Parting Ways

The hawkstriders raced through Eversong, leaving the more populated areas near Silvermoon far behind. Fifteen in number, their feathers flashed brightly amongst the natural colors of the enchanted forest around them. At the head of the procession rode the Magistrix Biara Sunfire, her fire red hair flowing behind her as she urged her mount to greater speeds, glowing blue ward marks glittering on her right cheek as she hurried. Behind her, her retinue attempted to keep up, the highly trained guards of House Sunfire determined to match the boldness of their Scion.

With the speed at which they traveled, it was not long before the group found itself entering a clearing deep in the heart of Eversong, nearer to one of the gentle shorelines that graced Quel'Thalas. Nestled in the clearing was a large estate, a low gold-painted wall made of stone surrounding the structure. Biara pulled back on the reins of her hawkstrider, slowing herself and the rest of the procession down as she studied the structure.

There was little to remark about the building itself. Typical of a noble house, it displayed a bit of wealth in its design and exterior decor that the Magistrix would have expected. The low wall was broken by an arched gateway with a crest centered above it. The emblem that hung there was a golden sun cradled by the branches of two golden trees on a field of red; the emblem of House Sunhaven. Other than this display of ownership, there were no other markings visible, and in fact there was no sign of the typical magical wards, lanterns or floating gardens that other Sin'dorei buildings would have. Biara narrowed her eyes as she noted this, snapping her reins and passing beneath the gates.

Within the courtyard there was activity. Sin'dorei trained with weapons in a small practice yard off to one side, while guards that looked suspiciously like Spellbreakers stood motionless before the twin doors that lead into the estate. Biara also noted that rangers with bows patrolled along some portions of the wall, presumably to make up for the lack of any visible mages or other spellcasters amongst the defenders. Even as the Magistrix absorbed all of this, the twin doors opened and a male Sin'dorei in blue and gold robes passed through them, a smile on his face and his hand raised in greeting. He approached the group, pausing and bowing before Biara.

“Magistrix Sunfire, it is indeed a pleasure to see you on this fine day. To what do we owe the honor of this-” he began. He was cut off before he could finish.

“You will take me to the Lady Sunhaven at once,” Biara stated coldly, her fel green eyes boring into the seneschal.

The other elf bowed again, the smile remaining plastered on his face, “Of course Magistrix! I shall take you to her at once. Your men will need to surrender their weapons to the guards before you proceed.”

Behind Biara, her retinue began to grumble. She held up a perfectly manicured hand, silencing further muttering, “I will proceed alone. You cannot disarm me of my magic anyway and should something befall me, my men will make war upon this manor house and my sister will avenge me.”

“Magistrix Sunfire, I am sure I've no idea what you are referring to. Please, if you will, Lady Sunhaven is right this way,” the elf replied. Biara could swear he was smirking now. She quickly dismounted, her blood red and gold robes falling into place around her as she moved gracefully behind him, her heels pounding on the marble floors as they entered the structure.

They passed through a number of corridors, the interior of the building decorated as one might expect of a Sin'dorei noble house. Expensive tapestries and paintings dotted the walls, statues in alcoves here and there as they walked. Throughout the house was the sound of some instrument being played, possibly a violin although Biara was not entirely certain. It did little to soothe her ire as the seneschal brought her to a narrow doorway at the end of a long corridor and pushed the barrier aside. He bowed, gesturing into the room. “The Lady Sunhaven is within, Magistrix.”

Biara ignored the elf, brushing past him as if he didn't matter, stepping into the room as he closed the door behind her quietly. The room beyond the door was a large circular chamber with windows all around; likely the base of one of the estate's elegant towers. Within the center of the room was a large reflecting pool, a pile of smooth, polished stones in the center allowing water to flow gently down an incline, sending ripples through the water. Along edges of the pool and surrounding the room was an array of flowering plants and greenery that immediately set one at ease. A narrow pathway of stepping stones lead to a flat marble surface before the flowing display of water in the center of the pool, and above the stone a figure hovered in mid-air.

She sat cross-legged, her hands resting on her knees and her fingers pointed upward. Long golden hair flowed down her back, the color much brighter than the blue, brown and gold dress she wore. Hovering as she was a few feet off the ground, Biara could clearly see that the other elf was barefoot and catch a glimpse of the sea-green color of her nails; colors that were not traditional amongst the populace of Silvermoon. The Magistrix's mind immediately tensed, the hovering elf looking nothing less than a Quel'dorei in that garb.

“Lady Sunhaven,” Biara intoned, her voice filled with restrained malice.

The other elf did not respond for a moment, simply floating there, meditating before the flowing water. After a moment, her musical voice came out in a soft, low tone, “Lady Sunfire. Your visit is not unexpected. In fact, I assumed you would have come two days prior to this. You must be very busy in the city, and I apologize that I must consume more of your time.”

Biara sneered at the back of the hovering elf, her words tinged with anger, “Yes, well I generally must set time aside to deal with potentially dangerous political upheaval that could spell disaster for my House. As you well knew when you sent me this farce of a letter.”

With that she reached into a pouch, taking out a folded piece of parchment bearing the emblem of House Sunhaven and tossing it onto the ground. She folded her arms across her chest, staring at the other elf, “I am awaiting an explanation.”

Alleriel Sunhaven murmured to herself, completing her meditation exercises and gently floating to the ground. Her sea-green eyes opened, and she rose on her bare feet, turning to face her counterpart. She gave Biara a pleasant smile, looking her over before responding, “I do not believe much explanation is required Lady Sunfire. The letter plainly states my intentions. House Sunhaven is withdrawing its support from your alliance of Houses. My men will no longer heed orders from the Blackhearts command structure, and I am withdrawing all of my companies back to Quel'Thalas.”

Biara's face blazed with fury and she barked her words out, the sound echoing from the peaceful chamber, “I was unaware that House Sunhaven was full of traitors who would stand against Quel'Thalas.”

Alleriel shook her head, her expression still calm and her voice neutral, “And I was unaware that House Sunfire was lead by an orc.”

Biara's eyes popped wide open and she stabbed a finger towards the other elf, “How DARE you? What are you implying?!”

“It is simple Lady Sunfire,” Alleriel said, still calm and serene. “Your campaign in Pandaria, in fact the entire objective that you have given our alliance of Houses, does nothing but drain the resources of Quel'Thalas and put our people at risk. In fact, more Sin'dorei have been lost due to the plotting of our 'Warchief' than I care to consider. As a result, it is only prudent that I withdraw House Sunhaven's support of this campaign until such a time as the Warchief looks at our people with the respect we deserve and handles our companies with competence when planning his war.”

“I could have you executed for what you just said,” Biara responded sternly. “We are members of the Horde. The Sin'dorei support the Horde. I do what I must for our people.”

Alleriel shook her head, looking at Biara with some degree of sadness, “Lady Sunfire, I must respectfully disagree. The battles at the Isle of Thunder as well as Garrosh's use of our magic for most foul purposes shows that he cares nothing about the fate of the Sin'dorei. Are we so numerous that we can continue to slaughter our own people over a political divide? Will we allow the orcs, creatures that have once before burned our precious forests, dictate the fate of our race? I fear you are blinded by your hatred of the Alliance and by the feeling of power that war brings you. The Quel'dorei are our people, even if they have made choices that we cannot accept politically. Each one we slay, each one of our own we lose to their arrows, brings our entire race closer to the brink of extinction.”

Biara stormed towards the other woman, her face inches from Alleriel's, “You betray all of Quel'Thalas with your words. What will you do, flee to Dalaran? Do you think your green eyes will see you welcomed there?”

Alleriel did not move or show any sign of concern as the other Sin'dorei raged at her. Her tone became more stern as she replied, “I am loyal to Quel'Thalas first and above all else. My men will continue to perform the duties they have performed for thousands of years; the protection of our lands and people. If you believe I will stay my hand when it comes to the Alliance, you are mistaken. I simply refuse to put our soldiers in a position where they can be used as fodder for the orcs, who have shown precious little respect for their own allies. You will need to come to terms with this I fear.”

Biara looked as if she were about to slap the other elf. For a moment she trembled with rage, glaring at Alleriel, “You are fortunate that I cannot bring the bulk of my men here to raze this estate to the ground. Due to your withdrawal from our alliance, I am forced to send even more of my soldiers to Pandaria. Pray that when this campaign is over my temper has cooled in relation to your defiance of the Warchief's will.”

