“I just don’t understand why it has to be her, Iyo.”
“You know just as well as I do that she’s the only one on this entire continent with access to the Circle.”
The twins stepped out of the shadows of the massive Sin’dorei doorway, their hooves clopping on the illustrious marble cobblestones. Leda glared at the woman in front of her, her fingers twitching to grab the large mace at her side.
“Hey big boy,” she crooned.
“Uh... Hi, Druid Plainstrider.”
“Oh tosh, call me Harene,” she slowly slipped her gloves off her hands, finger by finger, “what can I help you with today... ?” the sultry Tauren fished for a name. Iyo broke out in a coughing fit.
“His name’s Iyo and I’m Leda. We need letters sent out to members of the Cenarion Circle.”
Harene smiled predatorily, “Now why didn’t you mention that before honey?” She slid her hands down her sides to rest on her hips. “Who’re these letters off to? Not a girlfriend I hope.” The Tauren slunk over, hips swaying, to stand much too close to Iyo. Leda didn’t think he was breathing anymore; the General’s eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.
Iyo only stammered unintelligibly, gesturing at the carefully folded parchment in his hand. Grumbling, Leda stomped over to a chair and attempted to sign the letter Iyo wrote for her to Asterius. She had briefly mentioned the diary Iyo had found and their unfortunate exile. If Leda was honest with herself, she missed him.
As she was finishing up the crude drawing of a bear that was her signature, a strangled noise caught her attention. Iyo was attempting to peel the druid trainer off of him with no success. She was nearly hanging off his left shoulder, a hand slipped into his chestpiece and her mouth disgustingly close to his ear.
“HEY!” Leda yelled, making them both jump. “Shoo! Get off!” She stomped her foot, the noise echoing in the long empty street and Harene skittered back to her tent. The General snatched Iyo’s letter from his blushing form, pushing both of them into the hussy’s chest. “Deliver them.”
Harene sniffed arrogantly, “To whom?”
“You can read, can’t you? One to Nara Meideros, of Stormwind and the other to Asterius, location unknown. If he can’t be located, leave it in the Nighthaven inn.” Leda got one good last glare in, before grabbing Iyo by the tabard and pulling her still stunned brother behind her. He recovered as they were passing through the gates of the city.
“Do you think-“
“I’m sure she’ll reply this time, Iyo. You know how unreliable the regular post is. The other fourteen letters must’ve just been lost. Stormwind is pretty far from any Horde settlement, after all. Just... have faith in the Circle’s mail system.”
Iyo nodded slowly and sat down on a gold-wrought bench next to his sister, the wooden seat creaking beneath their combined weight. 50 minutes until sundown and their exile from the Horde.
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“Goodbye kitties. Goodbye floating planters. Goodbye green glowing crystals with angry faces. Goodbye fountain. Goodbye see-through silk. Goodbye tavern people! Baladashie Maladorky!” Em snickered to herself as several elves hopped up from the table in outrage. The rogue continued on her way, slinking out the opposite door and nearly tripping on a sleeping drunk. She continued past the warlock coven, which smelled like body odour and watermelon. By this time of day, there would be warlocks sprawled all over the basement room. The high from those funky green crystals was great, but not worth spending extended amounts of time with the freaky little buggers.
“Goodbye giant fountain and goodbye elf chasing the little arcane guardian! Goodbye engineers. Goodbye stairs that are much too wide. Goodbye blacksmiths and miners and smelters (oh my!). Goodbye squirrel. Goodbye Amilei. Goodbye Champion Vranesh and goodbye to your horsie too. Goodbye wooden Alliance dudes.”
Em sighed. She wouldn’t miss Silvermoon at all. She might miss Thunder Bluff, which had lots of high things to jump off. The undead found a dark, out of the way bench and curled up on its hard, wooden planks, her mind drifting into memories of someone else’s childhood.
