World of Warcraft®

Ratheron

He jolted awake, as he did he noticed immediately the lack of weight on his chest and he quickly jumped off the bed. He scanned the area and noticed Shadow's journal lying open, he moved to study it and as he did he read the sentence there and a smile played on his face. Yet only for a moment, the cry of a Proto-Drake drawing him to look down over the Pillar... What he saw made him freeze yet he narrowed his gaze as he noticed one was Shadow and another elf.

He sighed to himself and closed his eyes as he felt his spirit leave his body and when it did he bounded down the side of the Pillar, hiding nearby and listening to the words. He did not like what he heard, what he saw. He watched in dismay as Shadow failed to watch her surroundings and was forced into a trap. He readied himself to bring his body to him and yet stopped. He felt the emotions of the other elf and only felt two things. Anger and love. It made him pause as he heard the words and realized that this had been the man she slept with, the man she might have loved in Shattrath. The one her parents wanted her to marry.

He was frozen then, unable to move as he listened to him berate his student, he had failed her and it hit him even harder. He had let her training slide in favor of spending more time with her as a lover. He cursed himself, cursed his emotions, yet not entirely. He simply knew what must happen now. He had to make her stronger so that they could be together. Yet would she pick him? Would she return home? He could feel the confusion, see it plainly on her face as he brought his body down the mountain to his spirit and rejoined himself. Stepping forward he slowly approached his lover and student...

Neryth stood before the blank sketch pad with several pencils and his many sketches he had made of Kel'tira and Cyaer Sunblaze for the portrait that Cyaer had commissioned him to do for them.

Neryth had spoken several times with the rogue Cyaer, and found him charming, though a little moody. However, he noticed the man hardly stopped smiling as Neryth had asked him to think of his wife throughout the sitting Neryth had with Cyaer. Neryth noted that it was not a false smile, but one that was genuine and could be seen in the eyes of the young lord as well.

To say Neryth was nervous in meeting with the Lady of House Sunblaze was an understatement. He had met her only once, quite some time ago, and she had been "distracted" while he spoke and introduce himself. She was a rather imposing figure that carried so much weight in his mind.

However, the sitting with Kel'tira was pleasant, and he found her as charming and witty as her husband. Moreso even. She had a way of sensing his discomfort, and making him feel more comfortable. He had sketched several more pages of her than of Cyaer, and he had even dared to touch her face, and skin.

When he was done and he talked with Kel'tira, Kel as she preferred to be called, he said that he wanted to do a very realistic portrait one that would capture the personalities and looks of the couple. He said he wanted to be truthful and include all that he saw, the crow's feet, the laugh lines, and most of all the love he saw in each of them for each other. She nodded and said she too felt the same way. And thanked him, and looked forward to seeing the finished portrait.

Now, he stood before the blank page, trying to decide how he wanted the portrait to feel and look. He set the pencils down, then sat on the end of his bed, and looked out the door of the studio. The artist slow in the inspiration of the idea for this commission. As he watched his friend the rabbit out on the parkway, it was as though a bolt hit Neryth and he rushed to the paper and began sketching furiously across the paper. He smiled and then chuckled to himself as he drew and looked at the creation forming in front of him.

<Rather than resuming on the old page, she begins a new one, writing while lying close to Ratheron's side.>

I've wronged Shadowless severely. I've come to terms with this. What role he plays in my life now is for him to decide. If he can forgive me enough to stay close, or if he will let his jealousy tear us apart, that is not my call any longer. He has already laid down three definitives for me that I have picked out of our conversation.

1. He is not going to attempt to bring me home.

2. He is going to be staying around and keeping an eye on me.

3. He doesn't think I'm without talent as a monk.

Not a lot of people can read his backhanded comments very well. But we've known each other for a long time. Most of my life, it seems. I find it strange when Ratheron says Shadowless is young, when I view the rogue and I see only his hardships. The scars on his body are shallow compared to the ones within.

But, unlike Ratheron, I cannot reach Shadowless. He is hard and cold, cruel and sadistic. Not all of the time. But he was never a good lover. Perhaps I was too harsh to tell him he would have been a terrible husband as well. I didn't mean it, really. I just didn't want for him to try to attack Ratheron where he slept.

But he would have been a terrible husband for me.

I need to have moments like this. I need to be the center of someone's attention. Shadowless is hot and cold, as there as often as not. I hope to never let Ratheron know one of the pains of being with someone like that. To lie with someone who, even when being intimate, is so obviously out of tune that he hardly notices who he's with. Sometimes, I think back on those moments and wonder if he wasn't thinking of someone else.

I pity Shadowless. I really do. But I'm not right for him. And he isn't right for me. He knows this. But the pain of letting go might drives him to do things that he might regret.

I know, for a fact, that he will move once the new guildstones arrive. He will try to take a new one. He will figure out how to hack into them. There is no question in my mind. What he wants, he will achieve. But, I do not feel terribly threatened by this. The man's cunning is nigh legendary, but he would not attack anyone in the Fellowship. Not outright. Not without just cause.

I fear for anyone who earns his wrath. Had he loved me any less, I wouldn't be here right now. Maybe I should introduce him to Kel and he can stalk me peacefully. It's almost comforting in a... strange way. Temper or not, he is a valuable asset. Maybe I could ask to have him handle the Mogu poison instead of Ratheron. Or have him start tracking Crow. Or keep an ear out for the Death Knight.

Once he calms down. If he doesn't hate me.

<Far too close, he sat. Lowering the spyglass, Shadowless silently confirmed that neither target has moved. Prime sleeps easily beneath the jungle's canopy, at home in the dense brush. Good hunting, a hatching ground to the north, the assassin silently envied his drake's little 'paradise'. But it wouldn't last forever. They would have to move, soon, and it would be as much of a struggle to get the lumbering giant out of the jungle as it had been to get him out. And yet, it wasn't impossible.

Settling down, the man picked up a quill and opened to the first page of his hide bound notebook and began to write after setting it against his bent knee, enjoying the crackle of the fire set at his feet.>

There is a reason I loved her.

<He nearly laughs. Pathetically poetic.>

I was reminded of it, time and again, last night. The burning fire in her eyes, the determination that would bend Hell itself in half. The ability to turn logic on its side as she makes everything important out to be nothing, and to make a big deal out of tiny details. I nearly laughed when she downplayed what truly happened when I took this... communication stone from her.

