same time he hid the Fellowship’s tabard, he also removed a tiny black journal and an ink-stained quill. Holding onto the poison, his journal, the quill, and a small bottle of ink, Blackmold slowly paced into the Apothecarium.

Milling about the lab floor, it was immediately apparent that the Elf wouldn’t be showing himself on the main floor. Of course, no one in their right mind would hold a private conversation in the middle of a science lab, and so the looked for the doorways to the two side rooms, and walked toward the left. With only two spare cells attached to the laboratory, and one of them housing experimental subjects, Blackmold only had one location to check.

Just like the rest of the Undercity, the hallway he took was made from slick stone, almost as though it were covered in a thin film of slime. Yet, the only thing the hallway ended up leading to was a small, with an open roof from which an ooze filled sac occasionally dripped green ichor from and a single pipe stick from the wall.

Sure enough, there stood an Elf who wore their customary red robes in the middle of the room, and he wasn’t alone; another Blood Elf talked with him, only this one was covered from head-to-foot in dark plated armor. Even from this distance, Blackmold could clearly see that the sword possessed many runes which glowed with unnatural power. It was immediately obvious that this sinister figure was one of the freed death knights, and he knew that the struggle would be terrible if it came down to one.

Though the pair talked, they were unfortunately too far for Blackmold to overhear what was said. Yet, the tunnel was so narrow that he’d be spotted by the death knight as soon as he attempted to get closer.

Bah, this isn’t good! How am I supposed to move in closer without arousing suspicion? The death knight will spot me before I have a chance to get near. Blackmold tightened his grip on the supplies in his hands. Well, this is technically why I bought that poison in the first place. I guess it can’t be helped…

The undead took several steps forward until he was within clear sight of the death knight, but he seemed to ignore Blackmold’s approach entirely, and so the Forsaken went to sit down along an edge of the wall close to where the two spoke.

He sat in absolute silence for a moment and strained to overhear even the slightest whisper. Yet all he could pick up was the faint sound of the ichor occasionally dripping onto the stone ground, which sent a quiet echo down the corridor.

Maybe they stopped talking when the knight saw me. Damn it! I’ve barely arrived and already managed to compromise the mission! Gods, what will I t- Then one of the men he was spying on began to speak. That’s Thalassian - if they’re both speaking in their native tongue then I’ll have the lamest of reports to give Cyaer upon my return. However, almost immediately after Blackmold started to worry, Kel’Tira’s uncle began to speak; this time the language was Orcish, that of the Horde. Well, it’s not perfect, but at least I’m getting half a conversation; hopefully this will do.

The Forsaken warrior set the bottle of ink down on the floor next to him, opened his private journal, and began to write down all that he could overhear from the two men. The entire time that he did so, the little vial of poison was kept balanced in between the pages. Unable to count the time, Blackmold was unsure of how long he sat there undisturbed, but so long as he managed to get what was needed then-

2/3

“And what do we have here? Is this a rat in our midst?”

The voice that spoke was cold and emotionless; it was that of Baelic, the death knight that Kel’Tira’s uncle had been speaking with. Their meeting had just concluded and it was Blackmold’s hope that the knight would have simply ignored him, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Still, the warrior feigned ignorance, and continued to write in his journal. However, he also tilted the journal ever so slightly, causing the vial of poison to fall into his lap. As Blackmold continued to scribble into his booklet, Kel’Tira’s uncle, Velin Sunblaze, strode forward.

“Really? We have an actual rat to deal with?”

Blackmold continued to write, even when both Elves were clearly standing before him. The death knight made a comment in his native tongue, which earned a sneer from his master. “Do it.”

Baelic bent forward, stooping to take the journal from Blackmold’s hands, but the Forsaken quickly snapped his private book closed, and rose to stare vacantly at the two men before him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The death knight stared blankly at the Forsaken trooper, almost as if he weren’t looking at Blackmold but through him; as for Velin, he seemed as though he were amused by the events unfolding. “I think you should hand over the journal.” He said.

Blackmold shook his head. “That simply won’t be happening.”

The undead continued to turn the tiny bottle over in his hands, shaking the vile liquid within. Even an unliving man such as Blackmold was capable of recognizing how tense the situation was, as Baelic and Velin’s eyes all but burrowed into the rotting figure before them. While the death knight continued to stare blankly, his master just smiled calmly, though the look he had was much more sinister. The Elves traded glances with one another before Velin lunged forward and pinned Blackmold against the wall.

“And just how long were you listening in on our conversation, rotter?” The aristocrat hissed to Blackmold.

Even though he no longer required air for breathing, the undead certainly needed it if he wished to speak; unfortunately the weight from Velin’s elbow on Blackmold’s chest made it difficult for him to talk. Still, he managed to suck in enough gasps of air to answer the man.

“There…wasn’t much…to overhear. You see…I’m quite busy…taking notes on…another matter…entirely. Listening…to your conversation…would have been…a waste…of my time.”

With every breathe he took, the undead’s chest struggled to rise, and was pushed down with every finished intake. Velin realized that the conversation would be slow-going at this rate, and eased off some of the pressure he was putting on the Forsaken, but not by much.

“And just what were you taking notes on?”

I’m glad I bought that poison in advance from the auctioneer not too long ago…

Blackmold couldn’t contain his own grin now. “Have you ever fought against a rogue?”

“Hmmph…indeed. Sometimes such affairs can be quite messy.” Velin responded with.

“Yes, they can, and occasionally I encounter some who try to use ulterior tools.” At this point, Blackmold raised the tiny vial of Deathsblood Venom. “You see, I asked the Apothecarium if I could borrow a bottle of poison for my own studies. Some of the venom I’ve encountered in my time is capable of decomposing my flesh even further… Since I hate going into battle unprepared, this seemed like the ideal location to obtain the knowledge I seek…” Well, at least he was telling the truth to some degree.

Velin looked doubtfully at the Forsaken. “And why’d you choose this spot?” He asked.

“Have you ever tried to think while surrounded by scientists tinkering with their own devices? The noise is monstrous. This was the only other room where I could get some peace-and-quiet, but you and your friend here were already in the cell, so I sat outside. After all, the whispers of two men is nothing compared to the rambling of those alchemists.” To add further emphasis to his point, the undead pointed toward the lab where a great deal of glassware could be heard tinkering, as well as the murmur of over a dozen voices.

