World of Warcraft®

((This is a collaboration between me and Kalico, but if any others are interested in joining the RP, please contact one of us in-game. We'd be happy to weave you in. :) ))


I – The Beginning of the End

“This is what they believe.” The redhead had leaned forward, scratching the following into the dirt near where they sat:

Suffering + Death = Redemption

“So he gets nothing? No punishment for what he’s done to our daughter?” Bella sat, forehead cupped in her palms as frustration dragged tears from her. The Knight’s jaw muscles clenched, the stifling heat from the pools that surrounded The Throne of Flame washing up the rocky ledge in waves. It captured her breath, making her feel as if a great weight pushed down on her chest.

“If you do what you’re planning, you’ll not only give him what he lives for, but you’ll become a monster just like them.” Kylea leaned over, pressing a kiss to her wife’s cheek. “There are other ways to make him suffer.”

Bella lifted her head, gaze turning to the scarlet-haired woman.

“Meet me halfway on this, Bells? Please?”

It had been weeks since her daughter had returned, yet all the time that had passed had not quelled the anger and frustration Bella felt. It roiled inside her, gnawing away at thought, scrambling memory and presence. It had – in all truth and in spite of the recompense she had already given – begun to erode and consume her. Through push and shove, trade and favor, and a sheer nudge of fate, the list of The Five was now pared down to three; the priestess and perhaps the tracker removing one, the nethermancer and the rogue removing another. That would leave one remaining, and she waited for her chance with him with a dire anticipation.

The Boldvalor Matriarch need not look at the parchment with the bearded man’s visage drawn upon it, nor did she need to read the notes detailing his life and current habits that lined the columns of the page. She had memorized it all, many evenings spent staring at it while she sat motionless, seething. The raven-haired woman could close her eyes and picture him, imagination – and more often than not, alcohol – mixing with her loathing to create dreamed scenes of him crying and begging. Bells could nearly hear his screams as he prayed apologies to her, and she could almost taste the fear that would roll off him in waves.

Seothe Lant.

The name rang in mantra through her mind as she stepped through the cobblestone streets. The city was quiet now, more so than she ever remembered Dalaran to be during the Northrend campaigns. She wove her way through the narrowed streets and wide lanes, carving an unseen path to the small rental’s door. Her brows knit as she frowned at the gold number that was nailed center on the front. It hung at a small angle and was lacking polish. Bella sighed, lips pushing to prim as she raised her hand to knock.

“Aunt Bee,” Gennarianna said with an air of shock when she opened the door, manicured brows both raising high. “How did you know?”

“You said Dalaran, Genna,” the Blood Knight replied, stepping to enter. She gripped the other woman’s forearms, moving her aside to pass. “When the Legerdemain didn’t have you registered, I knew better than to try The Filthy Animal or Cantrips and Crows. So… I tried here. Your number is off, by the by. And dirty.”

“Is it?” Genna asked, not bothering to check as she closed the door. “I’ll tend to it later. This is simply… a place to stay.”

“Mm,” Bells muttered, lips twisting to a slight grimace. “As you say. I didn’t come here to question your motives nor ask you to return, however.”

“You didn’t?” Genna moved past her, gesturing to one of the two small chaises that waited in the sitting room. She took a seat, eyeing the other with a slight suspicion and wariness.

“No,” Bells replied, plopping onto the chaise across from the younger Sin’dorei. “I need your skills.”

“My skills?” The nethermancer grasped a nearby throw pillow, resting it on her stomach in almost a defensive move. She hugged it as she studied her aunt.

“Yes. I need no questions, first off. And you’re to tell no one of this. Am I clear?” Her tone was grave, ebony right brow lofting to an arch as she fixed the blond woman with a hard stare.

“Yes, Aunt Bee,” came the measured reply. “What is this… task?”

“I need you to work with Charrie. You’ll be recreating documentation that will allow your Aunt Ky and me into a cultist camp.” She raised her hand, palm faced out, as Genna uttered a noise of protest. “Hear me out. I know your skill, Gen, and I trust you above anyone else I could obtain these from. You won’t do anything to betray me, and I need to know that won’t happen. Not for me, mind you. For my wife’s sake and safety.”

“This is insanity,” Genna spat, bristling. “Why are you doing this?”

“I am doing what needs to be done, Gen. Plain and simple. We need in. We need close.”

“This is…” Her words trailed off a moment as her eyelids fluttered to blink, blond hair shifting as her head shook. “This is for what happened with Charrie?”

“Yes,” Bella replied in a hushed, even tone. “Very much so. You know of what happened. This isn’t something I’ll let sli-…”

“Revenge?” Gen’s cheeks tinted a faint crimson, her lips pursing to a thin line. “You’ll go in there just to seek out the men who hurt her?”

“I go in there to seek what will be the last of the men who hurt her. And Kylea is going with me. We’ve a plan, and it has to work.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, though there was a hint of plea hidden deep within.

“I don’t like this. Not at all.” The pillow met the arm of the chaise with a muffled thump as she tossed it aside, scowling at her aunt. Genna rose, crossing the room to the cluttered desk at the far end. She dropped into the seat, eyes fixed on Bella. “You two could wind up getting yourselves killed, you know.”

“Which is why I need you to do your best.” The retired Knight stood in a single, fluid push. She crossed the floor and leaned on the desk’s top with her weight resting on her palms. “I will carry this out, either way. Having your help will put me more at ease. It’s that simple.”

Genna’s eyes rolled upwards before moving to focus on a lamp on the far side of the room. Her lips pursed, a huff of a breath given before she looked back to Bells.

“It’s that simple,” Bella repeated, meeting the woman’s gaze evenly. The two fell silent, the sound of the gentle whir from the mechanized eyepiece the Knight wore being the only thing interrupting the absence of chatter.

“Alright,” the nethermancer mumbled, sitting forward and taking up a piece of parchment and quill. She spoke as she made her notes. “Two sets of papers. Legitimate. Detailed proof of background, but nothing too incredible.”

“There you go,” Bella replied, a sly smile appearing on her lips. “Kylea is going to speak to Char and get information from her. She can work with you on making sure the papers will pass scrutiny.”

“Aunt Bee,” muttered the blond, the quill coming to a halt. Her eyes remained on the parchment. “What happens if you don’t come back?”

“My dear Genna,” Bella replied with a tiny, arrogant smirk, pausing as she pushed off the desk and headed for the door. “That is not an option.”

The door closed quietly behind her, the Matriarch heading to the next destination on her list.

Part II- Pieces of a Puzzle

Crunch.

The subtle sound in the vicinity heightened the woman’s every sense. Her heart hammered wildly against her chest as she unsheathed a small dagger. Drunk with the rush of adrenaline, the world around her seemed suspended in a stupor. An overload of senses empowered her, the woman aware of every bit around her. She froze in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she finally determined the direction of the sound.