She would have been a perfect mate. Distracting. Very, very distracting. No one could come after me through her. No one could come after her through me. Perhaps that is why I do not deserve her. And why I will not pursue her as if I have any claim on something as wild as that.

I created her. I will acknowledge that I see my hand in her time and again.

<He paused, his eyes drifting to his nearly bags. They were ladened with coin from her family paying him handsomely to return their precious child to them safe and sound.>

That is why it would be no surprise that I could not find her in this dense land. It is not as if many know that a Proto-Drake has an amazing sense of smell and great memory for detail. It is not as if Prime could locate her from miles away and does so eagerly due to his love of her.

It was all I could do to keep the damn beast from screaming when she called his name over the stone. Stupid beast.

<He laughed at that. Bitterly, and yet fondly as well. Prime jerked slightly in his sleep, only to settle down once again.>

That is why reading her is easy, as well. She wants to keep me uninvolved with this group. Perhaps she fears that I will turn them over to her family. That is quite a fun idea...

<Silently, he wonders if it would be a good one, as well. Though he had considered it, without knowing the Fellowship's strength and numbers, pitting groups against each other was to the back of his mind. And yet, it was certainly an idea he had thought of, and mentally offered her praise for attempting to control his movements by giving him no reason to go out of his way to investigate these facts.

And yet, he probably would. He would find the supplier, he would investigate the means in which one 'attunes' oneself to a new stone, he would then take one for himself, and no one would be the wiser in the end. He merely used it as a tool to listen. He had no reason to speak or to be known. If Ratheron hadn't said anything, he doubted Shadow would have, leading him to wonder if the runaway doesn't -want- his presence.

Confused, he taps his quill against the parchment before shaking his head. Dipping the tip into the inkwell, he taps it lightly before returning to his thoughts.>

There are things in this world which must not be controlled. There are things which cannot be controlled. Controlling Risa will be like dancing with a piece of myself. Not impossible. She is unpredictable and wild, but she is not stupid. That, and a monk dictates her thought's flow, it seems. The more logical she becomes, the more predictable she will be. As she loses her edge and her flare and attempts to control all of this, it will be merely a game of shifting the pieces until she moves how I wish for her to move.

My mere presence alone has her catering to me. She might well flat out steal a guildstone without me even needing to ask, let alone lift a finger.

I question why she desires my presence. I do not have enough facts to act at this point in time. And I might not be around in the coming weeks to fully gather what is not spoken about over this stone.

Something else is afoot. Something I feel requires my attention far more than chasing a girl on a mission to establish her own life. No matter how I, personally, feel about this girl...

<And, he does pause, the anger and pain blazing within his chest, twisting his stomach once again, causing him to swear under his breath for a moment before he continues.>

My skin burns. My soul's on fire. I feel pulled towards something. A greater destiny. The muse of my arts calls for me, singing a song sweeter than any siren's call.

<Shadowless rips the parchment from its bindings before tossing it into the fire, leaving the book blank.>

<Bloodied and with more than a bruise or two forming, Shadowless eases himself down, gasping for air. Blood stained his lips, his internal injuries proving a bit more severe than he had thought, now that the adrenaline is no longer coursing through his veins. Tilting his head back to rest against the tree, the assassin grasps lightly at his chest, his leather armor torn through to reveal the soaked bandages beneath, the wound burning slightly, as if infected.

Beneath the mask, his eyes close as he reflects on the evening which had come before the now rising sun. Its warmth bathed him, and his breathing eased a bit as he lost himself to those memories.

His muse had called him, sang that he would cause a great ripple. Chaos was to be found here, as he found a crypt swarming with guards. Casually swarming. Unaware. Everything was peaceful. Prime came to perch nearby, but didn't look happy at the masses that his ride was approaching. He knew better than to follow, and instead, took flight, least his golden hide give away Shadowless's presence.

Approaching the doors of the crypt, he found two guard stationed there specifically. Each he dispatched quickly and efficiently. Dragging both bodies inside, he noticed that one particular man stood tall and powerful, gazing at the form of another. One who had been stripped down, chained. Was this his goal? No man or woman had spoken of his task, not aloud. But nothing ever needed to be mentioned. Not to Shadowless. He turned his blades upon one of the guards and cut through muscle and tissue quickly. Then, he threw the body part down.

Thunk. Thunk. The head rolled, leaving behind a trail of blood. Shadowless pressed his soaked palm against the side of the wall as the Death Knight guard stood and issued his challenge. Smearing his palm against the stone, he was able to get a better grasp on his weapons before turning to meet the guards who came after him. Back up he went, fighting, dancing. Shadow and light working to his advantage, confusing each who got in the way of his blades as they drank in each kill hungrily.

Until none were left but himself and the man below. The one who called himself a Shadow Knight. His eyes were astounding to the assassin, but he said nothing. Instead slipping forward, he jammed a blade between the discs of the man's neck, seeking to sever the nerves and drop the beast in one swoop.

It wasn't that simple.

As if annoyed, the creature rose and nearly cleaved him in half. A good try, but not good enough. Dancing with the beast, Shadowless didn't see him slowing down to his poisoned weapons anytime soon. He could not rely on time to be his ally. And thus, he struck the man's leggings, hoping to damage the armor. A success, but he would need an opportunity in which to follow through. Retreating, he nearly lost his head to the runeblade.

Drawing his hand across his belt, he dislodged one of many pellets attached to the strip of leather. Throwing it at the monster's face, he caused a great explosion of light to blind him. Unfortunately, the beast was smart enough to not flail around. Instead, he sent a blast of darkness into Shadowless's form, sending him flying hard into the wall. He choked in pain and slid back onto his feet, coughing on his own blood.

With the enemy distracted still, he could slip away. And so, he did. The monster shouted that he was a coward. That he ought to face him. Impossible to bait in such circumstances, the assassin picked up a fragment of bone from the crypt's floor and flicked it to the side to distract the monster. About the time his head jerked to look at the wall the bone had hit, daggers drove home, ripping through tendon and joint.

The beast toppled, and his movements seemed slow and abnormal. It seemed as if the poisons would work, after all.

Finally, Shadowless approached the chained specimen.

"Kill me..." the figure pleaded. Another Death Knight. Shadowless wanted to. His muse wouldn't allow it, however. No matter how pitiful the man looked, the assassin knew better than to disobey that which drove him. He drove his blades into the chains. Once, twice, thrice, they snapped from the man's cuffs and he fell.

