Traitors and Patriots

The wagon's wheels creaked as they struck a hole in the road, the entire conveyance bouncing lightly before it settled back on the dusty path that wound its way through the Northern Barrens and hugged the hills until finally making its way into Durotar and the capital of the Horde. The wagon's driver, a Sin'dorei, flicked the reins, keeping the horses moving over the rough patch as the three Blood Knights escorting the wagon on horseback trotted along beside it.

The wagon had gone on quite a journey, landing at Ratchet after the ship it was on took damage in a storm and making its way through the conflict that had erupted throughout the barrens. Unrelated to the uprising or the loyalist orcs that were moving their forces throughout the region, the wagon was part of a special mission to move highly sensitive artifacts to safety; part of the Reliquary's findings in Pandaria.

As the wagon rounded a bend in the road that passed through some brush screening the path, the driver pulled back on the reins, slowing to a stop as he noted a cowled figure standing in the middle of the path. Behind the figure and off to the side a warhorse belonging to the Argent Crusade grazed on the tall grasses of the barrens.

The figure remained motionless, the cowl concealing the person from view as the driver exchanged wary glances with the Blood Knights escorting the wagon. The three drew swords and spurred their horses in front of the wagon, their leader peering at the cowled figure before them before raising his voice in challenge, "You are blocking the road and preventing us from conducting official business for the Warchief. Identify yourself at once and then step aside so that we may proceed."

The figure stirred slightly, the dark red robes giving no indication of who or what they were. After a long, tense pause a female voice drifted from the cowl's opening, the words soft but containing a hint of authority behind them, "And what business does the Reliquary have that involves bringing artifacts to the Warchief rather than to Quel'Thalas for examination and safekeeping? You are transporting artifacts taken from a dig site, are you not?"

The Blood Knight leader's scowl deepened and he gestured with his sword, "That is no concern of yours. You will surrender yourself to our custody at once or be branded a traitor to the Horde."

Light laughter escaped the cowl as the figure responded, "Do your eyes not see the pillars of smoke rising all over this region? There is an uprising now, and many concerned parties have descended on these lands to determine the right of the Warchief's ways. At the end of all of this, those who are the victors will write the history that determines who is and is not a traitor. The primary concern should be that the artifacts that you are transporting are not allowed to be used by the orcs who have shown themselves to be incapable of using magic properly and who have put us all at great risk with their continued blundering. We must ensure that the Sin'dorei do not have their reputation further tarnished by such actions, especially since the leadership of the Horde is now in question."

The Blood Knight looked to his companions and nodded, all three beginning to advance on the cowled figure. His words came out in a growl as he again gestured with his sword, "That is unfortunate, for we cannot permit traitors to prevent us from completing our mission. You have had your chance to surrender and forfeited it."

As they approached, the figure remained perfectly still in the road, the thick robes fluttering in the light breeze that swept across the open plains. When she made no response, the Blood Knight leading the group smirked, bringing his sword up as he prepared to strike her down, "No witty retort before you die traitor? Tell us your name at least so that we can inform your next of kin and expel them from Quel'Thalas. This will not end without a death now after all."

Just before his sword could descend the light breeze around the group picked up significantly, turning into a howling, cold gale. The robes shrouding the figure whipped around her body, the cowl blowing back and exposing the Sin'dorei that challenged the Blood Knights.

Red hair blew wildly in the wind as arcane power blazed in the eyes of the Sin'dorei. Bright blue ward marks flared into life on her face as her magic rose up around them, a shimmering field of magical energy surrounding her. Bringing her hands up, her fingertips already glowing with deadly magic, the Sin'dorei grinned at them as if remembering an old, familiar activity.

"I am the Magistrix Biara Sunfire," Biara said, malice dripping from her words now. "And if you will not surrender the contents of that cart to me, then I shall take them. Traitors to Quel'Thalas will never be allowed to stand in the way of our golden future. This is your last chance to stand aside."

The Blood Knight glared at Biara, spitting on the road before her, "We will never surrender wench, not even to a Magistrix. You brand us traitors but it is you who betray the Warchief."

Biara's grin merely widened and she stepped towards them, her magic making the air around them stink of burnt ozone as she prepared to do battle for the first time in many years. There was almost a sense of release in her voice as she spoke to them for the last time.

"So be it."

*****************************************

Across the barrens many pillars of smoke rose into the air as the rebel trolls began a full scale war against Garrosh's loyalists. There was so much conflict that another one breaking out randomly across the vast distances meant little to the combatants already engaged.

Even so, several fights faltered when a massive magical explosion caused a distant flash of light near the border to Durotar, the *crump* of the detonation reaching ears many miles from the source of the explosion.

Of the Reliquary's stolen artifacts or the wagon and its mission, nothing was ever heard again.

Memoirs of Light- Part 5

"One of the things I find most difficult to wrap my mind around is how greatly life can change in such a short time. My people have a relatively long lifespan, and before the fall of Quel'Thalas there was some stability to our lives that gave one the impression that things would go on unchanged forever. We had our moments in history where this was not the case, mainly when the Orcs first came and our battles with the trolls, but even considering these, there was little expectation that things would be so vastly different.

Why do I mention this? Because I am a prime example of the change that has swept through our people. If you had told me a mere twenty years ago that I would be wearing armor and bearing weapons or that I would be wielding the Light to assault the most horrific evils ever imagined, I would have laughed at you outright. I spent my days at my crafts, raising my children, and seeing to the needs of my family. My husband and I both worked at our forge, him with his blacksmithing and myself with the artistic pieces that I produced. Sometimes we would work together side-by-side to make a magnificent piece, while other times we would focus on our own tasks.

Nothing in any of this normality would lead me to ever conceive of what I am now. If my past self met my current self, she would imagine I had come to perhaps have some armor made and wonder only idly where I'd been and the things I'd seen. It is bittersweet to know that the last time I prepared a meal for my family was the evening before the Scourge came. When was the last time I cooked anything that was not roasted over a campfire? What was the last thing I mended because a child had ruined it playing too roughly? I cannot even recall that now.

I believe, truly believe with all of my heart that the Light has chosen this path for me. It has done so not so that I could seek vengeance for those I've lost, but so that I could ensure that such normality is not torn from the grip of others, so that they do not suffer the losses that I and my people suffered. I am a questing Knight now, a crusader seeking to bring justice where it is missing. I look to put to right the things that have crept into our world and befouled it. 

In a way, the memories of the past bolster my every step. Rather than letting grief overwhelm me, I use those captured moments of time to remind myself of all that I fight and will eventually die for. When I don my armor, when that white tabard rests over my chest, I know without a doubt that I will never falter, never relent in my quest to bring the Light to those places where it has been expelled. This is why I fight, for those little moments of family and life that I know others possess. I will be their armor, their shield, their sword. 

This is what it means to be a crusader. A paladin. A knight."
~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade. 
 
 

Pilgrimage

"There are a few moments in your life that you will always remember. They uplift you, define who you are, and emphasize the best of what life has to offer. For me I know that those moments include the day I met my husband, the days my children were born, and of course the moment when I first truly began to feel the Light's love and warmth. Until yesterday, I believed that I had experienced the last of such wondrous moments. The moment I first laid eyes upon the holy city of Light, I felt again the thrill of the Light's embrace, as if for the first time. I am truly blessed to have such an opportunity, and I will not forget this feeling, this moment in time, for as long as I live."
~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade. 