She took in her surroundings. What had once been a beautiful forest was now a desolated barren. Smoke rose to the sky, a dark shadow stretching over the once pristine land like a plague. Fire elementals wandered nearby, lighting what little life remained aflame making ashes rain from the sky. Her eyes fell on a large, thick trunk what had once upon a time been a strong tree now marked a tomb.

One?

A second patter quickly followed the first, the woman’s eyes widening slightly. Two. She glanced at the ground, muttering a quick spell. Shadows swirled around her feet, congregating at her side and coalescing into a creature of the nether. The translucent beast crawled away from its mistress, despite his small size he moved with swiftness, the long tentacles curling about in a frenzy as he pushed himself forward. For a moment she hesitated, rumors were traveling around the camps of a lone vigilante killing off cultists. And though death was something she was taught to embrace, there was a certain unsettling fact about this. She couldn’t quite pin point what made her uneasy, after all the Twilight Hammer was at war with Azeroth there were bound to be attacks against their group.

“COME OUT!” She screamed as the sounds became louder.

Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as she braced herself for the inevitable showdown. Her mind raced forward as she tried to predict the enemies’ every move. She tightened her grip around her dagger, thrusting it before her as if it held the power to stop an army. The ethereal beast she had summoned grew still, the woman holding her breath as she awaited.

It finally came.

A cackling laugh shattered the silence, the woman nearly doubling over as the enemy came into view. Trembling before her fierce some fiend lay a small hare, the creature’s eyes darted frantically from the woman to the beast. A soft shriek left him as the fiend closed in, long drool tendrils falling upon the hare’s fur.

“Stop!” She raised her hand, the creature freezing as it jaws lay inches from the hare’s neck. Three orbs emerged around her, her hands began to glow as she began to coerce the shadows. “I heard a few of these cry when we burned that area in the Whistling Grove.”

“Scáth stailc-” The cultists entire demeanor changed, the drunken stupor the adrenaline had washed on her replaced by the rapture of inflicting pain upon such a tiny creature, “ó istigh i-”*

Something struck her in the back of her head cutting her words short. A crimson hue stained her hand as she reached up to examine the damage. She shook her head lightly, struggling as she focused her gaze on her fiend. The creature’s face had frozen in terror, its features contorted in a yelp before dissipating.

“Night night,” the redheaded sin’dorei smiled warmly at the cultist. As if on cue the woman’s eyes rolled back before falling back into the ground.

Kylea moved quickly as she pulled the woman’s bag from within her robes. She opened it, dumping its contents on the side. Her brow furrowed as she rummaged through the contents; a small piece of parchment with runes scrawled upon it, a loaf of stale bread, a flask that had once contained wine and lint.

“For fel’s sake!” She glowered as she sat by the unconscious woman. Her ear twitched slightly as she heard a scurrying nearby, her gaze fell on the small hare.

Part of the woman’s spell had hit the critter, singing its hind leg and leaving him limping. “Oh, you poor thing,” Kylea pouted as she took him in her hands. She placed her open hand upon the wound, eyes closing as she began to pray. A faint glow traveled from the elf to the creature, wrapping itself around the damaged limb.

“What hatred can damage,” Kylea whispered as she set the healed critter on the ground, “love can mend.”

Her eyes formed half moons as she smiled, watching the critter dive under a small mound of ashes. She canted her head to the side, trying to make out what he was doing. A few seconds later he surfaced, his brown fur was now covered in soot. Had it not been for the fact that she had seen him hop out, she wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Oh,” a devious smile came to her lips as she turned to face the cultist.

A few minutes later she had switched her thick armor for the loose robes of the cult.

“Dear Light, they sure are feeding you cultists nicely, aren’t they?” She grumbled as she dragged the woman off the street, hiding her behind the fallen log. Her slender brow rose sharply as she eyed the woman before her, “well… if anything they’ll be talking about something else now.”

————

“What do you want toots?” The gnome grinned wickedly as he glanced up at the recruit before him.

Kylea was grateful her visage lay hidden behind a hood, her eye roll would have probably raised some suspicions. She took in a deep breath, willing herself to stay true to her plan. This was for those she loved the most, the least she could do was stomach the presence of a gnome.

“Perhaps I could steal you for a bit?” She spoke softly. Before the man could answer, she walked off, exaggerating every move.

“Alrighty!” The gnome squealed before dashing after her.

Her dark crimson lips curled into a conniving smile as she heard his footsteps following closely behind her.

————

Later that eve, somewhere in Silvermoon a woman snuck into her house grateful to be back with her loved ones. She tossed her things on the table, a handful of cult recruitment scrolls toppling out of her bags.





*Gaelic for “shadows strike from within”.

III - Prelude and Distant Thunder

“They’ll welcome you back, but it will cost you,” said the man who sat across from her. He had a rough-hewn look, lined and weathered face being one that had seen much work out-of-doors. Hair the shade of dishwater and clouds touched at his collar, his robes simple and tattered. He was meant to blend with them, and he easily did. For now, however, he was coaching a woman who was next in the short line of assistants he had gone through so far. He didn’t bother to tell her how she had become the next; there was already enough bad news he would need to share.

“Cost me?” the priestess asked, reaching up to tuck an ebony curl behind her ear. She pretended not to notice that her hand was shaking. “How so?”

“Leaving the fold can carry a penalty up to and including death.” He shifted his gaze, fighting the urge to wince. “Since you’re talented with magics and specifically mending, however, it could prove that you may only see a harsh punishment.”

Chartreux swallowed audibly at the words. A knot formed in her stomach as her vision swam, tunneling to a white light. She blinked rapidly, giving a small jolt as the man reached out to steady her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning at her paled visage.

“Just how harsh?”

___________________

The paperwork had been scrutinized and passed the inspection. The few belongings she had dared to bring were taken away, and she was given a simple, dirty robe to wear. They lost no time before beginning with the questions. Hours passed before she was allowed her first reprieve, dark circles forming under her eyes as she sat, simply exhausted from the badgering queries. The interrogators turned the Sin’dorei priestess over to the next team, their places swapped with quiet precision.

There were five of them by her count; four given direction from one man, he taking his turn in participation equally. To her horror, it was then that the true punishment for fleeing the fold then began.For a week, this continued, and more often than once had she silently wished death would cease it all. Of all the sounds she grew to hate most, the Highlands winds pressing against the walls of her tent topped the list. They seemed to cry for her, even when she lacked the energy to weep.

When she was finally released from the never-ending cycle of questions and amercement and was permitted a bit of freedom, peaceful sleep still evaded her. She longed for her family during hours of clarity and waking, and screamed for them to help during the nightmares that now plagued her. The winds were her only companion during those fitful times, and they did nothing to stave off her terror.