Velin stared hard into Blackmold’s empty eye sockets. “And the journal? Give it to me so that I can verify what you’re saying.”

3/3

Damn it. I should have ripped out the pages as soon as I was done writing down their conversation…

“You won’t be getting this journal from me; none but I may look through these pages…” Desperate to keep the two Elves from getting a hold of the notes, Blackmold grew heated as he refused them access to the book. “This is all I have left from my previous life, and it’s more precious than anything I could ever have again. Your kind has lost much, very much, but you still would not understand that which I’ve gone through. When you truly lose who you are…then I’ll share the contents of this journal with you. But until that day comes, and not a moment sooner, will you possess this book.”

When the undead finished speaking he gave Velin a cold stare. Blackmold wouldn’t be parting with the journal peacefully.

“Have things your way then, rotter!” The blood knight sneered angrily, and released the undead from his hold.

As the master backed away from the stubborn Forsaken, Baelic lifted the massive sword he held and moved to plunge it into Blackmold’s gut. However, the soldier saw the attack coming, and brought his shield to bear. While side-stepping the incoming blade he also used the barricade to slam the blow off course, which caused it pierce into the wall and become deeply embedded. Instead of trying to free the blade, the death knight switch to an imposing unarmed stance, backhanding Blackmold across the face with his plated glove.

The blow forced the undead to stumble backward, and prevented him from pulling free his sword. Worried that the death knight would overtake him if he reached for the sheathed weapon, Blackmold pulled a crossbow from beneath his cloak and aimed it directly into the cowl worn by his foe. Unfortunately, he had stopped paying attention to Velin’s movements, and the blood knight knocked the crossbow from his foe’s hands. He then gripped the undead by his throat.

“If you don’t wish to die for a second time, then you’ll answer everything I ask of you! What is your name, scum?” He spoke vehemently, all traces of civility gone.

“Elron Narus…my lord. Though, some have taken to calling me Blackmold, on account of the rot on my jaw…” Meanwhile, Velin’s bodyguard busied himself with pulling his sword free from the wall. He then stared at the undead from over his master’s shoulder; in all that time, the death knight’s face remained utterly passive.

“Now tell me everything that you heard the two of us discuss. Don’t leave a single detail out, or I’ll have you killed right here and now…” Blackmold noticed the man’s bodyguard shift to grab his blade more easily.

Realizing that he was defeated, Blackmold sighed. “I overheard you talking about some plants, and a paladin, but that’s all I really gathered.” He paused to recollect his thoughts. “I still won’t give you the journal, but, if you’d like, I’ll have over the poison I’m studying for proof.”

The blood knight glared at Blackmold, making it obvious that he knew he was being lied to. However, the undead had spoken enough truth to be dismissed. Thus, Velin released his grip on the Forsaken’s neck and dropped him to the ground.

“If you tell anybody of what you heard the two of us speaking about, we’ll be sure to hunt you down and make you wish whatever brought you back had left you in the ground… Now get out of my sight, you filthy deader!”

Blackmold retrieved the crossbow that had fallen to the ground, staring Velin in the eyes as he rose. “My lord…” The undead then turned away from the Elves and walked back into the Apothecarium.

Passing by a table, he slipped the vial of Deathsblood Venom among the belongings of the scientists - it’s not like he actually needed the poison in the first place - it was likely that the Apothecarium would have a better chance of finding some use for the venom.

Blackmold continued walking up the steps that would lead him from where the scientists dwelt. As he walked, the undead opened his journal to the latest entries and looked at the last set of words he managed to scrawl before being discovered.

Kel’Tira will be taken care of…

(This is the story I used to launch this character, it is 6 posts long so probably over the limit, but I was encouraged to share it)

Encounter

A gentle breeze ushered in a song of whispered sighs. Nightbirds chorused in the moonlight, as stars lit up the evening sky. In the nobles garden, the party lights were hung. In brightly colored paper lamps the tiny sparks of magic glowed. A tasty feast was offered on tables clothed in red. The wine was chilled as it should be, and crystal goblets shone as if they too held magic's eye. The host was quite the stately gent, his hair was white as snow. The simple name of Elder Darthas of House Jaed was all he would allow. And invitations were not given to the heads of State. But many were the faces who lit up in joy when they received, the simple card of red and gold.

As evening neared the strike of ten upon the ancient clock, the guests were having quiet talks the party winding down. The gate into the garden swung on hinges oiled smooth, and into the gathered host he came, a dark haired elf with stately air. His sable locks were tied in fashions vogue. Lean and tall he strode the path, his boots of black clicked on stone and turned the head of many there. His silken cloak of midnight blue swirled in the evening air, and showed off a lining of palest blue to contrast and compare. The shirt he wore was white and open to his belt. His black trousers fit him to a degree that left no doubt of his masculinity. His eyes were of the deepest green, like limpid pools in forest dark.

His gaze was casual as it wove through out the gathered crowd. Though none seemed eager to catch his eye and many turned away. Not once did the dark eyes linger longer than a nod, and some sighed in relief to note his attention had moved on.

A servant in her livery approached him as she should, offering to take his cloak and handing him some wine. His gaze was slight as wine was not what he would have preferred. But gracious nod was what she got and his cloak as he took the wine. His gaze then caught the Elder's face as he became aware, the party had grown quite still, as all had turned to stare.

"By the grace of all that shines, beneath the Glorious Sun, never would I have guessed to see the likes of you." the Elder's words seemed sung. They rang through out the garden as the guests let out a murmer of surprise. The stranger smiled and strolled to where the Elder sat his chair. "My father does me honor to remember who I am. I bid you all to relax, the party's just begun. For on this day I have returned. From Northrends chilly grasp." he knelt in homage to be sure, and smiled in secrecy. For the time had come to claim his right as firstborn to the family.

"Behold my son, Kainthal his name. He has returned to claim his right, I shall give him that. I am too old for fighting, and it is his by right. So party on and celebrate, and I will soon retire."