***********************************************


The warhorse's hooves made a steady rhythm on the pine covered pathway as Britany rode along the outskirts of Terokkar Forest.  Although she rode in silence, the wilderness around her was alive with the exotic sounds of the wildlife that called these strange lands their home. Given her previous experiences upon first entering the Outlands and traversing Hellfire Pennisula, Britany eyed the foliage around her with some degree of caution as she rode, her hands never far from the mace that hung at her belt.

Just as the forest looked to be about to open up in the distance and the path began to wind downhill, Britany heard a sudden sound in the nearby bushes. Before she could react, a round spherical object bounced onto the path followed by a small figure that darted after it. Realizing in an instant that it was a child chasing a ball and that said child was about to be crushed by the hooves of her warhorse, Britany yanked back on the reins, causing the animal to stop in its tracks and rear up, neighing in protest.

It took several moments for Britany to bring the animal back under control and calm it. She patted its neck as it settled down, murmuring soothing noises at it as her gaze traveled down towards the ground. There, standing in the center of the path and holding a stitched leather ball, was a small Draenei boy with an almost comical expression of shock on his face. He stared at Britany so hard that she paused, her own mouth hanging open in surprise for a moment.

"Er...You. Okay?" Britany said in Common. Her grasp of the language was poor at best, learned in scraps from the other Crusaders as they performed their patrols in Northrend. She was proud of her small skill with it, even if her lack of education often lead to confusing or amusing conversations.

The little Draenei boy laughed and nodded before replying in perfect Thalassian, "Yes miss I'm fine! Are you a real knight?! That horse is amazing! I've never seen silver armor like that before! And you wear white over it! What is that symbol for? Do you have a sword too? Are you on a quest?!"

Britany smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, a light chuckle escaping her as she continued to pat her horse's neck reassuringly, "Yes child, I am a knight. I suppose you could say that I am on a quest of sorts. I am seeking the city of Light at the heart of this forest. Please, tell me, how is that you know my language?"

The boy nearly jumped up and down in excitement as Britany answered him. He dropped the ball he'd been playing with and turned, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting into the forest, "Eva! Eva you have to come see this! There's a knight here!"

A moment later the bushes near the side of the trail began to shift and a little red-haired Sin'dorei child poked her head through the leaves, blinking at the boy, "Nas! Did you find the ball? What...oh my! That horse is beautiful! Can I ride on it? Who are you? You really are a knight!"

Britany blinked in surprise for a moment as the little Sin'dorei girl stepped onto the path near her friend. It took a minute to absorb the fact that there was a Draenei and Sin'dorei child in the forest, and that they were playing together. It was heart warming to see them, and it was obvious from the way they stood side by side and babbled questions at her that they were truly the best of friends.

With a soft smile on her face Britany carefully shifted, slipping her leg over the saddle and hopping down. She gave her steed another pat as she began to answer the barrage of questions the two children were sending her way, her heart truly at ease for the first time in many months.

"Yes as I told your friend, I am actually a Knight. This is my warhorse, and you can certainly ride on her if you'd like. Why don't you walk with me and help me complete my quest? I've a city to find after all..."

*****************************************************

Fifteen minutes later Britany walked on the path, her hands gently guiding the reins of her warhorse as the two children sat in the saddle, gleefully shouting and laughing together. The well trained steed took it all in stride, plodding along behind the knight as they finally broke free of the confines of the forest.

In that moment, Britany paused, her breath leaving in a gasp as the city of Shattrath unfolded before her in the valley below. Her eyes did not see the ruins of a once great Draenei city. They did not see the tents and camps of those who had been driven there by war or the perils of the dying world upon which the city sat. Instead she saw only the beacon of Light that pulsed from the city's center, heard only the beautiful and majestic song that flowed from the city, bringing peace and well being to those who heard it.

Where some might see poverty and desperation, Britany saw only a place where those of many races had come to seek out the Light's embrace, to feel the protection and love it afforded them. This was not a place where despair dwelled, but was instead was a beacon of hope for the future. The Light would make its stand, and it would bring together all of those who were brave enough and pure enough of heart to stand beside it and face down the darkness.

As she stood frozen on the trail, Britany felt tears streaming down her face, and she murmured a prayer to the Light, thanking it for bringing her to this point, to this moment in time. She felt uplifted, and knew that this renewed purpose would see her through many hardships and trials ahead.

The moment was only broken when her warhorse leaned forward and began to nuzzle one of her long tapered ears, the snorting of its nostrils making her jump. With the children giggling in the saddle behind her, Britany wiped the tears from her face and turned with a bright smile, "Thank you children for helping me complete my quest. I owe you both a debt of gratitude for leading me here."

Both Draenei and Sin'dorei grinned, awed by the fact that a real knight had said that they'd helped her. As Britany turned and lead her mount towards the gates of Shattrath, the jubilant laughter of children heralded her arrival in that holy city.

It would be a journey she would never forget, and a pilgrimage that she would recommend to other Crusaders for years to come.

Light's Advance

Several Years Ago, Icecrown

Southwest of the Shadow Vault

Midday

Screams rose up from the mass of men and orcs as the attack began. Thousands of Scourge soldiers poured into their flanks, while other monstrosities rose up from the very ground beneath them, shattering the icy crust that covered the ground and erupting into battle. The effect of the multi-directional ambush was instant as panic set in amongst the Horde and Alliance fighters.

Marcus Deathsworn laughed as he watched the chaos unfold. The plan had been rather simple to initiate given the rivalries between the Horde and Alliance, and watching it unfold was like observing beautiful art to the necromancer. He'd spent much of the past two days weaving spells across the frozen plains, using heat to bring up thick fog banks to confound and disorient the two armies that now clashed before him. Knowing that the rivals would be unable to help themselves once they stumbled into each other in the fog, he had carefully arranged that both vanguards would reach this location at the same time, small skirmishes quickly escalating into a full scale battle.

As one of the more powerful necromancers of the Cult of the Damned in the area, it had been child's play to prepare a legion of undead minions to ambush the two forces once they were fully engaged with one another, flanking their forces and setting them to panic. The slaughter that was unfolding would leave many corpses for use as new Scourge soldiers and many component parts for larger constructs. This was not to mention the fact that it would severely weaken both Horde and Alliance advances towards Icecrown Citadel.

In the distance a unit of human warriors broke as their morale failed them, the individually fleeing soldiers becoming easy targets for the undead monstrosities that had struck from the rear. Men and horses perished as claws and rusty blades plunged into them, the screams of the dying rising up over the general noise of battle and setting Marcus to laughing again. It was indeed a good day for the Scourge and by nightfall he would have even more undead enslaved to his will. Why any would choose to openly assault the Lich King's holdings was beyond him.

The gray sky began to shed snow as more men and orcs perished, their blood mixing with the white to make shocking patterns of gore. The battle continued, the Horde and Alliance armies desperately attempting to disengage from one another as their rearguards were slaughtered by the undead. The commanders of the two forces clearly knew what was happening, but in the middle of battle knowing and being able to do something about it were two very different things.

As Marcus watched, a distant sound caught his attention, making him shift in the snow and search the perimeter of the battle. The sound came again, allowing him to pinpoint the noise that was so out of place amongst the screams and mayhem. It was the clarion call of a trumpet; a signal for soldiers to advance to war. As the necromancer scanned the distances of the plains, he saw ten figures riding up to a small snowy incline overlooking the battlefield below.

