The Fall of Two Dynasties

*The outer regions of Quel'Thalas during the Scourge invasion, Silverlight Estate*

She paced the open space of the inner courtyard restlessly, her boots leaving tracks in the dew-laden lawn. Behind her rose the majestic structure of Silverlight Estate, the ancestral home of her family and the central structure overlooking the remote region of Quel'Thalas where it was constructed.

Sunlight slanted down through the beautiful trees of the forest, playfully reflecting off of Avielle Silverlight's golden locks as she turned and began her pacing once more, the worry on the Quel'dorei's face obvious to all who knew her. Beyond the confines of the inner courtyard walls, shouting arose and the sounds of something detonating echoed ominously through the air, giving Avielle pause and causing her to tilt her head to listen anxiously.

Around her, servants bustled and hurried, carrying weapons, spare arrows, or buckets of water to put out the inevitable fires. The estate was under siege by a massive horde of walking dead, and every hand was bent towards the task of its defense. Avielle had been assigned to coordinate the activities within the inner courtyard as her parents set out with her brothers to hold the perimeter of the estate's grounds. The estate itself was built within a dell, and the natural slope of the land had allowed House Silverlight to construct light defenses where the ground curved down, preventing the horde of undead from reaching the estate directly.

Others had flocked to the estate from neighboring houses and towns that had been overrun, those who could fight put to work with the other defenders while the innocents had been bustled inside the walls of the sturdy elven building. Although Avielle had found herself busy with the petty details of organizing the inner defenses and ensuring there were adequate stocks of ammunition and supplies, her tasks had been completed relatively quickly and now she found herself pacing with anxiety as the sounds of battle grew louder just beyond the wall.

Another explosion rocked the ground, this time powerful enough to make Avielle stumble for a moment. The Scourge had deployed siege weapons; there was no other explanation for the explosions. Either that or magic so powerful that she cared not to think about it even now was being used to exterminate the outer defenses that they had prepared.

Screams arose just beyond the wall, horns blowing frantic warcries as something was happening. The sounds of hurried footsteps on the paved path beyond the gates could be heard just before the doors swung wide and a number of harried looking defenders poured through, many sporting gruesome wounds.

Avielle watched in fascinated horror as several of the Quel'dorei in the rear of the group turned and fired bows at point blank ranges into the advancing undead before the defenders within the courtyard were able to slam the gates shut and bar them. Immediately pounding could be heard on the outer wall and a thin rain of arrows arced over the structure to land within the courtyard beyond.

Avielle stood frozen amidst the chaos, unsure of what to do. A figure approached her, an older Quel'dorei in gleaming blue and gold armor, gore-encrusted sword in his hand and a grim expression on his face as he paused before her and offered her a formal bow, "Lady Avielle, I bring grim tidings. The Scourge have overrun our defenses through foul magic and the use of abominations to barrel through our barricades. Most of those on the wall have fallen, amongst them your parents and your brothers. I am truly sorry, but we could not hold the line."

Avielle looked at the elf with numb shock, the words barely registering. She felt as if she might faint, and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before she managed a hoarse whisper, "Lord Sunblade...c-can it be true...? I-I..."

Lord Kelthias Sunblade caught her before she fainted, his strong arm supporting her until she regained her senses, sorrow on his face, "I am sorry, my Lady. We did what we could to hold them back, but I fear we are trapped within the estate itself now. You are now the heir of your House, and these men are yours to command. I will aid you as I may, but you must inspire them as quickly as you can lest this rout turn into a massacre."

Avielle nodded, still in a daze as she righted herself, her voice low, "B-but...my betrothed, Lord Brightleaf, said he would be here within the hour with reinforcements. How could things have turned so dire so quickly...?"

Kelthias shook his head grimly, pity on his face as he gently broke the news to the stunned young heiress, "Only one of my scouts returned beyond the Scourge lines, and his report indicates that House Brightleaf began a withdrawal as soon as the Scourge were in sight. I am sorry, my Lady, but they aren't coming. We must fend for ourselves."

Avielle processed this latest bit of disaster, the betrayal of her betrothed a secondary fact to the horror of losing her entire family in a single morning. She swallowed hard, her glowing blue eyes coming up to meet those of Kelthias Sunblade. He reached out, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze and a gentle nod before he spoke again, "Lady Silverlight, know that House Sunblade will stand beside you until the end. Although I have few of my retinue left, we will not allow the innocents inside your estate house to fall to these undead monstrosities. You have my word on this."

Avielle nodded, her voice becoming firm when she replied, resolve blooming in her eyes, "I thank you for this, Lord Sunblade. I will never forget what you and your House have done for us this day, for as long as I shall live. We will see those in our care safely from this trap, regardless of the cost."

She turned, seeing those fighters who were left of her House watching the exchange closely. Her tone was steady now as she looked each of them in the face, her words heard across the courtyard, "This day we face a most terrible foe. Many of our House have already fallen, their lives spent in honor defending those who cannot defend themselves. Know that I will make my stand here, in this place, and that none of the living dead shall pass by us to those behind. I know that this poses great risk, and I do not command any of you to stay here and fight beside me. No, instead I beg you, I plead with you to stay that we may help those who came to our door seeking sanctuary. There will be no shame on any who choose not to fight, for I know well the fear that stirs in all of our hearts. For those who are willing to stay, we must prepare at once; the gates will not hold long."

To a soul, those of House Silverlight who were left fell to one knee, each pledging their lives for the cause. Lord Sunblade drew his sword again, bowing low towards Avielle and offering her a salute, his voice also firm, "Know that House Sunblade stands beside you. Until the sun sets on us all, we fight!"

"We fight!" Avielle echoed, drawing her own blade and raising it high. The defenders all rose, roaring their defiance as they scurried into positions within the inner courtyard. Avielle had been clever, carefully preparing ambush points and barricades from which keen elven archers could fire at advancing enemies. To this planning she had added an extra step, preparing pots of weapon oil and placing them near the gate opening. As she fell back towards the estate's main double doors, archers prepared flaming arrows in positions around her.

The pounding on the gates grew louder, the wooden structure beginning to splinter before it finally burst inward from the force of an abomination's blows. Immediately the undead began to pour into the gap, another rain of rusty-tipped arrows pouring over the walls.

The defenders returned fire, arrows slamming into the first shambling corpses that entered the narrow opening, flaming arrows striking the pots on their side of the gate. The pots exploded, sending a fireball up into the sky and coating the oncoming abomination with flaming oil, causing it to flail around and ignite other undead before it collapsed in a smoking heap.

A ragged cheer rose up from the defenders as the advance of the dead halted in the courtyard, dozens of zombies falling to the keen precision of elven archery. The cheering was short-lived though as the door behind Avielle burst open and one of her servants rushed out, her face ashen.

"Lady Silverlight! There are giests breaking through the windows to the rear of the estate! They're going to get inside to the children!" the elf panted, out of breath.

Avielle's face fell as she realized the estate had become surrounded, she turned towards Kelthias, her face grim, "We have to get them out of here now."

He nodded, flicking his sword to get some of the gore off it, "They won't make it through the Scourge hordes. The only way is to distract them long enough to get the children to safety."

Avielle frowned, shaking her head, "We don't have enough men to push forward again, Lord Sunblade."

He nodded, a half-smile on his face as he resigned himself to his fate, "I know, Lady Silverlight. I will push them back for as long as I can. See that they get to safety, and that our sacrifice means something."

