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Eldred Valmy still regularly went down into the warlock coven in the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern in Stormwind, mainly because it was a useful fount of information...especially that of a nature not usually found in public.

This bit was no exception. "You still working with that Stoneheardt gal?" one warlock, a burly-looking human, asked him as he came in.

"Occasionally, why?"

"You might wanna see this." He handed Valmy a pamphlet. "This has been going around the mage quarter all week, and some bits in Old Town, too."

Valmy frowned, taking the paper and reading it...and his eyes went wide. "Traitors to the Grand Alliance and to the Legacy of the Original Alliance of Lordaeron," he read to himself. "A List of Individuals Suspected or Confirmed of Providing Comfort to the Only Enemy the Alliance Should Concern Itself With, Which Is To Say the Coalition Known as the Horde..."

There was a list of names, along with the crimes they were alleged to have committed. He found one name at the top: Genevra Stoneheardt - former priestess of the Cathedral, accused of providing intelligence and comfort to Horde soldiers and assassins, particularly the traitors from Quel'Thalas. Valmy had heard the rumors of the blood elf general, the ally of Velenkayn, who had come to Shadowmoon that one day; the draenei death knight considered him a friend.

"What the hell kind of a joke is this?" he said to himself, disbelieving. He scanned the list, looking for other names...Battlelord Velenkayn - former draenei vindicator, accused of massacring innocent civilians at the behest of the Lich King, attacking an Alliance garrison on Draenor with the aid of other murderers, from both Alliance and Horde, and providing information to the enemy. "These people are mad..." There were accusations against the AAMS as well, condemning them as "a terrorist organization dedicated to undermining the defensive capabilities of the Alliance under the guise of neutrality".

A thought occurred to him - these people would have a problem with the dark priest, too, given that his past deeds were well known. He scanned the list of names again, and sure enough, he found it: Sekhesmet of Stratholme - formerly a Forsaken plague-crafter and shadow priest, accused of aiding and abetting the massacres of Alliance soldiers and civilians at Angrathar the Wrathgate, Andorhal, Southshore, Hillsbrad, and Gilneas.

After the list of names, which went on to the back of the small pamphlet, was a statement of intent. "We urge all loyal citizens of Stormwind to condemn these traitors for what they are, and if the sworn defenders of Stormwind, namely the Stormwind City Watch and the Royal Army, are unable or unwilling to bring justice to these criminals, then we call upon all loyal citizens to dispense the judgment of traitors upon these aforementioned individuals and organizations." It was signed simply "Citizens Remembering the Crimes of the Horde".

While part of him agreed with the anti-Horde sentiment, the way it was written out left him somewhat cold. He remembered how mages and warlocks were treated in Gilneas, how he avoided such a fate himself. This writer was calling for lynch mobs, for vigilante "justice", for assassination. And from what he had heard, Genevra was not as concerned as her friends and allies regarding her own safety, usually chalking everything up to "the Light's will".

It would be an uphill battle, he guessed, but he had to try.

He went outside, found a quiet alley, and then summoned an Eye of Kilrogg. Given the late hour, he wondered if she would even be here...but if she was, she would be somewhere near the cathedral. After a moment, he found her - at the gazebo where she usually gave her sermons, next to a man wearing spaulders shaped like the head of a tiger. Dismissing the eye, he mounted his dreadsteed and rode to the Cathedral District...

(( O_O *sits in the lurkers lounge with popcorn* open or closed RP, Val? Just wondering.))

06/16/2015 12:32 PMPosted by Lorrik

(( O_O *sits in the lurkers lounge with popcorn* open or closed RP, Val? Just wondering.))

((Agreed, because I may have a vested interest in this...))

Genevra knew the accusations as they were old, but still, when Valmy confronted her with them they caused her to worry. She sat in her office at the Cathedral and started to read her notes from the old incidents:

Treason
Traitor
Harboring known Forsaken

She sighed as she thought of her sharp words towards Valmy. They were things that she had heard from others, "You have less care for your own well being than others do." She held her face in her hands and remained that way for some time.