Kainthal looked upon the face he had expected to be cruel, in surprise he nodded and turned to the crowd. "I shall bring the name of Jaed to its Glory as of old." For another hour the party rambled on, though guests were leaving one by one and still the moon did glow. The nightbirds chirped a chorus, and the breezes settled down.

A hush fell on the remaining few as they heard a different sound.Through the garden Gate a lovely maiden stepped. Her luxurious mane of auburn hair covered her from crown to waist. Intertwined in lovely strands the glint of beads caught lanterns glow. Her gown was of a deeper green than pine trees have in snow. A necklace of a single emerald encircled by the thinest gold, hung between her ample swells open to the waist. Laced in velvet as the gown that covered what it should, in length it touched the ground. Her delicate face was sculptured art, the perfection of her smile evoked returns from every male. She stepped into the garden with a grace that dancers envy. Her eyes of emerald echoed the gem that hung against her throat, gazed at every face with soft appeal.

Her search was soon rewarded as she caught the Elder's eye. "Forgive me Darthas, I am late." her voice in softest tones.

"Do not fear I am not vexed, at least you did appear, for even late your lovely face lifts up my heart with cheer." the Elder stood to offer her his hand. It was at this moment that the younger elf appeared. His countenance was bland until he caought her eye. Kainthal looked upon the face, that angels did adore. His eyes were darkened by the shadow, but they seemed to glow. His step was light as he walked to her with a smile. To his chagrin she turned away and leaned to kiss his father.

1/?

Darthas blushed to feel her lips upon his cheek. His hand clasped hers in affection. Turning to his son, "This is Saeri, from the House of Traeindelas. Bid her welcome she is my pride and joy." before the words had left his mouth a paler hue had made its way across his features now quite grey.The eyes of Saeri did not see the tall and handsome elf beside her, for her breath was caught in shock as Elder Darthas fell in a heap to the ground.

"Darthas!" she cried in fright as she knelt to his side. Kainthal stood in awe, the beauty of the maiden fair had caught his heart so tight, he could not move.The servants rushed to aid their Lord and healers came to cast their magics upon his form. Moving Kainthas aside in their haste he lost sight of the maid. His reverie broken as he stood in shock. He was prepared he thought.

"Saeri! Do not fear I will not let him die as yet!" he cried as magics filled his hands.The sight of the glow from his elegant hands caused most to gasp in woe. They scattered like leaves as Darthas lay upon the ground stone cold. Saeri would not let him go her arms around his shoulders as she wept. Looking up she spied Kainthal, his magics of dark and twisted fire. "No!" She screamed and sheilded the form of Darthas as he lay in stiffened pose.

"He is my father, I will give him life and make him whole. Though you may thank me later. Move aside, this magic is not pretty and it causes intense pain, when he awakes he will be happy to hold your hand again." Kainthal gestured to the servants and they pulled her free. Her screams would have awakened death if it was near.

But the servants knew better than to cross the younger Lord. They held her fast and looked away as Kainthal cast his spell. The shadowed deepened if it could be said as if the night bled its light upon the form of Darthas as he lay upon the ground. Kainthal smiled a wicked grin as the Elder stirred again, he moved his hand and nightmare spawned as Darthas opened his eyes. Green they glowed with wicked Fel as the corpse sat up and looked around.

Saeri stopped her screams of dread as she looked upon her love. Shock filled her eyes as she crumpled in a faint into the servants hands. Kainthal smirked, "Take her to the Master Suite and lock the door behind." the servants carried Saeri up to the door of the Manor and disappeared inside.

The garden was still except the sound of a raven in a tree, who had been silent until that time. "Nicely done, now finish the job." it croaked into the stillness.

Whatever guests who had been lingering now fled in scrambled haste. The staff waited in frightened whimperings their Lord to make commands. Kainthas looked upon the elf who sat in confusion on the ground. "Rise up Father, and come with me." he ordered the Elder and the creature, for that was what it was, slowly stood. His shambling steps went through the grass and stumbled on the rocks.The younger Lord smiled as his Father came to stand, his eyes as vacant as the stare of death. Though if he could see it simply followed the voice as Kainthas walked to the Manor and went inside.

(to be continued)

The open window allowed the softest of breezes to filter in through the curtains, making them move with gentle stir. Outside the window the raven sat on a branch of the tree looking in. His voice croaked and scratched, "Rise up Saeri, face the day. Your trials have just begun."

Mumbled sounds came from the bed as a bedraggled and sorrow filled elf weakly lifted her head from the pillow. Her eyes gazed around the room in confusion a moment before she sat up and realized where she was. All sleep fled from her eyes as she turned to the window and peered out into the sunshine of the morning. She looked at the raven and her throat caught a breath with shock."Did a raven speak to me? Who are you? I must know!" her voice going from curiousity to anger.

The raven ruffled his feathers and did not speak, preening and clacking his beak he fluttered to the windowsill and peered in through the curtains. His beady black eyes studied her for several moments. The sound he made was that of a raven cawing and screeching as they do, but it almost seemed as if he laughed at her.

Saeri threw a pillow at the window and the raven fluttered out, cawing and cackling as the sound echoed through the courtyard. She got out of the bed and looked down to see her gown from the night before had been removed and a soft nightgown of light blue silk covered her from neck to floor. It would have been modest, if it had not been so sheer. She recognised it as her own and went to the closet to take out a dressing gown of matching hue. The robe covered her with a lot less provocation and she went to the door.

To her shock and dismay it was locked from without. Darthas room had never locked her in before and she pounded on the wood in frustration. For a moment all was still, then the handle turned and a soft voice came to her from beyond. The door did not open.

"Tis I, Hermina, the upstairs maid and I regret I cannot undo the Master's lock. But I will let him know you are awake and he will come." the steps faded away as she left. Saeri leaned her head against the door and her thoughts churned. Why would Darthas... ?Then she paused and the memory of the night before crashed into her mind like shattered glass. She gasped and backed away from the door. In frightened whimpering she sat back on the bed, unsure of the reality of it all. Was Darthas dead or alive? The Master was Darthas...or was it someone else now?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of steps approaching the door. The deep tone of another voice echoed and the door handle glowed with purple fire. Expecting to see who had opened the door, Saeri waited with breath held. The handle turned and the little dark haired maid Hermina opened the dorr and curtsied to her with a nervous smile.