With that she turned, beginning to storm towards the door. She paused as Alleriel's words came to her from over her shoulder. “Lady Sunfire, the reason why you will not come and raze this estate to the ground is precisely because of the threat you just made. In your reign over House Dayfire and later House Sunfire, you have engaged in brutal and senseless slaughter that has resulted not only in the loss of hundreds of Sin'dorei lives, but the utter destruction of the spire that was built by your House in antiquity. The reason why your threat is empty and meaningless is because, unlike you, I put the lives of the Sin'dorei in my care as my first priority. Meaning I have hundreds and hundreds of trained fighters, many dozens to each of your own.”

Biara turned, her eyes wide. Behind her Alleriel remained where she'd been standing, her words contrasting harshly with the serene room around her and the calm look on her face. There was a look of experienced wisdom in the Lady Sunhaven's eyes that spoke volumes about her capabilities and her tolerance for threats against the Sin'dorei of her House. Biara's mouth opened and closed once or twice, at a loss for words.

“Lady Sunfire, I see that you are about to depart,” Alleriel said. “Do know that although I have withdrawn my support for your little personal war, I am still a Sin'dorei, and still support Quel'Thalas. Should you or yours need aid of any sort; food, medical supplies, healing, or the like, please write or call upon me. I will not see a Sin'dorei suffer needlessly, even those under your care. I am not your enemy, but neither am I your friend.”

Biara simply glared, spitting out her words, “You will suffer for your lack of conviction one day Lady Sunhaven. Good day to you.”

She turned, her robes whirling around her as she stormed out. Alleriel's final words drifted over her as she hurried down the corridors, intent on getting Sunhaven Manor far from her sight. “A true leader knows that to lead is to suffer for one's people Lady Sunfire. Every day until the day I am able to lay down this burden I will worry over those in my care. Perhaps you should do the same. May your path be green and golden.”

With Biara gone, Alleriel turned back towards her reflecting pool, the urge to meditate again strong within her. It was best to banish fears and anger to keep oneself balanced after all. As she sat in her meditation pose once more, she murmured to herself in wry amusement, “That went precisely as well as I expected it to go.”

With a smile, she closed her eyes, slowly beginning to hover once more, silence descending on the chamber.

Spare the Rod

Beckyann was still fuming. It had been two days now, and the rage she felt kept bubbling up inside. It would come and go, her mood going from quiet and contemplative to murderous outbursts and hissy fits the likes of which a child would be truly impressed with.

She lay on her bed, barefoot and in a long black dress with silver stitch-work. Crumpled in a heap like some discarded doll, she stared at the open page of a necromancy book, not really bothering to read it. Around her the normally messy state with which she kept her quarters was further degraded than normal by her constant tantrums.

A knock sounded on the door.

Beckyann's eyebrows shot up so quickly they could have launched from her face. She rolled over on her back and glared at the wooden barrier, “Go. Away!”

From behind the door, the voice of Cheree drifted through the thick oak, “Becky, we need to talk. Everyone's getting kind of tired of hearing you in here and it's time to get this out in the open.”

Rage pumped through Beckyann, malicious hate making her hands tremble with rage. She scooped up the book on her bed and hurled it across the room. It struck the door with a loud 'thunk' as she screamed at the door, “I SAID GO AWAY RIGHT NOW!”

From behind the door there was a muttered, “Yeah that'll be about enough of that...” before the wooden barrier shuddered once from a blow. As Beckyann stared at it with wide eyes, it trembled again and then burst inward, Cheree stepping into the room. She was in full armor, her runeblades on her back and goggles still covering her eyes; clearly she'd just returned from some mission or another.

“Becky...we need to talk about th-” Cheree began. She didn't get a chance to finish as the blonde death knight roared into a full fledged tantrum. Beckyann leaned over, scooping up more tomes from the nightstand next to her bed and hurling them across the room. The first bounced off of Cheree's armor, the second sailing over her shoulder to land in the corridor behind her.

The third hit her goggles, making a small cracking sound as some internal component was damaged by the impact.

“I SAID GO AWAY! HOW DARE YOU COME IN MY ROOM YOU LITTLE BITCH!” Beckyann raged. It was more than enough as far as Cheree was concerned.

In a swift motion she advanced on the screaming shrew sitting on the bed, her hands reaching out to draw her runeblades. With a snarl she brought one of the blades down, intent on ending the little tirade before it had gone any further. The blade arced down and would have struck Beckyann in the leg had she not dodged out of the way. Instead it simply sliced into the bedding, lodging there for a moment.

Beckyann snarled, running lightly on her bare feet to avoid the next blow. She was not quite fast enough though as Cheree took her blade and lashed out. She didn't use the edge of the weapon, instead taking the flat of the sword and swatting it across Beckyann's rear as if she were paddling a misbehaving child. The look of indignant rage on Beckyann's face as she was smacked on the butt almost made Cheree laugh, and she followed up the first blow with a second well placed swat to the blonde's rear.

“Act like a child and get punished like one...” Cheree said in amusement.

For her part, Beckyann quickly increased her speed, moving away from Cheree and dodging across her quarters. Cheree attempted to follow her in order to continue the lesson, but was held up when the blonde woman lithely jumped over a hamper that was randomly sitting in the middle of the room. Cheree blundered into it, almost waist deep in clothing that Beckyann had thrown at the hamper and missed with. As Cheree's legs became entangled, Beckyann dashed to the far side of her quarters and reached out with her hand. Dark magics flickered in the air and wrapped around the handle of Beckyann's runeblade, launching it into the air and into her hands. She snarled, turning and holding the weapon ready as she glared at Cheree.

“Come here you little bitch. This will be just like it was in that tower, only now no one will stop me from correcting your little running mouth the way it needs to be,” Beckyann growled.

Cheree finally managed to push her way through the pile of clothes littering the floor, bringing her blades up in preparation for a real fight. Almost as soon as she began moving Beckyann muttered words of necromancy, and howling cold magic flashed across the room at her. She brought her runeblades up, covering the center of her chest and letting the blast flow around the metal. Behind her pictures on the wall shattered and a mirror cracked. Pages fluttered up in the air from the tomes littering the floor and flapped around the room.

Without another word Cheree advanced, her armored form bulkier and somewhat taller than the barefoot Beckyann, whose dress would provide little protection in such a conflict. She brought her blades down sharply, intending to teach her colleague a lesson. Metal rang against metal as Beckyann parried the blows, her dress making her somewhat more agile even though she normally preferred magic over blades. With a grunt she brought her own runeblade up, intent on slashing Cheree's face.

For her part, Cheree was equally focused on the melee, her blades coming up before her and crossing into an 'X' to catch Beckyann's blade as it came down. Metal rang on metal again and with a grin Cheree was able to twist her blades, ripping Beckyann's runeblade from her hand. The weapon flew end over end and clattered on the floor some distance behind the two, leaving the blonde unarmed.

A normal opponent would admit defeat at this point, but a rage-maddened death knight could not be considered an ordinary opponent by any means. With a snarl Beckyann launched herself at Cheree, her knee coming up and colliding abruptly with Cheree's codpiece. The blow was so powerful that Cheree immediately was glad that she 1) was wearing the codpiece in the first place, 2) was not a male, and 3) was undead and could only vaguely feel the blow through the metal. Where Beckyann had learned such a trick was beyond her, but it was time to put an end to the battle.

With a grin on her face, Cheree punched out with the hilt of her sword. It struck Beckyann in the mouth, rocking her head back. Brackish black blood oozed from her split lip as she shook her head in a daze. Cheree's feelings of victory were quickly dashed as Beckyann brought her hand up and jammed it into Cheree's face. At this point Cheree learned an interesting and valuable lesson about Beckyann.

When she did her own manicures, she sharpened her nails into razor sharp points.

The black lacquered nails dug deeply into Cheree's cheek and when Beckyann's hand retracted it was dripping with blood. With a snarl the blonde attempted to gouge her opponent's face again, forcing Cheree to drop her runeblades in order to catch Beckyann's wrist in her steel grip.

With another cry of rage Beckyann's free hand came up, snatching a hairpin from her hair and jamming the seven inches of saronite into the back of Cheree's gauntlet. Cheree howled, releasing her grip on Beckyann's wrist and backhanding the blonde with her gauntlet. Beckyann reeled back, and Cheree gave her another blow across the face, followed by still a third.