Somehow, he wouldn't accept aid, however. If anything, he seemed to curse Shadowless's presence. Shrugging it off, the man acted as a guide to escort the Death Knight through the carnage and chaos he had created. A beautiful scene.

It was then that the Death Knight's base instinct drove him to draw blade against the already wounded assassin. Shadowless, despite having his back turned, had been watching over his shoulder, speaking to the stranger. Seeing him charge suddenly, he twisted his body, spinning close to the weapon, his arm drawing forward before thrusting back, smashing his elbow into the Death Knight's face. The stranger lashed out in return, striking a blow in return. Shadowless took it, too close to escape, though he did manage to avoid having the Runeblade's hilt slammed into him.

Like an animal, the Death Knight chased him as the assassin, whose blades were sheathed still. Chains of ice leapt from the newly risen Knight's hand, binding him and leaving him open to a cruel slash. Had Shadowless not fallen back, he would have been cut down to his core. Falling, he curled his legs up and lashed out, kicking the Death Knight in the stomach, winding him and pushing him back.

Freeing himself quickly of what remained of the chains, he finally grew annoyed enough to draw his own daggers and charged. Turning his left blade to glide along the Death Knight's weapon, he lashed out with his right. The man's head turned, barely avoiding his eye socket being punctured, but he was caught as the combatants drew back. As Shadowless cut through the side of his face, and as the man prepared to take a chunk out of him in return...

It was then that a familiar priest's grasp caught him and jerked him through the air, away from the Death Knight's next blow.

Choking on his own blood, Shadowless fell to the grass at Eve's feet. Looking up, he saw the hooded priestess, who gazed down at him with the same ire she always seemed to have when he went off on one of his wild adventures. Prime seemed to curl up a bit behind her, as if shamed. But he had done what he thought would be necessary. And the Proto Drake was often right.

Eve proceeded to land a few loving kicks at Shadowless's side before turning her attention to the Death Knight and binding him in chains. The man struggled angrily, and got shocked with holy energy in response, fueling the chains and causing him to react violently. Shadowless shook his head and decided to treat his own wounds, letting the pair begin to trade words.

By the Light, they argued like an old married couple…

He nearly laughed, but his body hurt too much. Between the shockwave of darkness and the Death Knight's runed blade, he felt weary beneath his guise. Once, he glanced over and nearly died laughing. Eve had turned the chained man upside down, his body lifted into the air… and then at another point she had him spinning at a high speed while trying to make him talk.

Deciding it best to not interrupt the priestess when she was trying to determine what to do with the man, he made his own choice clear. He would have nothing to do with him. He had saved the bastard, and had been shredded for his efforts. Eve would take notice of this, and she would probably try to save his soul or whatever priests do. He didn't care anymore…

His thoughts grew hazy as he reached for the stolen guild stone. Maybe he should call for Shadow to use some of her monk skills on him. He was so… tired…>

He crept through the shadows silently, not even disturbing the small flock of doves that roosted only inches from his head, and he crouched down before the window before him. The man and woman inside the little cabin were seated at a small table, with some sort of savory stew for dinner, and big hot buttery rolls.

His emerald green eyes took in the entire room, and locked on the large dog laying on the floor by the door. This was going to be more of a challenge than he thought as he moved slowly towards the door of the cabin. The light of the fire inside cast a warm glow upon the ground outside through one of the two windows of the cabin, as he crept up to the door. He listened quietly, then ever so gently he lifted the latch to the door, and waited.

The growl was deep and low, and Cy knew he had tipped off the dog that he was there, so he rushed into the room in a low crouch, and grabbed the great beast in a terrible bear hug. The big dog made a surprised yelp, then tried to wiggle free from the rogue's hold, licking at Cy's face and neck.

The man at the table was standing over the laughing rogue as he tussled with the great beast, a large pistol in his hand, that lowered as he recognized the form wrestling with his dog. "You're lucky I hadn't blown out your brains coming in here with a fool stunt like that, Cy!"

"Aye, I apologize, Mac, I knew you were expecting me, so I thought you might hold back a moment before blasting me with that ancient piece of artillery of yours." He had subdued the dog, with scratching of its belly and chest, and Cy looked up at the woman of the house, his hair all askew and softly said, "Hello, Ellie. Sorry for crashing in here like that, I'll try to be more considerate in the future, and knock like a civilized person should."

"Cyaer, I declare, you speak common almost as clearly and easily as though you were born to it. Am I that good of a teacher?" She giggled as she watched the dog grab Cy's hand, and kept the Sin'dorei from getting up from the floor.

Cyaer looked up at Mac and Ellie, two human farmers that had found the rich farmland of Pandaria suited them, and they had settled on a small parcel of land and began farming here. As a member of the Tillers and a newcomers, Cy had welcomed them.

They became fast friends, even though they couldn't understand each. That's when Ellie had offered to help Cy to learn the common tongue of the Alliance. In return, Cy showed them techniques he had learned from his own farm, and the McDonald's farm had begun to prosper. Cy found the language much more fluid and not quite as gutteral as the orcish common his people used to talk with others of the Horde.

Struggling to get up, Cyaer finally shook the big dog's head, and scratched at its ears, and it let go of his arm finally. Cyaer stood, and leaned against the wall, as he watched Mac and Ellie finish their dinner. "Land's sake, where are my manners, Cy would you like some stew?", Ellie asked.

The blood elf shook his head, "No, thanks anyway. I wanted to ask if you might stop by Sunsong Ranch once in a while for the next few days while I am away. I have business to take care of in Silvermoon City, and may not be back for those few days."

Mac nodded, "Aye, Cy, we would be pleased to help a neighbor out."

Cy nodded and chuckled, "You will make a fine Tiller one day, Mac. It's all about watching out for your neighbor. I'm sorry about the fuss, and I will be more courteous in the future, I promise, Ellie. And thank you for watching out for me. I owe you a true Pandaren Banquet, and it will be my pleasure to do it too. Take care, my friends"

"Night, Cy, and be careful, won't you?" Ellie added.

She rested outside the Rangers training area, watching several young rangers practicing. Many of them with a dragonhawk like Flit. And several experienced rangers ran through with great cats running beside them, and she admired the beauty and grace of the feline forms.