She listened. She watched. She handed off information at the arranged times and places. Her contact was nearly overjoyed when she told him they planned to move her. Both of them, however, were equally devastated when the plan for her was revealed. It was then she had fled, not at all able to go through with what would have meant redemption for a devout but only an unwanted death for her.

___________________

Char had made it back to Silvermoon City, the journey taking far too long for her liking. While disappointed, her contact helped her in getting as far north as possible. Bella had been the first to find her huddled in the Boldvalor home.

“Where’s mommy?”

“I can get her, Charrie,” the Knight had replied in a hushed tone, stepping cautiously around the end of the chaise. She noted how the younger Sin’dorei shook, the appearance of the priestess causing a deep ache in her chest and turning her stomach. She drew to a quick halt as the mender recoiled, shaking. “You’re okay, Charrie. You’re home.”

“I want mommy!” The scream echoed off the walls of the sitting room, fading into the sounds of Char’s weeping.

“I’ll…” Bella remained still, her own tears coming as she watched her grown daughter crumble like a child. “I’ll get her. I love you, Charrie.”

Charrie didn’t answer.

Hours of conversation, a hot bath, a change of clothes, and a decent meal followed. Chartreux had spent much of her life running the halls of that same house, but it now seemed as if it breathed and lived of its own accord. Every sound caused her to cringe, and she spent the next few evenings awake, staring at her room’s door. Even when Korios joined her and they’d moved on to another locale, sleep evaded her. When her eyes closed, the sound of the winds came, and she could smell the damp, dirty canvas of the tent. She could hear the voices of those that punished her. She was still convinced they waited; that they would, once again, come to her.

___________________

In the coming days, one thing had been for certain: Chartreux needed to feel normal again. She needed to feel in control of a life sent spinning. Charrie threw her energy into caring for her son, Orion, spending hours with Korios once he’d returned from seeking his vengeance on an encampment, and forcing herself back to her prior life’s pace and habits. She avoided questions and conversations with Bella, opening up only to Kylea. The secrets she still held, however, far outweighed that of which she would speak. Peaceful sleep remained out of reach, and the only time rest had come in full – if only for a few scant hours – was when she had told Korios she would no longer be able to carry on the Boldvalor line due to injuries she had sustained. She had wept so long and hard that night, she simply exhausted herself.

When the word had come from an operative of her mother’s employ that there was a small group who knew that her mother, Bella, had taken retribution for what had happened to Char, the woman was forced to leave Quel’thalas. It was at the home in Dalaran where she remained still, husband and child keeping her company. She spent countless hours penning scathing notes to Bella, complaining about the raven-haired matriarch ordering her sequestered. The inactive Blood Knight would only pen back short notes in return that promised it would end soon, yet never mentioning it was Kylea’s insistence that kept the priestess hidden away.

___________________

The early morning light washed over her pallid skin, causing her now-bleached locks to shimmer. The patio door gave a small squeak as it opened, and she turned casting a smile to who she thought would be her husband. The token of mirth faltered as she saw Genarianna.

“What are you doing here?” Char queried, hugging the bundled child close to her.

“I’ve come about the papers. I’ll need your help, you know.” Genna’s lips pursed as she crossed the balcony, leaning up against the railing. “And it’s good to see you, too.”

“I’m in no mood for a visitor” Char grumbled, her features twisting to a cross between a pout and a scowl. “What papers?”

“The ones for your mothers,” Genna replied. Her eyes widened as it dawned on her, but it was too late.

“What in Light and shadow’s name are you talking about?” Char grimaced, stopping to coo to the child in her arms as he stirred, the hint of malice in the voice of the priestess agitating him as he slept.

“They…” Genna swallowed, breathing out a captured breath she held for several moments as she plucked up the courage to answer in full. Her eyelids fell closed, remaining shut as she spoke again. “They plan on infiltrating a camp to find the last of the men who hurt you.”

When Genna opened the lids once again, the priestess and her son were gone.

___________________

Charrie settled the boy back into his crib, advising the nanny she was leaving. She stopped only long enough to change into fresh robes and pen a note. Sealing the parchment quickly, she handed it off to Orion’s caretaker before heading out of the house. The wax closure broke open on its own as the note rested on the table, her elegant script spelling out the following:

My Beloved,

Know I leave not because of simple want, but dire need. I will explain everything upon my return.

Watch Orion, and let him know I will be back as soon as I am able.

My heart remains with you, though my step is far.

Adoringly Yours,
Chartreux

IV - Incendiary

She still had not slept yet. Exhaustion clung to her, causing her limbs to feel leaden. She paid little mind to those that passed by as she sat on the small stair that led to the front entrance of the rental, instead focusing on the lavender parchment that rested on her lap.

Bells had retrieved the parchment much like the score of others her daughter had written before, the priestess filling the pages with complaint after complaint. She had made it to the rental before breaking the wax seal and glancing over the words. What she read stopped her where she stood, the Knight only taking a seat when a Goblin had screamed profanities for her blocking the short woman’s passing. Her boot heels scuffed against the wood as she read through the letter once again, the raven-haired woman quiet and still in a state of near-disbelief.

Mother,

I cast aside propriety and manner in this parchment, so I would suggest you prepare for that fact.

Mommy came to visit me last evening. Other than arguing several points, the night was actually spent with mostly her crying. I’m sure that you can imagine why, but if you cannot, I will tell you. What you are doing is foolish beyond measure. Your arrogance and pride have long caused this family to suffer, yet you claim to be a proud matriarch. In truth, you are an embarrassment to the name that you gave us all.

This foolish nobility you claim to work under is a burden. Doing things for others will only see you injured, mother. After all, look at what happened to me. We’ll not bother to mention that contraption you wear on your eye and what brought it on. Your rush to avenge those who have been wronged is costing us more than what is due. Mommy is afraid of one of the two of you winding up dead over this. What good would that do? It won’t change what happened to me. Not at all. Given that fact, I believe your actions to be more about you than me or mommy or anything that is “right.”

People who are hurting or who have been wronged are not your true cause for crusade, mother. Your lack of knowing direction for your life and longing for the glory you had during the Northrend campaigns is what drives you. You are a silly, selfish, shallow woman, and I’m rather glad I no longer bear your name. With your blatant disregard for mommy’s feelings, it’s a wonder why she still does.

Lay down your shield and weapon, and waste no more money on this foolish endeavor. You have already cost us plenty, you sad shadow of an honorable Knight. Ask yourself why you’re truly doing this, and be honest in the answer. You may find you want to give up.

May the Light have mercy on you.
-Chartreux

Anger made a brave attempt to flare, but the sorrow within her washed out the spark of it.

Why are you doing this, Boldvalor?

The question echoed in her mind as she rolled the parchment closed. Bells rose, making her way into the small rental and taking a seat in her chair in the tiny sitting area. The table next to her chair carried a framed picture of her and Kylea, the photo captured long ago. She studied their faces, which appeared free from most worries and not yet carved by the strain of the Northrend campaigns and the life that marched on during those times.