Dazed now and trailing black, oozing fluids from her face, Beckyann launched herself at Cheree one more time, her unarmored form colliding with Cheree's chest as she pressed herself against her enemy in an attempt to avoid more blows. Her fingers scrambled against Cheree's armor, attempting to find points to scratch and gouge, while the entire time she shrieked like a banshee.

As Cheree was about to throw Beckyann to the floor, Beckyann's hand came up before her. Confused and dazed, she noticed with distant curiosity that she suddenly had four new rings on her fingers. There was the sound of metal falling to the floor with a delightful 'clinking' sound and she looked down to vaguely notice four round orbs that had fallen from Cheree's armor. Holding her hand up between the two, Beckyann spoke through split lips, “Are those grenad-”

Cheree didn't given Beckyann time to finish. With a clipped, “Yep!” she hurled herself at the other death knight, tackling her onto the nearby bed. As Beckyann bounced beneath her, Cheree's free hand grabbed the edge of the feather mattress and pulled it up, forcing both death knights to roll into the space between the bed and wall and covering them with the upturned bedding.

No sooner had the two fallen beneath the mattress than the room was filled with a loud 'CRUMP' as the four grenades that Beckyann had dislodged from Cheree's armor detonated. Flames and debris filled the room as the explosion wreaked havoc in the confined space. The pressure wave threw pieces of furniture around the room and tore the bedding over the death knights to pieces.

In less than a second it was over, and the sound of debris raining down combined with the small crackle of flames were the only sounds to be heard. In a confused daze Beckyann sat up, looking over at Cheree as feathers from the torn mattress and clothing drifted down on them. A dark black blouse landed on Beckyann's face and blocked her view for a moment. She reached up to snatch it from her eyes only to find that a thigh-high, lacy stocking had descended and draped itself over Cheree's head like some sort of silly hat.

Beyond the shattered bed and room, a four foot hole had been torn in the wall. Standing in the outline of the hole was a motionless death knight initiate that had been patrolling the corridor. His armor was pitted and burned from the blast, and he swayed slightly before falling into a crumpled heap with a clatter of metal.

The two death knights looked at each other for a minute and then a smile began to creep across Beckyann's rather abused face. She began to giggle, and although Cheree was still glaring at her, the giggling was somewhat infectious. When Beckyann reached out and snatched the stocking from Cheree's head, showing it to her former adversary, Cheree began to roar with laughter.

Laughing hysterically now, the two women embraced each other from their seats on the floor. Minutes later, one of Acherus's watch commanders stormed down the hallway to find what had become of his initiate. After finding the initiate in a less than satisfactory state on the corridor's floor, he peeked his head into the room through the hole in the wall to see two extremely beat up looking death knights hugging each other and laughing, even as little fires burned up several books laying amongst the debris. The entire place looked like a grenade...or maybe more than one grenade...had gone off in it.

“There is something seriously wrong with the 1113^th,” the watch captain muttered as he bent down to grab the initiate by his ankles and drag him off to the medical officer on duty. “Does anyone even watch these loons? Whatever poor sap has that job has my condolences.” He sighed, dragging his initiate away as the insane laughter drifted down the hall behind him.

Sometimes the best cure for a bad mood was just a little fun after all.

Heart of the Storm

The sky crackled with the distant sound of thunder, the heavy rainclouds closing in over the forests of Ashenvale. Although the storm was still a way off, the tension of it could be felt in the air like some unknown threat lurking around the bend. In the small Kaldorei camp, Celessarae sighed, shifting in position on the log she sat on to grasp the handle of her mug more tightly.

Storms always brought on the aches. There was no way around it. It was like her arm had become a weather-vane, pulsing with agony that quickened in pace as the storm rode in. The druidess sighed again, sipping the hot herbal tea in her mug as she stared into the fire. The special mix would soothe some of the ache, but in weather like this it would never completely quell it. She set the mug down, running her right hand up and down her left arm in an attempt to massage the nagging ailment away.

The rest of the camp was quiet with most of the Kaldorei sleeping under light blankets on the ground. In the center of the small clearing a campfire had been prepared to cook the day's meal. It was mid-morning, and most of the Sentinels were resting as they readied themselves for another evening of skirmishes with the orc scouts that were pushing deeper into the forest.

Celessarae sat quietly, her eyes roaming over the encampment and studying those with her. Although no longer a Sentinel herself, her experience amongst them allowed her to pick out weaknesses in the defenses. The unit she was traveling with was made up of raw recruits who had only just completed their training, and it showed in the laxness with which they attended to guard duty. The druidess would have assigned far more of the capable fighters as sentries, but it was no longer her place to advise such things. It didn't matter anyway; the others might be sleeping during the daylight hours, but she rarely slept more than a few hours, her dreams always disjointed and disturbing. She preferred the silence of the sleeping camp and the privacy of her thoughts.

Celessarae's gaze roamed back towards the center of the camp, her silver eyes studying the forms sleeping closest to the fire. There amongst the sentinels were a few who had been assigned to ascertain what damage the orcs had done in their most recent incursion; three other young druids that were learning the ways of their elders as Celessarae herself was. Tucked beneath their fur blankets, they slept peacefully, as distant from her in that moment as when they were when awake. She gave a half-smile as she saw a pair of them snuggled together beneath the same blanket; it would be many more years before she managed to feel as relaxed and content as the two looked together, but that was the entire point of endeavoring to learn druidism anyway.

Even as the thought passed through her mind, the serenity of the overcast morning was shattered by a distant scream. It rose up from the forest, the sound of a male Kaldorei in anguish. Celessarae's eyes shot up and stared into the thick foliage, her ears perked to listen intently to the sound. Around her, the camp stirred, Sentinels awakening from their slumber in an instant, glaives in hand and bowstrings taut.

The sound faded off, only to rise up again a moment later. Celessarae rose from the log upon which she'd been sitting, striding quickly through the camp to where the leader of the Sentinels was issuing orders.

“I want four scouts out around that rise to the north immediately,” the Captain said as the druidess approached. “The rest of the camp is to be secured until we can determine what befell our observers.”

Celessarae stood patiently, allowing the elf to bark out the rest of her orders, watching her intently as was her habit. The Sentinel Captain looked calm and organized; exactly the traits one would want in a leader. She would forge the newer Sentinels into formidable opponents with a bit more time. The druidess only prayed she had that time.

When the elf turned, Celessarae dipped her head and addressed her directly, “Captain, our Shan'do is out there along with your scouts. He is the only male in this group not accounted for. That has to be him.”

The distant screams rose up again, and both elves fell silent as they listened with grim expressions on their faces, “I know druidess. My scouts will find out soon enough what has befallen them and then we'll-”

Her words were cut off as a Sentinel hurried into the middle of the camp, making a beeline towards the Captain, “Orcs! It looks as if they slaughtered the party we sent out to survey the damage to the forest and they have captured the druid. One of the scouts took an arrow to the arm and she's fallen back and is circling around our camp. I think it's an ambush!”

The Sentinel Captain frowned at the news, shaking her head slowly. She paused, weighing the situation in her mind, “Strike the camp. We need to move to more defensible ground. I can't lead this group into an ambush and heavy battle; we've neither the equipment for protracted combat nor the experience. Once we've secured our lines we'll send a message to the others nearby and mount an assault on their lumber crews and forward scouts.”

Several of the Sentinels nodded their understanding before springing into action. In moments the camp went from tense to a tide of organized chaos as the sentinels quickly picked up their gear, doused the campfire, and faded into the forest around them. As the Captain turned to organize her Sentinels, a pale hand gripped her arm. She glanced back to see the young druidess looking at her sternly.

“My Shan'do is in the clutches of orcs, Captain,” Celessarae said quietly. Behind her the other druids that had joined the Sentinel group gathered, speaking softly amongst themselves until hearing Celessarae and falling silent.

“I know, Druidess,” The Captain replied. “We will look for him once we've secured our lines. The orcs want us to rush into the midst of their forces so they can cut us down. I am doing what needs to be done for all of us here.”

Celessarae took in the words, her face an expressionless mask behind the red-hued butterfly markings she bore. After a moment she spoke softly, her musical voice containing no hint of anger in it, “That is not sufficient. I won't leave him for the orcs to toy with. I...know what they are capable of. No one deserves that.”