But these accusations stirred up old feelings, old turmoils. Valmy said that even the AAMS was implicated. These were new accusations, one that given the current political situation might not end well. Finally she sat up and looked around her office and penned the following letter:

Eldred,
I would ask your forgiveness for the rashness of my words the evening prior and hope that we might meet again to discuss the issue at hand. I am worried, for the others on the list, and for myself as well. I am not in the position to push away help when it is offered or needed. Please, meet me at your earliest convenience.
Genevra

((Have at, I say. The intent of the authors is to inspire a full-blown witch hunt, inciting anyone who's gone "Horde, KILL THEM ALL" to hunt for people who are all "can't we all just get along?", heh heh.))

((*Grabs a pitchfork and bundle of torches* I'm on it boss!))

< Deleted >

Valmy stepped out of the Slaughtered Lamb and walked through the winding grass-covered alleys of the mage quarter, his expression showing the worry he was feeling about this whole mess. It stank of the same kind of ignorant witch-hunting that he had seen in Gilneas, those of his calling hunted like...well, animals, really. The thought was ironic, given his current state.

He had told Genevra earlier that night at the Cathedral, when she had asked to speak to him again, that he trusted no one - and it was true, he didn't. In his line of work, trust was a double-edged sword. Who was to say your "trusted" ally was not playing for the other team? In his case, it had been such paranoia that had prevented any informants from infiltrating the coven in Gilneas City, both before and during his period as its Magister. Of course, when the worgen arrived, it was a moot point...

"Traitor!"

A heavy boot kicked Valmy in the gut, and he looked up to see humans dressed in Stormwind armor, their faces hidden by their helmets, approaching him with clear hostility. Some of them had their swords out. Others simply kicked and punched him. Howling with rage, Valmy looked around for anyone else who might help, but the alley was secluded, and there was no one else there...all except for the humans shouting "traitor", "orc-lover", "plague-monger"...some of them even adding "demon-slave" to it.

Spitting blood, Valmy lashed out with his claws - and was astonished when they went through the man he attacked as if he was a ghost. An illusion? he wondered. The boots that kicked him, the gauntlets that punched him, seemed solid enough. How --

Any further thoughts he might have had were interrupted by a burst of arcane magic that sent him flying head-first into a wall. Most of the humans vanished, confirming his suspicion that they had been illusions. A human female, wearing a hooded crimson robe, stood there now - or at least that's what it looked like in his pain-hazed vision. "That was a warning, fel-mutt," she said icily. "I will let you live for now. But keep away from her...you will not save her. If you persist, you will die with her." Then the red woman was gone, and Valmy slipped into blissful unconsciousness...

And no one heard or saw a thing.

----

He awoke to agony in his head and his ribs, and realized after a moment he was lying in a bed. He also realized that his wrists and ankles were secured by heavy shackles, with magical runes glowing on them - so that he could not cast a spell to break free.

"I apologize for the chains." A tall, thin human entered, bronze-skinned and polished bald, save for white eyebrows above eyes the color of ice on a lake. He wore a simple shirt, but richly-tailored trousers and boots. In one hand was a cup, in the other a pitcher of water. He set them down on the nearby dresser. "I did not want to risk your becoming hostile towards me, especially when you realize who I am."

Valmy blinked, not comprehending...and then the coin dropped. "Sekhesmet...?" Anger took hold in him. "What have you done to me?"

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," the priest replied, a thin smile on his lips. "I brought you out of that alley and took you here, to patch you up."

"Where is 'here'?"

"A house outside Goldshire that belonged to my former apprentice, Saavedro. Genevra's lot still use the place on occasion, though not since everyone has been on Draenor." He met the worgen's gaze evenly. "I am going to unlock your shackles now. Are you going to attack me?"

"That depends," Valmy asked. "Are you really who you say you are, or another mage hiding behind her illusions?"

In response, Sekhesmet channeled Light through his hand, and placed it gently on the worgen's chest; he could feel the priest's healing energies course through him. "Answer your question?"

"Reasonably...and what about you yourself? You helped murder Gilneans in your...former guise. Why help me now?"

"Because, Lord Valmy, I have a vested interest in maintaining my 'current guise', and I would rather it not be jeopardized by a maniacal group of fanatical blade-wielding zealots." Sekhesmet's expression was utterly sincere. "I realize it goes against your grain, but you'll just have to trust me. For the nonce."