Avielle's eyes widened in shock and she shook her head, "You can't! You're the Lord of House Sunblade. You can't spend your life like this. Your people need you. I need you here. I can't do this alone!"

He shook his head, planting his sword in the ground and checking the straps on his armor, his men preparing themselves as well, "No, Lady Silverlight, you do not need me. It is you who prepared the inner defenses, you who thought to shelter the children in the estate where they have been safe and alive for all this time during the battle. You are a fine leader, and it is time for you to take up that mantle. Do me one favor though, tell my wife Sassariel, and my daughter Kyliska that I love them dearly, and that I am sorry I cannot be with them again."

Avielle nodded, tears in her eyes as Lord Sunblade turned. Her voice was a whisper on the wind as he strode away from her, his doomed retinue prepared to sell their lives dearly, "I will...."

And then there was no more time to talk or think. She shouted orders and her men hopped to obey them, scrambling to get the children and infirm out of the estate house and onto the front porch so that they could be brought around the back of the structure and into the forests beyond. Whether they would be safe there was anyone's guess, but Avielle would send enough rangers to at least give them a chance.

Behind her a warcry rose up, and she turned to see the last glorious charge of House Sunblade, their lord leading the way and their swords gleaming in the dying light of the day. The Scourge beyond the walls reeled back as their ranks were penetrated by the advancing elves, dozens and then hundreds of them falling to the skill and bravery of Lord Kelthias Sunblade.

Avielle watched him for as long as she could, even after he and his men were completely surrounded. It was not until drifting smoke from the flames at the barricades blocked her view that she finally tore her gaze away from the scene, finding herself and just a few retainers standing alone on the porch, the children ushered away behind the house and to questionable safety.

"Lady Silverlight, it is time to go," one of her men said.

"No. If we leave now, they will overtake the refugees. Someone has to stay, someone has to delay them," Avielle said quietly.

There was no response to her words save the drawing of weapons as the last of her retainers grimly prepared to die beside the Lady of their house. For her part, Avielle bent down and picked up a second fallen sword, holding one in each hand defiantly as a roar arose beyond the wall and the dead advanced again.

Through the smoke and flames they came, skeletons, zombies, and all manner of horrors rushing across the now undefended ground of Silverlight Estate. Avielle and her men waited for them on the steps and the porch, their bodies set in place, prepared to meet the enemy in the final battle.

It came and went swiftly, the dead pouring over them like a wave. Everything moved as if in slow motion, Avielle's weapons lashing out again and again, cutting down an endless number of undead. Around her, the last remaining men of House Silverlight fought with courage and bravery that should have been recorded for future generations to remember, and yet would be forgotten as they fell one by one, trampled beneath the walking dead.

At last, it was Avielle's turn, a sword thrust towards her too quickly for her to avoid it. The cold of the blade sliding into her chest was a shock that was soon overcome by hot white pain. Blood poured from her mouth, and she slid to her knees as the skeleton that had stabbed her continued on, hacking at her men.

Her gaze stared up at the blue sky above, the sunlight slanting down through the hazy smoke of her family's burning estate the last thing her living eyes would ever take in. And then darkness claimed her, and she was no more.

That is, until she was made to rise again.

Renewing the Pact

The door to the small room closed quietly behind Serephel as she locked herself in. The room that the Myrewood Historical Society had provided her was small, but compared to the rooms she'd had at various taverns it was not bad by any standards. It was also far preferable to sleeping in a hayloft or ruined building, which she had also done in the past.

Serephel sighed, walking over to the bed and sitting down on top of it, feeling bone weary. The weather around Surwich was not pleasant for her, the mixture of the swampy, fetid air and the blowing sand from the deserts beyond creating havoc for her health. On top of that, she had many weighty matters to consider after the revelations of the evening.

The Society is a cover for a coven! What amazing luck!

When she'd written her letter of introduction, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she might stumble upon others of the craft. She had only hoped to possibly gain access to historical records and other fragments of knowledge that would aid in her research into plague. That she was far more likely to find such information now was certain, and that she could potentially freely make use of her own talents was a thought that put a smile on her face.

"They'll betray you, you know. You don't need them anyway. There are much better solutions," a malignant voice piped in, interrupting her thoughts.

Serephel glared, staring across at the wooden chair that occupied a space near a very small desk. Upon the chair sat the imp, Zormir. Her tormentor as well as her savior, depending on how one looked at it.

"Shut up, I neither asked for your advice nor care to hear it," Serephel growled. She flopped over backwards on the bed, a hand on her forehead as the room spun. She was feeling quite ill after spending two days near the swamp.

"You could put an end to all of this you know," the imp continued, unphased by the woman's response. "There are demons aplenty in the swamp nearby. If you performed the ritual on enough of them, you would never again need to worry about your condition."

"Silence!" Serephel snapped, rage in her voice. "I would not even be in this position if not for your delightful little bargain all those years ago! How dare you think to advise me now when-"

Her tirade cut off abruptly as she began to cough, doubling over on the bed. The cough became a wracking, heaving gasp for breath as it grew worse. She held an arm over her mouth, coughing bitterly into her sleeve as the imp watched impassively from its seat nearby. When Serephel finally managed to control the fit, she brought her arm away only to see bright red blood on the fabric of her shirt.

"Fuuuuuck..." she murmured, stumbling from the bed. "Not now, not so soon....no, no no!"

She lurched across the room to where she had left her pack, falling to her knees beside it and tearing at the lacing to open one of the pouches on the side, all the while feeling another coughing fit coming which she desperately tried to keep in check.

"Look at you," the imp said impassively, "you could be so much more than this. So much more powerful if you just complete what we started. Go into the swamp and take enough of them to transcend this."

"Ooooh right," Serephel replied sarcastically. "Let me absorb enough fel energy to shed my mortal shell. Yes, exposing my unprotected soul to the nether and the more powerful beings within it sounds like a fantastic idea."

Finally finding what she was looking for, she pulled out a small glass vial with a rather foul smelling liquid in it. She crinkled her nose and tipped the vial back, drinking it down as fast as she could. Immediately she felt some relief, the impending threat of another coughing fit settling down a bit. Even so, she knew it would soon be time to renew the pact and claim enough fel energy to purge her system of her illness once more.

"You know it doesn't have to be like that," the imp protested, grinning as the warlock dropped the empty vial into her pack in obvious disgust. "How much longer can this go on, can you go on?"

"Continue with this line of thought and it will be you who serves as my next source of corrupt energy," Serephel replied, her gaze affixed on the creature with some malice now. "The only good in your words is the suggestion that I find one of the native demons wandering in the swamp and perform the ritual on them. Now go and leave me be, I already don't feel well and your presence sickens me."

"As you wish, mistress," the imp replied with a grin. "Just remember my words; others will not aid you with this. Eventually you will have to make another hard choice and either heed my advice or die."

Serephel rose suddenly, flames flickering to life on her fingertips, "You are running out of time to leave."

The imp gave her one last foul little grin before fading from sight, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She shook her head, staring hard at the now empty chair, "Whether they can aid me or not, it matters little. I've not had allies in many years, or anyone to even speak with about my real life. Better that than speaking to the likes of demons until I am driven mad."

She turned and walked back to the bed, easing herself down on top of it and closing her eyes. She could feel the tonic taking effect, further dampening the desire to cough up the fluids she felt in her lungs. Her pounding headache had diminished, and soon she would be able to think clearly enough to perform more complex rituals, which was just as well because the imp's words echoed in her mind as she lay in thought; she was running out of time and the pact had to be renewed soon.