Everything is breaking. Everything.

Removing a parchment and quill from her bag, she penned a return letter to her daughter.

My Dearest Charrie,

I know you speak more from anger born from fear than anything else, so I will forgive you even before you request such.

After reading through your letter several times, I have, indeed, asked myself why I am doing all of this. The honest answer? The truth is, I don’t know why. I do believe I’ll take time to figure that out, though.

Know I send you my best in spite of receiving your worst.
~B.

Bells sealed the parchment, calling for the lone house staff member. Her gaze turned back to the nearby photo of her and Kylea, tearing away reluctantly as the beckoned servant arrived.

“See this is delivered immediately,” she told her, tossing the scroll to the hired woman.

Once the front door had closed, she headed off to pack a bag for one.

V - Una

Genarianna shrugged off the cloak, the item both remnant and habit from her recent stay in Dalaran. As morning crept into Durotar, warm winds pushed their way through the canyon city, rendering the extra cover unwelcome. The thick fabric hung limp over her arm as she paused at a nearby post box, depositing the letter to the Sunreaver. Her lips twisted to pout as she thumbed through the parchments retrieved, not seeing one from the ranger.

Don’t overreact. You’ve quite the habi-…

The trail of thought derailed abruptly at sight of the letter from her Aunt. The waxen seal was different from usual, however. It was an ebony base, a large ‘B’ illuminated in crimson in the center.

Enchanted for safety? She must be worried. Though… she has every reason to be.

Genna traced her fingertip around the seal, the small vibration from the wax giving no sign that it had been tampered with. She broke it open, giving a small jolt at the magics it released. The page appeared blank until she touched the tip of her finger to it, uttering a phrase that the enchanted ink required. Words sprang to life on the thick sheet then, the ink appearing in a crawl from center out as it curled to form words.

Genna,

I apologize for the inconvenience, but I’ve had to leave for Silvermoon unexpectedly. You’ll find me here for the next two days, at most. After that, I’ll be traveling.

Kylea is here, and judging from the items I’ve found in the study, she has the information we’ve discussed prior. Your work is to begin immediately.

Get here, but safely.

~B.

“Very well.” Gen pushed a curtain of blond from her shoulder with a sharp shake of her head, an exasperated sigh and an upward rolling of her eyes accompanying the gesture. She gave the paper a hard shake, the procedure a common occurrence when Genna worked to lead her aunt’s organization, Order of the Blood Rose. The words twisted to a knot in the center of the parchment, the ink bleeding outward until the page was entirely black. “As you wish, Aunt Bee.”

“Excuse me.”

The nethermancer gave a small start at the closeness of the woman’s voice, turning to greet the one to whom the greeting belonged.

“I apologize sincerely for the bother,” said the Sin’dorei woman, stepping in to close the distance even more than the few feet she’d left betwixt them. “You wouldn’t happen to be an arcanist, by chance, would you?”

“Yes,” Genna replied, allowing only a small, tight smile before taking a step back.

“Most excellent. You see, I’m due to travel soon,” replied the woman, still inching closer every few seconds. “I was wondering if you’d help me with teleportation.”

“Ah,” Genarianna replied, her smile faltering only slightly.

Lie, Genna.

“In all actuality, I’m due to travel as well, and since I’ve been a bit under the weather, I’m rather conservative about the actions.” The smile reappeared on Gen’s lips, a mental count of her breathing taking place as she forced herself to maintain eye contact.

“Oh?” replied the other. “And where will you be off to? I might be heading the same way.”

“I’m…” Genna paused briefly, studying the other woman a moment. Her heart hammered wildly as her aunt’s words in the letter returned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Saelgreth Lightsong,” the woman replied without hesitation.

“Ah. Pleasure, Saelgreth,” Genna replied immediately, peppering out the next words to follow. “And you’re heading where?”

“Oh.” The other woman’s visage turned icy for only the most brief of moments, the smile that had hung on her face pressing back to life quickly. “Silvermoon City, of course.”

“Goodness.” Genna clucked her tongue, feigning the most apologetic of smiles. “I’m so sorry, Saelgreth. I’ll be travelling to Swamp of Sorrows.”

“Is that so?” replied the other woman, leaning forward. Her presence was separated from the nethermancer by only a foot now, and she pressed to close even that.

“Quite so. I’m to meet a rather charming fellow there. Supposedly, there’s a rather quaint little place by the water’s edge. Goblins, of course. But for the purpose, it’s quite fine.” She shifted her gaze, giving a small clearing of her throat as if propriety had given her a sharp nudge in the side.

“Are you sure?” the woman responded. She paused only a tick before her features twisted to that of near sorrow. “I really must get to Silvermoon City quickly. I… I can’t explain in full, Miss Shinestrong, but… my ranger. She’s been missing and they believe they’ve recovered her.”

The pace of Genna’s heart had slowed during the conversation, but once more ran amuck at the words the stranger spoke. Her mind immediately filled with images of Elu, then drifted to Siara. She shook her head, glancing away as tears threatened and swallowing hard to push away the lump that had formed in her throat.

“If you can help,” the other woman said in a quiet voice, pain held in the tone. “Please?”

“I’m so sorry. I understa-…” The warm night air stirred around her, the skin on her neck and arms rippling to goose-flesh as her words ceased, one thought occurring.

I didn’t tell her my name.

“Sorry?” the other woman prompted as she began to reach for the nethermancer. “You’ll help me?”

“Yes,” Genna responded, recoiling from the touch before it landed. She covered the motion by shifting the cloak to her other arm. “Actually, I… I will. Let’s head into the Cleft, yes? I need to purchase a few things before I can conjure the portal.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” replied the woman, looking to her expectantly.

Neither one of them moved.

“Let’s see,” Genna said finally, reaching up to tuck a sheet of honey-toned locks behind her ear. “Oh! Let’s ask that guard there if there are any closer shops, yes? We should get you there immediately.”

“Oh,” replied the stranger, her veneer thinning at the suggestion. “I think the Cleft of Shad-…”

“No, no. I insist on making this as quick as possible,” she said, forcing a smile. Her attention turned as she lifted an arm to wave at the nearby Orc. “Sir!”

Please… something right happen.

Given that she called to him in a voice more quiet than required, she was not surprised when the Orc did not respond. She motioned towards him as she looked to the stranger, inclining her head for the other woman to go first. Manners being as they are, the other woman followed suit.

Something very right. Please?

They were within steps of him when the nethermancer drew to a halt at the sight of the Sin’dorei man who rounded the corner. His thick-soled boots struck hard at the metal flooring of the tunnel, each step that carried him closer shaving hairs off the head of chance. Genna glanced to make sure the other woman wasn’t watching, and broke in a run towards the man. He recoiled, shocked, as she wrapped her arms around him, hitting him with her thin frame with full force.