The minute he saw them Marcus snarled, knowing what they were. Although they were quite distant, he could see their silver-barded warhorses and the long white lances they carried. Although snow fell fitfully over the rest of the battlefield, a glimmer of sunlight seemed to lance down upon the ten men and women, a sparkle of it glittering off of the steel armor that encased their bodies. White pennants fluttered from their lance tips and white tabards adorned their armor, the telltale emblem of a golden sun with a silver cross around it indicating that they were Argent Crusaders.

As he watched them line up in battle formation, Marcus frowned. There was something more about the ten knights, something that made him uncomfortable even from a distance. He knew without a doubt that the power of the Light was present, either within them or within their weapons. Ten knights would do little to stave off the disaster that was unfolding but it was still something that made him wary. With a snarl he gestured to several of his attendants, sending the lesser necromancers scurrying to obey.

Within moments he saw the results of his barely spoken orders; units of Scourge were reorienting themselves, Abominations moving to block any move the mounted knights might make. Although they presented a formidable challenge, Marcus watched with some concern as the leader of the group again brought a horn to his lips and the call went up again. A moment later all ten knights dipped their lances at once, spurs digging in and sending their mounts hurtling forward.

It was amazing to watch their coordination; they moved as one, each lance held perfectly straight, each warhorse propelling its rider forward, bringing the deadly weapons closer and closer. Within the Scourge ranks, Abominations turned, striding towards the mounted foes. Marcus watched the battle as it unfolded, his fingers steepled before him as he contemplated what he would do next.

The battle began and ended in seconds, the mounted knights plunging into the Abominations, their lances driving deep into the foe. Blessed by the Light, the weapons tore through undead flesh, leaving burning holes and sending the creatures tumbling to their final rest. Although the knights quickly pushed through the blocking forces, they did not do so without casualties and Marcus counted only eight of them as they continued. Several were knocked from their horses during the conflict and even those who retained their mounts were slowed as they slammed into the masses of lesser Scourge that had been milling about the edge of the battlefield.

It was then that Marcus realized that they were not merely knights, but paladins.

Light blazed forth from the group as Scourge leaped on them. Blessed weapons came down on diseased, twisted flesh and put and end to the suffering of the undead. Claws lashed out only to meet shield or armor or blade, and warhorses crushed the undead beneath their hooves. Within moments the eight remaining knights had made headway into the Scourge who were ringing the two imperiled armies, carving their way through lesser Scourge.

As they advanced, more and more undead surged towards them, and they began to falter. Here a knight fell, there a knight took a wound and was slowed. Even with these losses Marcus could see that they would continue to push forward...and that they were heading towards him and his command group. With another snarl he pointed, sending waves of necromantic energy across the battlefield.

In the center of the two battling armies the ground surged upwards, men and orcs thrown away as a huge sheet of ice buckled and then shattered. From beneath the frozen ground a giant arm reached up, grasping the lip of the hole it had made to pull the rest of the undead form upwards. Combatants quailed as the giant undead construct surged to its feet, turning at Marcus's command to lumber towards the knights.

The holy warriors were well trained and saw the threat as it approached. Quickly they grouped together, shields and blades forming a wall of defense that kept the lesser Scourge back as the giant approached. It towered over them, its decaying form dripping ichor as it roared and brought a hand down to batter the enemies before it.

The Argent knights scattered as the hand came down, several darting forward to slash at the creature's lower legs with blades and hammers. The blessed weapons cut deeply, burning away undead flesh and causing the giant to reel backwards as it was assaulted. The knights fearlessly pushed forward, taking advantage of the creature's retreat to hit it again and again. Although it stomped down and killed two of the attackers instantly, the damage to its legs began to tell and within moments it was teetering in place, falling to its knees and bringing its upper body within range of the holy spells and blades of the knights.

One of the attackers surged forward and Marcus winced as the knight plunged a two-handed sword into the giant's chest, Light flaring from the wound. The creature shrieked in agony before shuddering and beginning to fall forward, its massive weight collapsing on the valiant crusader that had brought it down.

Of the ten knights, only five remained now and Marcus began to prepare himself for a very deadly fight as they came closer. The battle swirled around them, making it difficult to see them from moment to moment and as he prepared his wards and deadly combat spells. Before he could bring his magic to bear a massive explosion ripped through the center of the battlefield as a goblin-made aircraft slammed into the ground. Marcus looked up, grinning as he saw one of the frostwryms hovering over the battle, having sent the mechanical contraption to its doom.

Smoke billowed up in a huge pillar nearby, and all of the combatants that had been in the area had to stagger back to their feet after the shockwave passed. Marcus laughed as he realized the advancing knights had likely been obliterated by the explosion, his victory all but assured now.

Even as he thought this, a single figure emerged from the billowing smoke, the silver armor and white tabard clearly marking her as one of the Argent Crusaders. Her helm had been lost somewhere in the battle behind her, leaving her blonde hair to blow in the wind and shrapnel from the explosion had torn up the armor on her right arm. Blood dripped from beneath her shoulder pauldron and from the gaps in her armor on her right side as she advanced towards him, a morningstar in one hand and shield in the other. He could see it was a female elf, likely a Sin'dorei based on the fel green glow of her eyes. It was hard to tell in the haze of the battlefield.

Almost casually Marcus brought his hands up, sending deadly waves of disintegrating magic towards the paladin. He would flay her flesh off and use the bones later in an undead construct. Even as he thought this, holy Light flared around her form, the magic dissipating before it reached her body and leaving her untouched.

With a growl Marcus gestured again, this time causing the ground before the advancing figure to erupt. Smoke curled around her from the fires behind her as skeletal hands burst up from the ice and long dead warriors drew ancient blades to face her. She brought her morningstar up before her, her fel green eyes closing as she murmured a prayer to the Light. The undead before her paused and then cowered in horror, their twisted, enslaved souls given voice as the Light touched them. As one they turned, fleeing from her blessed form as she continued her advance, her gaze locked with Marcus's own.

Feeling somewhat desperate now, Marcus brought his hands up to begin casting another spell, this one far more powerful than the previous spells. Before he could begin chanting the elf brought her left arm up, twisted her upper body and hurled her shield with all her might. He saw it for only an instant, the emblem of the Argent Crusade looming ever larger before steel collided with flesh and he was bodily hurled to the ground.

For a moment Marcus saw only stars as he lay in a daze. Above him the stormy sky had begun to lighten, a glimmer of sunlight beginning to come through holes in the clouds above. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt it running down his face. A brief prodding with his tongue showed that he had lost a good deal of teeth from the impact of the shield to his face. In the far distance, a frostwyrm turned and began to fly away, as if it already knew he had fallen and that the constructs he'd summoned would falter without his will to guide them.

And then his view of the sky was blotted out as the paladin stood over him. Up close now he could confirm that she was a Sin'dorei, her gaze locked upon him with such intensity that it made his skin crawl. There was no hint of self in her look, no thought of mercy or compassion or even understandable emotions like rage or hate. There was only unyielding, unwavering faith in her gaze as she studied the foe that had intended to inflict more evil upon the world.

In that brief moment he noted many things about her; the way her breath frosted in the air as she studied him, the now blood-stained white purity ribbons tied in her blonde hair, the wax seals that affixed prayers of Light to her armor, dedicating her very body to her faith and turning it into a weapon against darkness, the prayers inscribed in the metal haft of her morningstar, and oddly enough, the name 'Britany' inscribed alongside the symbol of the Argent Crusade on the clasp that kept her cloak in place.