When her time came to talk with her mentor, she was hesitant, yet remembered what Kel had said, and pulled her shoulders back and met with him. He suggested a turtle pet as they were good pets that could handle a great deal of damage and give as well as take. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of a cold blooded beast and something to slow to keep up with her.

He noted her look and then made one other suggestion, a bear. They were good solid fighters that could handle some damage. And they were known to eat just about anything, so feeding them was not a chore. This time he noticed that she seemed more receptive of the idea.

He touched her shoulder gently, "Aris, it's hard when you lose your companion beast. I feel your pain in the loss of Flit. Find your path and a friend that will grow with you, I see a lot of potential in you. Take care, Aris." She thanked him before she left, surprised he had been nice.

She thought long and hard of what or maybe who she would have as her next companion. And she would love it just as she had Flit, because that was just the way she felt about it.

The paladin had a splitting headache. The much was clear to the people milling about in her study. Short red hair was dragged up on her head in a manner reminiscent of her preferred bun, and green eyes glinted in the light from the sun and the enchanted stone lamp on her desk. Paper piled before her in mountains, and the members of House Sunblaze gathered around her like moths drawn to a flame. They chattered. The note she held in her hand was one of contention, and her people, the Fellowship, were its target.

[I]Lady Kel'tira Sunblaze,

I would wish you well, but we both know I would mean it
not at all. So I shall skip the pleasantries and get straight to
the point. You know why I am writing. You know who I am.
You know what I want. You know I am prepared to go to any
means to get it. Consider this a warning. When my son died,
I took it personally. Hand over the Rising Sun Fellowship to
me, or there will be hell to pay, for you, and your people,
House and Fellowship both. So, you will give the leadership
of your people over to me and mine, or there will be
consequences. I will kill each and everyone one of them, and
force you to watch, Sunblaze.

Lord Firehawk[/i]


Kel'tira Sunblaze sighed again, and wondered where her husband was, or if he was one of the many lining the hallway waiting to speak with her. The group in front of her was from her mother's side of the family, fiercely determined Blood Knights, healers all of them. They were talking at her, and Kel forced her mind from thoughts of Cyaer back to the present, she had to make a decision.

“Lady Sunblaze,” came the voice of the leader of the women in front of her, “We want you to make up your mind now, rather than later. We cannot afford the Firehawks as our enemies.”

Kel rubbed her temples. She hated how quickly news got out. Even things you tried to keep quiet, “I assure you, I will make the right choice for all of us. I do not think there is a way to assauge the Firehawk's ire, not after Tyrael died.”

“And just why do you take the blame?”

“Because he died for the Fellowship, which, Anlyssa, I now lead.”

“Kel'tira Sunblaze--”

“No.”

“Lady Sunblaze--”

“Anlyssa, we are done here. My decision will be final, and I will not leave the Fellowship without a leader through this.”

“Kel't--”

“Out, please.”

Anlyssa sighed, and with a gesture, she and her healers left, leaving Kel alone for a moment with her thoughts.

She would, she decided finally, have to move the Fellowship. They simply were not safe here with the threat from the Firehawks hanging over their heads. She did not hesitate to believe that the Firehawks would go to any means to take the Fellowship's power from her, as a means of getting even for Tyrael's death, she supposed. That made her stop for a moment and think. Tyrael. What would he do? He would try to face the problem head on, likely, and that would lead to death. For everyone involved. She couldn't do that. Ratheron was dealing with Aserius. She was merely taking precautions. They would get out of the city for a bit.

All of them.

And while she could not leave the House, she could move between the two with relative ease and silence. She just hoped Cy would stay with her. She couldn't bear to lose him, but she couldn't abandon the House or the Fellowship. With a sinking feeling in her heart that was soon replaced by relief, she realized that she would choose him over the House and the Fellowship. In a heartbeat. She just loved him that much. Ratheron would lecture about that, but she didn't care. He was the one falling for Shadow. And, she realized, she didn't particularly care what others thought about her and Cy. They were married, and their love held them closer than any vows they might have spoken.

With a sigh, she shook off the pleasant thoughts of her husband and rose, moving from behind her desk to stick her head into the hallway, picking out the hunter swathed in chain-mail robes with her gaze, nailing him with a look as the sound levels rose with her presence. He nodded minutely and she withdrew back into the relative silence of her study.

Five minutes later, her door opened and the shadow of the hunter slipped in, he nodded at the Lady of his House respectfully, and then spoke quietly, “The Windrunner Spire will do nicely, Lady. Safe enough, and none would expect us there. The ghosts can be dealt with for the short term. For the long term, we may wish to choose a more secure location, further from Silvermoon, if the Firehawk situation comes to a head.”

“You visited the place we discussed for that?”

“I have. It needs work, but it is doable.”

“Good. And you will continue on with this course of action?”


((1/2))

"Yes, Lady.”

“Very good, and Dan, do me a favor?”

Seeming to recognize the slip into a more familiar tone, the hunter, evidently Dan, nodded, “Anything, Kel.”

"I need time to think.”

“Of course. Shoo them off?”

“If you could. If Cy's out there, tell him I am asking for him?”

“Of course, Kel.”

The Lady of the house sighs, it is clear from her posture she is tired to death of all of this, but equally clear in her eyes is the determination to make the right choice. As Dan retreats from her study with a bow, one that she pointedly ignores from her childhood friend, she goes back to staring at the papers on her desk, and then gathers them up in a heap, binding them together with a leather tie and tucking them into her pack before donning armor. Shouldering her pack, she forgoes her tabard with a sigh, running a hand over the emblem on the cloth, and unclipping the pin in order to pin it to her shirt underneath her armor.

Closing her eyes in a brief prayer, the paladin slipped out the open window, Cy would know where to find her.


The Eastern Plaguelands were not a pleasant place. The orange sky pressed down on Kel'tira Sunblaze's figure, her shoulders bowed as if bearing a heavy weight. The skulls in the sparsely populated area rattled in the brisk wind, and Kel found herself shivering. Almost distractedly, she cut a stray undead down, her eyes cool and distant. This would do very well, it would take some work, but it would be in stages. It would have to be.

She hated thinking this way. It was facing the things she would rather leave untouched, but she had news to deal with. When Cy found her, as she knew he would, she was filling in a mass grave for the hundreds of nameless skulls in the town square. The shovel in her hands was old, one she had found in a shed, and she had blisters through her plate gloves, she knew.