“What the fel are you do-…” he began to exclaim in query. His words cut short as she kissed him.

“I’m so sorry,” Genna said in a rather loud voice as she broke away. “I’m late! I knew it!”

“What?” He stared at her, a look of shock and disbelief twisting his features.

“Oh, no! It’s all my fault! I was going to help this woman, you see.” She glanced back, eyeing the female. If terror hadn’t gripped the burgeoning nethermancer, a laugh might have left her from the sight of the of the other woman. Saelgreth stood close to the Orc guard, her face wrought with a mix of anger and anxiety. “Saelgreth! If you’ll excuse me, I do believe I’m in trouble.”

“Listen,” the man began, taking a step back and pulling away from Genna.

“Please?” she begged without sound, her lips forming a silent plea as she looked back to him and once more closed the space between them. Genna winked, frowning slightly as the tears that had begun to form in her eyes caused her cosmetics to act as an adhesive. She blinked, forcing her lashes to part.

The man’s face wrenched to a cross between odd amusement and confusion. He parted his lips to speak, but was interrupted by Saelgreth.

“It will only take a mome-…” the woman began.

“I know, ma’am,” Genna said, her voice still loud to compensate. A few passers-by gave glances from both curiosity and irritation. “But if we don’t go now, his wife is sure to find out.”

The man’s brows raised high, his eyes widening.

“Come,” Genna said, her face twisting to a plaintive look as she tried to muster the strength to shift him. Palms pressed at his plate armor, the man unmoving until his own will made it so. “Yes, dear. Let’s be off, then! Swamp of Sorrows!”

Genarianna would have dragged him if she could have. Whether it was the woman’s voice rising to a high shrill as she called out Genna’s name or the nethermancer’s quickened pace, he seemed to sense Gen’s need and intent to flee. Relief washed over her as they rounded the corner, a group of Kor’kron crowding the metal-lined tunnel that led from The Drag to The Valley of Honor. She gave one glance back to the man she had accosted as she neared the Orcs.

“I would explain,” she said to him as they wound their way though the crowd. “But it would do no good. Just know you’ve helped a woman in danger, and I thank you.”

Her eyes met his, narrowing as she smiled when he nodded to her. She released his arm, the warrior taking a silent cue to split up the pair of them. As he headed towards the far side of the walkway, Gen pushed into the crowd of broad-shouldered, green-skinned men. Their height and width concealed her with ease as she wove her way through, peering out between the bodies. She watched as the warrior was carried away with the passing throng, and she nearly gave a small cheer as the Saelgreth woman followed suit.

When they were both out of sight and after a count of thirty, Genna doubled-back, taking a small bell from her bag and giving it a shake. In a matter of minutes that felt as if they were hours, a wyvern landed near her. She slipped into the saddle, donning her cloak and drawing the hood over her.

“Slums,” she ordered, and the beast became airborne.

A good bit of coin and a short while later, she thanked the Goblin for conjuring the portal to Silvermoon for her. She stepped through, whispering silent prayers that no one waited to greet her on the other side. A small nod of acknowledgement was given to the magisters she knew all-too-well as she headed towards the exit of Sunfury Spire into the Court of the Sun.

Her hard run began at the top of the sloping ramp and didn’t cease until she had arrived at the Boldvalor home, slamming the door behind her once she was safely inside.

((Author’s Note: Although player character Elbreth isn’t an actual roleplayer, I borrowed her name for this piece, lending it to Char’s son’s caretaker. I’ve known the person who plays Elb about two years, and their overall quiet strength, kind heart, and good nature I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing are all qualities I imagined perfect for the role. <3 you, Elb :3 ))

VI - Duae

“Her best? And my worst?” Chartreux’s eyes narrowed on the parchment she held, her fingers curling to ball up the thick paper before she tossed it aside. “She’s not seen my damned worse.”

The priestess leaned forward, peering into the vanity’s looking glass. Her head canted left then right as she studied herself, scrutinizing every detail. Char’s fingers curled around the metal tweezers, and she aimed them with a deadly precision. She plucked the stray hair from her brow, smoothing the pad of her right hand’s middle finger over it once the offending follicle was eschewed.

“Elbreth?” she called to the only woman other than her mothers that she trusted with her son. Her brows knit softly as she busied herself during the wait, pushing through a small basket in search of the proper hair ribbon.

“Yes, priestess?” the woman replied as she entered the room a few moments later.

“My son is awake?” Charrie asked. She lifted her arms, sweeping up her once ebony locks – those which had been bleached to a shining pale blonde – and tying the gather off with a lavender bow.

“He is,” she replied with an incline of her head. Fair of face, the other Sin’dorei offered her usual kind smile, dark hair framing a warm visage. “And ready for breakfast before your trip into the city.”

“Good. I’ll join you both shortly. Korios?” she called as she stood, pushing flattened palms over her deep purple robes to shift them into place. She hesitated only a moment before turning and departing, a soft pout dancing over her features as she made her way downstairs without having heard her husband answer.

“Maaa!” the boy cried, reaching his hands up to her as Charrie entered the room.

“There’s my Niblet,” she said, a genuine smile finding her lips. Her chilled visage slipped as she bent to pick up the child, raining kisses over his cheeks. “And twice as handsome as yesterday.”

“Ain’ Chaaaaa!” exclaimed tiny Tauren that crawled to her.

“Aponi,” she said, the look of glee remaining in place as she eyed Maa’shu’s daughter. “You looking pretty today.”

“Pohwee,” mumbled Orion, his tiny arms reaching out for the other child.

“Yes, you love your little partner-in-crime much more than me, I know,” the priestess said, giving a gentle laugh as she doubled over and placed him on the ground. She gave him a gentle poke as he began to crawl after the other tot, the two little ones making good use of the fact that the tiled floor was a slick surface. Char’s thoughts drifted as she watched the two huddle together, speaking in a language they seemed to invent for themselves. Her expression fell slack and her gaze slipped from focus as she muttered, “They’ll take over the world long after I’m gone.”

“Breakfast for you, priestess?” Elbreth queried, motioning for the house cook to draw closer to them.

“Ah,” Charrie replied, tearing her watchful eyes from the children. “One piece of toast and one egg, if you’d please.”

“You plan on a long morning of shopping?” the woman asked in an attempt at small talk, a gentle wave of hand given to send off the cook with Char’s order. Sneaking a glance at the priestess, her brows knit softly as she made quiet note of how Char had lost weight over the last few weeks; an already tiny and frail body appearing as if a strong wind could push it over. Elbreth made no mention of how pale Char was, nor how the dark rings about her eyes when coupled with her thinned face made her look slightly skeletal. The woman’s gaze moved from the former mender quickly when Charrie glanced towards her at answering.

