World of Warcraft®

(Part 1)

"You're still not used to this?" A voice came from behind Narnicka on the deck of the Roaring Sea, one of the 7th Legion's many vessels.

Narnicka had been over the railing, proving just how wise the decision had been not to get into the navy at a young age. To him, being a warrior was much easier when the ground wasn't moving beneath you. "Jus' ... gimme a break, alright?" He groaned, arm bracing him against the deck rail. The former Lt. Commander Narnicka Stoneheardt had been requested to temporarily join the 7th Legion due to a few officers being ill, and now the Roaring Sea was bearing fast toward some disruption out at Theramore.

Zavvex, one of Narnicka's most trusted Sergeants, had agreed to accompany him in his temporary call from retirement to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble. The red-haired man folded his arms, shaking his head in minor disappointment as the Commander showed he had not the stomach for sea travel. "Come on, Commander, you're making me look bad," He commented almost to himself, stepping back when Narnicka turns and sits, back against the railing.

With a minor irritation in his voice, and after wiping his mouth with a cloth from his belt, Narnicka looked up at Zavvex and grumbled, "I didn't join the naval fleet, damn it. I'm not used to this ... weird ... rocking."

Breathing a low sigh, Zavvex reached down, tugging Narnicka up to his feet. "We can't have you going overboard, sir. Your armor is heavy enough walk in, but you'd drop like a stone if you went in the water. You end up in the surf, and I doubt the ship would even turn around for you," He jokes mildly, giving Narnicka a once-over to ensure the sickness hadn't unlatched or disarranged something from his uniform. "And if it makes you feel any better, sir, it's usually not this bad. We're going somewhere in a hurry, and the man at the helm hardly seems concerned for passenger comfort."

"There better be a really important corpse to be going this fast."

"Well, only corpse important enough in Theramore to cause this fuss would be Lady Proudmoore."

The grimace on Narnicka's face following Zavvex's last comment reminded the Sergeant what his Commander thought of the woman who's continual talks of peace had blown up so spectacularly in her face since the Horde's conquest following the Catacylsm. Peace, my pistol, thought Narnicka.

"Look alive! We'll be docking soon!" Barked a passing naval officer. Narnicka and Zavvex both stepped to the front of the ship, watching Theramore become more detailed as they drew near.

"Well... at least it's not already under siege. Wonder what this is about," Zavvex asked, to which Narnicka didn't have a reply.

-----------

(Part 2)

It had taken a while, but eventually the ships had been unloaded, and the various soldiers, conscripts, mechanics, flight experts, officers and equipment had been unloaded. Narnicka and Zavvex had managed to snag a decently in-shape home to stay in, since the inhabitants had fled on a boat well before the fleet had arrived. They both needed some time to decompress after being briefed on the situation, and what was expected of them.

"Think this'll be the real deal, sir?" Zavvex asked passively as he pulled a few necessities from his pack, and set them on his bed. Well, the question appeared passive. In reality, when the Stormwind military authorizes new gear, something really nasty hit a really big fan. The Sergeant was clearly worried, but was rather gifted when it came to not showing any inward panic.

"Yea, I think so," Narnicka replied, sitting in a chair near the unlit fireplace. There was a loaded silence for a while before he spoke again. "I need to write my letter..." He says, standing crossing the room to a small chair and table. Laying out some blank parchment, Narnicka takes time to write out his letter, in case the worst should happen.

Zavvex rather disliked it when Narnicka wrote it. To him, it invited that worst-case scenario, but he did not object.

After several minutes, Narnicka stows the the letter away into his armor, standing. "We're supposed to rotate out who rests, first. You wanna hit the bed first, or me?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. Zavvex always chose to sleep, first.

"Usual."

With a nod, Narnicka, stepped out, looking up at the evening sky. He'd not said it to Zavvex, or even Genevra the night before he left their home, but something felt very wrong. Something more than the Stormwind military approving armor or some superstition. In his stomach, Narnicka felt things were not right. This could also be attributed to what they had been fed on the ship, so with a grimace, he suppressed his worries and made his way to the southern gate.

As he walked, he watched various patrolling soldiers nod at him in passing, but most seemed stiff. Likely, they were used to talking and socializing on duty, but that wouldn't be the case for a while, until this supposed aggression from the Horde was long over with. At the southern gate, Narnicka pressed a hand to the firmly-shut door, giving it a gentle push as if making sure the door wasn't made of something that would just come apart. Like cheese.

Urgh, He thought. Keep mind off food.

Turning his back on the gate and leaning back against it, his eyes survey the streets, his expression giving away just how useless he thought the idea was of patrolling the streets of a locked-down fortress. But, he also knew that part of keeping a soldier from going nuts was to give him something routine to do. Keep his mind occupied.