Realizing who and what stood above him, Marcus heard words pour out of his mouth, pleading and begging for mercy and hoping he could stall her as his hand slipped into a pocket in his robes, desperately searching for spell components to slay her before she could capture him.

The elf's free hand came up, halting the tumble of words and bringing a moment of silence to that part of the battlefield. She looked down at him, her voice firm and filled with the conviction of one who believes beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is absolutely right, “I grant your flesh absolution for your crimes. May the Light have mercy on your stained soul.”

The spiked head of her morningstar came up as Marcus felt his mouth hanging open in surprise, and then it came down with a great deal of force.

Marcus Deathsworn saw only darkness after that.

Memoirs of Light- Part 4

"After spending several weeks amongst the Forsaken I will admit to feeling a certain degree of disgust with the situation. As a result, I have decided that it would be best to distance myself from them for a time. Although I will return to the Undercity for supplies (if any can be found that a living person can make use of...) I feel it best to stay far away from their holdings.

As soon as I was able to break away from my duties, I entered the Western Plaguelands. This area is hotly contested between the Horde and Alliance, but this means little given the fact that it also has one of our greatest triumphs there; Hearthglen. What a magnificent fortification! I must say that my spirits lifted greatly just riding through its mighty gates. To think that we are slowly starting to take back the lands from the Scourge, to heal the very world that they sought to rend apart; it is uplifting and sets my heart at ease!

Hearthglen is a wonderful example of what the Crusade can do for lands long torn by war. Not only is it a fortress that protects the surrounding countryside with patrols and strength of arms, but it also is a place where one can go to learn the deeper mysteries of the Light, or to consult with our allies amongst the Cenarion Circle. It is also a place where new recruits are now trained in the techniques that we all learned through much experience in battle up North. I was able to spend some time with the recruits there and despite my previous experience at war it was good to refresh my skills and speak with the eager trainees that will one day carry the banner of Light out into the world.

There is another crucial point to all of this that has great bearing on my own personal situation; that is the way the land itself is being healed. The Blight is simply a disease; an ailment like any other Scourge-born illness and it can be cured, removed, and eradicated from the lands. This gives me hope that one day Quel'Thalas will see a similar rebirth and that places like the Ghostlands and Dead Scar can be repaired. I set my hand towards this goal by working with the Crusade, and I believe it is a purpose that is perfectly in line with my duties both as a Crusader and as a Blood Knight. I fight for the Light, and for all of the lands that have been touched by darkness. 

With my trip to Hearthglen complete, I continued onward and made my way to Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands. One cannot pass through this region without visiting such an historic location. Just standing upon those holy grounds immediately filled me with the love and grace that the Light brings, and I felt renewed in my mind and soul. The Light is love. It is in all of us and all of the world around us, and through it we can attain a higher level of understanding and compassion. It is also a shield against the darkness, and nowhere do I feel more secure than when I stand before that unassuming looking chapel.

The only blight upon my eyesight when I visited that place was, of course, the Ebon Hold floating high in the distance. That dark edifice is a stark reminder of what can happen when the Light's grace is nearly snuffed out by evil. I feel sympathy and sorrow for those poor twisted souls who stand endless vigil within the stony confines above. They did not ask for the fate delivered to them, and it is difficult to imagine being trapped in a twisted, unnatural form and plagued with unholy magics. I wish that I could give them the peace that they deserve, but that is perhaps for another time. There is much yet that they can do in the world to atone for what they have become, and as has been shown in the past they are willing to put their blades to use against evil. Time will tell if the darkness that has been planted within them will overcome them. If that day comes, then my blade will swiftly turn towards the task of giving them rest at last.

I believe I will continue to work with the Crusade in these lands for a short time longer before I resume my duties amongst the races allied with the Sin'dorei. This experience has warmed my heart and renewed my purpose. I cannot fail my people, and I must stand strong by the Light's grace. There is much darkness to put to an end before my journey comes to a close."
~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade. 
 

Memoirs of Light- Part 3

"Although it might seem obvious to say such a thing, part of who we are now is forged from who we were in the past. Sometimes the demarcation between present and past is a slow, gradual process while other times it can be a traumatic change from one state to another. Regardless of how it occurs, we keep a little piece of our past selves, even our childhood, within us always.

This is on my mind as of late due to the fact that I have taken up some of the old craft that I once made my life's work. Before the Scourge, before I took up arms and all of this happened, I have said I was an artisan. Essentially I had some skill with molding metals and working with such materials to make jewelry and intricate metal-works that were used for a variety of other purposes. Many of my pieces were purchased as anchor points for magical statues, brackets to hold art in place in the various ways it is displayed in Quel'Thalas, or even as the base materials to create enchanted items. We all have some skill with magic, and I am no exception; many of my pieces were enchanted for endurance, beauty, or to aid those who sought to use them as foci for spellcasting.

All of this came to an end when Quel'Thalas fell. What need is there to create beauty or even functional components when there is no one left to purchase such items? Who is creating art when our very nation lies in ruins? And yet this was the only skill I had when I first fled with the other survivors. Obviously in the intervening years I have learned much about the use of a blade, wielding the Light, and fighting in war, but that does not mean I forgot my other skills!

During the campaign in the North I was able to make myself more useful by turning my hand towards forging weapons and armor. Although the process differed greatly from what I once did and was more labor intensive, I found the familiarity of the work to be a reassurance in those dark times. With the Light to guide me, my blade to ward me, and my craft to bolster my spirits, I found myself truly healing even as we marched on the worst of the Lich King's strongholds. I believe firmly that the Light and the creativity contained within me were the balms that soothed the grief I had been feeling for so long. I still feel that grief, even now, but it is more distant and something I am able to keep firmly in the back of my thoughts.

Now that the Crusade has come to its conclusion and I am free to wander as a Knight and lend my Light to those in need, I find my hand turning to craft once more. I maintain my own weapons and armor of course, and the armor for my warhorse as well. A Knight would not be complete without such equipment, and I have worn such implements for so long that to part with them would feel alien now. It is amusing considering before all of this I had only handled armor a few times.

Not only do I repair my equipment, but I have now the techniques to forge new armor or weapons. I can aid local communities and militia who are in need of supplies, repair the equipment of other Light-wielders, and create masterworks for myself. By combining a bit of the art that I once created with the functionality of the smith-work I learned from the Crusade, I am able to create new wonders that bring back a little of who I was.

And so it seems that even as I travel into the future, I bring a little piece of the past with me. I will admit that it brings a smile to my face when I see a piece that is well made and appreciated. Perhaps one day when I roam no more I will find a place to rest my sword and a forge where I can live out the rest of my days creating art in dedication of all those who have fallen and all those who have given of themselves that the world might see the dawn each day."
~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade. 

Memoirs of Light- Part 2

“And so the campaign in the North has long since come to a close, leaving the Crusade with a more global purpose. Certainly many Crusaders, myself included, stayed behind in the frozen north for quite some time, overseeing garrisons and keeping a watchful eye on the remaining restless dead. Others returned to the lands most blighted by the plague of undeath, seeking to put those lands to rights and establish new homes and new garrisons there.