“Druidess...” the Captain began. Her words faltered as Celessarae's face began to morph and elongate. Within the blink of an eye the Kaldorei had dropped to all fours, a sleek black cat taking her place. The speed with which she changed was impressive, and the form had with it none of the aches and pains that the weather had brought on.

Without another word the cat turned, trotting off into the forest.

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

She ran through the forest now, unimpeded by the terrain, her aches, or even her own doubts. As a cat she had a natural urge to run beneath the trees, using the shadows to hide her from the eyes of her prey until the last moment. Her nose pressed forward, taking in the scent of the forest around her and the sickly smell of oil, metal, and blood that the orcs carried on them in the distance. They were hiding amongst the dense foliage, but it meant nothing to her now; they might as well have been standing in the middle of a clearing for all their skulking would do.

She passed the first of them quickly, ignoring them and keeping low to the ground. They heard and saw nothing, her body just a passing breeze as she made her way towards the screams that grew ever louder. A deep determination filled her now to rescue her Shan'do and pay back the creatures that were taking yet another thing from her.

She passed more orcs amongst the trees, their forms hunched down as if the plants would ever truly disguise their grotesque nature. It made her sick to think of them defiling more of her beloved forest but it was not something to dwell on as she ran. She had a mission first; the orcs could be dealt with later. Even as she thought this, Celessarae came upon a clearing where the orcs had dragged their captive.

There was a lot of blood. Much of it was from the slaughtered Sentinels that lay lifeless at the edge of the clearing. Even so, the male Kaldorei laying on the ground was covered with it as well, his body pinned to the forest floor by means of a sword that punctured his abdomen. Shallow cuts ran along his bare upper body, the purple-tinted blood running down and soaking the ground. Above him a rather vile looking orc stood, dagger in hand as he almost playfully cut the druid again. Another howl cut through the silent forest.

“Either they come for you, or you die,” the orc growled in broken Darnassian. It was clear that he was trained in the art of torture, for beyond the daggers clipped to his belt and held in his hand he also had an assortment of chains and whips on his person. One glance was enough for Celessarae to know that he needed to die immediately.

The orc grinned, bringing his dagger up and preparing to drive it into the Kaldorei's arm. Even as his blade descended, a heavy black cat slammed into him from behind, driving him forward and into the dirt. Celessarae landed atop her prey, her long fangs biting deep into his neck and locking into place. Although he tried to dislodge her, the loss of blood and suffocating jaws on his throat quickly silenced him and he grew still beneath her.

She had little time now and she knew it. The kill had been quick and quiet, but the screams had also faded and the other orcs would know. With a faint glimmer she shifted, her elven form stepping lightly over the dead orc and kneeling beside the wounded druid on the ground. He looked up at her through glassy eyes, shuddering with the pain.

“Shan'do,” she whispered quietly. Although the elf had trained her for only a short time, she had come to respect him greatly. He would not be the first of her teachers nor the last, but the moment would remain in her mind forever. Gently she reached out, gripping the sword that pinned him tightly. “Forgive me Shan'do.”

With a quick lurch she yanked the sword free. The druid gasped in agony, and Celessarae murmured quietly, sending a rejuvenation spell into the critically wounded elf. She was still inexperienced with healing magic, but it was enough to soothe his pain at least. A small blessing, but worth the delay.

He smiled at her, reaching up and placing a hand on her arm, “Thero'shan. Somehow I knew it would be you that would come to find me. I fear that you've come too late however, and our time together draws to a close.”

Celessarae's normally composed features broke into a frown and she quickly shook her head. The druid forestalled anything she might say by speaking again, his voice weak and broken, “It is true I'm afraid. I should have paid more attention to the knowledge I already possessed and watched for danger. My body...it is broken, and I will not leave this clearing. Go, before it is too late. Know that I am proud of you, and that you will grow much with your learning. Go and find another to teach you.”

“N-no. No! I will get you to safety,” Celessarae said, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. Her words reached only the emptiness around her though, the elf laying before her so very still now. She could see his chest rising and falling slowly, but it was so weak; he had only a few more minutes unless she could get help. In desperation, she grabbed his arm, heaving to pull him into a sitting position, hoping to carry him to safety. A stab of agony shot up her left arm; a cruel reminder of her own treatment at the hands of the orcs. She fell backwards, landing on her rump as her Shan'do sighed quietly, slipping away before she could even think of the rudimentary spells she had to heal him.

In the distance, a stick snapped as an orc approached the edge of the clearing to investigate why the screaming had died down. Celessarae ignored the sound, sitting quietly in the soil, staring at the dead Kaldorei sadly. She had lost another connection, another attempt at a future. Only this time she had also gained something. She was not the same broken Sentinel that had first begun to learn druidism. The urge to grow, to learn and fight, had never flowed so strongly within her. It mingled with the primal fury and rage that the orcs instilled in her, that ran through her very blood, and made her heart pound with it.

Another stick snapped as she rose silently, silver eyes scanning the clearing around her. The silhouettes of orcs appeared as they surrounded her, first three, then four then eight of them, all with weapons drawn, each of them stepping into the clearing with a grin on their face. Here there was another elf to torture, another victim to add to the growing pile of bodies the lumber crew had racked up.

In the distance thunder rumbled, the sky's gray vastness framing the clearing as the orcs stepped closer. Celessarae was motionless for the longest time, only her ears flicking as she listened to where they were around her, visualizing the position of each in her mind.

And then the storm began.

Rain began to fall even as the first orc moved towards her. Amongst the gloom and falling water a shaft of moonlight descended, illuminating her blue hair like a halo on her head. Her astral form glowed as she brought her hands up, moonlight flowing in her hands. She was no Sentinel now, but there were other ways to fight, other ways she could be of use.

The first orc learned this as moonlight lanced down more brightly from above him, the searing hot white magic of her power cutting into his flesh. The rest of the orcs lurched towards her even as her hands came down, a burning shaft of pure sunlight setting another of the orcs alight. She murmured as she conjured her magic, the sound almost a song amongst the falling rain. The gloom contrasted sharply with the light of the moon and sun, the glowing energy sparkling as it struck falling drops of water.

One of the orcs behind her threw an ax, the deadly weapon spinning end over end as it hurtled towards her head. In an instant Celessarae was a cat once more, her lithe form slipping beneath the arc of the weapon and a claw swiping at the leg of an orc as she darted out of the circle they had made.

Orcs howled and turned to pursue her, only to find themselves facing the Kaldorei once again in her elven form, her features crumpled into a mask of hatred. She brought a hand up and crooked a finger and instantly vines began to wrap around the ankles of the closest orc, dragging him to the ground. His companions trampled him, eager to slaughter the nuisance. Instead they found only the wrathful glare of the sun as its light hurtled towards them.

Orcs tumbled backwards as the magic struck, howls echoing through the forest as they were burned alive by the searing energy. Around Celessarae the moonlight continued to glimmer; the power her Shan'do had taught her to harness soothing her even as it slaughtered her enemies. Another orc brought his ax up only to find the Druidess extending her hands towards him, a surge of starlight slamming into his chest and searing his armor away.

It continued on this way, the movements of her foes a blur to Celessarae as she dodged and sang and hurled her magic. Her form shifted constantly, like the flowing water that fell from the sky to bathe the battlefield. She was bathed in moonlight when her foes were far; a slinking cat when they were near, her agility allowing her to dodge free of them and slip behind them to wreak havoc once more.

After a time, the forest fell silent, with only the rain pattering down to make a sound. Celessarae stood motionless in the now muddy and blood-spattered clearing, her hair wetly clinging to her face as she surveyed the scene. Around her all of her foes had fallen, their bodies laying in the mud and joining the Kaldorei that they had slaughtered earlier. In the distance orcish war horns rose up as Kaldorei hunting horns sounded. It was clear that the Sentinels had found defensible ground and even now were engaging in battle with an enemy that would be missing a few of its soldiers.

In that moment of clarity, standing amongst the bodies of her allies and enemies alike, a sense of peace fell over the former Sentinel-turned Druidess. In that moment, Celessarae felt the soothing calm that came when the heart of a storm passes overhead, and she realized that the words of her Shan'do were true. She WOULD grow, she would learn more about the world and how to make herself a useful part of it. She would bring balance back to the forests and protect the lands of her people from those who would defile it.

Despite all she had lost, both in that moment and in previous battles and disasters, she would always have the forest. She would always have the moonlight that flowed down on her even now. She would always have Elune to guide her. She would heal and harm, as nature needed her to do. For her people, for herself.