With a deep sigh and a barely-renewed resolve, he stepped from the gate to walk back down his patrol route.

(Part 3)

It had started during Narnicka's turn to rest. Of course it did.

"Sir, get up! It's started!" Zavvex shouted from outside, which sent Narnicka to the floor in surprise from his bed. Moving over to get into his armor, he nearly fumbled the various buckles and latches as he became increasingly aware of explosions, screaming and sounds of war in the background. The adrenaline had come over him so fast, he was trying to adjust. When his wits returned to him, he had managed to get his armor on and snatch up his claymore before dashing out the door.

Immediately inside the walls hadn't been breached yet, so at least the entire situation hadn't gone to the dogs before someone got him up. Zavvex was nowhere to be seen, likely alreaady outside the gates and engaging the enemy, which is where Narnicka needed to be.

At a breakneck run, Narnicka raced to join to the others, barely slowing down to get through the gate the cracked open for him, only to shut firmly behind him. Not a quarter mile down the road, there was nothing short of savage fighting, and Narnicka was not lucky enough to be able to discern who was winning.

There were no lines, only killing.

As he got right into the thick of the fighting, he saw Zavvex fighting rather dirty with an undead, who looked to have been in a sniper nest right before the battle moved too close and he was in the melee range of it.

Narnicka took a step forward to help out, but something in the corner of his eye made him duck. A female orc, clad in the golden and black Kor'Kron armor, swung high, missing Narnicka as she approached from his right. Taking a few steps back, he realized that to help Zavvex meant going through this one.

"Lok'tar," The orc smirked behind her helmet. Not wasting time, she moved in for another strike, thinking Narnicka to be another Theramore private who couldn't hold his own. As fast as she brought down her axe, Narnicka cut upward to catch the bottom of the dual axes. Surprised at his strength, the orc's hands went up, still clutching her weapons. Seeing his chance, Narnicka reached out, punching the warrior across her protected jaw.

After being sent down onto the ground by this human, Krinda leaves her helmet on the ground when she gets to her feet. Swearing in a manner Narnicka usually associated with Theramore sailors, she took a moment to eye him. After taking a moment to pay this sort of attention, she notes the "Commander" symbol on Narnicka's armor. This wasn't some farmer-turned-soldier. She stands firmly between Narnicka and Zavvex, ensuring the only direction he could go was through her.

(Part 4)

Narnicka glanced past the warrior before him, seeing Zavvex struggle with the undead hunter over the rifle the deader had apparently be using. Something must have happened to Zavvex's weapon during the fighting.

"Keep your eyes on your opponent, human," Krinda spat in orcish, her pride a bit damaged from having underestimating Narnicka and being knocked down, before.

Narnicka moved in swiftly, bringing his weapon toward her side, hoping to end this fight quickly by literally going through the woman with a cleave. However, Krinda turned her axe downward, absorbing the full shock of his attack, and parrying it away. With that clash, it became a rapid and close serious of blows. Narnicka was on the defensive, at first. This Kor'Kron had earned her armor and was fluidly changing stances and attack points, actually pressing Narnicka to step back a few times. More than once, her axes would bite into his armor, looking for an exposure or thin latch to score a killing blow on.

But after watching her style, he suddenly takes a step forward, shouldering her back and causing her to lose momentum. He advances, swinging high and bringing his weapon down onto her defensively-crossed axes. With a sharp ring a loud crunch, Narnicka realizes he must have broken something in one of her hands.

Krinda recoils her right hand instantly, dropping her weapon. The damn human had broken her wrist, straight through under that pressure. Narnicka reaches out, seizing that hand once she's distracted by the pain, and turning it upward to keep her down on the ground. He knew that her wrist breaking was sheer dumb luck, and luck her had every intention of captizalizing on, until he heard the shot.

A loud crack, and Narnicka's attention was on Zavvex, who fell dead to ground after the weapon he'd been fighting the undead for dischrged, taking a large portion out of his neck.

"Zavvex!" Narnicka shouted, drawing a heavy pistol from his leg holster and firing once at the undead who'd killed Zavvex. Narnicka was using his left hand to keep the orc held down by that broken wrist. That pain had to be unreal. The undead flinched down as Narnicka caught him across the eye, sending bits of bone and flesh to the ground.

Her adrenaline dulling the pain, Krinda punched Narnicka in the side of the knee with her free hand, topping the warrior over. He'd left himself exposed in his attempt to save his comrade. On his back, Narnicka rose a forearm to defend what he knew he couldn't. Once she'd recovered, Krinda had snatched up her axe, burying it to the handle in Narnicka's chest. She'd put so much force behind it, his armor had given way like it was paper.