They had talked. A long, much-needed talk. She told him everything. He deserved to know everything as her husband and the lord of the house. There were tears. Within reason. Lifting up and moving, leaving Silvermoon, was not an easy decision for her to make. And their conversation cumulated in his agreeing to stay with her, in Silvermoon, instead of try to get out. He knew he wasn’t safe there, no more than she was, and he chose to stay, which warmed her heart to no end. And she held him. She needed that.

After he left, she stayed. She needed to get a feeling for this desolate, empty enclave she hoped would be fitting for her people one day, whether it was in the long run or the short run she did not know yet. It would work. One way or another it would work out. Life has a funny way of doing that.

And then there was the rogue.

Injured and broken, and he knew it, he also knew he needed help. And Kel helped him. She did what she does best, protect people, but she was suspicious. He looked like he had a guildstone, and Shadow only confirmed that later on. Kel had left the rogue, drugged and unconscious, but safe, with food and water, and left. She went home. Back to Silvermoon, and then from there to the Swamp of Sorrows and Bogpaddle to follow up with another lead about a place for the Fellowship, out of the way and relatively safe. And she had spoken with Solorin, about the Horde military, and his wife, her friend.

She was worried about them. What would happen if Auxi did -not- have a child, and she told Sol as much, and then she went to Orgrimmar. Orcs and Trolls and Tauren bustled about, and the odd Pandaren brushed by her. She felt invisible, and safe in that anonymity, but found herself wondering who was watching. Who was waiting for a mistake on her part to kill her like Karamia was murdered. A knife in the back down a dark alley.

Shaking off those dark thoughts, Kel listened as Ratheron spoke of Aserius’ movements. The last news made her mind up. The move started Sunday.

((2/3))

In the Hall of Respite, the message board of the Fellowship has been taken down, the wall behind it bare save for the papers tacked to it with a nail in the plaster wall. Kel’s graceful script filled the pages, the words heavy on the pages.

Fellowship,

I have made a difficult decision, but one that I believe is necessary. Our meeting this weekend will be held in Duskwither Spire, in the Ghostlands, as Silvermoon City is no longer safe for us. I realize that this is not an easy concept to grasp, and I ask you to trust me in this, as you do in other matters. I ask you to understand this, and mark me well. All will be explained Sunday, this I can and do promise.

I ask that you come with an open mind, and ready to move quickly, as I fear that what we have set before us to do is monumental, and we shall have to complete the tasks we have with alacrity and accuracy. There is no leeway to wait for anything to happen, and we must act preimptively lest something does happen. So again, I ask for your assistance in this. I prompt you to brace yourselves for the metaphorical storm that I fear is inevitable.

I know your strength. And I know your determination. Dedication. I know you all have a great capacity for love, and ask you to understand that what I do, I do for all of you.

Lady Kel'tira Sunblaze

Walking away with a sigh, Kel meanders through the City and back to her house, where she scales the wall with a practiced ease, and clambers back in through the window, surrenders herself to the morning's flow of people.

((3/3))

<Food and water. Hah! The assassin had woken to a strange place, and knew, instantly, that he had been wronged in some manner. The first clue was the hazy feeling in his mind, a good lack of memories about fighting himself to fall asleep. The second were the deep scores marking the wall next to him, carved by his own weapons, something he did not remember doing.

There was no blood, he had not attacked or killed Kel'Tira Sunblaze, the woman who had gone out of her way to aid him. His eyes narrowed at what had been offered, but he did not trust her or it enough to touch it. He rose from the bedroll and left it to rot.

In the depths of his mind, he was lost as he shouldered his bag and began to make his way out. Limping slightly, he frowned as he wondered what on Azeroth had gotten into his boot. He shook his foot here or there, only to then pause and simply remove it. The guild stone he had stolen fell out and he gazed at it blankly for a moment before recalling that he had slipped it out of his pocket and hidden it carefully when the woman had taken notice, and yet had turned her back onto him.

Not for the first time in his life, nor the last, he delighted in his sheer paranoia and inability to trust others as he pulled his boot back into place and picked the guildstone up. With it covered in his own blood, he thought it a humorous, almost foreboding little trinket, as if it might mean that his future was to die for this little guild Risalyn had tangled herself up with.

Wandering, he began to hum a pleasant tune to himself, wondering how he had gotten so far while nearly cut in half. It amused him, and though his body remained tender from the wounds, he had survived. Probably wouldn't have without that Paladin, and for the second time, Shadowless thought that his... ex-fiance had found herself a nice little group. They would take care of her if they mirrored the selfless thoughts of their leader.

Civilization greeted him as they always did. Hungry for his coin, and caring not for his rough appearance. With his chest armor bloodied and cut in half, the bandages beneath showing through, the only request he got in return for the bottle of ale he purchased was to not bleed all over the place. He promised nothing.

A letter was left waiting for him at the nameless bar. Eve's handwriting. Her letters always found their way to him quickest, he noted bitterly, his side still aching from when she had begun to kick him while he lay bleeding on the ground. Still, he sighs into his mug before laughing. His interrogator and healer had a fire in her that he enjoyed immensely, when she wasn't trying to burn him alive. So, he decided to forgive her, as the letter meant that she forgave him, and cracked the Ravenholdt seal open.>

Beloved,

The child is well, thank you for looking after him. I hope his tantrum didn't cause you too many problems. He is sick, it is not his fault. He caught something, and I'm not quite sure what remedy to use. I might require the assistance of someone from Pandaria, for their methods would surely work better since I'm fairly certain this isn't a sickness native to our lands. Their herbs would prove most effective.

Need any coin for this, or are you okay?

Sincerely,
Eve

<The assassin mused over the letter, only to sigh to himself. As if the seal didn't give away exactly who they were and what they were doing. Despite this, or because of it, neither felt the desire to ever not speak to each other on written paper in code. There was, and never would be, a mark of lettering with his name on it. It was only good for him, and for her, that she chose to write in perfect Common, despite her obvious inhuman qualities. He laughed, then.

So, the Death Knight was doing better, eh? He scratched at the once infected wound across his chest in thought. But something was wrong. Something which hailed from Pandaria, and only Pandaria. Silently, he wondered if the man had been some sort of experiement. The first Shadow Knight... his mind drifted back to Targus and cringed. First...