For myself, my duties are largely over for the moment. I believe that my skills, my Light is needed elsewhere. My own people suffer, the great divide between those who betrayed the nation of Quel'Thalas and those amongst the Sin'dorei has only grown and strife has lead to the deaths of many loyal Sin'dorei, diminishing our chances of rebuilding.

My first task is to see where I am most needed, and to do this, I must come to understand the nature of our allies better. It has been long since I've walked amongst them, long since I've taken up my duties as a Blood Knight. Although I am somewhat estranged from the others of my Order given my time with the Crusade, I retain my title and my skill in battle, and will go where I am needed most.

I have started this journey in the place most likely to cause me personal distress; that is amongst the Forsaken. Long have I heard tales of their wretched deeds, and of course I am intimately familiar with what they did at the Wrathgate. I have taken it upon myself to travel amongst them to ascertain how deeply the corruption within them lies. Can they be saved? Can they atone?

My first glimpses of who and what they are tell me that they cannot. Darkness spreads its roots deep, and the innocent men and women who would later rise to become walking corpses have lost the innocence and love within them. The spark of Light that resides in all living creatures is snuffed out, their hearts a black pit where evil can suckle until it is ready to emerge. It is for this reason that I view them with great distrust, making every effort to distance myself from them.

It is here I must make an important point, in fact the most important point. In recent times, we have come into contact with races and ways (particularly the Pandaren) who have stressed the importance of patience, serenity, and mental balance. These concepts are indeed noble, and can help cleanse one's spirit, however they also contain a hidden danger. Meekness is a virtue surely, but only when it does not lead to complacency and tolerance of darkness. One can voice one's opinion against an evil all one wants, but if you do nothing, if you allow it to grow, then it will one day consume you and those you love. To allow darkness to grow while meekly decrying its existence is a dangerous path indeed.

Those of my order were not created to be meek. We were forged to be the blades of righteous vengeance. We were trained to be implements of war. The Light teaches us compassion, but it also teaches us that it will stand against the darkness. I will not sit idly by and watch evil grow amongst my allies or my people, no more than I would allow our enemies to take a single step into beloved Quel'Thalas. There is a time and place for the application of violence, and against darkness that time is clear indeed.

I am obligated by the laws of Quel'Thalas to fight beside our allies. This does not mean I must accept them, nor does it mean I must offer them Light when they are aberrations of that very concept. Indeed, how could one even heal such a dead thing when the very magic of life burns them away? No, when a Forsaken falls beside me in battle, mortally wounded, I give them absolution and the peace of death, as they should have been given long ago. My blade was meant to rend in the name of the Light, not to coddle the weak who believe in appeasing that which we stand again. Just my thoughts on the matter.”

~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade.

Memoirs of Light

“I remember clearly the moment that the Light first called to me. It is a moment that will forever be etched in my memory. It came not as a song, not as a flash or blaze of power, but as a glimmer of sunlight slanting down through the smokey fog of war. In a last stand against the Scourge at Fairbreeze Village, I saw the sunlight and was moved to stand within it. Though I was but a simple artisan fighting for my family, my children, and my lands, I felt the sunlight on my skin and I knew then, even in the darkest moment of my life, that I would always walk within it.

How odd is it, that one's loved ones can be snuffed out like the flame of a candle? That one necromantic spell can slay innocent children and wipe away brave defenders whose cause is just? How can a moment set one's heart to stop beating, and yet also force one to live on? The sunlight, the beam of Light from the heavens above was the only place that was safe, and of all I cared for, none were left to retreat to the Anchorage with us.

Was I bitter as I watched the coast of our nation slip away, leaving my fallen to the enemy? Bitterness cannot even describe it. Pain is not a suitable word. It is something you forever carry, and it taints you as it spreads. I was indeed bitter. Bitter enough to want revenge. To dedicate my being to that righteous cause. Though I knew nothing of warfare, nothing of strength, when Quel'Thalas died I knew I would do anything to bring those who had done this, who had taken my family and my life from me, to justice.

Even as I walked a new path, even as I gained strength at arms and joined the newly founded Blood Knights, I still felt the sunlight within me, warming a single point within the black abyss that my heart had become. As I brought my blade against darkness, as I strove each day to force the Light to my will, that little bit of warmth grew. I knew it was there, though I denied it for so long, for how could I not? How could I so easily give up my revenge, the only thing left to me?

And then it was over. The fighting, the struggle for survival. We had won, and the Sunwell was restored. I could feel it deep within me, feel the Light as it came to me not because I forced it, but because it had always given of itself. It had always been there, I had simply been too consumed by the evil I let lurk in my heart to see it.

I heeded its call again. I know now that I was spared for a reason, a purpose greater than revenge. My family did not perish in vain, but died so that I could learn this most valuable lesson and bring righteous justice and the warmth of the Light to those most in need.

I found others like me, others who had taken up the call. They came from every land, from every people. They gathered together in the dawn, they raised a new banner of hope. They marched to war on the tides of death that had already claimed too many nations. I marched with them, and set the Crusade above my own petty needs and thoughts.

The men and women who marched beside me became as my brothers and sisters. When they could not pronounce my elven name, the humans amongst them named me Britany, and I took up this new name in the spirit of camaraderie that bound us all together. We fought, we laughed, we grew into a fighting force of Light that nothing could stand against, and we threw down a King.

I walk now always in the sunlight, in the bright warmth that first called to me on the blackest day of my life. Though I will always mourn those who have passed on, I will always be comforted by the faith that has seen me through it all, to the point where justice has been done at long last.”

~An excerpt from the memoirs of Britanielle 'Britany' Dawnblaze, Paladin of the Argent Crusade.

Fel Eyes

House Dawnsea Pandarian Expedition Command

Krasarang

Pre-Dawn

“Gather around the map table everyone, let's go!” the Scout Captain bellowed. The small encampment instantly stirred, Sin'dorei rangers responding to the words immediately and jumping to their feet, hurrying to stand before the small table and the magical lantern that illuminated it. The Captain nodded as the nine elves gathered, stabbing a finger down towards a spot on the map.

“We have ourselves a situation here,” he began, retracting his hand and folding them both behind his back. He began to pace as he spoke. “Approximately eight hours ago a Horde lumber party was ambushed in this part of Krasarang. They were hit by surprise near the ruins I've circled on the map. Only a few made it back to report in, and it looks like we've got a Mogu slaver group running out of that location.”

He paused, looking each of the Sin'dorei in the eyes, as if measuring their mettle, “I know some of you have newly signed on with House Dawnsea's rangers. Today you'll be proving yourself. In a quarter hour we're going to move on this position and liberate any of the lumber party who have been captured. There are three ravines leading up into the ruins, and we'll be taking advantage of them to ascend out of the jungle. Memorize the map, get your kit, and get ready to go. Dismissed.”

Of all the unexpected things that could happen, a hand shot up from amongst the rangers. The Captain's eyebrows rose so rapidly one might think they would jump off of his face as he stared down the elf that was still holding her hand up. One of the new recruits, she didn't quite fit in with the others with her faded leather garb and her lack of any red and gold to denote her place amongst the Sin'dorei. The Captain signed and nodded, “Yes Recruit Summerglade, what is it?”

Tylirel had meant to launch into a detailed explanation of why the plan he'd just presented was not a good idea, but the minute the Captain and the other eight rangers began to focus on her, she felt a panic setting in. Unused to having so many people looking at her, unaccustomed to speaking in front of people, and especially nervous about talking about something Really Important, Tylirel could almost feel her vocal chords retracting in protest, “Eeee...I-I...that i-is...um...d-don't you think t-that maybe we should um. You see, the M-mogu would be expecting....I-I...”