"Nether take it all," she murmured, finally rising again and mentally preparing herself. She reached down and rolled up her sleeve, ensuring that her ritual dagger was securely strapped to her wrist. She would need to slip out into the night and find one of the local demonic entities wandering through the swamp. It would be long, tiring, and dangerous work but once she found one, she could collect its energy, renewing herself and cleansing the illness from her body.

By the morning she would feel much better, for a time. It never lasted and she knew it never would. With grim determination on her face she slipped out of her room. She would live on, no matter what the cost.

A Favor for a Friend!

*Ghostlands, early evening*

Kyliska's charger plodded along the now rarely used path, the gloom of early evening coming fast in the Ghostlands. The oddly glowing foliage and distant rustling of possibly undead creatures moving through the half-dead brush were a constant reminder that this part of Quel'Thalas was not now, and likely never would be tamed again.

Kyliska didn't care of course; that was the whole point. She was going somewhere secluded to think for a while, and if some undead slaying came her way, well that was cathartic as well in some cases. She had left behind the annoying trappings of her new role in life and even her original role in House Sunfire. Dressed in simple studded leather and taking with her little more than a pack of supplies and her trusty ax, she had even left behind the House Sunfire barding and banners that she would typically have displayed on such a trip.

The journey had taken several hours, and by now her dear Andi would be well aware of her absence. That was just as well; he would only have tried to stop her and the last thing she wanted right now as to confront the reality of the next few years. Marriage and a new life seemed like grand ideas when one looked at them from a distance, but up close they could downright cause a great deal of fear, and a ton of anxiety and she'd had enough of both for a bit.

A particularly large crackle in the nearby underbrush gave Kyliska pause, and she pulled back on the reins of her charger for a moment, the animal coming to a halt as she scanned the surrounding dead trees.

A zombie or something else crawling through the bushes, or a bat coming out of its roost and upsetting the foliage around its lair? 

The Ghostlands could be a dangerous place even in daylight, and she would not walk blindly into trouble if trouble had indeed found her. She remained perfectly still, dusk falling as she sat motionless, her glowing green eyes staring intently into the darkness.

The explosion came suddenly and so unexpectedly that it startled even the alert Kyliska. One moment she was staring into darkness, the next moment a wall of explosive flame flared to life across her path. Kyliska's charger bucked at the sudden frightening crackle of flames, the animal rearing up. Although it was trained for battle, its rider's unease had settled into the beast, and it was beyond all control. Desperately Kyliska held the reins, even as the beast began to buck her off its back. She scrambled, managing to snatch a hold of her ax's pommel and one of her packs before she was hurled from the saddle.

Another wall of flames burst to life beside her, and her startled charger nearly trampled her as it turned and fled, forcing Kyliska to roll in the dirt to avoid its hooves. The foliage around her crackled and hissed with the orange flames, but she noted that the sounds of larger creatures moving through the brush could be heard under the sound. In an instant she was on her feet, ax in hand as she turned towards the source of the sounds.

The wall of flames seemed to bend as a form surged through it, the demonic visage of a felhunter appearing from the darkness. The beast reached Kyliska in three charging strides, her ax narrowly deflecting its jaws. Behind Kyliska, another wall of flames erupted, pinning her into a narrow alley of burning fire. It was clear now she was in the center of an ambush, and her warcry echoed through the forest as she brought her ax to bear on the felhunter.

A second demon lurched from the wall of fire, the newly arrived felhunter charging at her legs and forcing her back even as she scored a minor hit to the first one's head, severing one of its tentacles. The beast howled like a wounded dog, and the howl was taken up by the second felhunter.

And then howls came from at least three more from beyond the flames.

Kyliska knew she was in trouble now as a third demonic hound lurched through the wall of fire, blocking her access to the only path clear of the flames. She battered it with her ax, forcing it back and whirling to meet the attack of a second demon, the creatures attacking her almost like a pack of wolves might. Such creatures did not belong in Quel'Thalas however, and were not native to the Ghostlands. As a result, Kyliska knew she had another foe somewhere in the darkness that she couldn't see. She pointed into the forest, shouting holy words and instantly the woods burst into clear, brilliant light.

In the distance, beyond the wall of fire a figure stood within the trees, staring at her from where it had been revealed. Kyliska pointed again and again shouted out words of power, her holy judgement flying across the distance and forcing the distant figure to duck behind a tree as her power stripped the bark from the wood.

Wicked, almost delighted laughter filtered through the forest as Kyliska was again forced to defend herself as a fourth felhunter emerged from the fires, this one snapping its jaws at her legs. She swung her ax hard, the blade connecting with the beast's head and removing said head in a single stroke, the corpse flying by her and slamming into one of her other attackers.

A felhunter jumped up, its teeth clamping down on her shoulder and causing her to cry out as the pressure from the bite pinched through her lighter armor. She slapped a hand against it, holy magic pouring into the beast and causing it to Turn. It howled, fleeing in terror from her holy form even as another of the creatures jumped at her.

Kyliska whirled, her hand coming up again and this time she uttered her most powerful of holy spells. The felhunter was struck mid-air by her exorcism, the words of Light utterly obliterating it from existence and sending it back to the nether as if it had never been. A fading howl was all that remained of it as Kyliska laughed and turned to face another of the beasts.

That was when she was struck by fel magics, the chaotic bolt of pure energy surging from the forest beyond and hitting her squarely in the back. The force of the blow spun her around and dazed her, the felhunters she had been about to fight leaping towards her to take advantage of the moment. The weight of two of the demons struck her in the back of the legs and on one arm as she was bit again, and she fell beneath them, her ax flailing wildly.

In desperation, she swung again, her blow neatly beheading another of the creatures as the last one clamped down hard on her shoulder and worried at it like a dog attacking prey. A blast of cold black fel energy slammed down upon her and the night sky spun as she was dazed again, her ax finally flying from her hands.

As she stared up, the figure she had seen earlier loomed over her, the felhunter on her shoulder sitting as the person uttered a command, its weight pinning down her entire right arm and shoulder. The figure kneeled down, putting weight on Kyliska's chest with one of her legs as she loomed close in the glow of the fire.

Kyliska found herselt staring up at a human woman with long, jet black hair. The woman grinned at her, her pock-marked face disturbing with the half-illumination coming from the inferno in the woods, "Greetings Kyliska Sunfire. A mutual acquaintance wishes to impart a message to you. It is something you will absolutely love to see I'm sure."

"I don't know any human scum, so I seriously doubt that you know anyone that I also know, bitch," Kyliska responded with a snarl. She brought a hand up, grabbing the woman's leg and shoving her off as she struggled to get the demon off her, its teeth clamping down harder and drawing blood now.

The woman grinned, her hand coming out and back-handing the prone elf, one of her plain traveler's boots coming down and firmly stepping on Kyliska's free arm, pinning it as she bent close again, "Oh, but we do, Lady Sunfire. You simply don't know who it is, that is all. Also, how very rude of me; I have not introduced myself. Given that you and I will be traveling together for a short time, it is only proper that I observe the formalities, wouldn't you say?" She grinned and laughed as Kyliska attempted to wrest her arm free from the demon's jaws.

"Your name doesn't matter, human. I'm going to tear you to pieces in about three seconds. I could put your name on whatever grave marker I make for you though," Kyliska growled, still struggling.

The woman frowned, shaking her head, "You bore me, Lady Sunfire. I had expected more wit from one such as you. Regardless, I am Serephel Delange and I will guide you to the place where you will receive your little message. You can go peacefully or not. I care little either way."