He pulled out a piece of paper and began to write back. A simple letter, written in fluid Common.>

Beloved,

Tantrums are nothing. I should have expected as much from one so young. I will bring you a monk, someone with training in dealing with native illnesses. I think I have a good source to start with. I'm happy to announce that Riri has made an important friend, I think he might be able to help the little one. I will see you soon.

Ares

<He wasn't certain why he picked that particular name to sign as. But, he shrugged to himself. Perhaps someone had used it as of late and he had absorbed it. No matter. He blew lightly on the ink until it dried. Then, he folded the letter, addressed it to Eve, and sent it out on its way. His mind burned with the thought of confronting Ratheron, yet he knew that there was nothing to confront the monk about.

Silently, he did mourn losing his lover, and made a quick friend with the bottom of his mug of drink. But, he wouldn't meet that friend too many times. He left coin enough for a tip after purchasing food for the road and made his way out. Soon enough, Prime's great wings announced the presence of the Proto Drake. And Shadowless vanished into the world. Back to Northrend, back to Scholazar Basin, back to Risalyn and Ratheron.

Why did the name Firehawk sound familiar? Hm.>

Tychus looked out over the cliffs at the forces of the Horde and Alliance as they battled in Pandaria. I twas a magnificent sight to his eyes, and here so close to his masters he could almost jump for joy. "So you say he was freed after a duel with a rogue hm?" Tychus asked off-handedly of Targus, the large Shadow Knight still showed signs of his battle, the limp was evident enough but it was also evident that he was recovering quickly. It was a stroke of genius Tychus had to admit, that the Shadow Knights possessed such powerful skills.

"Yes my lord. It was as if he fought with far more than just his own skills. As if another guided him." Targus replied, Tychus had already raged at attacked his people at the failure for defending their prize yet now he was calm, collected. A far more dangerous position to be in for anyone around the sorcerer. "Interesting but it does not matter the Firehawks move to strike the Fellowship and the Fellowship moves to leave their sacred Sin'dorei lands. Targus I want you to take a company of Knights and undead to deal with them. Strike at them and give them nothing in the way of who strikes at them."

Tychus paused at this and turned to regard his second in command, "Do not strike in what would be an assault but wittle them, break their resolve and morale. I want them despairing when I come to claim them..." Tychus trailed off as he noticed one who was familiar to him. "Oh my... He just is waltzing into my arms..." Tychus muttered with glee as he jumped off the cliff and down onto the beach. Targus stood watching, wondering what was going on but he was ready to jump to his master's call should he be needed.

"ASHOK LONGSHADOW! Oh how good to see you!" Tychus screamed in pleasure towards the ex-paladin. Yet it was obvious that the warrior was no longer a paladin but it didn't stop Tychus from wanting to toy with him. As Ashok heard the words he jumped at the voice, at the person calling him out and suddenly eyes of the many Horde and Alliance turned to the sound and battle shouts were given as those not already engaged broke combat to strike out at the two men staring at each other.

"No!" Ashok cried trying to stop them but it was too late as Tychus gleefully reached forward with his hands, as if it were nothing and slowly ripped them into tiny pieces. The shadows were his to command and Ashok watched in horror as the soldiers of the Alliance and Horde were turned to ash and bone on a whim by the dark sorcerer. Rage built in him, rage that he could not stop this, could not save them from the madman. Again. "You will die Tychus. I heard you were walking again, was our last engagement not enough for you?" Ashok drew his sword and held it at the ready, waiting for Tychus to make the first move.

A horn blast sounded nearby yet it did not sound like the horns of the Horde or Alliance. A familiar cord was in it yet Ashok was too pre-occupied to understand what it was. A chill crept up his spine that he pushed away, fear had no place here, even if it was not fear...

"Oh Ashok! How far you have fallen! Where is your precious Light now!!" Tychus screamed gleefully as he drew his sword, the longsword looked tiny compared to Ragnarok yet it was still just as dangerous. "!@#$ you Tychus!" Ashok cried and at that precise moment he chose to charge forward on to be hit by a wall. A hard wall of shadow magic, the force knocking Ragnarok from his grasp, the enchanted weapon flying away from Ashok. The warrior found himself hanging in the air, tendrils of darkness wrapped around him, writhing with a barely restrained fury as it choked the life from Ashok, even as he strained against their bondage.

"Oh Ashok... You lack vision! You lack direction! Allow me to give you everything you want! Let me show you the path! This world is doomed to failure if you do not follow me! Join me! Serve! You-" Tychus was cut off by a dark and manic laugh, a laugh that was also familiar to the warrior and Ashok tried to respond, telling the stupid Death Knight to run for his d*mned life! But the bonds held firm and all that came out was a gurgle. "I once served one who claimed such things. Claimed to be saving this world. Oh the things I did for him... They were glorious! I would never take any of it back yet I must wonder... Forced servitude... It doesn't seem like it would be the best option. I rather like the way things are now! I rather like having an enemy I can sink my teeth into, so to speak... So tell me, whoever you are, what makes you right?" Tai Stronghammer asked, his face hidden by the single horned helm he wore.

((1/4))

His armor was glorious Ashok had to admit, an icy blue like his eyes and the visage of the face-guard gave him a ferocious, daemonic look that was completed by the lightly glowing mane of blue hair flowing from the back of the helm. Ashok could tell Tai's weapon was different, it glowed and hummed with power, responding to its master's touch. Tychus was also surveying the Death Knight, marveling at such a perfect specimen of the Lich King's work. "Just ask the powers you have bound within your weapon! For they are of the Darkness! Do you think the Darkness is unkind? Nay! It is far kinder than any Light! Far kinder than any on this world or any other! The Darkness with caress you and care for you... All you must pay is a simple price." Tychus giggled uncontrollably at that and Tai joined the giggle with a laugh.

"I must say I disagree with you on-"

"TAI YOU F*CKING B*STARD RUN! RUN!" Ashok screamed and then was cut off as Tychus again restrained him and bent him unnaturally, his spine almost breaking. Tai watched for a moment and then something in him snapped. If anyone was going to kill the erstwhile defender it would be him! Not this upstart magic user. Tai sprung to action, rushing forward and his own chains and necrotic magic flying out from him and his weapon. It was magnificent how the weapon responded and react to its master like they were far more in sync than any other. Tai's magic forced Tychus to drop Ashok and as he did the warrior roared in defiance.