“Yes, actually. I think I might change my hair’s shade again.” She offered the other woman a weak smile. “I know I look a fright, Elbreth. Things should be returning to normal rather soon, though. Rather soo-…”

The scratching of the chair’s leg had tugged her attention first, and Aponi’s sharp gasp had nearly blended with the sound of Charrie’s own. Her head swivled as wood grated against tile, her eyes growing wide as she saw her son topple from the tabletop’s surface. Without thought or pause, she flicked her wrist, a cascade of bright light showering over the boy. His rapid descent from the table’s surface was halted as the light and air around him seemed to rise to embrace him. All four – the two women and two children – seemed to freeze in time, no movement or sound given until glass bowl that had been on the table finally teetered off, sailing towards the floor and shattering upon impact. The sound of the bowl’s crash accompanied by the chair’s topple echoed loudly in the room, enough to push high-pitched screams and wails from the toddlers.

“You’re fine,” Charrie cooed as she moved quickly towards the two tots. She embraced her son, cradling him with one arm as she reached a hand to Aponi. She gave an exasperated sigh as her eyelids fell closed. “I only looked away for a moment.”

“That’s all it takes. Excellent thinking, though, priestess,” replied Elbreth as she crossed towards them, stopping long enough to acquire a broom to use in gathering the bits of the broken bowl. “Not an ounce of panic or hesitation.”

“Well, he’s my son,” Charrie replied matter of factly. “It’s my duty and pleasure to prot…ect… him.”

Like mother does me.

All at once, the conversation from two nights ago with Kylea came back to her. Her mind’s eye drew sharp the focus, bringing memories of her sitting near the redhead, Char’s expression twisting with anger as she railed against an absent Bella. Disparaging remark after disparaging remark pushed from the priestess, words dipped in venom. She watched as Kylea began to weep, and only in remembering did she realize that the longer she continued her rant, the more the redheaded matriarch cried.

“I could have cared less if you became a mender,” Kylea said as she stood, tears carving trails down her cheeks. “All I ever wanted was for you to love both your mother and me. I see now I’ll never get that.”

Charrie’s eyelids fluttered closed, the weight of her mother’s words and realization of what she had done wrapping around her and pressing as if to smother. She opened her eyes, gaze slipping from focus as she looked around the room at everything and nothing, all at once. She replayed in her mind the last moments of the meeting, when Kylea had slid into the saddle of the shadowed phoenix.

“You’re not worthy of her love.”

With that said, the redhead had spurred the bird onward, disappearing into the Dalaran skyline. Char had, at that point, uttered a noise something akin to a mix of contempt and disgust before turning and heading into the house. Since, not once had the encounter replayed in full in her mind – until then. She blinked hard, looking towards the other woman, who was bent low and cleaning up the mess.

“I have to go,” Chartreux muttered. Placing her son on her hip, she darted out of the room and disappeared up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

The change of the chilled atmosphere to the warm, spring climes of Silvermoon City nauseated her, but her pace didn’t slow a step. The tiny boy still on her hip, Charrie made her way from the Spire to the Royal Exchange. Weaving her way through Murder Row and stopping by the Silvermoon City Inn, she purchased fresh melon juice for him before continuing on towards the Boldvalor home. The sight of a blond woman running past her gave her pause, her face twisting to disbelief as she recognized the runner.

“Genna?”

VII - Tres

There were two redheads in Bella’s life that could make her do anything. One was her daughter, Mordua. It was the child’s cries and pleas not to go that had brought Bella to Silvermoon instead of her intended destination, and kept her there the last two days. The other redhead who held such power was Kylea, her wife. As the ebony-haired woman sat in her study in the City home, she recalled the events from the night prior that illustrated this very fact.

“If we get through this alive, Kylea, I want to marry you.” The Knight canted her head left, right brow lofting as a grin slipped over her lips.

“Again?” the redhead had replied.

“Yes. But this time? The ceremony you always dreamed of; the one you always wanted.”

She winced as the cold coffee passed her lips, her gaze shifting to the array of family pictures that lined her desk and shelves in her study. They captured moments of all the children and the pair; moments of time never to be regained, but merely frozen in memory and illustration. She sat aside the cup, elbows digging into the leather on the chair’s arm as her fingers laced and pressed against her lips. With her head bowed and eyes closed as she was, she could have been mistaken for being in prayer. Her mind continued with the conversation, replaying it in its entirety.

Kylea blinked, “what are you doing?”

“I,” Bella replied, right brow arching. “Am preparing a ramble. May I?”

Kylea held out her hand, “you may ramble, my Bells.”

“Good. Now…” The raven-haired woman grinned as she leaned in to press a kiss to the offered palm. She paused, clearing her throat once more before beginning. “From the moment I met you, my life has been full of trials. Things have gone very, very badly at points, and sometimes I’ve debated on if life itself were worth the push through. But… all I had to do was think of your face. Your smile. Your warmth. And though distance kept us apart longer than we wanted at times, I always found strength and courage knowing I had your love waiting. Knowing that you – wherever you were and whatever you were doing – were in love with me.

“You have made me want to be a better woman,” Bella continued. “And the trials? Those are life’s chances to prove I am becoming just that. When you find someone like you… someone so wonderful. Beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed, and damned well covetable, you don’t let her go. You fall all over yourself to make sure that you do what’s right to keep her to you. You give her what she deserves. You marry her, and you pledge yourself only to her.”

Bella held the small box aloft, offering it over. “I don’t want to let you go, because you’re the one woman in millions… the one woman of a lifetime… that I’d vow to be the better me for. With that, I ask if you will please consider spending the rest of your days with me as my wife.”

“Was that a question or a statement?” Kylea replied, her eyes closing as she smiled.

“B-both?” Bella blinked, paling slightly.

Kylea grinned, “Bells… I want to be yours for the rest of my days.”

“Is that a yes?” Bella answered the grin with a devilish one of her own.

“Of course it is,” the redhead replied.

Bella’s thumb flipped open the lid of the box. Inside on white silk sat a diamond ring, the jewel miniscule. She popped it from the holding, offering it out to the redhead.

Kylea wiggled her fingers, “you’re supposed to put it on me.”

The Knight chuckled softly as she nodded, reaching to slip the ring onto the other’s finger. A laugh of amused amazement escapes her. “Fits right.”

The redhead leaned over, placing a kiss on the knight’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Bella replied, the grin in place. “Now… that’s not much, but… I’ll make it up to you.”

“You always do.”

Her head lifted as the sound of two women’s voices filled the hall outside her office. As the conversation became clearer, she heaved a sigh and rose from her seat, crossing the room as she listened.

“If it’s locked, let her be.” Char’s gravelled tone held in it a note of superiority, as if giving instructions even as trivial as that were her divine right.

“I’m not an idiot, Chartreux,” replied Genarianna, her own voice thin on patience. She tried the knob, giving a small grunt before lifting a slender hand and banging on the door with a flattened palm. “Aunt Bee?”