Kyliska grinned and spat up at the woman, her spittle hitting the human right in the face. The woman who had called herself Serephel frowned, bringing a hand up to wipe the spit from her face before shaking her head, "You are fortunate our mutual friend wishes you alive and well, or I would literally tear your heart from your chest you skinny little bitch. As it is, now this is going to hurt far more than necessary."

"Do your worst, bitch!" Kyliska snarled. Light flared in her hand and the felhunter whined as it was wounded.

Serephel lurched forward suddenly, a grin on her face and a sacrificial dagger in her hand. She held it against Kyliska's throat, pressing it close and forcing the other into immobility, "Oh I shall, Kyliska. I shall. And you will regret very much every word you have spoken here."

Kyliska opened her mouth to say something more, but Serephel suddenly reversed the dagger and brought the pommel of the weapon down hard on Kyliska's forehead. The blow dulled her senses, the strike hard enough to make the world spin around her. She saw Serephel looming over her, the human grinning as she brought the dagger up and hit Kyliska again.

And again, and again.

Probably by the ninth time she could have stopped, but Serephel was having fun after all. Besides, bruises weren't likely to be fatal, and the little bitch deserved what she got. After a time she grew tired and bored, and put her dagger away, signaling to the felhunter to release its victim. She stared down at the unconscious blood elf and grinned, uttering the words to a spell and opening a demonic gateway that glowed with foul green light.

With a sigh, Serephel bent down and grabbed Kyliska's legs, beginning the process of dragging her victim to her destination beyond the gate.

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

Hours later, Kyliska would wake up with a throbbing headache in a dusty room dimly lit by a small fire in a nearby hearth. After her vision stopped spinning and she had assessed her aches, she could see in the minimal light that the room contained a dirty old bedroll upon which she was sitting, a table with an iron key atop it, and a pile of sacks in the corner that looked to contain some food and wineskins judging by what was sticking from the top.

Kyliska groaned and went to rise, the movement arrested by the rattle of a chain. She looked down, eyes wide as she saw her shoes had been stolen and that around one leg was a dark iron manacle that chained her by the ankle to the floor of whatever dilapidated old building she was imprisoned in.

Even as she discovered this, a shadow moved in the doorway and a female figure entered the room, the nearly naked succubus grinning at her captive and smiling, "Oh! You're awake! That's perfect as the show is about to begin soon. Please, Lady Sunfire, let me know if you need anything. I would love to serve you."

With that the demoness moved further into the room, setting a small orb down on the floor. Kyliska recoiled at being so close to a demon, and she began to utter the words to another exorcism spell. Pain shot through her like an electric shock as she began, and she looked down in horror to see glowing fel green runes along the manacle on her ankle, interrupting her spellcasting.

"Oh Lady Sunfire!" the demoness scolded. "No magic in here please! You're here to watch a few things and I'm here to tend to your every need!"

The demoness giggled and stepped away from the orb, gesturing at her, "This will show you exactly what you need to see! I'll be in the next room, so just call me if you need me 'kay? I'd love to help!"

With that the foul creature practically pranced from the room, leaving the glowing orb where it sat. Kyliska looked at it for a moment and then her mouth opened in shock as it glowed more brightly and began projecting a magical image into the air in front of her, the orb clearly having been linked to a scrying spell.

A spell that showed Kyliska's own bedroom at Sunfire Estate.

She felt her stomach dropped as she realized the orb was about to show her something horrible, and her mind raced as she tried to think about who could have done this, or who that Serephel woman knew. She curled up as best she could against the wall, her knees pressed against her chest as she watched the glowing image, waiting to see what new horror would be inflicted upon her next.

Three Little Scarlets

*Before the fall of Southshore to the Forsaken. An isolated cabin in the Hillsbrad foothills.*

Serephel grinned as she pushed the door open, slipping quietly into the small cabin's interior before shutting the door behind her. She was greeted with the sound of utter silence as the cabin's inhabitants looked at her in stunned shock.

There were four people occupying the small space. Three of them were grizzled looking men, dressed in an assortment of old chainmail armor. Their weapons and equipment were so varied that the only thing they really had in common is that each wore a red bandana around their foreheads; cloth that had obviously just been donned as none of the bandanas showed signs of wear or dirt from the road.

The fourth occupant was a woman in her early twenties. Laying atop a table that sat in the middle of the one room cabin, she was trussed up like a wild animal taken in a hunt, her mouth gagged. Her eyes were wide and wild, and she squirmed against her restraints in her place on the table. She was obviously a prisoner of the three men, and obviously frightened.

Based on their positions, the prayer books that were out in the cabin, and the way they were dressed Serephel realized she had encountered a small group of Scarlet bandits who likely were 'cleansing' people in the region as they had been doing for some time now.

As Serephel closed the door, the three men each reacted different. The one closer to her blushed slightly, as if ashamed of something, his eyes averted from her.

"Too weak willed," Serephel thought.

The second was brash, pulling out two shortswords and glaring at her, his breathing already labored as he prepared himself for grim close quarters fighting against what, to his eye, was likely a second unarmed woman.

"Too brash and not enough thought," Serephel judged.

The last man was slightly shorter than the other two. The moment the door opened he shifted in position, putting the bound woman and table between himself and the intruder. He pulled a small dagger, holding it over the woman's chest to menace her and keep Serephel back. He also glared at Serephel, his voice firm as he spoke, "Stay back or I will kill her right here and now."

"Intelligent. Cunning. Merciless. Just right," Serephel decided.

She shifted, stepping further into the room and causing the tension to rise many times higher. She pointed at the man with the dagger, the black nailpolish on her fingertip glinting in the dim candle light as she spoke softly, "You and you alone will come with me. The others are not my concern and I care not what you are doing here. Come quickly or you will test my patience."

The man's eyes bulged and he pressed the dagger point menacingly into the woman, causing her to squeal in fright, "I said stay back. I'm serious about this."

Serephel rolled her eyes and flicked a hand towards the larger, more brash looking of the two men on her side of the table. Flames spewed from her fingertips, instantly settling on him and immolating him where he stood. He began to scream, dropping his blades and running around until he struck a wall and collapsed, still in flames. Serephel looked at the man behind the table before taking another step towards him, almost purring as she spoke, "Last chance. I am not here to rescue hostages and don't really give a crap about your threats. I have needs."

The leader of the trio snarled, stabbing viciously into his hostage, her blood flowing from the fatal wound. His companion lurched forward, blade coming out and towards Serephel's unprotected side as the other scarlet attempted to circle the table and approach her from the opposite direction.

She moved quickly, her hands coming up and facing palm outwards towards the silent scarlet that was attacking her flank. Flames spewed forth, vicious fel magic burning everything in its path. The man screamed, also immolated as he kept moving. Serephel dodged his clumsy flailing, watching with amusement as he slammed into the leader of the group as the other tried to attack her from behind. As the two fell, she flicked her hands out again, this time more carefully controlling her fires and burning the leader up his legs, crippling him with the searing magic.

And then the battle was over, two crackling corpses and one quietly weeping, severely wounded scarlet all that was left of her foes. Rolling her eyes, Serephel stepped past the burning men, circling the table. She reached out, touching the hostage's corpse before pushing it from the table, leaving a bloody streak across the wood. She turned towards the weeping man, kicking him viciously with a boot to disarm him of his dagger while murmuring a spell.