The signal she'd won the fight came when he coughed blood immediately into her face, and she turned, grunting.

Looking up at the woman knelt over him, Narnicka felt fire in his chest, but also what felt like lead. Like his lungs wouldn't lift to draw in air. His eyes had darted around at first, but, slowly became less responsive as that pain his chest dulled. His vision began to narrow, and in mere seconds, he hadn't even felt Krinda tear her weapon free of him.

The last thing he'd managed to know if life was the sound of a horn, not of the Alliance. The Horde were retreating.

[Deleted]

Krinda looks around for another fight before returning her gaze to the broken body of the fallen Worgen. she spits to the side cleaning the taste of blood from her mouth. Hesitant to holster her axe on to her hip, she retrieves the second axe with her good hand instead of the helmet. Figuring a axe would serve better as defense then the dented helmet. The orc's right hand is to swollen from the beasts attack.The adrenalin no longer dulling the pain, she can now feel the broken wrist. Still not

As she stands back up. Her eyes fixed on the worgen, eyes fall on the badge. She knows Alliance gives these to high ranked officials. Kneeing down to the body, she looks over the creature. Resting the axe at his side, handle in easy grabbing range encase any straggler tries to get a easy kill under their belt. She doesn't heed the forsaken's call to
her at first. He can wait, she was going to claim a prize from this beast.

Her fingers slide over the badge and with a good yank the piece of metal rips from the body."Trophy" Spitting out the word as the badge comes free of Narnicka's armor. Cleaning some of the blood off the badge with her thumb she gives it one last look before tucking it away and picking up the axe once again.Turning back to face Jean; she nods and both fall back with the rest of the forces across the bridge.

There is no water in my glass
For last night, I grew ever so thirsty
And drank it all
I can see yours is half full
And his is half empty,
But now I sit with an empty glass
I spent too much time
Fretting over your glass
And his
That I was blind when I took that last sip

Genevra sat with her daughter in the Stoneheardt's family home in Lakeshire, the town was abuzz with rumors that she did her best to put out of her mind. She smiled warmly at Daisy reading the parable of the wolf in sheeps clothing to the small girl. In the next room, the sounds of the evening meal preparation could be heard: Gretchen hummed and often sang off key while cooking. It was something she'd struggled to get used to, but after a time, things like this flit to the back of your mind.

"Not much longer now." She assured Daisy as they finished the story. Genevra set the child down and went to check on dinner. With the rumors she could not help but worry for Narnicka. The months following his retirement from the First Stormwind Regiment had not been easy. Trying to take the military out of the man was an impossible task.

The priestess scooped up Daisy and set her on a chair in the kitchen while Gretchen prepared a squash soup. "I'll just be outside, I'm going to get some air."

"Course M'lady."

And then it struck her, like being crushed under a great weight, she fell to her knees, her hands reaching out to grab hold of something, anything, but there was no one there to catch her as she fell just outside her home. The scream that left her lips was a guttural cry of desparation. In that moment she felt it, knew that he had fallen. The connection that had been established years ago, the connection that bound them, that brought them together, was the same that heralded his death.

He'd gone in to battle countless times before, and always she worried, but always he came home. Never had she felt this, an overwhelming feeling of desparation of spiraling out of control. Gretchen rushed outside and saw Genevra, not as a priestess in mourning, but as a thing of the shadow, the same which protected her The shadow is my shield, the light is my blade. Had that not been her mantra.

She spoke softly, her voice cracking with emotion, "Do not let Daisy out of your sight." And with that Genevra was gone, carried on the wings of a phoenix, a dark blur against the sky carried to the Cathedral.

---

The rest was a blur, of images: a denomic gnome, grasping tendrils of shadow reaching out for something that is not there; of words, "YOU ARE A FOOL, GENEVRA. A PITY YOU CHOOSE OBLIVION INSTEAD. SUBMIT, OR I KILL SAAVEDRO - AND ALL OF EXISTENCE WITH HIM!" The words echoed in the catacombs of the Cathedral.

These things would have to be dealt with later, all she knew was the warmth of the Shadow, and the taunt of Ashlam Tullivan's words, echoing across space and time, "The Light has forsaken you. It failed you, as it failed me."

My life was the Light, he was my life, my souce of joy, our family, and I wasn't there, and the Light did not save him. Where was the Light when I needed it most? Where was my weapon of Holy strength, to defend Narnicka? To protect me from this pain, this anguish? --Sometimes the answer is "No"--

The gnome traitor spoke on, "Not to worry. I will not kill any of your precious followers. Not unless they move against me first."