“Is someone bleeding?” Bella asked as she tugged the door open. Her lips curled down at the edges, right brow lifting high.

“I came as requested,” Gen replied, shrinking away from the raven-haired woman.

“And I… I need to talk, mother,” Char said in a clip. “I’m first.”

“Light and magic,” Bella growled, turning and crossing back to her chair. “In. Both of you.”

The two women entered, each taking a seat in the chairs that sat across from the Knight’s desk. They eyed each other, sitting in silence until addressed. With the air of irritation in Bella’s voice, they knew better than to provoke her any further.

“Genna, I spoke with Kylea last night. She has materials for you for the paperwork we’ll need.” She paused, taking up the cup and studying the cold coffee within it. She scowled lightly before finishing off the dregs. “Your room here is readied. You may stay. Oh, and recheck your wards, please?”

“Yes, Aunt Bee.” She hesitated, debating on mentioning the woman in Orgrimmar.

“Something wrong?” Bella asked, studying the blond. The Knight’s brows knit as she noted the way Genna’s expression was twisted in a mix of worry and doubt.

“No, Aunt Bee,” Genna replied, rising. “I’ll go and see to my room, then speak with Aunt Ky later.”

“Alright. And… good to see you arrived safely.” She watched as her niece departed, then turned her attention to Char. “And by some miracle, you held your tongue long enough for someone else to speak.”

“Be nice, mother.”

“Be nice?” Bella replied, visible eye narrowing. “You are going to school me on such a practice?”

“Mother,” Char began, sitting forward. “I’ve come to talk. If you insist on being this way, it can wait.”

“Oh, by all means, Chartreux Adella, please do as you’d like. It’s not stopped you your entire life.” Her lips curled in a tight, mirthless smile.

“Just forget it.” Char rose, cheeks a deep red as her face contorted with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Alright. go and speak to your mother, Char. But go understanding something?”

“And what is that?” Chartreux asked, casting a look of annoyance back towards the other.

“First, you need to apologize to your mother. Not me. I couldn’t care less. Her? You owe her. You’ve upset her to the point it’s become ridiculous. While I could sit and rail at you for it, I won’t. It would be a waste of time and in your present condition, it would do you no good.”

“My condition?” She folded her arms across her chest, recoiling slightly. She avoided the topic and pushed to another. “And the second?”

“The second, Char, is that everything is breaking. But it’s right, even as it does. This is called life, Charrie. Things break, you pick up the pieces, and you make something better. You keep going. And the ones you love and who love you? You stick with them. You fight for them as they would you. And that? That’s why I’m doing all I am.”

“Mother, that letter I wro-…”

“Chartreux,” Bells interjected in a firm, gentle tone. “You can think I’m doing what I’m doing because of whatever reason. Make one up, if you need to. The truth is, Charrie, I do it because of love. I made a promise to your mother long ago to defend and protect her, and all our children the same. It won’t change what happened. That’s not the reason I do it, however. I love you, her and the rest of my family, most certainly. As much, though, I love myself enough to keep a promise, even if it costs me. That, Charrie, is called honor.”

Char said nothing, but only lowered her head.

“Now… go. I believe we both have a good many things to do.”

She turned her attention to a random document on her desk, pretending to read through it until long after the priestess had departed.

VIII- Furto

After almost two weeks of work Siara had managed to earn enough to travel back to Orgrimmar and perhaps even acquire some lodging nearby. Her transportation wasn’t the issue, in fact she could have probably gotten a mage to twist the fabrics of Azeroth and whirl her into the orc capital. However, her companions were not fond of such forms of travel, she was certain that two of them would probably get terribly sick if exposed to it. Thus she was forced to take a three day long ride, but now that Warsong Hold was appearing before her, she couldn’t help but forget all the hardship she had just gone through.

The huntress and her five companions took up most of the wagon, the only other traveler was an elderly orc woman. Despite Siara’s best efforts to strike a conversation, the orc had kept to the furthest corner glaring at the young elf whenever one of her creatures came near.

“Look Crawlee!” She piped up as she jumped to the top tier of the wagon. “We’re almost there!”

At last the other sole traveler on the ride stirred, Siara smiled weakly attempting once more to close the rift between them. As if sensing the young elf’s need to talk, the orc raised a wrinkled hand motioning the other to keep quiet. She then reached into her arm, running her fingers over the dark runes that covered it.

“Is est fere illic.” The words slowly dripped from her lips.

“Umm… my name’s Siara!” She stretched her hand out, the smile still bright on her lips.
Laughter broke the silence, the woman’s eyes widening slightly as she grinned. “Is est non perspicuus.”

A red hue found its way to the huntress’ cheeks as she pulled back her hand, “I… I’m not one of them translators m’am.”

“Tell me pup,” she spoke as if she carried the weight of Azeroth upon her shoulders. Almost immediately Siara regretted insisting on conversation, the woman’s hoarse voice was sending chills down her spine. “What goes in Azeroth?”

“W-w-what g-goes?” Despite her fear, she felt compelled to answer. “Umm… This big dragon came out, then this ogre everyone thought dead is back too.”

“I wonder what they’ll pay for a bardus uno like you.”

Despite the fact that the girl didn’t understand the other, she sensed from the tone that it was anything but a complement. She reached over taking the woman’s arm. The orc recoiled, wrapping the cloak around her and uttered a spell. The next time Siara attempted to grab her she had a fistful of ashes in her hand.

—————————————

The crimson knight let out an exasperated sigh as she reached up to rub her temples. Ever since she was a small child, Kylea had found out that long periods of reading would leave her feeling utterly exhausted. She had gone through logs, history books, recruitment parchments, journals and quills. Books lay stacked around her in towers that stretched the ceiling and threatened to come tumbling upon her at the smallest disturbance.

“Sleep is for the weak, sleep is for the weak,” she chanted, willing herself to stay awake.

She leaned back against the chair, her fel eyes narrowing as she scanned the parchments before her. Another sigh pushed past her lips as she reached for her quill. “Alright Ky, you’ve read every book in every archive accessible to the Horde regarding this subject… time to put it to the test.”

Silithus Post

SUBJECT: Immediate Transfer of Personnel

Kylea turned to the book that lay across the desk, she pulled it closer reading outloud. “Prophet Durinthel.” Once more she turned her attention to the quill, attempting to match the penmanship she spent hours studying on the recruitment parchments.

THRU: Prophet Durinthel,
The Firesworn Torturer.

TO: Condenna the Pitiless,
Training Grounds.
Hyjal, Kalimdor.

Following our Lord Cho’Gall’s plans I have decided to send two of my most brutal soldiers to join your ranks in hopes of thwarting the plans of Ysera and her group of tree-huging idiots. I expect you to allow both Shadowblade Dendrae and Loreseeker Tharia enough space to roam through the camp.