"Good morning, Misstress Saeri, I bring you a small bit of food to break your fast and juice to clear your head." Hermina stepped into the room alone and there was no one behind her that Saeri could see.

Blinking in surprise, Saeri took a breath and nodded to the maid. "My thanks, Hermina. Where is...the Master Darthas?" her voice quavered when she spoke his name. Her eyes watched as Hermina paled and set down the tray.

"He is in the den...but do not go there, please. You would not.." her voice stopped in fright as a deeper voice intoned from the doorway.

"He waits for you there, Saeri. Finish breaking your fast and dress yourself before you come to see him. He will be glad to know how you fare." Kainthal stood in the doorway where he had come only moments before on silent tread. His deep voice and pleasant smile barely registered in Saeri's mind as she gazed at him in confusion.

Kainthal nodded to Hermina, "Make sure the Misstress is treated well and help her as you can. I trust your mouth is not running rampant with falsehood, or you shall have a deeper regret." he warned her with a soft but firm tone. Hermina curtsied low and trembled in awe .He turned back to Saeri then and bowed low. "I will let him know you are awake and prepare him to greet you. Do not tarry, his attention wanes easily." he turned to go without another word and his boots made only a soft sound on the carpeted floor.

(continued)

The tray with some small nourishment and the juice sat on the tray untouched as Saeri watched Kainthal walk away. Her mind whirled as she thought of who he was. He called Darthas father, was he the one that was sent away? She could remember only rumors of the son who touched the shadows. The House of Jaed had gone down hill from the times of Kael'Thas. Her food untouched and juice untasted, Saeri rose from the bed and with Hermina's help found gown and slippers where they were stored in the room.

Her fingers numb as she recalled the night she had first came to one of Darthas' parties. His gentle manner and witty tongue had captured her heart before the night was done. Though she stayed more often now as his time seemed to be growing short. Her visits became more of comfort to him than love she was sure. He was an elder and commanded much respect among the nobles, though he was modest about his accomplishments. Her thoughts of him were gentle friendship and nothing more. His bed was hers only because he could find no comfort climbing the long ramp and slept in a comfortable room down below. In fact the very den she heard he was.

Her nerves were shot as she left the room. Walking down the long curving ramp to the floor below she saw no servants scurry about as they often did. Hermina followed meekly behind her and took the untouched tray to the kitchens, leaving her alone to find her way to the den. Not like she did not know the way, for many hours she had spent at his knee enthralled by his knowledge of history and the ways of the Highelves of which she knew little other than the books they had in the libraries.

Her hand on the door to the den trembled as she knocked softly. "Darthas? It is I, Saeri. May I come in?"

She was not prepared for the door to be flung wide and gave a squeak as Kainthal stood there with a smile. "Please come in, he waits for you child. Though he is very tired you see." he stepped aside and let her in and closed the door behind her quietly.

Stepping in and looking at the chair where Darthas sat, her voice did tremble as her hands. "Darthas? Are you well?" All she could see was the back of the chair and his white hair like a nimbus cloud peeking above it.The chair creaked, his head moved slowly around, and as she came to stand beside it, his vacant stare looked at her with his eyes of palest green.

A grumble in his throat was all she could make out as he struggled to speak. "S-s-aeri?" he finally managed and she fell down to her knees."Darthas...what has happened? I see you are quite ill. Your voice it quavers like a sad song..." her voice trailed off as Kainthal came to stand beside her.

"His time is nearly over, I did what I could do. The House of Jaed will soon answer to a new Master. I thank you for your friendship to him. He cannot tell me more. The servants confirm your time here was quite helpful. To give an elder such cheer is very generous of you." his voice was smooth and gentle.

Turning to stare at the son who dared to show his face after so many years, Saeri rose to her feet and her eyes flashed. "He does not deserve to see you here. His will is sealed and registered with the Magisters." her defiant air was designed to give him pause.

To her surprise he laughed at her and his dark eyes flashed a deep fel green. "The Magisters who fear me now much more than they did before? Surely you jest! They will uphold the law, I am his living kin. All will come to me you see, when they know I am here, as I am sure they do by now." his smile and flippant manner brought a fury to her eyes.

"Do not be sure, they know you now for what you have become. A shadowmaster you may be, I know you fear the Sun." her words fell on his long ears like the rain of summer storm.

The stillness in the Manorhouse was shattered by a scream. Kainthal whirled with sudden haste and touched the dagger at his belt. Saeri gasped and held her ground, as if to guard Darthas, a hand over her mouth. The elder sat very still his eyes did not seem to see. His hands trembled in his lap and his mouth opened, but he did not make a sound.

The study door was opened wide and Hermina hurried in. Behind her strode the Magister, Maerfolis was his name. "Your presence is not allowed, the banishment was clear. You had your chance at redemption and you gave it not a thought. I am here to remove you Sir, and deal the punishment you so deserve!" his words were harshly spoken.

Hermina ran and clung to Saeri, her sobs were those of fright. Being somewhat stronger Saeri moved her to the other room behind them, gently closing the door. She turned to see what Maerfolis would do, prepared to give him aid. Kainthal smirked and waved his hand in circles bold and fast. Before the Magister had moved a Shadow dark and cold stood beside his Master and growled a warning that seemed to echo from the grave. Maerfolis had his sword in hand as fast as he could charge. He dove at Kainthal with a yell and promptly hit the ground. The spot where once the Master stood was empty, dark, and cold. Where he had been the Shadow stood, his glowing eyes were bold. The Magister had fallen fast, his breath was still as ice. His body slumped in a heap and the sword clattered to the floor. The ticking of the clock that stood inside the room, was all the sound that could be heard. It seemed the toll of doom.

Kainthal turned to Saeri, his smile was quite benign. "They cannot take me in my home, my power stems within. You have a choice, My Lady. Stay and keep him company. I will not bid you go. For your beauty holds me captive, I cannot see you harmed." The quiet was unbroken until she took a step, it was not to the door.

Saeri knelt before her Lord and gently took his withered hand. "I will stay, to keep him safe. I will not let this day go by in silence like a lamb. What you did was criminal, you will not have a say. For they will simply send more here and I will see your death."