Given what he had heard of this man, Valmy knew he would be dead if Sekhesmet really wished it. He finally nodded, and then regretted the motion as he did so; his head still hurt. Sekhesmet unlocked the shackles one by one, then poured a cup of water and held it out to him. "What led you to find me?" he asked, sipping the water.

"I was watching from a nearby roof."

"And you did nothing?" Valmy was outraged.

(cont'd)

"And what would you have liked me to do, swoop in like some angel of death to destroy your illusory attackers?" Sekhesmet retorted. "The Watch wouldn't see it that way. They'd see it as an effort by the mad Forsaken priest to prey on people and experiment on their corpses, and they'd put my head on a spike. Genevra would love that, I'm sure. Which would defeat the purpose of my trying to help you here, now, wouldn't it?"

"Which is?"

"I'll admit, partly selfish reasons; an effort to dispel this damnable reputation I earned for myself as a corpse. It will probably be a never-ending effort, but people undergo this mental and emotional self-flagellation for less. Just ask Genevra, if she'll even give you the time of day after you tell her that I healed you."

Valmy gazed at him curiously. "You hate her, don't you?"

"Not at all," Sekhesmet replied, smiling sadly. "The reverse, however, I am not so sure. If there is anything I feel for Genevra Stoneheardt, it is pity. Pity that she chooses to say one thing, and do another. Preaches forgiveness, but practices intolerance. The impetuousity of youth being given too much power too quickly, I suppose; they turn into 'do as I say, not as I do' types. Thinking that it's because that's what we elders were. For all her intentions, she lacks wisdom and good judgment." He chuckled. "Likely the impetus behind your efforts."

That brought the worgen up short. "How --"

"I'll confess to a bit of mind reading while you've been here. It wasn't hard, to be honest; in your pain-dazed state, you were an open book." Shrugging, Sekhesmet picked up his robe from where it hung on a nearby chair, and put it on. "Your efforts are admirable, but may be futile in the end. You may think your anonymous author or your mage attacker is the enemy Genevra should be concerned about." He settled the ornate spaulders and head-gear over his head and shoulders, looking for all the world to Valmy like a great arena around his head. "You may even, uncharitably, believe what she has told you, and think that I am that enemy. But her worst enemy is someone that neither you, nor I, nor anyone else can save her from."

"And that is?"

Sekhesmet picked up his staff, a strange artifice of magical floating metal. "Herself." Without another word, he was gone.

It was the same ordinary night in the capital city of Stormwind, the summer here and the bars full of thirsty, overheated citizenry. One such citizen walked down the street, clad in his work attire and humming gaily. He towered above most men, at a few inches under seven foot, and adorned in spiked, thick armored plates, with a wickedly curved saber at his side, he was given a wide berth until he found his destination.

Striding into the Pig and Whistle at his usual time, Ethansus grinned under his helmet and waved at a few patrons he'd met before and shared many a drink with. Smelling already of booze, sweat, and a little bit of tobacco, he plopped himself into the nearest open seat near the bar, causing a loud clunking of metal armor, and the groan of a strained chair supporting his considerable bulk.

"Oi! Payday came early, so I'm here to irresponsibly blow it per usual, so let's have the warm up round eh?"
Ethan, as he was most often called, leaned back and with a jerk, popped off his helmet and placed it under his table, his face in the usual grin as he looked around. "I wish I could get the normal number of rounds Pete, but ever since this damn treaty, merc contracts have been dryin' up left and right." As the barkeep plopped a foaming mug of wheat beer in front of him, Ethan lowered his voice and continued to grumble in his slightly inebriated stupor. "I mean...who the hell makes nice with murderin' sons of gnolls. Easy to plop a big crazy Orc as the scapegoat, but the lot of 'em have blood on their hands. Ain't that right Pete!"

The barkeep shook his head and sighed, clearly not wishing to get involved as other patrons eyed the big man sideways. Most of the men and women were glad the war was over, it meant sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers coming home and safe. The general opinion was that of a dislike of the Horde, but not enough to go seeking blood when peace was preferable.