Demonic energy seeped through Serephel's body, and she reached down, grabbing the man and hauling him up onto the table as if he weighed nothing. The spell quickly expired, leaving her panting and causing her to have a coughing fit, the sound nearly drowning out the moans of agony from the scarlet leader.

When Serephel's fit had passed, she grimaced as she saw her own blood on the sleeve of her shirt. Shaking her head, she picked up the fallen dagger the man had dropped, standing over him. She cut away his shirt with the weapon, her fingers tracing over his bare chest as she grinned at him, "You will do perfectly I think!"

The man was in little condition to respond, his blood pouring from horrific burns on his legs. It was just as well to Serephel; she didn't like to talk to her victims anyway. She chanted an incantation, her finger tracing fel symbols across his chest and leaving green magics shimmering in the air. When she was done, she casually brought the dagger up and then plunged it down into the man's still-beating heart, killing him instantly.

Fel power flowed through the room, the candles and the flaming corpses flickering fitfully as the spell was completed. A moment later a spark of green flame appeared, settling on the edge of the table and taking on the form of an imp. It grinned at Serephel, nodding with familiarity before speaking in its foul little voice, "We meet again! Care for a kiss?"

Serephel's nose crinkled in distaste and she shook her head, "The years for that have long past. You know the deal. A succubus. Now please if you would; I have other things to do."

The imp grinned and nodded, "You're no fun, you know that? Fine, you can have another wench." With that it disappeared, magic flaring in the air again.

The air beside Serephel shimmered, the light bending and slowly taking on the shape of a gorgeous female figure. A moment later the spell was complete, the succubus having been pulled into Azeroth's reality. The demoness blinked a few times in confusion, looking around the cabin and taking in the burned corpses. Her eyes finally fixed on Serephel, one artfully sculpted brow rising in question.

Serephel gave the creature no explanation; she merely stepped towards her, pressing her body against the demon, her head tilting forward until their lips met. The lustful demon shivered, its strangely glowing eyes drifting closed as the warlock kissed her. Serephel let the kiss linger, her body pressing closer to the creature, one hip sliding against the succubus. She almost grinned as the demon responded, its long tongue entering her mouth.

Serephel plunged her dagger into the unsuspecting demon's heart.

Fel fires erupted around the creature, the demon's head tilting back in horror as it was destroyed. It's body shuddered once before erupting fulling into flames, its physical form failing as it was banished. The fires flared up and into Serephel's mouth, the warlock finally letting her own eyes drift closed as she inhaled deeply.

As always, the fires were pure bliss at first, the heat burning away the encroaching illness that she had felt returning. It flowed through her veins like a heady wine, a power that she could feel in every pour, every cell in her body. And then the pain came, the soul-searing agony of flames deep with in her, causing her head to tilt backwards as the last of the fires burned through her, smoke pouring from her mouth.When it was over, Serephel leaned heavily against the table, panting, bloody dagger still in her hand.

That was when the cabin door was kicked in.

To Serephel's everlasting surprise, a group of adventurers piled into the room, staring around in shock. It was a classic team of fighters with a warrior leading them shield first, an elf with a bow covering the group from the rear, a woman with a holy symbol around her neck, and another man bearing two blades and wearing light armor backing up the warrior. The group had obviously come to save the hostage who was now lying dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood, a dagger wound in her chest.

A wound caused by the dagger that was in Serephel's hand.

"Oh fuck..." Serephel murmured as realization of how guilty she looked set in. The four adventurers had taken in the charnel house that the cabin had become quickly, their eyes narrowing with hatred as they focused on Serephel.

"I'm...just going to go..." Serephel murmured as the elf trained her bow on the warlock. She murmured a word and in an instant Serephel burned to ash, leaving nothing behind but a black pile of fel powder as her form was transported back to her summoning circle outside of the cabin.

Quickly she turned, running towards a nearby group of trees, her sturdy boots giving her good purchase as the team of adventurers burst back out of the door. In a panic, Serephel heard the sound of a bowstring snapping, an arrow whirring through the air and striking a tree right beside her. It had accidentally pinned her cloak to the wood, and she tugged futilely at the garment as the two melee fighters closed on her.

"This is really not how it seems..." Serephel began as the leather-clad fighter reached her. She squealed and ducked as one of his blades passed through the space where her neck had been, the weapon neatly lodging in the tree and severing her cape. Serephel fell to the ground, the fighter standing over her and preparing to deliver the death blow while she was prone.

"Fine! Have it your way!" she yelled, reaching up and viciously grabbing the man by his genitals before twisting hard. The fighter howled, his attack completely interrupted and causing him to flail backwards into the warrior that was also pursuing her. Another arrow slammed into the ground between Serephel's prone legs and she quickly dashed to her feet, turning to run as a healing spell soothed the pain of the fighter she'd injured.

"This is ridiculous! I wasn't even with those guys!" she yelled over her shoulder as she dashed into the treeline, trying to avoid being killed by elven archery. Another arrow lodged in a tree right next to her hand, causing her to blanch and keep running. She realized she was running out of time and although she didn't want to kill an adventuring party so close to the town of Southshore, she was running out of options. That was when a stroke of brilliance came to her.

"Fine, you want to chase me? Chase me through an inferno!" she cackled. With a flick of her wrists she began hurling fire right and left as she dodged through the trees, igniting the dry underbrush and quickly setting the woods alight. Behind her, the two fighters had slowed as their weapons and armor got caught in the brush. They now had to backpedal as a wall of flames suddenly erupted around them, the trees quickly turning into an inferno just as Serephel had said.

Through the raging wall of fire Serephel glared at the adventurers, the group staring at her hard. She turned and walked into the blaze, her magics making the fire curl around her as she disappeared from view, leaving the group behind to tend to the forest fire that she had started. Southshore would be warned of course, and enough men would come to extinguish the flames, not that she cared. Unfortunately, her days of working as a barmaid in Southshore's inn had likely come to a close, given that those people had seen her.

Oh well.

It was time to move on again. It was not the first time her needs had caused such a situation, and it would not be the last. She would never stop trying to keep herself alive, consequences and the rest of the world be damned.

She stalked off into the burning forest, her stride determined.

No Good Choice

*Corin's Crossing, Lordaeron, at the height of the plague of undeath.*

The hacking cough echoed through the room, Serephel Delange's body shuddering as she struggled to draw in breath only to expel it again violently. Her vision spun crazily as she leaned forward, coughing harder and harder, bright red, foamy arterial blood staining the linen sheets of her bed as it came up from deep within her.

The fit subsided after a time, the dark haired woman staring in wide-eyed horror at the blood now soaking her sheets, her thoughts spiraling into darkness as she realized her fate was sealed, her mortal shell about to fail her.

"It's the plague..." she whispered to no one, for no one was there in the deepest part of the night, no one could hear her suffering. The estate grounds where she worked and lived just outside of Corin's Crossing were sealed now; the iron gates around the property locked and guarded. The plague had come to Lordaeron, and as its effects became known and the dead began to walk in ever greater numbers, those few who were uninfected had begun to either flee or shelter in places where they thought they would be safe. Serephel's employers were amongst the latter, believing their noble line was secure behind fences and private guards.

Except Serephel had brought the plague into the estate.

She hadn't meant to of course; she hadn't know at the time that a bite could be infectious. One of the other servants had fallen ill at their home in Corin's Crossing proper, and she'd gone to visit her friend on her sickbed. The girl had risen of course, her teeth clamping down on Serephel's arm and leaving a bloody gouge. At the time, she had thought nothing of it, and had hidden it away for fear that such a wound would cause her to be turned away from the estate grounds and sent to fend for herself in a land that was now teeming with undead creatures.