Celessarae Moonfang finally understood her destiny.

Beneath the Boughs

Beckyann's heavy plate armor pushed down into the soft forest floor, snapping the occasional branch with enough force to make the sound echo and cause her to wince. Although the tall trees and lush foliage of Ashenvale deadened the sounds, any noise was unacceptable given recent encounters.

The death knight smirked, flicking her runeblade and spattering some of the nearby plants with orc blood. She'd run into not one, but two small patrols of orc scouts so far. They were preparing a new offensive or perhaps mapping out a new area to begin logging operations; either way it didn't matter to her and they were quite dead now, an added bonus on this little excursion.

She had set out to collect some herbs that grew only beneath the shade afforded by Ashenvale's massive trees. Sunlight only filtered down in beams here and there, diffused beneath the canopy and making the perfect growing conditions for certain plants; precisely what she was looking for. Once collected, the herbs and a few other spell components would be mixed and used in some experiments she was preparing that were related to regeneration of undead flesh.

Another stick snapped beneath her boots and she snarled; if she kept making noise she was bound to bring another orc war-party down on her and she had other business to attend to at the moment. Even as she thought this, she entered a small clearing, sunlight dancing down in a beam from far above. Something felt out of place, and she paused, scanning the scenery.

At first she saw nothing, slowly turning in a circle, her runeblade extended before her. She listened, straining her senses as far as they could, attempting to detect whatever it was that had set off her combat alertness. Despite her efforts, nothing seemed amiss and with the abundance of life surrounding her in the forest it was hard to separate a potential threat from the scenery. As she was just about to relax, her gaze roamed over a deeper patch of shadows amongst some fallen boughs and it was there that she saw what had alerted her.

Two golden feline eyes stared at her warily from the shadows.

Had she been alive, Beckyann would have gasped at the discovery. The creature was so silent and still that she would have believed it to be undead if she had not known better. Her runeblade came up ever so slowly, pointed at the shadows. Wild animals roamed the forests and it would not be surprising to have a large hunting cat attack a lone traveler.

A soft sigh of breeze made Beckyann turn her head slightly to the right to check for other foes. The movement was just a fraction of a second, but in the time she took her eyes from the shadows to when she returned her gaze there, the feline eyes had disappeared. She blinked once in surprise; the beast was quick.

Perhaps it was the sudden change in air pressure, or maybe a whisper of sound, but something made Beckyann jump and she whirled, blade up and pointed behind her. Where there had been empty clearing behind her now stood a Kaldorei with a staff. She leaned against the support, watching Beckyann with perfect stillness.

“You startled me,” Beckyann said. The elf remained silent and Beckyann took a moment to study her. Long blue hair flowed down her back like a mane, coming almost to her waist and held in place by feathers and ties. Young looking, moonlight pale skin nearly glowed in the sunlight that shined down on the clearing, the purple markings on the elf's face vivid and looking almost like a butterfly when taken in whole. Dressed in an assortment of leathers that were well worn but also well cared for, the Kaldorei had a very serene, natural feel to her. It took Beckyann only a moment to determine that she was likely a druid, and likely the source of the feline eyes she had just been examining.

With a grunt, Beckyann flicked the last of the orc blood from her runeblade and sheathed it, studying the elf with a raised brow, “What? Are you going to chide me now about being in your lands and tell me what sort of awful abomination I am or some such? I've dealt with your kind before in Darnassus you know.”

The elf remained silent for a moment longer before speaking, her voice soft and almost musical. There was no hint of malice in her tone as she replied, “What makes you believe that your actions within the forest have gone unobserved for the past two hours? I am well aware that you have protected Ashenvale as a whole while you wander here, despite what you are.”

“Look druid..” Beckyann began. The elf held up a hand, pausing her in mid-sentence.

“My name is Celessarae Moonfang, not 'druid' or 'lady' or whatever else you wish to call me. While it is true your kind are unpleasant to us and represent a blight against nature, there are things to weigh and consider,” the druidess said calmly.

Beckyann planted her hands on her hips, staring at the elf in surprise, “Well I'll be. One of you has a bit of sense after all. I wasn't 'protecting the forest' though as you put it. I was attempting to find a specific herb here and happened into the orc patrols.”

Celessarae shook her head slowly, feather swaying in her hair, “It matters little what you did or did not intend. What matters is what you have done. While I am not as advanced in my training as many others, it is still a simple thing to examine. You bring disease and corruption with you, and yet such things are correctable. The orcs destroy the entirety of the forest, devastating the land and reaping more than can ever be replaced. When weighed against one another, it is not difficult to make a choice.”

The words gave Beckyann pause; she had never had a debate with a druid before. In fact, other than sneering at her, spitting at her, or telling her she would be 'watched closely', none had spoken more than a word to her. It was a unique encounter. “I'm pretty sure the rest of your little bunch would have a few words of disagreement with you there elf,” she replied somewhat sarcastically.

The druidess remained serene, either not detecting the sarcasm or not rising to meet it. Silver eyes studied the death knight closely, roaming over the emblems of death that contrasted sharply with her own natural attire, “There are many views on the subject. Some believe you should fall on your swords; that your very existence is a blight and that you should be removed lest you spread. I believe that this is a short term view of the problem however. We live for many centuries, and to think that we will not encounter similar diseases, similar blights like those you represent is foolish. It is only by studying, understanding, and curing such ailments that we can truly protect ourselves in the long term.”

Beckyann blinked and barked out a laugh, “Are you serious right now? You really are a novice aren't you? The plague of Undeath cannot be 'cured'. It has never been done.”

Celessarae smiled, the expression genuine, “You are not the first to say such, and I am not claiming that I now, or possibly even ever will have such skill. And yet I have heard of lands afflicted by such magics that are now on the mend thanks to the efforts of Light bearers and my own kind. Think on that as you will. A time may come when there is peace enough for the best of us to fully study the problem and find a solution. We have hardly been free of external threats and given the time to do so.”

The words sent a chill through Beckyann; the last thing she wanted was a cure, but it would also mean so much to some of the others if not for the world. It was almost a soothing thought when one contemplated the possibility of peace in the distant future, where death knights would no longer be needed nor tolerated. She answered slowly, shaking her head, “Perhaps. That time will not be soon however. If you will excuse me, I must finish my work here and return to where I belong. We will both be happier.”

The druidess smiled, nodding and stepping aside. As Beckyann began to walk towards the edge of the clearing, Celessarae followed her, walking in time. The death knight rolled her eyes, clenching her fists at her sides and tromping through the foliage; the last thing she wanted was a Kaldorei babysitter.

And yet that was what she had. She continued along, moving through the open spaces and searching for the perfect shadowed area where the herb she needed might grow. Behind her, Celessarae trailed after her, content to walk along silently. In fact it was hard for Beckyann to even hear the elf as they moved, and if orcs descended upon them it would be because of Beckyann's doing, not the Kaldorei's.

After ten minutes of futile walking and searching, and the rising tension those silver eyes on her back instilled in the death knight, Beckyann finally spotted the herb she needed. With almost a sigh of relief she knelt down, about to yank the plant from the soil. To her surprise, two pale hands pressed against her gauntlets, stopping the motion.

“You must take only what you need, lest you kill the entirety of the plant,” the druidess chided softly. “Here, I will show you, and assist you. Have you never grown your own herbs before? You can save yourself troublesome treks through the forest if you harvest your own herbs properly.”

Beckyann ground her teeth, contemplating what the elf would look like decapitated. Likely that would not go over well though once the body was discovered and it would create what Red liked to call an 'incident'. She ground her teeth together and plastered a false smile on her face, “Oh. By all means, please demonstrate...”

The elf leaned forward, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small knife. She gently took the plant in hand, cutting only stems and leaves that were not vital to the plant's survival. Even with the careful pruning, she harvested more than enough herbs for Beckyann's uses. As she worked, the sleeves of her tunic pulled up and Beckyann noted an array of silver scars running up Celessarae's left arm. Beckyann's eyes widened and she clicked her tongue as she studied them.

“Looks like you have some experience with warfare after all,” Beckyann said, nodding at the scars. “I'd recognize a battlefield wound if I ever saw one.”

Celessarae paused, her silver eyes looking into the distant forest for a moment before she resumed her pruning. She spoke over her shoulder, not looking at the human that stood beside her, “Yes. That would be an accurate guess.”