It was a beautiful thing really, how even near death Ashok would fight. It emboldened Tai to move faster and as he rushed forward he was yanked away from Tychus and barely met the runeblade of Targus. "You will not harm my lord Death Knight." Targus said, his voice toneless and Tai laughed, "Brother would you deal with the talkative one? I rather like this one!" Tai laughed again as he and Targus began exchanging blows, their weapons ringing out on the sands of Krasarang Wilds. The battle was heated, and to any observer an exchange of titanic proportions, the blows they hammered each other with would have weakened a lesser foe for Tai fought harder and with more fire than he did even against Lei. Lei could not withstand this, not by a long shot and Tai only held because he knew how Targus fought, could feel the unlife within the Shadow Knight and it gave him knowledge, knowledge he used to great advantage.

Ashok had already rolled towards Ragnarok and as the blade came into his hand he stood slowly. "Tychus!" He cried, his voice and tone screaming bloody murder. Ashok would have his share of blood this day. "Oh I think not dear Ashok!" Tychus cried with glee as he rushed forward at the warrior, which was odd but it all made sense as Ashok saw in his hands the sword being replaced by unholy fire that Tychus flung at Ashok. Raising Ragnarok to block the attacks his vision became clouded and Ashok knew what Tychus was doing. As quickly as he could he turned around and rushed forward, slamming into Tychus but it was already too late.

Tychus slammed a hand against the warrior's chest, stopping him in his tracks as he lifted him up off the ground. "Feel the power of the Darkness!" Tychus screamed gleefully, Ashok roaring in defiance a strange glint in his eyes. "Ragnarok. Hungers." He said simply and then he dropped to the ground. Tychus felt a strange biting sensation and looked down, realizing only too late that Ashok had stabbed the enchanted weapon through Tychus' calf and as it stayed connected to the sorcerer's flesh it fed on him. Fed on his soul, energy, magic and life force. It was one of the things that made the weapon so dangerous, for in it Ashok had buried his rage, fury and vengeance. In that blade was buried his pain and anguish over the loss of his lover and friends.

Tychus knew it, he could feel it pulsing out of the blade and as he did a stream of curses left his lips as he used shadowy tendrils to draw the blade out and cast it off to the side. But now he fell to a knee. "Targus to me!" Tychus spat, the tall Shadow Knight responding immediately. He pushed Tai back slightly and as he did he spun his blade and slammed it into the ground. A shockwave of pulsating shadow energy ripped out from him and slammed Tai even farther back and into the cliff face. The Death Knight fell to a knee there and watched as the sorcerer and his servant winked out of existence.

((2/4))

Tai turned to regard Ashok and as he did he knew he needed help. "What ails you brother?" The Death Knight asked, he dared not touch Ragnarok for he knew the blade would answer only the call of its master. Ashok however was in no state to grab it, he was foaming at the mouth and blabbering on about different things. "Get... Me... To... Shado... Pan..." He then passed out from sheer pain. Tai growled and quickly heralded his iron-bound Proto-Drake, using his cloak he lashed Ragnarok to the saddle and then threw Ashok over the pommel and mounted. "Quickly Ice! To the Peak!" The Death Knight cried, choosing to not take him to the Monastery but to the Peak of Serenity itself. It was a sanctuary yet Tai knew they would be able to heal Ashok of whatever ailed him.

Even now Ashok was mumbling something about someone, "Mara I'm sorry..." He murmured, however that was Tai didn't care but he knew Ashok had no time as Ice ascended into the heavens and flew north as quickly as he could. The Proto-Drake was used to the icy winds of Northrend yet it excelled here, high above the lands of Pandaria where the air grew chilly and Tai knew that his mount would get there quickly, a current of air pushing his cloak north and Tai smiled as he patted the creature's neck, "Excellent Ice..." He murmured, he then looked down at Ashok and shook his head. "You had best not die on me brother. If anyone is to kill you it shall be me." He said with a laugh, he then grabbed his communicator and flicked it on, "My love I shall join you... Later... Business has come up and I shall explain it all in due time."

He then flicked it off again and hurried north...

---

Ratheron sat meditating when he heard the flapping of wings.

Thud.
Thud.
Thud.

Ratheron opened his eyes and in front of him descended a very large Proto-Drake, unlike the gold one he had seen a few days ago this one was black and blue. Noble yet there was a ferocity to it where the other had possessed a nobility. As he inspected the rider, he then corrected himself riders, he knew it probably had something to do with who they called master. "Death Knight this is a sanctuary-" Ratheron was cut off as the Death Knight shot him an angry glare and grabbed the man by the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder.

"I know what this place is! I bring someone who needs healing! Immediately!" Tai let the urgency fill his voice, his chilly echo containing equal tones of anger and concern. Ratheron sighed and moved to inspect the other man and recoiled in horror. "What Sha did you fight! You should not have brought him here! You could let it corrupt everything here!" Ratheron said quietly and urgently, by now other Monks and several of the Masters were here. Master Kistane being one of the first here. "He needs healing! We fought some kind of magic user, it matters not he needs attention and I cannot take him to the healers of the Alliance!"

Tai had no time to explain, or rather, Ashok had no time for it. "Please! Heal him and tend to him, I must go!" Tai had things to do, he had simply brought Ashok here to make sure that the warrior would live to fight another day. Before Ratheron could speak Grand Master Hight spoke, "Ratheron with Master Kistane you two shall tend to the warrior. Take him to the pools and treat him. Ratheron I trust that you can handle whatever corruption spawns from him. Everyone return to your places and studies. There is nothing to see here." The monks bowed immediately and Ratheron nodded, "As you wish Grand Master." The tall Sin'dorei turned to the Death Knight but he was already in the saddle. "When the warrior awakes give him his blade. Do not touch it. Leave it wrapped up for it will only answer his call." Tai dropped the blade quickly on the ground.

Ice then jumped into the air, several stones cracking underneath the Proto-Drake's weight as Tai headed back south. He had need of seeing his lover, and to tend to the wounds he had received from Targus.

Ratheron shook his head as he pulled out his guildstone. "Shadow come learn about the Sha and more healing at the Peak. We have someone to tend to." He murmured quietly, before shutting off the stone and then heading to follow Master Kistane who even now was carrying Ashok to the heated pools to be tended too.