Creatures like what she would soon become. The blood staining her sheets told the tale quite well, although if that was not enough evidence the pox that she had developed in the past few hours and her raging fever would have been additional damning evidence. Serephel Delange was as good as dead, and no one and nothing could save her from her fate now.

Another coughing fit took her, this one much worst than the last, her vision graying at the edges as she spat out more blood. She would die in her room and then rise, attacking the others in the estate, turning others as she had been turned. It was happening all over her nation, and she knew with grim certainty that the days of Lordaeron had come to a close.

"You do not have to dieeeeeeeee...." a voice seemed to whisper to her.

Serephel looked wildly around the room, peering into the darkness of the night in an attempt to spot the source of the sound. She had heard such voices before, malefic whispers talking of unspeakable things. They had been there for years, either a figment of her imagination or perhaps the consequences of some casual studies into darker tomes that others had warned her not to touch. Either way, she usually ignored them and hearing one now on what was to be her death bed only irked her.

"Go away whatever you are, I'm busy dying," she said sullenly to no one.

"Why perish from this world when you can live on? I can help you, for a price," the voice replied.

Serephel looked up in alarm now, her eyes wide and her ever-weakening heartbeat pounding in her chest. The voices had never answered her before, had never sounded so real, so close before. "W-who are you...show yourself!"

The darkness of her room gave way to a spec of flame at the foot of her bed, the light bleeding into the night as if it were a part of it rather than fighting against it. Green fires spurted furtively around a tiny form, an impish creature perched on the edge of the bed. It grinned at her, sharp, evil looking teeth making the gesture look more a threat than anything else, and it gave off a little hiss before speaking again, "I am known as many things, but I shall not give you my Name. Instead, I will offer you a bargain."

Serephel swallowed hard, fighting to hold back another coughing fit as she stared at the creature. Her voice was weak and unsteady when she replied, "W-what kind of bargain?"

The imp, for it was certainly a demonic imp, grinned at her, "Your life for the completion of a task. I have the power to save you, to spare you from this fate you so fear, but there is something I need you to do for me, for us rather."

"W-what favor? And how can you p-possibly spare me?" Serephel said, hope surging in her even as a part of her warily recalled that she was speaking to a demon.

"There are two in this estate who will live through this plague, if nothing is done to change that," the demon hissed. "Two who made bargains for power, who can use that power to shield themselves. They have not upheld their side of their agreement, and cannot be permitted to live. Slay them as a sacrifice, and I shall offer you a respite from this death."

"Y-you want me to k-kill people..." Serephel said.

The imp grinned at her discomfort before whispering words of power. It held out its hand, and in it a black dagger appeared, the weapon conjured from fel power, "Use this, stab them in the hearts, and your life will be in your own hands once more."

Serephel stared at the weapon, her eyes boring into it and her voice silent. Her thoughts raged, her fear of death, of becoming the undead, pressing in on her from all sides. A coughing fit took her, her body shuddering as she coughed up glob after glob of her lifeblood, the action making her weak and almost causing her to fall backwards into the bed where she knew she would not rise again.

She reached up and wiped blood from her mouth on her sleeve, her voice shaking and almost a whisper when she replied, "I accept the bargain."

The imp grinned and handed her the blade, its voice triumphant, "Good, good. I knew you would see reason. The two who must die are your employers. They slumber now in bed. Go, go quickly, and I shall spare you."

Serephel gripped the dagger hard, her knuckles white as she nodded and rose unsteadily from the bed. She braced herself on the bedpost for a moment before she was steady enough to walk, fighting off another coughing fit that would give her away. The imp disappeared, but she could sense it near, like a lingering malice in the air.

She pushed open her bedroom door, walking softly down the corridor where the servants slept. The estate was quiet, those inside believing they were sheltered from the horrors out in the countryside, never knowing that she lurked in their midst bearing the plague. She padded barefoot down the stone corridor, making her way deeper into the estate. The guards were not present; they had been assigned to watch the gates to prevent any undead from entering the grounds and it was easy enough for Serephel to make her way to the quarters of her employers.

The door to their bedchambers was unlocked, and she pushed it open quietly, standing in the darkness and straining her eyes to see. Two forms lay together on a huge bed, their limbs intertwined as they slept peacefully in an embrace. The young Lord of the estate and his wife, newly married just months before the outbreak of the plague.

Serephel hesitated as she watched them sleep. Here were two people that had treated her well. They had provided her with employment, with food and a place to stay and a stipend to spend on herself. They had not been cruel to her, had not shown themselves deserving of the fate that she would deliver upon them. They slept in innocence, their love for one another plain to see in their embrace; an embrace she would make their last one.

She could feel the imp beside her, invisible, almost coaxing her on. It need not have bothered, for she could feel another fit of coughing about to come on, could feel the fever burning in her veins. She had no time, no options left. She had to do what she had to do to survive.

She closed the door softly behind her, determination setting in. She walked across the room with purpose, her bare feet making not a sound on the plush carpets on the floor. She loomed over the couple, knowing that she was about to commit murder and knowing she had no other choice. She could feel the imp's glee as she brought the dagger up, her arm hesitating one final time.

The blade plunged down, into the lord's back first. He cried out only once, and only feebly as the blade went deep into his heart, his blood pouring from his open mouth. Beside him the lady of the house stirred, her eyes wide in shock and horror as she saw her beloved die. She brought a hand up, a scream coming from her lips as Serephel climbed onto the bed and brought the bloody dagger up again.

"Why?! Please Light don't do this! Why are you doing this?!" the woman begged.

Serephel did not answer. Instead she plunged the blade down and into the woman. The first strike missed her heart, instead striking her in the neck. Serephel struck again and again, blood flying from the woman's wounds until finally the black metal struck her heart, ending her feeble screams once and for all. In that moment, the blade dissolved, turning into a puff of black smoke and blowing away as if on a foul wind.

Behind Serephel, the imp reappeared, the grin on its face almost fixed there as it watched the young servant girl begin to cough fitfully, her blood mixing with that of the lord and lady she'd just slain. For a moment, Serephel could not catch her breath, her coughing seemingly endless, her life flashing before her eyes as death neared. She recovered after a time, just barely, and glared at the imp, her voice hoarse, "I have done my part of the bargain. Where now, is your contribution?"

The creature laughed at her, and her mouth hung open in shock as it mocked her, pointing at her and dancing from one foot to another. In a flash it turned into a burning green fire, the force rushing up and into the air, closing the distance between them before Serephel could react. Pouring into her open mouth and down her throat, flowing into her body, into her blood.

At first, it was pleasure like she had never felt. It was energy, power, renewed life flowing through her veins. She writhed on the blood soaked bed amongst the corpses, feeling the fel power coarse through her body, burning away the plague, burning away her fear of death in a second. And then the heat grew, the flames within her a searing fire that mixed pain with pleasure and made her arch her back and scream up at the ceiling as it burned her to her very soul. Her eyes glowed green and flames spurted from her mouth, her scream falling silent as the last of the illness was seared from her flesh.

And then it was over, Serephel's limp form falling onto the bed, a puff of smoke exiting her mouth as she exhaled, a smile playing over her lips. For she knew in that moment that she had been cured, that her health had been restored. The bargain was sealed; she would live through the plague, her life was her own.

If only it were to be that easy.