She paused, shifting nervously from one foot to another as several of the other rangers began to smirk and the Captain began to glare. In a rush of breath, she blurted out what she meant to say somewhat inelegantly, “I-I think that w-would be walking right into an ambush! We s-should use the jungle. S-sir...”

She fell silent, biting her lip and looking anywhere but at the people staring at her. It was fine when she knew she wouldn't have to speak to people for long, but this conversation with those whom she was going to be working with for the long term was terribly nerve-wracking. Even as the thought passed through her mind she felt her spirits sink when the Captain began to laugh.

“Why don't you leave the strategical planning to me, Summerglade? I've been doing this for quite some time you know,” he said condescendingly. Several of the other elves snickered and Tylirel could feel herself turning beet red. The Captain waved a hand at them, “Besides, the jungle is completely impassible. Now then, go and get ready. We leave in a quarter hour before the sun rises.”

The rangers all turned, heading into the camp and dousing the fire as they prepared themselves. Bows were strung, arrows were readied, and generally the preparations went on without any conversation. Tylirel preferred the silence, working swiftly to tighten straps on her armor, preparing her sheaths for quick release of her daggers, and ensuring her bootlaces were tight. After she'd finished, she walked over to where the fire had been doused, kneeling down before it. She gently scooped the ash into her hands, coating her fingers before bringing them up to her face. She began to rub the ash in everywhere, blackening her pink skin.

“What are you DOING?” a voice interrupted. Tylirel paused, looking up to see another elf standing over her. She smiled, her white teeth glinting in the blackness of her soot-covered face, “I'm getting ready! You want some?”

The elf crinkled her nose, shaking her head, “Um no? That's going to stain your skin for days. And....fel are you putting that in your HAIR too?”

And indeed Tylirel was, her hands running through her red locks and coating everything with a fine black ash. Although she could not completely dull the bright red color, she at least made the strands blend in with the local floral colors. She looked at the other elf and shrugged, “Sure, why not? Better that than being seen don't you think?”

The other elf sneered and turned, stalking away to gather up her weapons. It was clear that she did NOT think it was a good idea. Tylirel shrugged again, smearing more soot on her face and smiling, “I think it's fun...”

Minutes later they were moving in groups of three, the Captain with the lead squad as they headed into the jungle.

Fifteen minutes later Tylirel was gone, having disappeared unnoticed sometime during the trek.

Twenty-five minutes later disaster struck as the Mogu sprang their ambush.

*****************************************

For Ranger Lilliela Daywhisper the world had contracted into a very narrow range of senses that went from minor dull aches to mind-numbing agony. As one of the agonizing waves passed over her, she gasped and grit her teeth. She shook her head, trying to get through it as best as she could, her fingers digging into the soil beneath her.

She was on her hands and knees, trapped on a magical rune that had been cast on the ground. Around her, she could see the others in a similar position, their bodies contorting as the waves of agony rolled over them. The runes were of Mogu design, intended to inflict pain endlessly for hours or even days, breaking down the will of the trapped victims so that they would make more pliable slaves. After having been trapped in the rune for only an hour Lilliela could understand how such a tactic would work. Within a day's time they would all be begging to be free of the agony, eager to do anything the Mogu commanded if only for a few moments of peace.

She grit her teeth again as another wave of agony traveled through her body, the red haze of the magic flaring for a moment. The attack had been an utter disaster, the entire thing orchestrated by the Mogu at the most basic level. Funneled into the narrow ravines that rose into the ruins, the Sin'dorei had been struck from all sides by both Mogu and a number of magical stone constructs. It turned out that their intelligence on the camp's numbers had been only 'somewhat' accurate; there had indeed been ten Mogu as the map had indicated, but one of them was a powerful Spiritbinder of some sort and had unleashed his creations on them. Several rangers, including the Captain, had perished in the fighting, leaving the rest to be beaten into submission and placed on the runes.

Lilliela sighed in despair, looking around at the other captives. Six of them were left now of the original ten. Other runes held additional prisoners the Mogu had captured and were preparing for hard labor. There was little any of them could do now but endure and hope that somehow they would be rescued in time. Given that the Spiritbinder appeared to be preparing a small space in the middle of the ruins for a spell, she suspected they had limited time before they were dragged off through a portal to some hellish fate somewhere.

She sighed again, looking away from the depressing sight of her imprisoned companions, her eyes drifting to the impenetrable wall of jungle foliage around the ruins. As her gaze drifted over the dense, lush plant life, her wandering gaze abruptly came to a halt.

Two fel green eyes stared out at her from amongst the branches, seemingly floating in the sea of greenery.

Lilliela shook her head, blinking to clear her sight. When she did so, the eyes were gone and she sighed again, thinking it a figment of her imagination. She nearly shrieked aloud when a voice spoke up almost directly next to her, “Hi! Are you alright? That looks like some pretty nasty spell there...”

Her head whirled around to find Tylirel Summerglade crouched down just outside of the rune holding her in place, the soot-covered ranger studying the magic curiously. With wide eyes, Lilliela quickly whispered, “You have to get out of here! Go back and warn the rest of the expeditionary force. Tell them we're trapped here and we need help! Hurry before they transport us!”

Tylirel frowned, biting her lip. She reached out towards the other elf, sticking her hand on the ward before Lilliela could stop her. With a gasp the red-headed ranger jerked her hand back, shaking her head and sucking on her fingertips as if they'd been burned, “Ow! That really hurts! I've got to get you all out of this. I bet the one casting the spells over in the center of camp is responsible. Don't worry, I'll have you free in a moment!”

Lilliela felt panic setting in and she hissed at the other ranger, “No you idiot! You need to escape and get help! There's ten of them and one of them can command stone creatures! Flee and get help!”

Tylirel smiled at the other ranger and shook her head, “No, I can't leave you like this. Don't worry, I've got this. I promise! Cross my heart!”

Lilliela would have screamed if she didn't know it would attract the Mogu over. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and prepared to deliver the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. When she opened her eyes, Tylirel was gone.

“We're doomed...” came the despairing ranger's whisper. She hung her head before turning to look back towards the camp. Mogu patrolled the area relentlessly, the Spellbinder in the center of the camp preparing his magic. Even as Lilliela watched, one of the Mogu on the edge of the camp slumped forward, gently easing towards the ground as if he were sleeping. One of her eyebrows shot up as she pondered why this would be the case, and one of the other Mogu wandered towards his companion, uttering something she couldn't hear.

She didn't need to hear what happened next. As the Mogu shook his companion and got no response, he flipped the 'sleeping' sentry over only to discover his throat had been completely carved out. Instantly he roared an alarm, alerting the other Mogu in the camp. They rushed to draw their weapons, scanning the surrounding jungle for whatever enemy had killed their companion. In the center of the camp, the Spellbinder rose, glaring at the commotion.

It was then that a strange smoke began to drift from the edge of the jungle.

The Spellbinder growled and pointed, sending two of the Mogu towards the disturbance. They approached cautiously, weapons drawn as they eased into the smoke. For a moment the camp was utterly silent except for the gasping of tormented prisoners. The silence was abruptly shattered by the howls of Mogu emanating from the smoke cloud. The howls and screaming were punctuated by the sound of metal on metal and then abruptly silence fell over the camp again. Lilliela noted that not once had she heard the sound of a Sin'dorei crying out in pain during whatever struggle had occurred.