Genevra clicked the dial with one hand, still watching the gnome sharply, "And so that is what you want? Power, not forgiveness, not the Light ...not the duty and honor of protecting knowledge. You have betrayed our trust, and until you repent cannot be forgiven, no you must pay for your transgressions as there is not an ounce of remorse within you. The Light will forgive you, but the Shadow will judge you, and your time has come." She cast a mind spike that would seek to embed itself within his skull until it was no more. There was no sense in her, only a rampant want for destruction, for someone else to feel the darkness, the emptiness that she felt erupting within her.

Rakeri 's teleport beacon slides into his hand. "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke again when you were not attempting to intimidate one who cannot be intimidated by the likes of you, Genevra Stoneheardt. We will meet again."

Genevra screamed in utter rage, the shadows that had engulfed her pulsed wildly, her eyes shining bright white with rage, as they hid her despair.

"Saavedro?"

Saavedro kneels before you. "Oh, my f--kng head...ooh..." He looks up, his shock at her appearance visible, "Genevra?" He looks around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Blessed within the Light, returned within the Darkness..The Catacombs of the Cathedral."
"And...by the Light...what have you done?"

Genevra 's voice was a soft sweet sickly thing, an echo, a shadow of herself. "My grounding is no more, and so I embrace what I am, as we all should."

"But...this is what Sekhesmet has done. And look what it's made him. The Forsaken gave him unholy life - but HE embraced the shadow! Genevra...why?"

"My husband has fallen this day. There is much to be explained, but first I must make a trip... you've already been on one... come with me..."

Saavedro frowns, trying to comprehend all this. "Where?"

"Theramore, the city has fallen."

"WHAT?! What about Jaina, did she make it out? Did ANYONE make it out?"

"I do have those answers.... the last question I could ask was of Narnicka..."

"You mean, he was -- Merciful Light."

"I need to go there... now." She seethed with grief and anger, pausing to look up for a moment as if she were hearing someone else speak, for she was. Jacksen's words echoed within her mind and soon they were before the mage.

"Please... can you get us there... "

Jacksen spoke in that calm manner of his, despite the gravity. "I was just coming to take you back with me. Its... There aren't words..."

" Are there survivors?" Saavedro questioned.

Genevra nodded slowly, "Please Jacksen, I have to find him..."

Saavedro curses his thoughtlessness. "Sorry, Genevra. It's...been an odd week."
" Brace yourselves. The ley lines there are distorted. I can't predict exactly where we'll land."

---
It was little more than a crater, much like the destruction and desolation that had engulfed the Outland. She knew he was here, the last vestige of their connection guided her, the crystal around her no longer glowed bright green, but was dull.

A soldier, one of the survivors approached, "Mrs. Stoneheardt?"

Saavedro spoke with relief in his voice, "Thank the Light. Someone survived..."

Genevra 's voice cracked, "Yes, I am she."

Jacksen keeps an eye out for lingering Horde.

The soldier looked exhausted, but turns. "This way." He led them on, and motioned to the freshly dug grave, one of many in the area. " We've not yet made an inscription. As hastily as these... grounds needed to be prepared, we felt family should decide what make the fallen should leave."

Genevra fell to her knees, "No...." She wept openly, repeating only, "No...no..."

Saavedro grips his rosary, as he kneels in prayer.

The Theramore survivor remains quiet for now, bowing his head.

"I'm sorry, Genevra..." Jacksen offered his words of comfort.

Genevra shook her head, closing her eyes as she wept, "The Light... it has le--" she started to say but pushed that thoguht aside, "Narnicka..." She whispered his name.

The soldier breathes a low sigh, drawing a letter from his satchel. "If you'd like, I can read what was found on his person..."

Jacksen closes his eyes and concentrates.

Genevra looked up at the survivor, "Please... I would like his things.... a letter?" Her eyes were too blurry to focus, she nodded in agreement.

" The distance is far, but with all the residual mana in the air... I can reach Lahkin... If you'd like." Jacksen offered.

Genevra nodded at Jacksen, "Please."

He hadn't suffered, that would be one of very few comforts to Genevra in the coming hours, days, months, years, it had been quick. Her eyes closed as she tried to imagine the scene as it unfolded, but found it unbearable.

And then Lahkin was there, to offer his comfort. He was here , it was him but what of the other who had been as a son to Narnicka, and Daisy... poor Daisy.

Genevra exhales deeply, her tears steady as she is granted this comfort. She turns at the sound of Lahkin's voice, reaching up to hug him tightly, "Your father..." She couldn't say it.

The soldier breathed a slow breath, then began to read the letter that was recovered.