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

*Stormwind City, present day.*

Serephel sat at a table in the small cafe, a travel journal in front of her in which she made a few notes. Wearing a simple dress and sturdy boots meant for walking long distances, she little resembled the young serving girl that had been through so much all those years ago. If not for the pock-marks that dotted her skin here and there, there would be no indication that she had ever set foot in Lordaeron or seen any hint of plague in her life.

She finished writing, reaching down to grip the handle of a cup of hot chocolate and bringing it to her lips. She sipped it slowly, the warm heat of the liquid running down within her and warming her inside. She set the cup down, reading over her notes before beginning to write another line in the journal.

The coughing fit came suddenly and unexpectedly, as they always did. One moment she was writing, the next she was doubled over, sounding to all the world like she'd had the worst chest cold of all time. She coughed miserably into the sleeve of her dress, flushing pink with embarrassment as the others in the cafe stared at her. After a time her coughing subsided, and they looked away and back to their own business.

Serephel sighed, looking down at her sleeve, her eyes taking in the sight of three drops of fresh blood on the white fringe that made up the end of the garment. A sight she had become all too familiar with over the years as the death she had avoided in Lordaeron stalked her still.

She would need to heal herself soon, to re-energize her body lest it succumb to the fate that had been allotted to it. She would need a source of demonic energy and, as always, would need to absorb that source even if it meant summoning and killing a very live, very angry demon and potentially corrupting herself further.

Such was life, for if she failed to do so, she would surely perish and face the consequences that her acts had wrought for her. For Serephel, there was only darkness ahead, unless she could keep it from her eternally.

Such was her damnation.

A New Cycle

The Draenei shaman eased herself into a chair beside the small writing desk that was included with the room she'd rented for the evening, carefully tucking her tail out of the way so as not to whack it against anything (a lesson she had learned from numerous encounters with human furniture in the past!). With a smile, she pulled out an old worn pouch that clattered as she placed it gently on the desk. Beside it she set down a worn, battered old journal that was bound with a bit of twine. Carefully she undid the tie, opening the journal and flipping past pages that were covered with neat rows of script written in the Draeneic language. Finding a fresh page, Mariskka grabbed a quill and ink from the desk and began to jot some notes down.

Tonight was a very interesting night! I encountered two humans in one of the many inns within Dalaran. When I looked more closely, I noted that one of the two had a mechanical construct that was familiar to me. To my surprise, it was the very same one that had been described to me long ago by a mutual friend, Olow Domin. 

I stopped to speak to the woman, and it was as if the elements themselves wished for this to occur, for she was indeed the same woman that Olow had mentioned. She had known him as well, and in all the world it seemed we two had this in common. I have traveled many places, and across many worlds, but the chances of meeting someone whom I share such a connection with is incredibly low given all that my people have been through.

I performed a reading both for this woman, Ilhedith Knox as well as her guide, Kaiden. I think they enjoyed the readings, and the elements gave them good fortunes if I am any judge. Those two will do something important together, BE something important if my guess is correct. Neither of them have yet to fulfill their true destiny, and when they do it will be a great boon to all I am sure.

Ilhedith was very nice to me, and she even said she would speak to me again soon. It is strange to think that I could befriend one of the humans, for their lives are like a passing dream to the many years I have seen, and yet even if her life is like the quick burning of a candle it will burn like the brightest flame I believe. I have learned from my travels not to reject such an offer, for every moment is to be treasured and can enrich your life, your experiences. Who knows, perhaps this is the beginning of something new then, a new Cycle. As with all new beginnings, I will embrace this and see where the road leads me. I cannot fear the Cycle's end or I may potentially miss the most important moments of my life. 

With a sigh and a smile, Mariskka set the quill down and closed the journal. She reached out and took up the worn pouch, turning it over and dumping its contents onto the desk. A number of clear glass cubes that contained sealed water within them tumbled to the desk's surface, each inscribed on the sides with runes in the Draenei tongue. Gently Mariskka picked three of the cubes up and held them in her palm, her eyes closing as a warm blue glow leaked out from between her fingers. She tossed the cubes down, watching them tumble across the desk and finally come to a stop, three runes glowing on their surface showing her own fortune.

Destiny. Disaster. Family.

One of the shaman's eyebrows perked up as she read the runes, surprise crossing her features briefly. She rarely read her own fortune, for it was far easier to interpret the threads of the future when one's own interests and desires didn't interfere with the process. And yet...

"Is destiny to be preventing disaster, protecting family," Mariskka said aloud in Common. "Am not having family, so...vhat is meaning? Is destiny to find family and be protecting from disaster? Is disaster if am having family and is being destiny? Bah! This is vhy am not reading for self, yes!"

With a laugh she shook her head and looked away from the runes for a moment before reaching down to scoop them up. When she did, she paused in stark astonishment, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the runes before her.

Every single cube now showed the symbol for family on every face, even though it only should appear once on one of the nine cubes she had in the pouch. With wide eyes, Mariskka leaned forward and picked up one of the cubes, staring hard at it. The water within it glowed brightly for a moment, and all of the symbols faded from the surfaces except the one that had first shown, Family. 

With a shrug, she reached down and gathered up the other cubes, shoving them back into the worn pouch and not trying to think very hard about it any further. Fortune telling was a difficult business at best, and taking it too seriously would only give one a headache!

As she set the pouch aside and went to go get some sleep, she never noticed that she had accidentally shoved a crystal she used to magically communicate with others into the pouch as well. She never saw the warm glow from the magical fortune telling cubes as those in contact with the crystal pulsed again with the same rune for Family, as if to point towards the importance of those she would speak with through the device.

Mari and the Mogu

The wizened old Pandaren brought the quill across the page in one final stroke, ending the movement with a flourish as he finished the scroll he was working on. With a satisfied sigh, he set the quill down and removed the weights from the corners of the scroll, picking it up before it began to roll and could smear the ink.

As he turned, he saw a dozen eyes watching him eagerly, and he smiled and rose from his chair, holding the scroll out before him. Pandaren children as well as a few older Pandaren watched him with smiles on their faces, several looking at him expectantly.

"Have you come to hear the first reading then?" the old Pandaren lorewalker asked with a laugh. "Very well then! Sit, please, all of you, and I shall tell you the tale of Mari and the Mogu."

As his audience settled down, the lorewalker brought the scroll up before him, his voice steady as he read from it.

Long ago, our lands were hidden away by the mists, the world itself growing to become but a dim memory as we focused on our own people, our own way of life. Then, after centuries, the mists finally parted, and the outsiders came amongst us. 

The outsiders were of many shapes and sizes, many walks of life. Some were fierce warriors, come to our lands to do battle with one another. Others were healers, teachers, and scholars, come to learn of our lands and culture. Regardless of who or what they were, we opened our doors and our homes to them. We taught them of ourselves, and shared with them our tales of wonder. 

They would pass through our village, always on their way to another place or this or that battle. Always in a hurry, and never tarrying long. It was because of this, and some say because of the arrival of the outsiders, that an ancient evil awoke near this very village. Even as strangers walked amongst us, so too did the Mogu stir, sending their emissaries across all of Pandaria.

Many of the listeners began to boo or hiss at this, and the lorewalker merely laughed and shook his head, "Please! Let me finish! The story has only begun my friends!" The crowd settled and he held the scroll up once more, beginning to read aloud again.