Ethan returned their sideways glances with a level glare his own, "Piss off the lot of you, justice doesn't take the easy road. Murderers don' go free. Else we'll get another Southshore, or another freakin' Theramore. Ever thought of that?" As many other customers took their gazes away, dropping their eyes to their drinks or to the floor in remembrance of those atrocities. "I thought not. Damn thoughts ruinin' the taste... Can't even drink happily tonight now... I blame you Pete. Not really, you're alright. Just sayin'...I'm hammered...already. The pamphlets have the right of it, bunch of cowards is what we are..."

And so this continued into the night, the honest truth coming out of a man with limited inhibitions. Spewing the thoughts that only a drunken man could reveal in his liquid courage filled honesty.

( Just a reaction. Figured I'd put something :P )

Lorrik sat with his rifle disassembled on the table before him. Smoke trailed up towards the ceiling from a cigar lodged between his wolven teeth. Slowly, his ears swiveled at the sound of The Shady Lady's floor planks squeaking. A small worgen, one he had picked up in Duskwood, stalked through the door clutching a pamphlet in his tiny clawed hands.
The pup, Cid, tossed the paper at Lorrik with a grunt, then sat down and waited. Snorting, the older wolf read over names and testimonial.
"Grand Alliance.." he stifled a laugh. Cid tilted his head, confused as ever. Lorriks eyes stopped on one name in particular..

"Genevra.." another snort. Now he was even more skeptical of the work she had offered him. "Loyalty.. Perhaps this is what she was talking about." he stood, assembling the black rifle with deft hands. He let the pamphlet drift from his hand to the fire, then looked down at the pup at his feet. "First thing about city life, Cid.. Always keep your name out of peoples mouths and minds.. and keep your affairs quiet.." he leaned down at patted his small head, "C'mon then.. Time for a vacation.."
Blowing out a bit of smoke, Lorrik killed the embers on the end of the cigar. Together, they made their way toward Kalimdor. He wasn't about to be swept up in a hunt for Horde sympathizers..

"The thing about people, Cid," he looked over at the half sleeping worgen on a barrel as they crossed The Great Sea, "Everyone always thinks they are the ones who are right.."

Sekhesmet wrenched his arakkoa long-blade free from the skull of the Forsaken assassin he had slain, having burnt the wretch from the inside with shadowflame; the action spattered pulverized brain matter and embalming fluid on his already gore-drenched robe. Behind him, he heard two more Horde fighters coming, and indicated so to the battle-armored draenei standing next to him. His staff, tarnished with age, glowed darkly as he let loose a bolt of shadow into the closest, a blood elf, while the warrior engaged the other, a troll sorcerer of some sort.

Raising void tendrils around their legs, Sekhesmet danced around them on one side, and his ally the other. There were Horde troops coming down the main path, the so-called Road of Glory, from their base in Warspear on the northern part of the island. But the Alliance had reinforcements too, arriving from Stormshield to the south. Not for the first time, he wondered what the point was of this constant fighting for this place, an island off the coast...and as he had before, he thought it mattered little in the end. It was a chance to prove he fought for the Alliance now.

It was partly this whole business with the pamphlet that had motivated his decision to travel to the island, though he was more amused than threatened by the call for his execution. What got his attention, though, was that Genevra and her people, along with the AAMS, were also counted on this list. He tried to remember the number of zealous idiots he had overheard in the period he had spent in Stormwind since Rakeri Sputterspark's blood magic had brought him back to life a year ago, and couldn't quite keep track. He knew they would not be swayed; they would just see him as a mercenary, working for anyone from whom he could benefit.

As the reinforcements routed the Horde, he breathed a silent thank you to Rakeri, now dead and gone himself, for bringing him back so...vital. The trouble with his Forsaken form was that he had been in his eighties when he had died from the plague, and thus he relied very heavily on his powers just to get his age-atrophied body to function. He had no such limitations now...

Returning to the outpost outside of Stormshield's gates, he entered the quiet keep to meditate for a period before the battle resumed. After about two minutes, however, he realized that he suddenly was not alone. He stood, staff in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his blade. Four men in Stormwind armor. And they were most certainly not illusions. "Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted them with a polite smile. "Have you come for a blessing before you go off to fight the Horde?"

"We have come for your death, plague-crafter," the burliest of them replied coldly, just as Sekhesmet had expected. "I had a brother in Southshore, and we all lost friends at the Wrathgate."