Kainthal bowed and made a sign, the Shadow made a sound. Like rolling thunder it became a furnace straight from Hell. The body of the Magister was dust in seconds, and consumed by the Shadow as Saeri watched horrified. "Do not think I did not see, your face in anger and challenge as you faced me. I am not a monster, my tastes are quite refined. I would have you honestly and not in haste or against your will." Kainthal spoke in softest tones, his voice deep and mellow. Though there was a hint of pleading in his eyes, he made no move to touch her.

Her voice was soft as summer rain, her eyes a flash of storm. "I think you do mistake me, Sir. I am no weakling, I have trained with the best in Dalaran, and you are no match for me." she stood and gazed into his eyes. He seemed enthralled, his thoughts were still. His hands went cold as ice. And still her eyes held him fast, his knees grew weak, he could not breathe.

Her head tilted then as a tiny smile touched the corner of her mouth.
"You see I hold the power, I have not been here in vain. Darthas gave it to me, when he learned of why I came. You cannot move I will not fail, to make your death as clean and bold as you have taken in your life, and I will have your soul."

Kainthal struggled with his hands to lift the dagger at his belt. His voice was still, he had no breath, the Shadow made no sound. His sight grew dim, the room spun in circles as he slumped to the ground. In the chair the Elder sat, his hands trembled as he heard the sound of Kainthal as he fell. A tear fell from his eyes as he slowly rocked back and forth.

In the window a squawk and flutter as the Raven peered inside. "Make haste! You haven't that much time. Your power is not complete."

Saeri turned and walked to the door to the back rooms. Opening it she called to the servants who hurried in and picked up the younger elf and carried him to the garden and laid him on a slab of marble there. In the den she took Darthas' hand and pulled him gently to his feet. Guiding him to the garden she sat him in his favorite chair, next to the slab that was low to the ground. "Relax, my dear we are almost done. We must wait for the sun to reach it's peak in the sky. Then by the power in our hands we will make the needed sacrifice."

(final)

Down the road a clatter and the sound of rattled swords, came 'round the bend and halted at the garden gate. Three Magisters, in coats of red, came striding to the garden. In the fore was a Magister named Haerthelin, Maerfolis brother, and he was known as the chief of the Court.

"By all the Glory of the Sun, what is he doing here and is he sleeping or dead?" he bent to touch the neck of the fallen elf.

"He made his move as you foretold, though I could not stop his foul magic in time to save your brother. Forgive me Haerthelin, he is gone to the Nether." her voice broke in its soft tones as she spoke.

Arrested by her spoken words Haerthelin turned to stare. "My brother gone? I am too late, his rash behavior did him in. He was ever bold to rush. When last we spoke I warned him thus. My mourning must wait, there is this to be done." he gathered magic in his hands but Saeri gasped and bade him wait.

"Please have some compassion, Darthas is ill, he has not time so long. Allow him to mourn his first born son. I will do the duty then and you may go and tell the Court, I serve them as I always do." her voice was pleading, eyes were sad. And Haerthelin stayed his hand. His bow was low as he looked at Darthas sitting there and he gathered the rest and bid them come and off they went to report. The raven lit upon the post and preened as they rode away.

The hand of Darthas rose to touch the face of Saeri as she knelt beside him. His vacant stare did bode ill and she simply nodded and turned to stare. "It seems a waste to have his death so close to yours, my dear. I wonder if I have the courage to try the ancient magic." She went to stand beside the younger looking at his face a moment and turning to Darthas she whispered low.

"He looks so very like you, his chin and temple shaped just so. I wonder if I could do the magic as the Highborn did of old?"Saeri watched the riders fade off into the distance and a smile crossed her face.

The sun was high over head and she looked up to see the Raven watching her. He croaked out a warning then as she fingered the emerald around her neck. "Beware! It is a darkened road you seek, it will not help your cause." but Saeri laughed and tossed a rock to send him off so she could prepare.

Standing in between them, a hand on each sculpted brow. Saeri started the incantation and a roll of thunder shook the sky. The emerald on her neck did glow, the sky seemed to dim as clouds came from the edges of the sea nearby. The raven fluttered over head and screeched with dread as the words of dark Shadow magic flew from her ruby lips. A strangled sound came from the throat of Darthas as he sat trembling beneath the hand that had soothed him many nights. His eyes were of the palest green and now they glowed and darkened. The magic that had felled him once, was lifted from him now.

He grabbed her hand and shouted, with a hoarse and reedy cry. "NO!! I shall not let you do this! I will not live! Would rather die than have you now, harlot from the darkest Hell!"

The incantation failed as she screamed in pain, the backlash threw her to the grass, where she lay still. The form of Kainthal did not move, and if Darthas looked he did not see, the darkness had given him some measure of the younger elf. But he was struck in misery. His hand had struck her with such force she landed on the slab and the fall had caused her head to strike the corner. Blood trickled down the side of her head as her form withered in the light of day. Darthas stood in shock as he realized what he had done. He fell to his knees to see to her and his eyes fell on the emerald around her neck. It had turned black as pitch.

((I was encouraged to enter this by my fellow guildies :D ))
The Take of Xirterrik
1/2

It was shortly after we lost Gnomeregan, I remember it well. So many lives lost, and so many infected with Gnomish Leprosy. My sister was one of them, poor girl. She had her entire life ahead of her. I think she's still lost somewhere, wandering around infected, deep in the belly of Gnomeregan.

I managed to escape mostly unharmed. I tried to help as many others as I could to get us all to safety. Such a tragedy. Before it happened, I was an apprentice in a toy shop that my uncle owned. I mostly cleaned shelves and watched him work sometimes late into the night, creating whirring, noisy, little clanking toys. I had a life before all of this. The changes in my life, however, were only just beginning.

It was maybe a month after the accident that left many of us homeless, that I was roaming the passages of Ironforge deep in thought. Someone shoved a pamphlet into my hand about a 'clinic' that was opening up. They were seeking help from anyone who would come and agree to have testing done on them, to help victims of Gnomish Leprosy. I was without a job, most of my family was gone, and I wanted to do more to help my Gnome fellows and ladies. It was the Gnomish-patriot thing to do, even though I wasn't infected, never had been, and never will be.