Expect them to arrive at camp two weeks from the arrival of this note. Due to the recent interest from small vigilantes I cannot offer you a date nor a precise location for their entrance.

Keep your eyes open for the signs.


She eyed the parchment, her brow furrowing as she read it again and again and again. After meticulously inspecting every small detail, from the scripture to the wording used, she reached for her sword. Her eyes closed as she ran her finger over the edge, her breath faltering as she felt her skin give in. She held her hand out, allowing a few droplets of blood to land upon the lower left corner.

“And now to see if I can fool Genna with it.”

—————————————

The handful of ash was long gone from the huntress’ mind as she stepped into the path that wound down to the Cleft of Shadow. It had been a while since she had heard from Gen-gen, the letters she had sent from Dalaran had gone unanswered, but she had once seen her here. Had she been more experienced she would have probably sensed something odd about it, after all the magistrix had answered her rather quickly the last time she had written. But instead she kept writing, telling the other about her misadventures in the frozen land.

“I wonder if she know’s about those flowers up there,” she mumbled.

Siara was a simple ranger. She was good with a bow and arrow, could probably go head to head against the Dark Lady herself but she lacked everything else that Sylvanas expected from her rangers. She was prone to lose herself in daydreams, growing completely oblivious to the world around her. Her judgment of others was terribly off, always an optimistic she found it hard to judge those she barely knew.

“Crawlee?” She turned sharply, finally noticing the usual pit patter of his feet missing.

“Boo,” the orc growled, tossing a bag over her head before knocking the huntress out with his mace.

—————————————

A small parchment materialized before the Boldvalor house in Silvermoon.

Nos have captus ut quod vos did ignoro off tamen sought ut servo occultus. An oculus pro an oculus a dentis parumper dentis. Vos took nobis , iam capimus vobis. Quantus would vos persolvo pro vita of alius? Nisi vos… quis mos era Shinestrong persolvo?



[[Note- As always, we encourage anyone interested to pitch in. Keep in mind though, these stories are a compliment to in-game RP so join the plot in-game too!.]]

IX - Ultra

She carried the parchment for hours. Plucking up the paper on her way out for a stretch of the legs, she had first become distracted first by Elly’s conversation, then jotting notes in her journal. Making notes turned into a read-through instead, and the parchment lay wedged at the back between the last blank page and the rear cover. It was only when the birds began to noisily announce that evening had finally departed and the day was new did she break her gaze, yawning and stretching. As Bella climbed the steps of her home, she recalled its existence. Pushing the door shut with her rear as she unfolded the paper, she shook it out and peered at its contents. Her brows knit, head canting left as she read through it.

Old tongue, I suppose. Gods… I do good to recall Common nowadays. Must be for Genna, though. No one refers to me by that name now.

Bella took the steps two at a time, rounding the banister and heading down the short walk to the blonde’s room. Knuckles danced on the surface in a quick rhythm, her voice quiet as she called to her niece. She took a step back, waiting.

“I’m awake,” Genna muttered as she answered. Blond locks were shifted in the disarray of sleep, her makeup smeared and robes wrinkled. She reached up, rubbing her left eye with her palm. “I… I’m awake. Promise.”

“You’re fine. Just have a note for you.” She offered out the parchment. “Sorry to have opened it. No indication on the front who it was from or to, though.”

The arcanist muttered something unintelligible, the words melting into a yawn as she gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Was that even Thalassian?” Bella asked, peering at her.

“I said I’ve a stack of things Aunt Ky wants me to look over. Toss it with that.” She shut the door without a further word, leaving the Knight standing in the hall with a look of mild irritation etched on her face.

“Ungrateful little… should put a boot to… my house, and I get…” None of the mumbled sentences completed as Bella wove her way back down to the open study. She glanced around, smiling in spite of her irritation as she noted the stacks of toys, children’s tomes, and parchments dotted with bright colors in the shape of little hands and fingers laying in the middle of a circle of large pillows. She stepped over the children’s “work” area, crossing to her wife’s desk. Her brows lifted at the sight of the towers of books, pamphlets, and other materials. “Someone has been busy.”

Bells plucked a piece of parchment from a nearby stack, nib scratching over the surface in a quick note.

My Magic,

Think this is for Genna since “Shinestrong” is mentioned. No idea on what the fel it really says. Could be something about baking a cake, for all I know. Little help, please?

Love,
~Your Bells



PS – If it is about baking a cake, translate and copy, if you don’t mind? You know how I am about collecting recipes. I kid. Maybe. Love you much. -B

She left the odd parchment laying beneath her note, both facing up and centered on Kylea’s desk. The thought of either had left her by the time her head found her pillow, mere minutes later.

"Mail call."

With those words from the outpost runner, a number of weary warriors at Crossroads rose to their feet and approached the newly arrived orc on his swift dire wolf.

Rongar joined the group with tempered expectations. Almost a week ago, he had sent a special courier to his friend. That courier had never reported back or returned. With some knowledge about what his friend was planning to take on, this was a source of great concern.

When the runner handed him a letter, Rongar could feel the wave of relief. He did not even need to read the note: seeing his friend's handwriting on the cover meant that she was alive and well. Or at least alive.

Dear Rongar,

Forgive me for not replying sooner...

Rongar read the rest of the letter and nodded when he found out that his courier had indeed managed to reach his friend in time. He quickly penned a note in response and handed it to the outpost runner.

Within a day or two, Rongar would be returning to Orgrimmar. Hopefully by then he and Bella Boldvalor could connect in person.

As he watched the outpost runner turn and head back north, one thought stuck out in Rongar's mind: Be safe.

Pale cobblestones lined the quiet street where the woman stood, brow knit as she held the parchment against the post box. The quill scratched over the surface as she struggled to maintain emotion ad corral untamed thoughts.

Baroness Mahy,

I was given your name by one Molly Frostleaf. I do think you and I have met before, but only in passing. You do, however, know my aunt, Mistress Boldvalor. In spite of us not being well acquainted, I pray your forgiveness for the intrusion.

Molly has advised me you are familiar with certain things that I am currently researching. I am unsure if you know of all that has transpired as of recent with my Aunt Bee, but it is closely related to the matters that occupy her as of late.

I fear a friend of mine might be caught up in all of this and thus in jeopardy, so your knowledge in such matters is of great import to me. I can explain further, but perhaps post is not the best method. Should you agree to meet, please let me know a time and place that would be most convenient for you.

Again, please forgive the abrupt nature of this letter. Know that I am indebted to you for your consideration of assistance, if not merely your time. As much, should you assist me in what I fear may be a path I must take, I will owe you greatly.

I know to swear such things is nearly foolhardy, but I think such a promise is well merited. My friend means just that much.

Respectfully,
-Genarianna Shinestrong

She held her breath as she sealed the parchment, slipping it into the post box before heading to her Dalaran rental.