"I see." The Dark Father unsheathed his blade. "I would advise you against wasting your strength and effort on me when there are enemies literally right outside the door, but I don't suppose you'd listen to me. Very well." His form faded slightly into shadow. "Forgive them, Holy Light, for they know not what they do...and forgive me, for I know all too well."

He lashed out at the weakest of them first, filling his mind with nightmares. The man shrieked and dropped his sword. The other three men charged. Blade and staff whirling, Sekhesmet gracefully sidestepped each of their attacks, but he knew he did not have much reserves left after the hard day's battle he had endured in the field of Ashran - though it was a lot more than he had had before. Seeing an opening, he plunged his blade into the exposed area between shoulder and chestplate. Though he could have killed them if he wished, he knew it would send the wrong message...so he channeled a shadow word of pain through the blade instead.

A very real pain entered his side at that moment, as he saw the big man stab him with a barbed spear as long as its wielder was tall. Fighting back the pain, Sekhesmet lashed out again with a shadow blast, knocking the big man back. A slash across his back from the recovered "weak link" with a sword disrupted him before he could use another spell.

"Marshal's coming!" the fourth man, who had wisely kept out of reach, warned his fellows from the door.

Reluctantly, the big man ordered, "Fall back. We'll deal with him another day." He kicked Sekhesmet in the knee, causing him to collapse to the ground. Then they were gone, on their way to the medical tent to mend their wounds. A human female wearing ornate armor entered, and saw the slashed and bloody priest. "Are you alright, Father?"

"I will be fine," he replied through gritted teeth, as he limped out of the building and called for Antinnis, then rode back into Stormshield. Through a haze of pain, he looked at the clock on the town hall and noted the time. The clinic. Ironforge. Only they can be trusted...

As the summer night closed in around Lakeshire, a small group quietly approached the house of Genevra Stoneheardt. There were upwards of two dozen - many of them citizens of the town in question, who read the manifesto and believed its import.

A statuesque woman in richly embroidered crimson robes stepped to the head of the small congregation, all of them carrying torches lit in the bonfire set up outside of town for the celebration of Midsummer. Her staff was charged with flame, and her blue eyes had a deep fire within them as well. She turned to face the group. "Life on this world teaches us that when a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is both inevitable and natural," she said to them in a quiet but firm voice, so as not to take the denizens of the house. "So it is with this place, this den of iniquity that has polluted the soil of this, your town, for far too long." Her gaze flicked across the group. "Who among you will cast the first spark?"

Instead of any of the Lakeshire citizenry, as she had expected, it was a rather unlikely figure who stepped forward. A gnome with wild red hair, wearing reforged orcish armor. "I will."

The mage was surprised, and then smiled and nodded. "Your zeal does you credit, Captain. Burn away any last vestiges of loyalty to this traitor and her spawn. Swear yourself fully to the Grand Alliance - in blood and fire."

The gnome nodded...and then took her torch and a bottle of flammable liquid and approached the front door. "Burn, you murdering witch," she hissed, as she hurled the bottle at the door, followed by the torch. The others approached the house, smashing windows and tossing in more incendiaries and torches. Several others tossed theirs to the roof. In a matter of moments, the entire structure was ablaze.

Satisfied, the Lakeshire residents all returned to their homes, while the mage and the gnome disappeared through a portal.
----

A notice was distributed in Stormwind moments later, of the same printing as the pamphlet condemning the traitors.

Let it be known to all loyal citizens of Stormwind that the people of Lakeshire have found Genevra Stoneheardt, so-called paladin and follower of the Light, guilty of the crime of high treason against the Grand Alliance. The loyal citizens of Lakeshire have sentenced this criminal and all who live under her roof to death in cleansing fire, carried out this night of Midsummer.

Let this be a warning to all who sympathize with the traitor Stoneheardt that such is the punishment of traitors. None are above the true law of the Alliance, one that has been forgotten in this decadent age: Death to the Horde, and all who would bed with them.