"Dearest Genevra.
As before every major battle, I cannot face the possibility of death without leaving my last words to you. I can claim what few men can when I say I felt the bliss of a happy soul in life, sharing my love, my loss, and my children with you. It is never easy to put such words in writing, as I know that no matter how much I say, I can no longer hold you and tell you tomorrow will be brighter in person. I stived in my life to be a man my wife would glow when she spoke to. The kind my son would aspire to me. To protect the innocence of such an attacked people. In some ways, I failed, but not all. I make one request from my resting grounds, love. Please. Do not go your life with hatred in your heart. Do not let my passing unravel all the years of happiness I so strived to bring you. Every night, I want you to tell my son and my daughter how much I love them both. And remember they are living, breathing manifestations of my love for you. Do not live without, but never forget me.
Your dearest and closest love, Narnicka Stoneheardt."

Lahkin shudders, grip getting tighter. He swallows a few times, looking at his morther.

Genevra 's tears had not stopped flowing, she reached out for the letter, "Was there anything else? His ring?" She squeezed his hand tightly, "Thank you soldier, I appreciate all that you have done."

The soldier hands over the letter. And a ring. Lahkin looks away, eyes tightly shut.

And so the retelling begain, the retelling of last moments of his life, Jacksen and Saavedro stepped foward to hear the telling, to hear the words of the soldier, Genevra clutched her son's hand, her free hand still holding the letter and ring close to her chest.

The soldier stepped forward, "There was one more thing." He drew a one-handed sword from his belt. At the hilt is the Gilnean crest of the Stoneheardt. "This is to be passed down to his son, whom I understand to be quite the leader, himself."

Genevra looked at the sword then to Lahkin, "For you son."

Lahkin 's eyebrows go up, and he chokes, but holds his hand out for it.

---

The blur of images, of sounds ensued once more. Jacksen had transported Narnicka's body to Stormwind, and engraved the stone, it read : Lt. Commander Narnicka Stoneheardt, beloved husband and father. He kept us grounded in the best possible way.

Genevra sat for a long time in front of the stone, pressing her hands to it, sliding them over the words, knowing that nothing would bring him back.

Narnicka shimmers into view, sitting. "Dear. You look like crap."

Genevra sighed as she saw his familiar form, though it was a shade of the man. "I lost everything."

Narnicka shakes his head. "Dear, you haven't lost everything. You have Lahkin. And Daisy. And the Conclave. I am not as strong as Rymus was, so... this spirit thing is a one-shot deal."

Genevra reached her hand out to his spirit reaching for something to hold on to. "I just wanted to see you home again."

Narnicka smiles faintly, a hand reaching out to hers, though no contact is felt. "You'll see me in Lahkin's eyes. In the mirror when you wake up in the morning. And... if you'd bless me this request, keep my last name."

Genevra smiled at his words, though she longed for his touch, "I would never think of giving it up."

Narnicka smiles. "There's that smile..."

Genevra blushed, one last time for him, "Thank you Narnicka, for our life, and for our family."

Narnicka leans over, as if kissing her forehead. "No matter what you do in life, dear, I will be waiting for you when you join me in the Light...." He says, fading away. "I love you..."

As his spirit faded the emptiness inside of her grew.

The Horde, first they took my parents from me, leavning me an orphan, thank the Light for the Cathedral, for Benedictus and his guidance before he turned his back on the very Light that saved me. And now, they have taken my husband, when I need him the most. For far too long I have been idle while they chipped away at things that I held dear.

He grounded me, kept me centered, and now I am swathed in shadow, as a babe is wrapped in a blanket, for it was my first comfort, thanks in part to Morinuin. How much I owe her, is nothing compared to how much I owe him.

She awoke the next morning the hollow feeling not only lingered, it grew.

Of all the times she could have chosen to sneak into somewhere, it had to be during a celebratory feast.

Sathrasa lowered her head within her disguise, wearing a tribal warrior’s garb, a shaman in training as it were; simple tan leathers that covered her shoulders and hid her legs from view, giving her the adepts look. Her hands were without gloves, and the face she wore was that of a young orc; the spellgem had done its job, thankfully, but how long it would last is up to debate. She moved quickly in search of her quarry.

It had taken a few minutes, and the home was not much different than the other abodes that dotted the city. It was a simple home, not too rugged and nothing foreboding of it. Still, Sathrasa kept a tight grip on her blades hidden underneath the simple garb, the twin swords strapped to her thighs, thankfully hidden by the widened robe. Quietly she stepped into the shadow the home cast before discarding the tanned outfit, revealing the black leathers of her trade and crept within the house.

It was definitely a warrior’s home; weapons of various sorts were organized neatly, but positioned so that the owner would definitely have a weapon in hand should an intruder be seen. Many were hand made, and the forge that still held dim embers were a testament to the owner’s work. That or perhaps shared, but regardless, this was a warrior’s home, and thus it would not be empty long. Sath stuck to the shadows, clawed hands hovering over her wicked blades as she quietly made her way through the home. Odd that it was so empty; surely there would have been-

A sound, a whirl, and a sudden very angry gnashing of teeth and feral growl as a wyvern cub leapt at her.