Beckyann smirked, folding her arms across her chest, “Not going to talk about it eh?”

The elf continued to prune, seeming to ignore the question at first. After a moment she spoke, no hint of anger or malice in her voice, “Let us just say we all fail at times. It is impolite to ask about the failings of others. For example, I did not ask you how you came to be as you are, did I? Let the past lie as an example for those who experienced it, and leave it at that.”

Beckyann's smirk faded and an look of annoyance passed across her features. With a gentle motion Celessarae handed the herbs to Beckyann, who rolled her eyes before taking them and shoving them in a pouch. The druidess stood, looking calmly at the death knight, her sleeves covering her arm once more as she leaned on her staff.

“Well, that is the end of my business in your forest, elf,” Beckyann said awkwardly, feeling almost relieved. She turned and paused, looking back over her shoulder, “I would like to open a gate here to depart if you don't mind.”

The elf nodded, speaking serenely, “I will cleanse this clearing once you are gone, fear not.”

Beckyann snorted, “Yeah. Whatever.” She began to chant, opening a death gate. As she was about to step into the howling darkness behind, the druidess spoke one last time, the words something that would haunt Beckyann for hours after.

“A time will come when you will have to rejoin the natural order of the world. Whether that is as a corpse decomposing back into the earth as some would like, or through actual healing is a choice you must make for yourself. The beauty of healing is that it can begin whenever you would like, even if it is only from within. Consider this.”

With that, Beckyann was gone into the darkness, leaving Celessarae to watch as the portal closed. She smiled lightly, murmuring into the wind and beginning the process of rejuvenating the plants that had been touched by the darkness.

A Midnight Masquerade

Lord Maxwell Hyperios III was bored; terribly terribly bored. He stood casually amongst a group of sycophants that typically followed him to most social events, nodding politely as they spoke and otherwise doing his utmost to pay them no heed.

The gala he was attending was supposedly in honor of the coming spring, and yet it had already been delayed twice due to inclement weather. As far as Maxwell was concerned, it could have been delayed indefinitely for all he cared. Though the weather had cleared up over Stormwind, it had done nothing to improve the quality of the guests that were in attendance as far as he was concerned.

Nodding again at some inane comment that one of his underlings murmured, his eyes scanned over the crowd lazily, looking at all of the other nobles in their finery. The gala was a masquerade, so most of the men and women in attendance were wearing masks. Even so, he was keenly aware of who almost everyone was, and his own rather slim mask would do little to disguise him. He wanted them to know he was here after all; he was that important.

As his gaze swept over the crowd, he paused, his eyes taking the sight of someone he'd not seen before. She was standing just within the ballroom, near one of the punch tables. Clad in a deep black velvet and silk dress that was bustled at her hips and decorated with silver embroidery, the woman cut a striking figure amongst those standing nearby. With her bright blonde hair tied up above her head and held in place by two elegant looking black hairpins, Maxwell could take in her slender neck and back as she politely shook her head to a servant that was offering her wine.

As she turned, he found himself gasping as he saw the stunning mask she wore. Unlike many of the other attendees, rather than a simple black or gold mask to cover her upper face the woman had on an amazingly detailed mask that looked almost like the eyes and snout of a wolf. Made of black velvet with silver and gray threading in it, it was even enchanted to give the 'wolf's' eyes a blue glow. It perfectly matched her dress and with a few pieces of her blonde hair artfully framing it, she looked stunning.

His mind whirling, Lord Hyperios looked about to see where the woman had come from. Surely her presence would have been announced by the Herald when she came in. He quickly spied that one of the garden doors was ajar, and given the time of year it was unlikely it had been left that way intentionally. He smirked as he realized she had crashed the party, sneaking in the back when no one was looking. Perhaps she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, playing at having a true title or perhaps of a family that was less wealthy and hadn't been invited; regardless, her boldness amused him and he found himself making polite excuses to those around him as he made his way towards her, glass in hand.

He came up behind her as she was again refusing another servant, this time with a platter of fine cheeses that were being given out. He moved to within inches of her, murmuring over her shoulder, “I do hope that you are enjoying the party m'Lady. You don't seem to enjoy the refreshments very much.”

She stiffened for a moment, whirling around to see who it was that addressed her. Maxwell caught the faint scent of her perfume, mixed with what his puzzled mind could only relate to the first biting cold inhalation one would get when walking outside in the winter. She regarded him for a moment as he looked on, her lips painted black and drawn into a wary smile. Finally she spoke, her tone and voice so low that he could barely hear her amongst the crowd. She had some sort of accent or undertone, but it was impossible for him to place what it was about her voice that was different, “No, my Lord, the party is quite lovely thank you. I simply have no hunger or thirst at the moment. It is kind of you to inquire however.”

He grinned, nodding to the woman and offering her a bow, “Now now, none of this 'my lord' this or that. We are at a party and should get to know one another. Well, as best as can be given our masks hmmm? You may call me Maxwell if you'd like. And I would be delighted to learn your name and, if I may be so bold, invite you to dance. You do dance, yes?”

The woman smiled, seeming to relax for the moment. In that same low tone she responded, “You can call me...Becky. And I would love to dance. I do so enjoy the music.”

Maxwell grinned, holding out his hand in invitation. The mysterious woman calling herself Becky reached out, placing a delicate, gloved hand in his. He admired the fact that her hands were not hot beneath the fabric; surely she was calm and relaxed even in such social settings. Combined with the boldness of crashing a party, Maxwell found himself intensely interested in the woman that was quickly in the running for his chosen conquest of the evening.

With that he lead Becky behind him as the two proceeded towards the dance floor. Other patrons moved out of his way as he walked, such was his reputation. A few whispered as the saw the woman he was leading, the rumors of the Lord's dalliances somewhat legendary. At that same moment, the musicians struck up another song, violins playing a popular tune for such an event.

Within moments Maxwell had the woman dancing with her. He was amused to note that although she seemed quite skilled at dancing, she would often attempt to perform dance steps that were incredibly out of fashion with the times. At one point she actually began a dance with him to a tune that no one had done in over a decade. He gently guided her into the correct steps, ignoring for the moment the giggling that her missteps had caused amongst the other dancers. It didn't matter, the lovely young woman was still beautiful, and if she were not as well versed in the current fashions and trends of the nobles in attendance, it would just make it easier to conquer her later as far as he was concerned.

As the music began to wind down, he found himself growing tired. With a nod he paused the dance, offering Becky a polite bow before leading her away from the dance floor. To his mild surprise she didn't seem to be out of breath at all, the smile from earlier still plastered on her face. The two walked towards one of the refreshment tables, where he had a servant pour them both a glass of the most expensive wine available. He turned and handed it to her and she took it with a nod of thanks.

He began to make small talk with her, sipping at his wine as he did so. He told her of his estate and manor house, attempting to impress upon her the sheer volume of his wealth and worth. He told her of his late wife, and how she had passed in recent years, neglecting to mention the rather suspicious manner in which she had passed. He spoke with her of music and the arts, watching her as she responded with knowledge and wit and laughter.

As the two spoke, a growing irritation began to develop in Maxwell's mind. The woman barely even sipped at her wine. Although she spoke casually with him, she never moved closer than a foot or two. Certainly she was not intoxicated, and not hanging on his every word or on his arm as he preferred his women to be. In fact, the longer they spoke for, the more he began to realize that she was intentionally keeping a careful distance between them, both physically and romantically, gently coaxing him away from his wooing.

It was enraging of course. No one denied him! He had never before been challenged in such a way. After the momentary anger passed (carefully concealed from reaching his face of course), he began to relish the challenge she posed. How could he gather her interest? He clearly would not get her drunk as she didn't seem to wish to eat or drink at all, but surely there was some way he could entice her closer. All the while, he continued his polite banter with her, trying to see beneath the mask, to understand what had motivated the woman to come to the party, to figure out who she WAS.

The night progressed on, the bells tolling from nine o'clock until midnight finally approached. Although the evening had been filled with dancing, wine, and good talk, it was not what Maxwell had had in mind. He had NEVER left one of the galas without a conquest, and the challenge that this Becky gave him had driven him nearly to madness inside his own head.

Feeling like he should confront her more directly, he turned to speak to her, his mouth opening just as a loud banging could be heard. All eyes turned to see the host of the event holding a staff in his hand, smiling at his guests, “Come my friends! You have all had time to eat and drink and dance! Now it is time to reveal who your new friends are! Let us remove our masks at midnight, and celebrate in new friendships in a new season!”