----

Undead. That is what I am... Tyrael shook his head as he looked down at the sleeping form of the priestess. She was kind to him, she was the only person who was still a friend to him. It was odd, he thought, how even after striking her friend she would still be here. After everything she would still be willing to simply hold him and be held by him. It was odd, how that simple gesture meant so much to him. But it was through that gesture he realized what he had to do. What needed to be done.

((3/4))

His journey was a long one, his path dangerous. Yet he would not travel it alone, of that he was sure. He turned to regard her and knew she would go with him on this journey, it was a suicide run. But it was what he had to do. He would hunt down this human necromancer and he would kill him. He would take his vengeance for the wrongs done to him and when he was through he would help Eve find a way to bring him back to life.

She had promised she would try and he would hold her to it even if it killed him. He sighed as he stared at the sun slowly lowering from its zenith and shook his head, the woman could sleep for a very long time.

((4/4))

The Hall of Respite was undergoing some changes. It was no longer the setting of meetings for the Fellowship. There was some notice on the board and Jana took a long moment to study it.

She knew none of these people, and yet she was familiar with the politics of Silvermoon. House feuds were often violent and the upheavals left many dead. Vaguely she wondered if she could cash in on this strife. She need to talk to this Kel'Tira Sunblaze. Her skills would come in handy if they were needing security, or even if they needed...an assassin.

Jana's lips curved in a smile. She loved a challenge, and this one looked like more fun than she had been having lately. She grew tired of Northrend. She wanted to explore Pandaria. But she needed more pull to do so. More training perhaps.

Her skills with a blade were coming along nicely. She was working on her engineering and had come up with some new gadgets that may prove to be useful. Sighing with irritation she went out to the gardens surrounding Silvermoon City and found a spot on the beach to meditate. She needed a plan and she was not sure who she could trust.

<The man stood, shirtless. His body defined and toned as it had been in life, a frame worthy of any warrior. Only wearing armor from the waist down, an ugly scar was shown, cutting across his body. The wound which had taken his life. A tainted, hideous thing, as if no one had properly healed it. And yet, he stands upright. So obviously dead, his face impassive and eyes set upon the waters surrounded the half-sunken dock he stood upon, he seems almost as if someone had propped him up and left him that way, rigor-mortis and all.

His shortly cropped hair moves supply in the breeze, and something seems almost pensive about his expression. Without the relaxed tones of death's grasp, however, it is his face with betrays the man as something unnatural, if only in how he seems unaffected by the living world around him. Waves wash up onto the broken wood, the sky alight with the day's brilliance, yet nothing seems to touch him. As if he is out of place in that very moment. That which should not be, and yet was. Horribly so. A figure ripped from death's grasp and put into an era of time he did not belong in.>

<That same figure could be seen with a snarl on his face. His head bowed and twisted awkwardly as a female hand holds onto one of his long ears. All of the pride and distance was torn from his features in that instant, leaving only a grimace of annoyance and eyes flecked with rage and hatred. And yet, he merely bends to the woman who holds his head and his fixed attention. Though still without true clothing to be seen, he's far too close for that horrible scar across his chest to be revealed. Whoever is pissing him off sure is a brave one, for certain. The man looked as if he might snap at any moment and rip the woman's hand off. Whoever she was cannot be seen, though she wears gloves, covering her hands. They appear soft, a form of cloth most likely. No background can be seen, the image focusing entirely on the man's head being jerked around and his very lively expression in that instant.>

<A female figure lies stripped, chains binding her form. She was curled up into herself, hiding any details of her figure, hair falling into her face and across the ground. Vulnerable, helpless, the bindings looked far too big and far too rough for her delicate frame, as if someone was trying to weigh her down. Oppressed, she looked as if she had struggled for a long time to escape, though the marks on her flesh are more like bruises. A fatal seeming wound marks what can be seen of her stomach, as if someone had gutted her, then stitched her back up. She lay still, a broken corpse.

Someone lifted her chin in the next panel, but her face is merely twisted in agony. Her back was arched, finer details of her figure revealed, yet it is the sudden jolt of life in her body which seemed to capture the imagination in this fragment of the story. The stitches pull painfully at her flesh, stretching it, as if threatening to give way, showing that whoever had tended to her hadn't a true care in what they had done. A shadow-covered face grins at her, mouth agape through the torture, yet there was nothing she could do to stop it. Helplessness, hopelessness, her posture bears the essence of both as she can only endure what was happening to her.

The same man from the earlier images held her in the last frame. Her face was turned into him, but judging by the scar across her stomach, seen from a side shot as she buried her face into his chest, it was the same woman. She was shaken, sobbing, her body marked still from the chains which had held her. With her shoulders slumped and her arms set weakly against her sides, lifeless, it seemed that she was only just saved. The man, wearing the Death Knight's armor, had removed his cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders, about his own frame as he was pulling her in close to his chest. Encouraging her. Protecting her. Warming her heart through the gesture alone as she sought comfort with her savior.>

<No image can be seen. Not a snapshot of life, nor of imagery. Instead, it is an abstract creation, though it was as real and nearly lifelike as anything else found in the sketch journal. Darkness swelled, mists and globs of uncontrollable energy twisting spiraling. Something grew from within it, jagged and harsh in every which direction. And yet, all of it was being pulled, sucked into a void at the very heart of the picture. What it could mean, what it represented, could only be left up to interpretation, though various elements of darkness seem to have influenced this art, not unlike features seen in magic.>

<The image is back to the Death Knight, though he has armor now. Chains warp around his body, yet they are not like the heavy, oppressive ones which had bound the female's form. They were light, thin, delicate, and yet linked together through a strong bond, almost blindly bright against his dark armor. The evidence in his struggle can be seen in his posture and features, the sheer rage and defiance which was Tyrael Firehawk, his jaw set stubbornly as he fought for his freedom, for control, his runeblade lying before him. Bloodied. Blood was strewn everywhere on the withered and rotten ground about his feet, the land torn from a recent fight. A crypt rose in the distance, and more bodies, bloodied and mangled, could be seen. Their wounds were not made by that large weapon, however. It didn't have enough blood on its edge to indicate that he had committed the slaughter, the distant marks on the bodies far more thin, meticulous. An assassin had gotten a hold of them, and one of the bodies near the crypt's entrance was even headless. Such detail, and yet the focus of the image is clearly the Death Knight, brought to his knees, yet he was far from humble in that moment, looking as if he wanted to destroy anything, everything, the bloodlust and thirst for chaos etched into every frame of his being. Dangerous.>