I arrived at the little clinic early the next morning, eager to do my part in helping all of Gnome kind, and maybe save my sister, if I could ever find her. I used the door knocker of a rather large door, I could hear the echo from the other side of it. Moments later a wild-haired gnome opened the door, and ushered me in. He looked fairly typical of a lab worker, a long white coat over Gnomish looking work-overalls. His mousy looking brunette assistant had me fill out stacks of papers, mostly stating I was there of my own free will and wouldn't hold the 'clinic' responsible for any damages that incurred. I should have taken that as a more serious warning than I did, but I was there to help the good of all, or so I thought. She took the papers from me, and told me to enter the examination room, then wait for further instructions.

Later after a complete physical and checkup, I was strapped down to a table and they put a thin needle in my arm that was attached to a clear tube, which ran up to a bag filled with some sort of shiny purplish liquid. The concoction had a greenish shimmer to it, which I thought was pretty. I tried to concentrate on the aesthetic quality of the liquid, rather than the shooting pain as it rushed down the tube and into my veins. Fire, it felt like fire, and all I could taste in my mouth was metal. The wild haired gnome came over to me and checked me over, making notes on a piece of paper. He looked very shocked when he got to my eyes. I asked him over and over what was wrong. Finally he spoke.

"Your eyes, have turned a very dark shade of purple, no.. black, they are turning black."

"BLACK!? My eyes were blue when I came in here. What do you mean black?!" I also noticed my voice had gotten considerably deeper, if I didn't already have more to worry about, I would have been more concerned.

"No matter, it will probably go away.."

"GO AWAY?! Are you serious?" I began to struggle, but I was strapped down very tight. After what seemed an eternity of thrashing around, I felt something very strange happening to me, and I began to panic. My hands felt like they were on fire. I could hear the doctor speaking to his mousy looking female assistant, who had on extremely large goggles as she made notes on another piece of paper. I heard him say something like "The fel-elixir from Area 52 is a failure, this gnome is only beginning to show certain responses from the process." He continued to speak, but lowering his voice, "Wipe the slate clean and we'll start over tomorrow."

2/2
As I heard him say that, I was certain they were going to do away with me. I had no family, and I don't think anyone would come looking for me. I began to struggle again. My entire body felt like it was on fire and could explode at any moment. I could hear the doctor and the assistant coming closer, and my fear and anger took me over completely. A strange purple glow began to emanate from me, from somewhere. I caught a glimpse of my face in a metal tray sitting near my head, my eyes were as black as a moonless sky at midnight. The purple aura around me became brighter, and then I heard a pop. The purple glow stopped abruptly, and then the sounds of a cackling giggle filled the room. I heard some trays falling and some glass shattering, followed by two loud 'thuds', and I saw a small creature zip along the countertop. I couldn't tell what it was. It cackled and giggled and still more things crashed around me, I was afraid but at least the burning in my body had mostly stopped.

Suddenly my hands were free, and the little thing jumped up and I saw it free my feet from the bonds on the table. It looked at me with a look somewhere between concern and judgement, then he nodded and smiled a toothy little grin. I didn't know why, but I trusted him.

"C'MON LETS GO!" he said urgently, and I figured I should listen. I pulled the needle out of my arm, and slid off the table and landed with a crunch on broken glass. I still have the scar of a small cut on my left hand from that glass. I grabbed my shirt from the chair, and struggled to put it on as we ran. I scooped up my shoes with a free hand, as we ran out the door. I caught another glimpse of my eyes as we left, by way of a vanity mirror on the wall, it was cracked as if something was thrown at it. The black was gone, but it left them a light shade of violet, they were no longer blue.

"But the doctor and his assistant.. we have to.. " my voice was definitely deeper, it has been come to be called "Chocolatey", but I don't understand the comparison.

"No.. no.. I took care of them, don't worry about it. We have to go, now."

As I ran out of the room he threw what looked like a small fireball into the room and he slammed the door to the 'examination room' where I had been strapped down. "There," he said "we won't have to worry about that place anymore.. "

"But... "

"Questions will be answered, but for now.. we have to go meet with Alamar Grimm, he's just gonna flip when he hears your story. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands. Oh yeah, forgive me, my name is Yazkin. Yazkin the Imp, but you can call me Yaz. I don't often have the patience for formalities. By the way, nice voice you got there, I'd bet you have a talent for singing, don't you?"

These are great entries. Thank you all for participating.

Word Count: 1317
Title: Stormwind Calling 1/2

She exhaled.
The window fogged and retreated back to normal.
Drip.
Drip.
Izby scratched the window's wooden frame with her claw-like finger. Frost stretching through the grain and spreading across the window, working tirelessly like a spider spinning a web.
Drip.
Drip.
It rained inside. It rained outside. The buckets couldn't empty themselves fast enough into the streets. Books. Thousands of books. In stacks on the tables and on the chairs. There were some on the stairs and some on the railings. Thousands of books everywhere, except on the floor.
Izby sighed from her oversized seat. The city was talking, perhaps to her.
Drip.
Drip.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Enough, she bellowed, tired of the kerplunk kerplunk of the water droplets in the buckets upstairs. She threw on her rain parka, buttoned it up in front of her face and across the top of her chest, and walked outside. If the city spoke, she'd listen.
Her hooves splashed on the stone as she walked along the streets. Steam rising from the rooftops, the grass around the trees, and the canals. She followed the openings in the steam curtain, looking for where the city directed her. Buildings rose and fell as she passed them, making her way through the trade district, the old district, and the Dwarven district. Each one of them had their own ghosts and memories that didn't go away at night. Nor could they find shelter in the rain. With so few people on the streets, Izby thought they might be lonely, but she didn't stop to chat with the mossy bricks or ephemeral beings. The city ran ahead of her and her pace quickened to catch up.
Her hooves clanked across the wooden bridge before she climbed the muddy hill leading behind the cathedral. The steam rose and fell even more quickly as the city pressed forward faster and Izby kicked up to a trot to keep up. Soon, the trees fell as she past them and the forest of headstones enveloped her.
The city stopped.
Before her was a bench, a nondescript stone bench. The only thing impressive about it was the number of figments surrounding it. The souls of young children and old adults alike. Gnomes, dwarves, draenei, humans, and night elf alike gathered around this slab.
They looked up at Izby.
She froze where she stood, feeling a chill run down her spine for the first time in her life. The hairs on her arms leapt and the tendrils on her neck tensed. An older gentleman, clean shaven with gray temples, pat the spot on the bench beside him and the other ghosts moved to accommodate the draenei as she sat.
Do you know? He asked.
Izby shook her head no.
You do not know who we are? That's a shame. But then, I watch people pass by and no one notices us like you.
Who you?