In the center of the camp the Spiritbinder began to chant, magic flowing from his clawed hands. Around the ruins stone statues began to stir, the ancient guardians coming to life and bounding towards their master. These were the same creatures that had turned the tide on the rangers to begin with, and Lilliela shuddered as she watched a dozen of them make their way into the edge of the jungle, followed by several more Mogu.

The Spiritbinder laughed, walking towards the captured slaves, his tone mocking as his voice bellowed out amongst them, “Surrender any hope of rescue! None can stand against my creations, and to believe that you will be allowed freedom is folly! You serve us now! You are honored to be amongst the first wave of slaves to help rebuild our glorious empire! Upon your bones will rest the foundations of our great nation, as worthless as you might be!”

As he spoke, he walked past each of the trapped prisoners, applying magic and making them cry out in agony, laughing at their torment. He continued to lambast them, even as Mogu stalked the jungle around the camp, looking for the intruder. Finally he stood over Lilliela, his form towering over her kneeling body.

“You will submit to us supplicant! There is nothing more to your life than servitude! You will tell me that you are unworthy to serve, but that you wish to submit!” Even as he spoke, she looked up at him to see magic beginning to form on his claws. Her eyes widened, not at the pain he was about to inflict, but by what else she saw in that brief moment.

In the branches of a tree that loomed over the camp, the two fel eyes hovered in the shadows, far above him.

It happened so fast that Lilliela would later have a hard time recalling it. In a blink of an eye Tylirel jumped from her perch, her body arched and two daggers held high over her head, her hair trailing out behind her like a dirty comet. The dull black metal of her weapons gave not even a hint of a reflection as she fell silently, hurtling towards the Mogu below her. He had no chance to realize his fate, no chance to turn and fight her. One moment he was gloating over his captive, and the next moment two daggers were buried to their hilt in his skull, one hitting so hard that the blade snapped off in his cranium.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion after that. The Spiritbinder made not a sound as he crumpled to his knees and then fell on his face. Dead before he could even move, his magic began to fade almost instantly, bringing the prisoners some measure of relief as the runes holding them began to die. In the jungle beyond the camp, howls arose as the stone creatures he'd summoned also faltered before becoming statues once more.

Tylirel landed lightly on her feet beside her slain foe, a mischievous smile on her face as she whipped out another dagger. Mogu howled and charged towards her, and she began to move as if dancing with the shadows of the ruins. In the blink of an eye she leaped, landing in front of the first foe and slashing with her daggers. He desperately tried to parry, only to find her fine blades carving a gouge in his face. She spun around him, planting a dagger in his back even as she grabbed a strap of his armor and twirled his dead weight into the next attacker.

The next Mogu in line struck out, hitting the dead body of his ally rather than Tylirel, the weapon tearing from his hands and leaving him disarmed as she jumped up and jammed one of her blades in his neck, sending his lifeless body tumbling away.

Lilliela could feel the runes weakening beneath her, and she struggled to tear her hands from the ground as she watched the lithe little elf in the center of the camp continue her assault. Tylirel spun, a dagger flying from her hand and burying itself in a Mogu's eye, her feet already moving as she dodged the blow of yet another attacker. In a smooth motion she pulled a dagger from a sheath, rearming herself and slashing at the creature's arm, leaving a terrible gouge in it before spinning clear of his weapon.

And then it was over, the runes holding the slaves in place finally dissipating completely. Lilliela surged to her feet even as the others did the same around her, each of them turning to find a weapon or advancing on the remaining Mogu barehanded. The few remaining slavers were forced to turn and flee as their would-be victims hunted them down one by one, leaving none alive.

In the center of the ruined camp Tylirel paused, beginning to pull her daggers from dead Mogu. She inspected each blade, making sure it was still combat worthy before returning it to its sheath. The surviving rangers gathered around her, smiling at her and nodding their thanks. They paused as she bent over one of the fallen foes, her hands reaching out to rip a decorative necklace from the Spiritbinder's corpse.

Tylirel looked up as she pocketed the item, nodding to the other elves, “Always take something to remember the battle. It can teach you a lot! Are we done here now? What are we going to do next?”

The rangers looked at each other and shrugged; if the dirty, soot-covered Tylirel was happy it was just as well, she'd saved them after all. How she had the energy to contemplate doing anything else was beyond them though. Several of them shook their heads as they turned to walk away, gathering up their supplies and the captured Horde prisoners as they went.

Tylirel looked around the camp and nodded; she had done good work here, and soon it would return to its more natural state. Something to look forward to if she ever visited again. She looked back at her departing companions and began to hurry after them, shouting, “Guys! Wait for me!”

It would be a long trip back to camp, and an even more difficult time filing a report for the entire mission.

Welcome Home

As always, it was a glorious day in Quel'Thalas. The sun shone down upon the golden leaves of the forest of Eversong, animals went about their business in the wilderness, and a soft spring breeze carried the eternally warmed air through the open gates of Silvermoon. The citizens of Quel'Thalas were taking advantage of the beautiful day, many already out and about on their business, happy to be enjoying their lives in the slowly recovering kingdom.

Unfortunately, if you were the Blood Knight Captain Ferialius Sunmight, you were not one of those people. Encased in his full suit of plate armor and already sweating from the morning heat, he leaned over a portable folding table where he sat in an equally portable camp chair. Situated near the Sheppard's Gate, he had been assigned the rather dubious honor of overseeing gate duty for the day. With events unfolding in the world outside of Quel'Thalas, it was necessary at times to enhance security near the gates and this just happened to be one of those times.

He had just completed the process of filling out yet more of the entry papers that the Knights under him had collected from visitors when a shadow fell over his desk. He completed his signature at the bottom of the form he'd been working on with a flourish and looked up just as a friendly voice spoke.

“Hi!” a female Sin'dorei said happily. He looked up, a brow rising as the happy tone in the elf's voice contrasted sharply with the drudgery of going through customs inspection. The sight that met his eyes was not typical of the elves passing through the gates and into the city proper. A slender, athletic looking Sin'dorei with fire red hair tied back in a ponytail smiled down at him from the other side of the desk. Dressed in tight fitting studded leather pants, slender calf-high boots, and a leather halter top, the elf appeared to have simply stepped out of some primitive part of the forest.

Captain Sunmight cleared his throat, plastering a serious expression on his face, “Can I help you miss?”

The red haired elf nodded, the smile on her face beautiful and genuine, “Yep! Some of the Knights over by the gates said I needed to have paperwork or something to gain entry. They told me to come talk to you. I'm Tylirel by the way! Tylirel Summerglade.”

“Of course they did...” the Captain muttered to himself. He waved at an empty chair across from him, nodding at the elf. “Very well, take a seat Dame Summerglade and we'll process you. You have no identification papers at all?”

“Well, actually I do have this sir,” Tylirel said, immediately standing back up and reaching into a belt pouch. As she hunted for some object, the Captain noted that she had a vast array of sheathed knives on her belt, along with what looked like a small hand ax and a few collapsible metal objects that were likely traps used in hunting. After a moment the redhead pulled out what appeared to be a small, battered metal emblem, holding it up before the Captain. It appeared to be the rank insignia of a Quel'Thalas ranger. A very old and battered one at that.