In the name of all Citizens Remembering the Crimes of the Horde

The throng of the crowd moved through the streets of the city unabated as it did every day. The lifeblood of the city, it's citizenry, flowing through the myriad of streets, alleys, and canals as easily as blood pumped inside each and every one of them. Yet not a single person paid too much heed to just a plainly dressed man with short cropped brown hair, vivid green eyes and simple cotton clothes standing in front of a noticeboard reading. He was just one of many, a straw in the hay bale.

This straw however reached out to pluck a notice from the board, examining it meticulously, as if committing it in its entirety to memory. With careful care, the man finished his perusal, and folded the pamphlet in half before sliding it into his pocket and turning on his heel. With two steps, any observer would have thought this man had simply disappeared off the face of Azeroth. A small matter, had he been just an ordinary canal cleaner, or shoemaker.

No, this man was made of ice and steel. A veritable black hole inside that no remorse could ever escape from. This man was now on a self appointed mission. The person who posted this notice had made a grave error.

Someone, somewhere. Was going to die because of this notice, and there was not a man, force, or law that could stop him.

She lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling in the women's dormitory of the Crimson Blades. She heard everything, every creak of wood or clank of armor, every whisper or hushed speech, every snore or disruption in her daughter's sleep. She strained her ears to listen for these things because they distracted her from the events of the night prior.

The appearance of Sekhesmet at the Clinic, Noikona was distraught, and then red mage. The mage who had threatened all that Genevra loved. The mage who had brought her threat to fruition.

When the day finally broke she sighed. Daisy slept in a bed just feet from her, and next to the bed were the few meager things she'd grabbed before they left with Noikona.

Genevra had no idea that when she was leaving that it would be the last time that she would see her home standing. She sat up in her bed as a flood of memories overtook her. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed quietly. Flickers of Light and Shadow seeped from her hands.

"Momma..." Daisy's voice broke Genevra from her moment of self pity and desperation. She took a deep breath and quickly wiped away her tears. "Are we going home?"

Genevra shook her head and pulled her daughter close, "Not yet Daisy darling, not yet." She kissed the top of her head. She looked around for Noikona, and spotted her, waving her over. Genevra's eyes were red and puffy by now and she looked a little crazed from the lack of sleep, "I need options..." She said, thinking aloud. Genevra looked to Daisy, then back to Noikona, "I think Jeraboh might have been right. She isn't safe with me."

It was late enough in the day that few people braved looking to the skies lest they go blind. Had they though, they would have seen a lone sandstone drake bobbing and weaving through the air, almost as if it had not a care in the world.

What wasn't so obvious from the ground was that another smaller figure was the reason for the bobbing and weaving. On about the third drop and catch the drake finally craned his neck around, "Ready to tell me what you don't know about the fire?"

The figure, now thoroughly terrified nodded vigorously, anything to get its feet back on the ground. "she was a traitor! Them as turn against the alliance needs to be driven out! F-folks...they done did their duty!"

The drake stared at him for a long moment before speaking slowly, "did you take part? I hope I do not need to remind you to be honest."

The man blanched even father before squeaking out "Ah was there...pleasdon'thurtme, just doin mah duty!"

That got another long, blank stare before the drake made an irritated sound. "You are all fools, blind idiotic fools."

Pulling the man up so he could stare directly at him Kord growled softly, "You'll live this time, if I ever find you going after any Stoneheardt again? You won't. Spread that word, any who try to harm them will find themselves on the wrong side of a long fall."

The man nodded vigorously again before letting out an abrupt scream as he was unceremoniously dropped into the lake. Wheeling away Kord headed back for Stormwind to collect his wife and son from the cathedral. Anyone who messed with his family was about to find out that stone hurts.

Noikona had slept just in the doorway of the small dwelling. Some would find it impossible to sleep in such a place. Booty Bay was known for its dockside brawls, accompanied by shouts and laughter that seemed to never end. She had been in far worse places and thusly slept soundly. When she awoke she still held a letter, the precious parchment she folded carefully, placing it in a small leather pouch that hung around her neck. Several large packages lay next to the doorway, upon opening, revealed armor she had paid an exorbitant amount to be repaired. She changed quickly, insuring the fittings were correct and that the bindings allowed her brace to flex correctly. Satisfied she stood, testing the joints. She walked outside, pacing several times down the docks before returning to the room in which Genevra stayed. In her satchel she carried a sketch of the perpetrator who had confronted Genevra in Iron Forge. She needed to get the portrait to the Watch, but wasn’t about to abandon Genevra. For now it would have to wait.