She growled and raised her covered gauntlet; thankfully the beast was young, and its teeth did not completely bite through her leathers, although she could feel one of her defensive crystals shudder slightly. Not wanting to waste a gem on the beast, she let the momentum of its leap push her and flipped backwards, slamming the creature down onto the ground under her. She rose quickly, hands whipping out her blades, ready to slice at whatever else might come at her. Two steps forward, away from the tiny creature, she held herself ready.

And two steps forward towards the owner, a thick, muscled hand holding a rather deadly looking axe, aimed precisely at her neck from the short distance that separated the worgen and the opposing figure, the heavy weapon unwavering as its owner stood there; a strong, intimidating figure, its eyes spoke fury and hatred, but also a deep intelligence and grasp of forethought. Sathrasa frowned from under her mask, eyeing the orc as it stared her down, the two simply observing each other in silence…

Without uttering a word, the orc motioned, with an oddly limp hand, around the home and then to Sathrasa, glaring angrily at her. Its question, while unspoken, was simple; why?

The worgen stared down the orcish woman, eyes flicking about the room before catching sight of her quarry; the badge, issued to Lt. Commanders, and this one in specific exceedingly valuable to her. With the barest of movements, Sath motioned her left blade to the badge, staring the orc right back into her tactical gaze.

Slowly, the orcish woman stepped back, still holding her axe at the ready. Even with what was obviously an injured hand, Sathrasa did not want to get into a fight with an orc, especially in the middle of their own city. The orcish woman glanced to the badge, and then back to the worgen that intruded within her home, again an unspoken question: why?

Sathrasa calmly shook her wrist, a single crystal dropping to the ground. It flared a bright, visible image of two humans, resting at their home hidden within human lands, and taking care of their young. She motioned to the crystal, and then to the badge again.

The orcish woman eyed both the wolfen woman and the gem before flicking the badge at her. Sheathing her left blade, Sathrasa caught it and, with a quick salute and nod of thanks, dropped another crystal, vanishing in a cloud of blue-ish/black smoke, the undeniable remnants of portal magic filling the air.

Krinda looked to where the worgen once stood, eyes focused, before checking on the cub. A little dazed, but the proud and protective creature was otherwise unharmed. Setting her axe aside and scooping it up lovingly, she stood and simply looked out her window, watching the night within Orgrimmar, knowing that giving up the badge was worth it in the long run.

Family deserves to know.

For the life of him, in the midst of the struggle, Jean couldn't recall who reached the trigger first and managed to pull it.

It didn't matter.

What did matter is that by the time the shot was fired, the Forsaken managed to jam the rifle up towards the man's throat, sending bullet through flesh. Kicking the corpse off himself, he leapt to his feet, reloading his rifle to give Krinda a hand.

Too little, too late. The man yelled something out, and within an instant had drawn his own pistol, taking a shot at Jean that caught him across the eye. A slur of cursewords followed, mixed Gutterspeak and Thalassian, staggering back a few steps and clutching at the bleeding wound, dropping his rifle in the process and nearly tripping over the corpse he made just a few moments ago.

By the time he managed to stop cursing, and make certain he wasn't going to pass out from the pain of the wound or the loss of blood - not that he was entirely certain the Forsaken suffered such issues, but it didn't hurt to go through the motions - Krinda had used the distraction to take out the man she was sparring with. Tearing a bit of his shirt off from beneath his armor, he wrapped it around his skull and bleeding eyesocket enough to stop the gushing blood, making his way over to the Orcess, who seemed to be retrieving something from the body.

"Krin."

Jean tipped his head to the side, signalling to follow the retreating forces.

The woman didn't reply immediately. There was something of a fire in her eyes, a longing for more, more fighting, more honor. It didn't sit well with the younger Dawnveil.

"Krinda."

He said more harshly, glancing about for his rifle. Lost, somewhere in the cursing and the spitting and the reeling. No problem. There were weapons scattered everywhere, and he managed to snag a shotgun from the ground large enough that he wouldn't need to see straight to hit a target - which was good, because he couldn't.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

Finally, the woman gave an affirmatory grunt to his words, backing down. As the lines broke, the hunter made certain the woman went first, spraying shotgun fire rapidly as he backed up to cover their retreat. He thought he even hit a thing or two, while he was at it. Probably enemies, from the color of their tabards. Could at least still make that out. Just had to keep it together a bit longer.

Eventually, the Orcish woman calmed down enough to speak again - though the first words out of her mouth weren't exactly music to his pointed ears. "Jean - watch out!"