The first we heard of the Mogu was when the terrible warriors surrounded our dwelling. Made of terracotta, they were things of legend. Earth and clay given life by stolen spirits and forced to obey the Mogu beyond death itself. They terrified us, their silent, grim faces promising doom to any who dared to disobey. The Mogu who lead them was a fierce warlord, and had his own mystical adviser with him as he stood on a rise overlooking our humble village, loudly proclaiming his lordship over us. He would make us serve, and thus we were his vassals.

Long did we tarry for him, gathering gold and food, knowing all the while that his silent warriors waited for us in the forests just beyond our homes if we dared to disobey. He grew rich and fat while we grew thin and hungry. The outsiders still came to our village now and then, but now we hid away from them, our doors barred until they left; for what would the Mogu do to them if he found them? They would be slain, and it would have been our hospitality that killed them.

This all changed on the night when Mari came to us. Months had passed, and many had begun to despair at our fate. It was late in the day when she arrived, and as was our habit we scrambled to bar our doors and shutter our windows for fear that she would stay.

She was an oddity, even amongst the outsiders, with hooves instead of feet and horns on her head. We would have thought her a demon, if not for her merry greetings as she knocked on each door, looking for someone, anyone to come and talk to her. We dared not, for her fate would be terrible if she stayed.

She was not discouraged, this sprite from the world beyond. Instead of leaving, she decided that we were simply all not home at the same time, and sat in the center of our village. She built a little cooking fire, and sang a song to herself in a language none of us knew. We dared not leave our homes, yet dread grew in our hearts as we heard her merry song, knowing that she was in grave danger.

By the time we gathered the courage to act, it was too late. The ground thundered with the sound of terracotta warriors as they marched into the village, more than a dozen of them surrounded the creature, weapons raised. We peered through cracks in our barricades, watching in horror at what our fear had wrought.

"Surrender to us, and become a slave!" the warriors shouted!

"Are being made of earth!" the hapless creature replied with a smile.

"You will die a thousand deaths this night!" the warriors roared, all charging her at once.

Our eyes closed, our hearts heavy as they converged on her. And then, they simply fell apart, their terracotta bodies cracking as they dissolved, leaving nothing more than a pile of earth where they had stood. In the air their spirits danced, free at last from their master's grasp, and with a great sigh and a pulsing light they were gone.

Our hearts grew light, this outsider had destroyed the warriors somehow! Our windows opened and our doors were unbarred, our village pouring out with great cheering amongst us. And the creature, Mariskka she called herself, simply smiled and laughed and celebrated with us, even though she did not know our cause for joy. She said she was a Draenei, a being from far away and long ago, and we cared not about such details for the moment because she had saved us.

A feast was declared, and all the village began to prepare, Mari's little cooking fire becoming a larger community effort. Ale barrels were tapped, and our finest foods that we had hidden from our Mogu tormentor were taken out and soon the entire village smelled of delicious food and echoed with joyous laughter.

Those listening to the story cheered at this, and the lorewalker chuckled lightly to himself before he continued reading.

But our joy was not to last, for the Mogu's mystic soon was spotted at the edge of the village, making his way towards our feasting. Lightning flashed in his hands and in the air around him, and all in the village drew back, terrified once more. He approached our honored guest, pointing at her and yelling loudly, "You will pay for defying the master!"

Our brave, sweet champion waggled her finger at him, scolding him as she spoke, "Lightning is being dangerous! Being more careful please! Vill be hitting people vith that!"

The mystic's eyes widened, rage claiming him as was the habit of the Mogu. He waved his hands in the air, chanting and shouting, lightning building all around him. Mari, whom some now call Mari the Brave, stood calmly near the fire, her wrist moving as she dropped a small stone on the ground.

Lightning forked from the hands of the mystic, and we all cried out in despair for our poor champion. And yet, when we dared open our eyes, she stood unharmed, the little stone she had dropped having caught the lightning. She bent down, picking it up as if the check on the lightning before tucking it away and shaking her head. She reached into her pouch again, digging for another stone and accidentally dropping one with an 'Oops!'.

The mystic stormed towards her, his eyes blazing with fury as he snatched up the little stone she had dropped. She shook her head and said, "Do not be touching! Vas not meaning to drop that!"

The mystic laughed, greed in his voice as he sneered at her, "This is mine now. Your power is mine and you will suffer at my hands!"

He held the stone out before him, and it glowed, air gushing through it as it sparkled with lightning. He opened his mouth to speak again, and the little stone exploded, blackening his cloths and burning his flesh. He opened his eyes, soot staining him and little fires dancing on his robes before tumbling backwards. When he landed, his breath left him in a puff of smoke.

"Am being sorry!" Mari the Brave replied. "Vas being, how you say, not right one!"

Again the village cheered, our people collecting the mystic and carrying him out into the forest where we left him to sleep off the effects of the explosion. More food was brought forth, and more beer until it was set to be a feast the likes of which we had never seen.

It was then that the Mogu himself came, his thunderous tread announcing his presence ahead of his arrival. We cowered before him as he towered over us, lightning flashing in his eyes, "I am the emissary of the Thunder King. I am one of His chosen ones, and you are slaves to His will. How dare you defy me? How dare you think to hide from Him your riches?"

Fear filled the air, our people once again knowing the yoke of slavery. Our celebration died in that moment, and all cowered away from the Mogu except our visitor. She merely stood by her fire, watching the delicious food cook and shaking her head, "Am not being slave silly, am being Mariskka! Vas telling others this, but are not listening yes? Are being, how you say, not smart."

The Mogu roared at this, stamping his feet and making the very earth shake. He stormed towards our guest of honor, towering over her and yelling down into her face, "YOU DARE TO SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A WAY? YOU ARE AS AN ANT, AND I WILL CRUSH YOU! THESE LANDS AND ALL THAT ARE IN THEM SERVE THE THUNDER KING, AS WILL YOU PUNY THING! ONCE YOU ARE BROKEN THAT IS!"

And with that, he kicked over the feast, the meat falling into the fire and catching ablaze. Mari the Brave watched it, her mouth open in shock. She looked around, seeing as if for the first time how thin we were, how wretched. That he had destroyed some of our food made a tear glisten in her eye, a single drop falling onto the flame. It sizzled there, water meeting fire, her mourning for us made manifest.

The Mogu opened his mouth to gloat over her sadness, when the fire roared up beside her. It curled in the air, cracking like a thousand storms, forming into a shape that had two arms and a body and a very fearsome face. The cooking fire had become a creature of flame, towering over even the Mogu. It reached out, caressing Mari the Brave's face as if to comfort her, and though it was made of flame, she did not burn but continued to look at us sadly.

The Mogu roared, lightning flying from his hands and striking the flames. But lightning does little to fire, and the creature turned its attention from trying to comfort our dear friend Mari to the Mogu that was trying to destroy it. It roared higher, flames as bright as daylight before it crashed down upon the Mogu.

In a moment it was over, the creature burned away to nothing, the flames receding again and once more becoming a cooking fire. Mari the Brave stood beside it, looking at us sadly even as we stared in awe at the burned spot on the ground where the Mogu had once stood.

And then the cheers brought our guest to life, her smile returning as we crowded around her in celebration. In that moment, her sorrow for us was forgotten, and our preparations for our feast resumed. She had freed us from the Mogu, and for that we would throw her the largest banquet the town had ever seen, our hunger sated at last, and our fears conquered.

The lorewalker smiled, lowering the scroll as those listening applauded. He began to carefully roll it up, preserving it as a history record for his town. He had embellished the tale a bit, but it was true enough, and though he was old he could not recount a time when he had been happier, and it was all thanks to their friend, Mari the Brave, whom he had immortalized in his tale.