Stormwind Callin 2/2

Me, I'm no one special, but that tiny gnome trying to climb up onto the bench to sit beside you. She has a good story. You should ask her.
Izby turned to watch two pigtails and eight fingers struggle to make any headway and she reached down to pick the ghost up and placed the female gnome into her lap. She beamed the cheeriest smile at the draenei. For a minute, Izby thought they could be friends. The older man prodded the gnome to tell her story and Izby snapped from her awe.
I'm Padma Trackitron. I developed a device for carving where a track should go for any rail system like the tram that connects Ironforge to Stormwind. It even lays the track.
There was a rustle as the other ghosts moved in closer. The gnome kept talking, going on and on, about how the machine worked. She described the billows of smoke that would climb into the sky like the snow covered trees of the forest and how her greatest pride in the device was a special bolt that could resist rusting from moisture. An hour elapsed quickly as the gnome described in accurate historical detail, her accomplishment.
The older gentleman smiled as the gnome spoke and waited for her to breath before speaking himself.
Tell her how you died, Padma.
The gnome fidgeted in Izby's lap. Aware that her story was ending, but not wanting to lose the attention.
There's a reason the tram doesn't use a rail under it. On the second day of laying track, something caught inside the machine. Instead of whirling and twirling like it should, it ground and groaned. It was angry. My friend Fizzysnizzle opened a panel and saw a gear caught on a bolt and reached in to pull it out. The machine still breathed. It still raged. She pulled out the bolt and it clamped down on her arm. Metal teeth trying to rip it off. I turned off the machine, reached in, and lifted the gear off her arm. There was screaming, hollering. Dwarves and gnomes rushing towards us. Medics and steelworkers. They grabbed her and helped get her safely away while I held up gear. But I stood awkwardly on my machine. I slipped and hit the lever turning the machine back on. The gears clamped down on my chest and broke my ribs. They punctured my lungs and my breathes were red mist. The medics tried. But gnomes aren't healers. I died saving my friend's life.
Tears filled the ghost's eyes and she clutched onto Izby's parka and sobbed into it. The raid still falling and Izby knew. Knew that the city wasn't speaking, but that it cried for these ghosts.
She pat the woman on the back and stroked her hair. The rain pound the pavement through the city and the lake plopped and plooped as the drops splashed against the surface.
Another ghost stepped forward and sat beside Izby. This one no more than fifteen years old. He died when he jumped into the harbor to save his younger sister who was pulled under by a fish she had caught. The currents pulled him under before they sailors could save him.
Another ran into a burning building to rescue two small children he didn't even know. A druid saved an old woman from a mugging, but took a poisoned dagger for it. A dwarf saved his fellow archeologists from an ogre by being a distraction while they got their siege engine working so they could get away.
They all had wonderful stories, but as they all transpired a thread seemed loose in their narrative yarn. It screamed and shouted until Izby realized that no one knew these stories. These heroes who gave their lives to save someone else would never be known once the city stopped crying. Once Izby left.
Saved them from a bear. Saved them from jumping. Saved them from Deathwing. Saved them, saved them, saved them, saved them. These people had storiest. Untold stories. That no one would hear unless she did something.
Izby ran to the Dwarven district and bought some steel from a worker under a tent near the forges and anvils. She ran with the steel back to the bench. She leaned the steel against the bench slightly off the middle and snapped her fingers, flames erupted from her hands. Each pass over the steel she made, it bent to her will. The metal became clay in her hands and she sculpted it to resemble the older man. A forgotten king who died for his son.
He sits on the bench now. Everyday. Beckoning all passerbys to come sit with a pat of his hand. Come listen to their stories he says as the wind passes over his lips. Come listen to the heroes of self-sacrifice. People sit. They listen. Touched by a world beyond their own.
Every time the city cries, the familiar drip drip echoing through the streets, Izby sits and listens.

08/05/2012 12:25 AMPosted by Gentyl

Yes, just give a set up for the story, and please do enter.

((The one I had in mind is actually a prologue of sorts for another story I have in the works. Unfortunately, it's a little over the 2500 word limit, though not by a lot. If you're willing to be a little liberal with the limit, it'd work (though if you don't want to, I understand). ))

((Sure, send it in. It's all about having fun.))

((Very well, then. There's a whole lot more to the story this is part of that I hope to tell at a later time, but this prologue essentially captures the first brief meeting Kaeev had with the shaman that later became his mentor.

Post #1, away!!))

The sun, or An’she as it is called among the tauren, is believed by them to be the right eye of the Earth Mother herself. When the world was young She, being stricken with grief as Her children yielded to the dark whisperings of the Shadow below, tore out her eyes and cast them across the firmament. Each day since that time An’she, the sun, and Mu’sha the moon would pass over the world, bringing with them the reminder to Her children that She still watches over them. With its course, An’she could soothe and warm the world, bringing life with its gentle touch. Or, if it chose, it could bring desolation with its unforgiving, seemingly unceasing stare.

One day, near the close of a bygone summer, An’she had chosen to be fierce. The aptly-named Barrens of Kalimdor was sweltering. No small clouds dared to brave the sky lest they be consumed. An’she’s burning gaze had driven the vast majority of the land’s beasts into hiding. Nothing was stirring in this shimmering savanna...except for a lone figure making its way southeast, away from the Stonetalon Mountains. The figure was a strange sight; in such a land on such a day, its presence alone was audacious, yet it carried itself in an unassuming manner.