A rogue appeared behind the hunter, having been picking off the retreating stragglers, jamming a knife directly into one of the weak spots of the man's armor, torn open during his earlier struggle. The cry that erupted from the man's lips wasn't exactly of pain - almost a gutteral cry of rage, and he whirled about, pulling the trigger of the shotgun and blasting a hole the size of his fist in the man's chest and sending the Human staggering back against the side of the bridge.

That probably would've been enough.

Probably.

Not for Jean, though, who seemed beyond reason even as the commanders barked to fall back. Tugging the knife from his side, he flew into a rage, diving at the man who was likely around bleeding out and plunging the weapon into the man's chest, throat, sides - anywhere he could reach, repeatedly.
To say it was overkill would be putting it lightly.

"Jean..." The Orcish woman called out, looking somewhere between bewildered and impressed at the relatively small-statured undead Sin'dorei. There was something of a fiery rage in his eyes, and expression, which didn't seem to dull even with the repeated stabbings.

This time, it was she who drug the man off, though far more physically than he had to do with her, just moments prior. She grabbed his shoulderplate with her good hand, and quite literally drug him off the bridge, the man still in something of a fit of rage and struggling the entire way off.

When the wounded arrived in Orgrimmar, they were greeted like heroes, though Jean couldn't help but notice the massive amounts of praise Garrosh was receiving over any other - and the massive amounts of praise he was giving himself. The Warchief ordered a six day feast and celebration, and he could hardly complain. The streets flooded with celebration, cheer of the Warchief and his victory. Orcish grog was passed around freely by cheery barmaidens, and even though there were rumors of dissenters gathering further South, it was near-impossible to tell in the city.

He had wanted to return to campus, but Krinda insisted he be seen to before he fly. Probably for the better. Couldn't see straight, let alone walk on his own, yet. She was right about it being better for PR these days, too.

Didn't even protest as much, this time. Just so long as they didn't send him to another !@#$in' Witch Doctor. A chicken for everything. He was sick of %^-*ing chickens. Never wanted to see one again, unless it was cooked. Or a Witch Doctor, for that matter, he was more than content to add and grump about.

His disposition cheered immediately, however, when he discovered that even the wounded were allowed to take part in the celebrations. Particularly the part about grog. He could've done without the cheering, though, which ran on even into the late hours of the night.

"Garrosh! Garrosh! Garrosh! Garrosh! Death to the Alliance! Death to the Alliance!"

The crowd roared, and cheered. Enjoying himself as he may, he didn't quite agree with their enthusiasm over the Warchief's new toys. From what he could tell, it didn't sit well with Krinda, either. Not that he disapproved of the bomb's results. They won, didn't they? He just wasn't certain the current Warchief was the right man to be in charge of that.

Didn't matter, though, what's done is done.

The Forsaken weren't a people known to long mourn the dead.

(( /mourn ))

The enchanted carpet came to rest a few inches off the ground just a few yards away from the Stoneheardt home. Jacksen stepped off the hovering cloth onto the dry red earth that gave Redridge its name, and took a long look at the house as well as the town just down the hill. Lakeshire was a town Jacksen would describe as "sleepy". Despite there being a camp of Blackrock Orcs in the southeastern area of the region, the residents of Lakeshire rarely encountered any disturbances in their simple lives. It was a nice place to raise a family.

The thick rug rolled and rippled in the wind like a child that couldn't sit still until Jacksen made a gesture his hand and carpet coiled itself up into a tight bundle with a diameter barely wider than a roll of parchment. Though at least four feet in length, Jacksen easily slid the entirety of it up the left sleeve of his robes, and with heavy, hesitant strides he walked up to the house and gently knocked on the wooden door.

The voice that replied within was disquietingly otherworldly, and almost unrecognizable. "Come in, Jacksen."

Jacksen steeled himself and opened the door. Genevra was waiting for him in the dinning room. One look at her spoke volumes more than one could say. Completely obscured from head to toe in writhing shadows, Genevra watched him with her head cocked slightly to the side like a bird of prey watching its next meal scamper through the tall grass. Jacksen forcibly kept himself from frowning. The only way to properly see her was to try and look at the objects still reflecting light around her in order distinguish the contrast of her form against them. It was unsettling and tiring on the eyes, and Jacksen deeply considered just turning right back around and leaving, but he had come for a reason, and he could not afford to let his discomfort dissuade him from the task at hand.

Instead Jacksen let out a heavy sigh and closed the door behind him, "So your grief counseling is going well then?"

Genevra gave him a disturbingly malicious smile, "You could say that."

A side thought came upon Jacksen, "You didn't happen to pass the care of your infant to someone else before cloaking yourself in shadow and evil thoughts did you?

Genevra let out a low and not entirely human growl, "NO, she is upstairs, and in the care of her capable mother."