“A ranger eh?” the Captain said, his tone less than pleased. “I'm surprised the Farstriders haven't sorted out your paperwork before now. Would have saved us both the trouble.” The last comment was made as he began to shuffle through the pages of a log book he kept on the desk, his eyes scanning the neat script presented in orderly columns, all the while murmuring her last name 'Summerglade'. After a moment, he paused, his finger tracing over the page and his eyebrows shooting up. He looked up, examining the elf more closely.

“It's says you are MIA, presumed dead Dame Summerglade,” he said slowly. “Where exactly have you been?”

Tylirel blinked, tilting her head to one side, “MIA? I'm right here though.” She actually brought a hand up and waved at him. “As for what I've been doing...I've been doing my job sir. In the Ghostlands mostly. That is where I was assigned and where I've lived for many years.”

The Blood Knight Captain scowled, staring hard at her, “And why have you decided to come back now? After all these years, why do you come back at a time when there have been conflicts with the Quel'dorei and war is afoot?”

The elf's face took on an almost comical look of confusion for a moment, and she shook her head, “Sir, I'm sure I have no clue about any of that. I stayed in the Ghostlands because I was needed there. Now there is less work to do there, and I feel that I can totally make a difference somewhere else. There are a number of Houses hiring scouts I've been told, so here I am! Also I need supplies before I can travel.”

“What kind of supplies?” the Captain asked, still suspicious. It was not often that a relic came from out of the woods and presented herself, and he was not overly fond of the Farstriders. The only positive was that there was the unmistakeable tint of green to the elf's eyes to show she was a true Sin'dorei.

Tylirel smiled, pointing to her belt, “I need buckles, a few new blades, and other metal bits. There are no forges in the forests, and I've no skill with metalworking.” And so it was true; the elf's belt was knotted at the middle, the buckle having cracked from long use.

“Very well Dame Summerglade,” the Captain replied. “Before I can give you proper papers though we have to ensure that you are not a spy in disguise or here for nefarious purposes. We will need to examine you with magic. I will need you to surrender your weapons on the table next to me. If you agree, please disarm so we can get this over with.”

“Oh sure!” Tylirel said happily. She stepped over to the table next to him, reaching to her belt. One by one she began to deposit daggers on the table top, three from her left hip and one from a sheath on her shoulder pauldron. From her right hip she took her hand ax and placed it on the table. She reached down to her right thigh and pulled a dagger from a hidden sheath there. She bent over and pulled another dagger from her left boot top, adding it to the pile. She stood back up, reaching up and removing her shoulder armor, flipping each piece over and removing three small throwing knives concealed in each pauldron and placing them on the table.

Around her, the Captain and several other Blood Knights watched her, their eyes beginning to widen with each *clink* as daggers were added to the pile. As the shear volume of weapons began to increase, several of them shifted and looked at one another, shaking their heads. When Tylirel's hands came up and began to unlace the front of her halter top the Captain raised his hand and shook his head, “Er, that'll be sufficient Dame Summerglade. Do you um, really need all of that...?”

Tylirel smiled at him and nodded, the happy naive tone of her voice contrasting with the deadly pile of weapons that would likely have outfitted an entire squad of rangers, “Oh you really never do know when you'll need a blade. Sometimes things just don't work out the way you expect, you know?”

Several of the Knights began to chuckle and murmur to one another, and the Captain shook his head, “No, I don't know but it doesn't matter.” He gestured and a Sin'dorei in a flowing red robe stepped forward. “This priest is going to verify that you have no harmful enchantments on you, and also verify your Sin'dorei heritage. In the past Quel'dorei have attempted to disguise themselves by changing their eye color magically. You understand the necessity of this I hope? Also, don't move during the process; we will be watching you and I have three Knights here who will take you into custody if you resist.”

“Actually you have three Knights here, two concealed behind a hidden door three paces to my right, and two rangers with bows on the balcony twenty paces down the road,” Tylirel said happily. The Captain's eyes widened and he looked at his subordinates, who shrugged. There was no way she could have seen any of that, she hadn't even LOOKED!

“So I just stand here like this?” Tylirel asked. She raised her arms up in the air over her head.

The Captain sighed and shook his head, “You don't have to...you know what, that's fine. Just stay still please.”

Tylirel nodded in direct contradiction of the order she'd just been given, smiling and holding still. The priest approached her, chanting the words to a spell and waving his hands in the air over her. After a few minutes he nodded, lowering his hands and looking to the Captain, “She's clean sir. No banned magic on her. She's got some now-dead scourge magic pieces on her wrist and around her neck though.”

The Captain nodded, waving a hand to dismiss the priest as he stepped towards Tylirel, “Let's see your wrist, Dame Summerglade.”

Tylirel lowered her arms, presenting one slender wrist to the captain. He noted a number of scars on her arm; minor injuries but in enough number to show she'd had some adventures in the past. Around her wrist hung a bracelet made of defaced Scourgestones, emblems of Quel'Thalas carved into each one. He handled the bracelet gently, turning it over around her wrist. “What is this exactly?”

“My trophies sir!” Tylirel said, sounding proud. “I always take a trophy when I finish a good hunt. It reminds you of what you've done and any lessons that the hunt has taught you. Living alone in the wilderness, it is easy to lose track of yourself in the greater flow of nature. This helps remind me.”

The Captain nodded, still studying the bracelet with wide eyes, turning each stone over in his hands. Based on the number that made up the bracelet, and a glimpse of a similar necklace hanging near her cleavage, it was clear that the ranger had slaughtered Scourge for many years. He finally broke his gaze from the bracelet, letting the elf's wrist free.

“Very well Dame Summerglade, you are welcome to enter the city. Please collect your things while I prepare your documents,” the Captain said. She was no threat, and with the trophies she carried she would likely prove useful to some House or another. Provided she could learn to blend in with the city and lose the wildness he sensed about her. Whether or not she would do so would decide whether or not he ended up seeing her in fetters at some point in the future for breaking the law.

As he sat down to begin the process of completing her identification papers, Tylirel turned towards her pile of weapons and began rearming herself. By random chance, the fifteen minutes it took him to complete the paperwork was about the amount of time it took the strange ranger to put all of her weapons away.

After she took the papers from him, she tilted her head again, a question in her eyes, “Can I bring my mount into the city? He's really thirsty and hungry and I'd like to find a place I can get some feed for him.”

“Of course,” the Captain replied, already looking towards the next person waiting in line at the gate.

Tylirel smiled and brought a hand to her lips, a shrill whistle escaping her. From the rear of the gates several shouts arose as a large black war wolf padded in through the gates. The beast was enormous, its black fur ragged looking and a feral look to its head. Its tongue lolled out, spattering the red paving stones with saliva as it panted, large teeth glinting. Several of the Knights drew swords and there were frightened murmurs from amongst those waiting in line.

Tylirel whistled again and the beast padded over to her, licking her arm happily, its tail wagging. On its back was a saddle with a simple bedroll tied to it. The elf leaned down, rubbing behind the wolf's ears, the creature nearly knocking her down as it happily pressed its nose against her. After finishing the happy reunion, Tylirel turned and walked deeper into the city, the menacing creature padding after her contentedly, angry murmurs coming from the people waiting at the checkpoint.

Watching her go, the Captain shook his head and sighed, murmuring to himself, “That one is going to be trouble. I just know it...”