Grennan was an older bull who only recently began showing signs of age’s touch. The tauren had dusty brown fur, and a dark brown mane with a few strands of gray. The gray, however, didn’t show very well amid all the sweat that made his mane appear to shine. His horns were black, with the left slightly shorter and capped.

His garb was lighter, a necessity on days like this when the land could be so unforgiving. He wore a robe of indigo color, secured by a bluish-gray sash around his waist, the beads and trinkets woven therein making a slight rattle to accompany the sound of his stride. The upper half of the robe was undone, off the arms and hanging down freely about him, partially covering the satchel and waterskin that hung from his side. He wore no shirt nor mantle, only a large necklace with a beautiful array of turquoise stones, white and matching indigo feathers. In one hand he carried a short wooden staff, etched with numerous carvings and paintings varying in color. Feathers, beads and other decorations hung from the top of the staff by leather cords. Like his sash, the staff too did rattle with his stride.

His hand strayed to his waterskin as he continued further into the Barrens, the thought coming briefly to wet his brow with it. After some slight hesitation, he instead wiped some offending perspiration from his eyes. “By the Earth Mother, it is hot out here,” he remarked to himself aloud as his hand then went for the waterskin again. This time, he chose the wiser course and drank from it, heaving a sigh as he stowed it.

He paused in his walk as he squinted and looked ahead, spying what looked like a dark splotch afar off. The image rippled in the heat like a reflection in a disturbed pond. Wondering if it was some kind of mirage, he focused his vision on it and continued walking in its direction, his gaze never deviating for fear he might lose sight of it otherwise.

He sighed in relief when in due time the sight became clear, and he knew he was not seeing an illusion. A lone tree of significant thickness and height stood before him, the trunk meandering in various directions heavenward before letting its branches and leaves fan out all around it. The relief for the shaman was the fact that it provided a significant amount of shade, enough that a number of tauren, large as their kind were, could rest there.

From a distance, Grennan could not see any wild beasts resting under the tree, the absence thereof made sure as he drew nearer. He looked heavenward, An’she glinting off his light blue eyes as he mentally uttered a short prayer of thanks before he stepped into the shade and settled himself at the base of the tree. He quietly reveled in this respite, letting a smile cross his features as he rested his head against the tree.

The bull was not tired enough for sleep to overtake him if he did not desire, and so he let his mind wander, eventually settling on more recent events. He had just come from a gathering of shamans in the Stonetalon Mountains, at which he had presided. They were relatively few in number and only tauren back in those days, but their number did not discourage them in the errand entrusted to them by the Earth Mother. They were Stormspeakers, and Grennan was their chieftain, the large necklace he wore being the symbol of his calling as well as position.

In truth, An’she had been fierce for many days, not just this day. Word was that much of Kalimdor had seen little rain for more than a season, and the people were suffering because of it. Whether this trial was a form of testing or punishment from the Earth Mother, they did not know; but Grennan and the other Stormspeakers came to know in the midst of their counseling and meditation that, by virtue of their calling and gifts, She was calling upon them to ease their people’s suffering by bringing some much-needed rain. And so, after some discussion on how to go about this task, they adjourned, each going their separate ways in hopes of finding gatherings of their then-nomadic people that they could aid.

So it was, that Grennan found himself under a tree, in the middle of the Barrens on another scorching day. He had been heading generally south, but otherwise not in any particular direction, for that was as capricious as the comings and goings of the hot wind.

Feeling just a slight pang of hunger, without looking the chieftain reached in his satchel for some morsel of food. Food was not the first thing he laid his hand on. It was something hard, and by the feel of it he knew what it was. He furrowed his brow, frowning slightly as he pulled it out. In his hand was a small, clay trinket. The shaping thereof was a depiction of three tauren: a father, mother and their calf. It had a small hole in the top for threading, so that one could wear it around their wrist, neck or one of their horns. He stared at it for some time. The more he looked at it, the more it made his heart ache and sink.

He put the trinket back in his satchel, shaking his head a breathing a sigh. There I go again, he thought to himself. It had been many moons since the memories brought about by that trinket had occurred, and yet they still distracted him, still troubled him, still reminded him of a great void in his life. Many a time he had been tempted to throw the trinket away or “misplace” it, as if by so doing he would forget and be free of this burden he would vividly remind himself of every time he had seen this trinket since. Still, he retained it, the reason for which he wasn’t even that sure of himself.

His hunger forgotten and his mind still lingering on the trinket and the thoughts entailed with it, Grennan folded his arms and closed his eyes, shifting himself against the tree to get comfortable for sleep. Perhaps, he thought, taking a nap could help clear his mind and refresh him before he continued his trek.

He had not dozed for very long when his body picked up a tingling sensation in the earth. Thinking it was just the wind or the dry, itchy grass against his body, he only stirred a little. The sensation, however, remained. In fact, it felt like it was getting a bit stronger. He came awake on noticing this and looked around. The only immediate change he could see was An’she’s shift in the sky, evidenced by the fact that he was closer to the shade’s edge than he was originally. Getting up and squinting his eyes again, he continued surveying the area, looking for anything that might explain what he still felt in his hooves.

He then spied a distant speck to the south, and his brow creased in worry. He could not tell from that distance what was approaching. Fearing it could be a pack of wild beasts--or worse, centaur--he closed his eyes and with a mental utterance, his vision moved swiftly southward to meet this presence. Anything that might be hostile, and in numbers, was reason enough for him to make himself scarce if need be. His vision flew over the savanna, and ceased the moment he was close enough to see that all the figures in the group had horns and ran on only one pair of hooves.

More tauren. The chieftain’s vision returned to his natural eyes, and he breathed another sigh of relief. Not only would they probably be friendly, but they likely came from a larger tribe. A tribe that he could aid.

They were indeed coming his way, and in time he could see them clearly with his natural eyes. “Hail, brethren!” he called to them as he waved and stepped out into the sunlight.

The leader of the group, a bull appearing only slightly younger than Grennan, eyed him briefly, and then held up a fist as a signal. He slowed to a stop, and the group behind him did the same. Glancing behind, he shouted, “Take a rest!” and approached Grennan, giving a slight bow in greeting. To the shaman’s mild surprise, the bull did not appear to be breathing heavily at all.