Noikona scowled as she looked out to the sea. Whoever was doing this was doing a successful job at terrorizing her teacher. For what reason was beyond her. She sighed as she remembered the accusations. Traitor? She shook her head in doubt. It was a moot point to her, even if true. She had given her word to keep Genevra safe, not only to Genevra but also to Kordrion.

Valmy willed himself not to jump in fright as the death knight's plate-mailed fist crashed onto the long table in the great hall of Shadowgarde. "Is there no reaction from the Watch at all?! Must Genevra be forced to run and hide like some rat escaping a --" He halted, not willing to finish the metaphor about burning houses after the word that had come from Lakeshire. He looked up at the warlock, wearing skull-adorned robes with heavy metal spaulders, and carrying a staff he had taken from an ogre arcanist in Highmaul; at his side was a wrathguard, carrying two burning longblades. "You're certain no one was in the house?"

"Positive, Battlelord," Valmy replied. "I watched Genevra and her child leave myself, along with a draenei woman, a warrior." He held up the hearthstone that Genevra had given him when she left. "We remain in contact."

"Good." Battlelord Velenkayn sighed, leaning his head back against the tall chair at the head of the table. "Keep me posted, if you would."

"Certainly," Valmy replied, nodding his head, before leaving the room.

It had taken a lot of effort on Velenkayn's part to allow this warlock into his keep, given that he had worked tirelessly to purge the last remnants of Rakeri's influence from the halls. But the worgen had proven that not all who practiced the dark arts were of the same mind as the dead gnome...or that "certain other" who shared a place on this accursed list. Velenkayn considered himself a good judge of character, and he could see that Valmy was sincere. Corrupted to the bone, maybe, but sincere.

Then again, a human adage about stones and glass houses comes to mind, he thought to himself, considering he was an undead creature wielding death-magics and wearing skull-adorned battle armor, with the frostforged crown Marennia Sputterspark had made for him. Going through his personal arsenal, he had decided to make another at the forge here in Shadowgarde, a huge scythe he called Shadowflayer. And, threats be damned, he had made a point of forging a new sword for Taeril'hane Ketiron, maintaining their brotherhood-in-arms, and would deliver it to the blood elf himself. With the Alliance's campaign spreading out to the seas, Velenkayn had called on an old colleague from the Ebon Blade, the privateer Admiral Eliphas Aximand, to command Shadowgarde's naval forces. He was currently at sea now, onboard the destroyer Nethersail.

The perils of running a fortress, he mused.

Standing, Velenkayn made his way outside to the keep's flight master, where a gryphon was prepared to take him to the encampment outside Auchindoun.

From a ridge outside the main gate, a red-robed figure watched him go...

My, oh my, what lovely work a suitably frenzied mob can do, Tyvian Reinheart mused to himself as he stepped through the blackened, charred, and ruined doorway into the husk of the Stoneheardt house. Disheveled, dirty robes flowed into the entryway, and he stood straight up, his back aching from constantly hunching over to hide his height and age. He paused to peer over the bone mask to survey his surroundings before waving his left hand in an idle gesture. "Zepsil. Outside, warn me of anyone approaching." A small imp, cracking with Fel energies darted from behind the robes to the doorway, for the freedom of being outdoors.

Destroyed was an understatement, flames seem to have consumed the entire structure, with little to nothing spared. Black char and ash was all that remained of so much fine woodwork. The glass had shattered and melted, cast iron warped and ruined, and the stones so soot covered, the granite that had once shone so beautifully white, now marred forever.

Striding through the ashen dust to a nearby ruined bookcase, he reached out a hand to trace a small frowny face in the remnants of what had once been so many books. Here I was, thinking she'd be useful for that matter up north, oh well, maybe I can use this? Turning quickly enough to cause a small ash cloud to lift up from the floor, he walked to the fireplace, now a gaping, terrible maw covered in soot. There he stood for quite some time thinking, feeling the place around him. A wretched man, in a ruined home.

Maybe I should get out of here soon, lest some wandering pair of eyes notices the demon at the door and the man in house...nah.