The rest of the attendees cheered, all eyes turning to look at a rather large and ornate clock that hung from the wall at one end of the hall. It was only a minute till midnight, and the crowd seemed to wait with breath held, eager to see who they had been merrymaking with all evening.

At Maxwell's side, the woman who had called herself Becky stirred. She offered him a polite bow, carefully sliding her gloved hand from his grasp as she made some excuse about 'needing to use the powder room' and 'she didn't want him to see her face unless she had checked the mirror'.

He nodded, at first thinking nothing of it before his eyes widened. He turned, seeing at the corner of the room the last hint of a black dress as it slipped through the garden door. Even as the clock chimed for midnight and the crowd cheered and began removing their masks, Lord Maxwell Hyperios III pushed his way through them, hurrying through the garden door.

The door lead out into the black night, with only the moonlight to guide his steps. They were in the center of Stormwind, with the Cathedral nearby giving a warm glow from its open doors. Ahead of him, he could hear footsteps as Becky's heels contacted the cobblestones. She had used a side path to head from the garden and deeper into the city, seemingly towards the cemetery behind the Cathedral.

He dashed after her, intent on finding out who she was, enraged that she had slipped his grasp as no other woman had in years. His boots pounded the paving stones, eating up the distance between them as he plunged into the darkness of the cemetery. A cold mist had crept out, winter's grasp still clinging to the land despite the warmer weather. He hurried through the cold and misty dark, hearing the sound of her thick heels on the grass between the headstones. Finally he spotted her in the moonlight, her blonde hair the only color in the dim blackness.

“Where do you think you're going Becky?” he asked smugly, approaching her. “The party is hardly over yet.”

She turned, her mouth open in surprise that someone had followed her. She wrung her hands together, her voice low. In the silence of the graveyard, there was a faint echo that Maxwell could not place, “I-I'm sorry my Lord! I-it was time for me to depart however. I-I...it was a lovely party...”

Her voice trailed off lamely as she finished, and he stepped within a foot of her, studying her. She appeared nervous, although even now her breath did not come from her in gasps as a frightened woman might. The idea that he did not frighten her irked him further.

“As I said, the party is far from over and it is hardly fair not to reveal yourself at midnight, as is the custom,” he said, his voice insistent.

She began to shake her head, her response cut short, “My Lord, I don't think I shou-”

He reached forward and yanked the mask from her face roughly, snapping the ties that held it in place. It tumbled to the ground behind him as he took in the sight of her. His eyes widened in horror at what he saw.

The glow of the wolf's eyes on the mask was no magic trick, they were her eyes! The dead glowing orbs started at him, a forlorn look on her face as she returned his gaze. Fury welled up within him as he realized he had been tricked. He'd been DANCING with a DEAD woman all evening! She'd let him believe she was just a simply party guest! She'd made a FOOL of him!

In a rage he reacted, his hand coming out to strike the woman across the face. Her head rocked to the side, a tear sliding from one eye. A brackish black tear full of diseased fluids. It enraged him further to see her staring down at her torn mask, as if what she'd done was excusable. He struck her again, harder this time. It would not be the first woman he'd beaten, and no one would see in the cemetery.

Her head rocked again and she remained motionless, staring endlessly at her mask as it lay in the grass. His arm came up a third time, lashing out at her face.

It was caught in an icy cold grip, immobile instantly.

His eyes widened as he looked at the woman. Gone was the demure and innocent expression on her face. Gone was the forlorn look of despair at his rejection. Instead there was something else there now, something that gazed on him with a cold malice the likes of which made his bowels quiver within him. She stared at him, a malicious smile on her face as she licked at a dab of blackened blood that oozed from her split lip.

“That's not very polite, Maxwell,” she purred. The sound was otherworldly now, and had such intense hatred in it that he would have recoiled if he could wrench his arm free from her horrible grasp.

She grinned at him now, stepping closer and putting her face inches from him, “And now you see me, my Lord. Tell me, were you going to bed me like all of the others you've dragged from those parties? Did you think I didn't understand what you were doing? Furthermore, do you think your dead wife can't find out about everything you've done? I can tell her if I'd like. It would be such fun, knowing that she was waiting for you on the other side, enraged.”

He nearly wet himself, and the fear on his face was like a fine wine to the death knight. With a sudden lurch her other hand came up and she shoved him with both hands, flinging him backwards with incredible strength. He flailed as he sailed away from her, his knees connecting with a low grave marker that he fell over. The stone fell over along with him, and he was left atop the cold, disturbed soil as she stood over him, staring down on him.

“I WAS having a lovely evening, Maxwell,” She said in a solemn tone. “Perhaps next time you will treat your friends with more respect hmmm? You never know when I might be watching.”

He shivered as she spoke and she turned, ignoring him. She walked past him, the creeping mist combined with her long dress concealing her shoes and making it appear that she was gliding across the grass. Given her unnaturally glowing eyes, she might as well have been for all he was concerned. He nearly fainted as he realized he was in a cemetery with a very annoyed dead creature.

She bent down, picking up her ruined mask and turning it over in her hands, a look of irritation on her face. He could not tell if it was from the loss of the object, or from the loss of her masquerade. After a moment she sighed and turned, her back to him. She spoke a few words in a language that he'd never heard before; one that almost instantly gave him a headache.

Before her a gaping black portal opened, a howling mournful wind flowing from it. Within was nothing but the coldest blackness of death, and he stared at it in abject horror. The woman who had called herself Becky, the woman who was really Beckyann Eastberg, Corporal of the 1113^th Reformed Scourge Legion ignored the quivering breather on the ground behind her. She gathered her skirts up and walked casually into the black of the portal, disappearing within as her black dress swirled around her in the wind.

And then she was gone.

For a moment the portal lingered, and Maxwell could almost imagine he saw his dead wife staring back at him from within. The woman he'd murdered to gain more wealth and power. This time he DID wet himself, mewling pathetically in the dark of the cemetery until he finally managed to garner the strength and wit to rise and run for his life. Behind him the black portal shrunk to nothing, and the cemetery was left in peace at last.

The Oath

The death gate slowly closed, the inky blackness of its edges fading until it collapsed on itself, taking Ceriseth away and back to Acherus. Likewise, the comm had fallen silent as Daera began her duties for the evening. Beckyann sat atop a tumbled pile of masonry stones, staring off into the distance and considering all that had happened that evening.

I have friends.

How was it possible? What did it mean? Not an hour ago Beckyann had been in a ruined, burned out Scourge torture chamber, lying atop the soot-covered remains of the table where she'd died, prepared to lay there until she could find a way to simply fade away, to cease to exist. And then Ceri had come and pulled her back from the edge.

She'd told the other Knight everything then. Everything about who she was, about her eternal shame and dishonor that haunted her in this hellish hereafter. A hereafter that she rightfully deserved. It was almost on the very spot that she now sat where she had earned the punishment that was undeath. Here, in the small village of Northdale, ruined and destroyed so many years before.

In all of the years since I passed away, never once have I embraced someone and felt anything. And yet, in this place, I did so with Ceri after sharing that. It is here where I had my last embrace in life, when I told Frederick about what I'd done. It was the last time he ever held me while I drew breath. The irony that I discovered what friendship is anew here is not lost on me.

And it was not just the Sergeant either. Despite what Daera had done, Beckyann found herself comforted by the way the other woman spoke to her regularly. Even after being dragged about on that shopping trip that was as hellish to Daera as sitting in the ruins of Northdale was to Beckyann. It was as if the two had tested one another, dancing along the edge of animosity before deciding that each was worthy of the loyalty that their shared condition would otherwise force upon them.

I even went so far as to buy her a gift. A GIFT of all things! Who was the last person I purchased a gift for? Frederick most certainly. How many years ago was that? When did these other Knights slip beneath the parapets that protect my spirit? Are they honored guests, or foes that seek to destroy my fortress from within? It is so hard to understand.

And yet it wasn't really. Ceri knew everything that Beckyann had done, and had practically forgiven her and told her that it was something she could atone for. Daera had ignored Beckyann's fit in Brill and let it pass, as a true friend might. If they meant her harm, they both had had the opportunity to take full advantage either within the Unit itself or personally. They were actually friends.