Jacksen made a mock of looking about for the said "capable mother". If things continued on like this it was a good possibility that he had waisted his time in coming. Returning his full attention back to Genevra Jack noticed that there was in fact a place to focus on when looking at her. Two, small, perfectly white circles stared out unblinking from the place where her eyes should have been, but this discovery did absolutely nothing to settle his growing unease.

"Mind if we sit?" Jacksen asked. He decided that at this rate it was best to just get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible.

Genevra motioned for him to proceed her up the stairs to the sitting room, and then, like slipping out of a robe to take a bath, or letting the rain wash off the dirt and grime of a long day, the shadows melted from her and she stood as her usual self clothed in a deep purple gown that emphasized her state of mourning.

"Tread lightly, she is asleep," Genevra said gently. Not even a hint of the darker presence remained in her voice, like a transformation from night to day.

Jack wasn't sure what had caused the sudden change. Maybe there wasn't even a cause to be noticed. Perhaps her transformations would come and go at a whim, or perhaps she had wrestled back the darkness with an internal struggle that Jack couldn't perceive, but either way he preferred having the rest of the conversation with Genevra as she was now.

Jacksen, quiet as he could in the creaky old house, made his way up stairs and into the spacious common room. A fire crackled lively in its hearth to his left, and two wooden chairs were arranged properly within warming distance of the flames. Jack thought it a good a place as any to talk and seated himself in the chair on the left.

Genevra looked at the empty seat next to him as if she were seeing a ghost, "No… I… not there."

Jack gave her a quizzical expression, "An aversion to warmth?"

Gen had a small bit of trouble with her next words. "We sat there, each night…. Narnicka and I. I've not… since he left." Gen shook her head, "Since he died… I mean."

Jack nodded and stood up following Genevra to another grouping of chairs. It was lucky that Genevra had broached the subject for him, because until then he hadn't known where to start.

"That's what I've come to talk with you about," he said as he sat down. He looked over at Genevra and in that moment she appeared very small for some reason.

"I've not yet planned a service if that's what you're after, it's all too fresh still," she started to say.

Jack shook his head, but it was a moment before he corrected her. He would have to choose his words carefully. "What if… What if there were a way to… undo the past."

There was confusion in Genevra's voice. "What do you mean? We cannot change what has been done, and he was too far gone to be called back by the spirits."

"It is a theory mind you, but ever since the events that transpired with Lahkin I have devoted all of my efforts into researching the ebb and flow of time, and… given the proof of what Lahkin has been through, there may be a way to, well to quite literally save Narnicka."

Gen looked at him with disbelief in her eyes. "He's fallen Jacksen, do not fill my heart with false hopes."

"Then I would advise to put no hope the success of this plan, and then you will not be disappointed."

Genevra thought on that a moment and then nodded, "What do you propose? I would hear of your plan though I know that he is gone."

Jacksen mentally berated himself. He hadn't considered it, but of course she would want to know the details of his plan. Jack's mind raced as he tried to think of how he could possibly make Genevra understand the intricacies and paradoxes of manipulating the time matrices, but after a moment of her waiting expectantly Jacksen decided to just try.

"I plan to use temporal fluxations to…" And then he had a better idea. " I'm going to go back in time and then bring Narnicka back to the future with me."

"And you can do this? You can bring him… you can save him?" She asked.

Jacksen was inwardly relieved that he hadn't needed to go further into the details of his theory, but he knew that he still had to be careful with what he told her. In this scenario the end would have to justify the means. "I can try."

Gen sighed, feeling the warmth of the Light. "Will you? will you try Jacksen? I have been lost since I felt him fall, since I knelt before his grave."

Jack gave a nod. If nothing else it appeared that their talk had given her a temporary reprieve from the grief. "If all goes according to plan, then I've already done it, and now we're just waiting for Narnicka's return."

Gen looked at him with disbelief, "That is not a very funny joke Jacksen."

Her response took Jacksen by surprise, even though it shouldn't have. Whenever he would make a joke she assumed him serious, and when he spoke the truth she mistook it for jest. He could never win with her. "I wasn't joking. That is how time travel works," Jack clarified.

Genevra sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I need some rest Jacksen, Light pray that you are right, but if this does not work… if my hope is gone…" She could not finish the sentence.

Jack was piss poor at offering words of comfort, and even when he tried they never came across with sincerity despite his efforts. So he went with the next best thing. Something to look forward to. "I'll have more answers for you when next we meet." And with that Jack took his leave. Now that he had Genevra's blessing he could begin with the preparations.

He was going to need a lot of power.

((*puts on his Kirin Tor hat* Time to enforce some magical law...))

(( War chief has banned time travel, you are breaking the law))