But is it allowed? Am I allowed to have any small shred of positivity when I am serving a punishment? It is hard to fathom. One thing is quite clear though; if not for Ceri this evening, I would have reneged on my obligations to see this through to the end. She helped me stay here. I have never regretted being what I am until this evening, and after that conversation I have never been more determined to remain what I am. I owe the people who once called this place home that much.

Beckyann sighed, rising from the rubble and turning towards the burned out building behind her. In that place, her patients, her experiments had died painful deaths. The least she could do is assure them that she would never again consider surrendering. Her face drawn in a grim line, she marched towards the ruins, stepping on blackened timbers and fire-scorched stones to stand in the outline of what was once a two-story dwelling.

Slowly, almost with ritual care, Beckyann reached up and removed the brooch that pinned her cloak on. It was old and worn, the metal scratched here and there. Upon it was the stylized 'L' of Lordaeron; a little something that Beckyann had found in her tomb hunting and decided to keep in remembrance. With an air of reverence, she knelt down, placing the little brooch in the center of the ruins, the metal glittering brightly amongst the blackened floorboards.

“I know that you cannot hear me now,” Beckyann murmured lightly, “But know that I will never stop. I will never surrender. I will see this through to the end, because I understand my obligation to you most honored dead. I can never atone for what happened here. I can never apologize enough for the suffering you experienced, the suffering you may still experience. And yet I am more sorry about this than I can possibly explain. Rest peacefully, knowing that I will pay for what I have done until the titans return to this world if need be.”

Her prayer, no her oath complete, Beckyann rose and looked down on the emblem one last time. With a resigned nod she turned, striding out of that ruined place quickly. The Plaguewood called to her again, not to surrender now, but as a means of soothing herself. She would slay wandering Scourge until her next duty shift began.

Once she was gone, the ruins behind her began to stir. The little brooch she had planted in the ruins glittered, a faint trace of Light shining from it. Slowly, ghostly eyes formed, studying the emblem from a distance. Ghostly hands reached out, hesitantly approaching what the death knight had left behind.

What Beckyann could never know, what she could never part the tides of time to see, was that the people who had died in that building had not perished from the plague she had accidentally infected them with. They had not risen as Scourge to march on their fellow countrymen. No, instead the men, women, and children who had been too weak to walk had died within the building itself as it burned down. As fires raged around them, unable to flee, they had suffered indescribable agony in their last minutes of life.

They had died from the fire that Frederick's men had set at his orders.

Ghostly hands caressed the brooch and the Light flared brightly. With a sigh, a spirit faded into the Light and was gone, eternal peace granted at last. Slowly the others reached out, one by one, each of the victims who had died in that place. As spirits melded with the Light, agony faded, peace spread over the ruins and the dead finally went to their well earned rest.

In her self-inflicted atonement, Beckyann would never know that she had given the ghosts of her past rest at last.

Unfriends

The clomp of hooves and jingle of armor were the only sounds heard as the trio of Knights made their way along the cobblestone road in the Western Plaguelands. Leading the three person patrol, Beckyann sat sullenly in her saddle, her hands gripping the reins loosely and her mind lost in thought. With her dark armor and black cloak of the 1113^th trailing behind her, her blonde hair was the only shock of color present amongst the black Knights.

She had volunteered for the duty in order to get away from Acherus. After the events of the past several days, she had wanted to simply throw herself into combat or do SOMETHING to get her mind off of everything. Normally she would have spent her off time studying necromancy, writing in her journals, or perhaps engaging in hobbies such as looting tombs or shopping, but today she was simply not in the mood.

Why? Why did I agree to take her on a shopping trip? After everything that's happened, I should have just said no. Even so, it would greatly benefit the unit as a whole if more of them understood how to blend in with the living. I just hope it is not another disaster.

The brooding thoughts had been with her all day, circling over and over in her mind and replaying the events of the past week in harsh and vivid detail in her mind. Clinging to each was a hint of guilt at herself, at her own lack of self control. She had almost attacked a sister Knight, which went against the very principles of what she wished to accomplish. She had lost control of her temper, which could be detrimental at best to the unit and outright disastrous amongst the living.

As the thoughts continued to circle through her mind, Beckyann felt a nagging worry begin to rise. No stranger to battle, her baleful eyes scanned the surrounding woods, noting how the road curved slightly up ahead and the way the foliage seemed thicker right at that point. She blinked once, pure instinct guiding her actions.

“AMBUSH!” she yelled, kicking at her deathcharger and spurring the mount forward. The two Knights behind her were no initiates and were well-tested in battle. Each of them responded in kind, yanking on reins to guide their steeds off to either side and spurring them on, spreading the group out.

It was fortunate that they had done so. No sooner had the three lurched into action than the 'foliage' ahead of them dropped forward, the plants having been cleverly attached to a weave backing and used to camouflage three catapults. The war machines lurched as their crews, clearly Forsaken, pulled on the firing levers and sent canisters of poisonous blight flying down the road.

It was a clever trick, and had the Forsaken been attacking a normal Alliance patrol it would have slaughtered them to a man. But they weren't attacking living men and women, they were assaulting a patrol of Knights of the Ebon Blade. As the canisters fell and sent out clouds of deadly gases, the three Death Knights simply stopped breathing, ignoring the blight completely. They didn't need to communicate any further to do battle with the enemy; all three knew exactly what they were doing.

Hooves pounded away at the cobblestones as the three charged. Ahead of them, the Forsaken crews frantically began to reload, knowing they would only get one more chance to fire. Several footmen rushed forward, drawing blades to defend the war machines.

Beckyann smiled, her deathcharger moving swiftly towards her soon-to-be victims as three more canisters arced up into the air ahead. She was in her element now, her self-doubt and brooding forgotten in an instant as she fulfilled her ultimate purpose as she saw it; to make war.

The footmen had only a moment to realize they were outmatched as Beckyann's armored deathcharger slammed into those in the lead. Undead bodies spun away, shattered by the weight of the mount as Beckyann brought her runeblade up and down, beheading one of her enemies. Behind her, the canisters fell, exploding and sending out pools of acidic goo. One of the Knights behind Beckyann fell, splashed by the foul substance and loosing her balance as part of her steed dissolved.

It was far too late though. Within moments Beckyann and the remaining mounted Knight had cut their way through the Forsaken on foot, reaching the weapon crews before they could load a third round of canisters. With a smile Beckyann pointed, foul necromancy building around her and flying out as a death coil, slamming into one of the canisters and detonating it.

Her companion followed suit, and acidic chemical weapons splashed all over the war machines and their crews as they screamed and ran around attempting to remove the vile substance. Beckyann helped a few of them into the afterlife more quickly, her runeblade covered in foul ichor.

With the enemy destroyed, she dismounted, surveying the surrounding terrain to check for any remaining enemies. Seeing none, she nodded to herself, satisfied. She turned around and noted that one of her Knights was struggling on the ground, half laying in a pool of the acidic goo. Hurrying, she ran over to the undead woman, reaching out and grasping her gauntlet. The Knight's legs had partially dissolved, and Beckyann tugged to pull her to safety.

In that moment, a memory flashed through her mind like a slap to the face. A memory of her own hand being clasped by the gauntlets of another Knight, pulling HER to safety from the Cathedral in Stormwind. A memory of Daera Dalamora intentionally saving her from harm when the Light had burned Beckyann enough to begin causing serious damage.

Beckyann reeled back, loosing her grip on the other Knight who grunted as she fell on the soil, free from the acid. Thoughts reeled through Beckyann's mind, a confused blur.

Why would she help me one evening, and flay me with her tongue another evening? Why did she insistently protect me from damage if she wanted to hurt me? What does she WANT? I don't understand!

There was no answer forthcoming in her mind. The memory stood out, starkly contrasting with the damage that Daera had inflicted on Beckyann in previous days.

For a moment, she stood, recalling the event and trying to understand it, as if there were a hole somewhere in her mind that she could not fill. The more she poked and prodded at it, the less it made sense. Saving Beckyann, and later showing her a bit of her own life, were the acts of a friend and sister, not an enemy.

Unable to fully understand it or process the emotions that threatened to bubble up, Beckyann shook her head, pointing at her other patrol member, “Secure her to her saddle. We can repair her back at Acherus. We should report the Forsaken activity in this area to Command.”

The other Knight saluted Beckyann and proceeded to follow her instructions, leaving the blonde Knight to climb back into her own saddle. The ride back would be uneventful, and very very silent as Beckyann continued to think about a puzzle that had no clear answer.