“Emi! That’s not fair!” Ami’s perfect blonde locks settled around her delicate face, her little hands on her non-existent hips in a dead-on imitation of their mother. Emilei grinned and continued flying her doll around the square. “Dollies can’t fly! And Garona especially can’t fly!”
“Says who?” Emilei taunted, sticking her little pink tongue out. “Tharsus said he saw Garona fly once and Tharsus never ever fibs!”
“He does too! No one’s seen Garona ever!” Amilei stomped her foot petulantly, her own brave knight dolly abandoned mid-fountain bath.
The rogue smiled softly to herself, almost able to see stubborn, self-righteous Amilei standing by the fountain in front of her. Maybe she’d miss Silvermoon a little bit.
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Two pairs of eyes cautiously peeked around the doorframe – one pair a softly glowing green, the other a steady, solid brown. “Just as I remember, Brock,” she murmured, stepping into the chaos of the dorm common room. Posters of various elven celebrities, singers, models were plastered on the walls. A recording of the Tauren Chieftans blared from down the hall. Brock covered his ears. Ranger trainees were sprawled around the common room, lounging on various couches and pillows, their animal companions nearby.
She spotted Nissa quickly, her bright blonde hair up in the delicate bun she preferred. Not a hair was out of place. Ren blew a strand of her own dark hair out of her eyes, only to glare at it as it resettled next to her nose. Her baby sister was sitting amongst the largest circle of couches, surrounded by nearly half a dozen beautiful, confident, pre-attuned hunters. Ren sighed, of course Nissa was popular.
“Ren!”
The little blonde hopped up, disturbing the sleeping brown bear next to her. Five other pairs of eyes (and various animals) turned to stare at the visitor. Ren could feel her skin begin to itch. She always got itchy when she was the centre of attention. “Hey Nissa,” she smiled weakly, “Which room is yours?”
In the end, Bubbles led the way and his bear butt was a comforting sight for Ren as Nissa prattled on about her exciting classes. “Marksmanship is really tough Ren! I can hit the target, but not the middle part. My instructor tells me to keep practicing, but I don’t have time! And then in Care of Animal Companions, we learnt a bunch of ways to bond with our familiars and how to create a working relationship, instead of a master/slave one.” Ren inadverdantly shuddered. She remembered Care of Animal Companions. They had forced her to ‘bond’ with a stray cat, as none of the available animals appealed to her. She was teased about it for months afterwards. “Oh! Here we are!” They stopped at a door near the end of a hallway, covered in notes and messages from friends. A flyer for a party in the nearby Arcane Academy dorms was pinned front and centre, on top of several other posters. Memories of bad music, low lighting and Sei’s horrible mustache slipped through Ren’s mind from her first awkward party.
Nissa opened her door and the pink nearly blinded Ren. There was a pink bedspread, pink silk curtains, pink rugs on the floor – the ceiling lamp was covered over with red paper, giving the room a pink glow. Even poor Bubbles’ floor pillow was pink and (eugh) embroidered with mageroyal flowers. “Like it?” She asked, gesturing to the room.
“Uh... yeah, it’s nice,” Ren smiled, forcibly, and perched carefully on the edge of the round, pink bed. Nissa jumped on next to her, grabbing a heart-shaped pillow. Brock was busy investigating the top of Nissa’s dresser, which was covered in cosmetics.
“So what brings you into town? Your last letter said you’d be gone for awhile doing guard duty on Quel’Danas.”
“Well, we were there. For a bit.”
“So, why’re you back? I thought you said at least a month. It’s only been, like, a couple weeks.”
“It’s complicated Nissa, I –“
“Wait! I heard about this! You were there – the battle – Kil’jaeden. Oh my gods! Are you okay Ren?” Nissa gasped, spotting the bandage on Ren’s arm. “What happened?!”
“It’s nothing, Nissa. Look, I’m gonna be away for awhile again.”
“Another mission? But you just got back and you’re hurt!”
“I don’t have a choice. This is what being in the military is – Thrall says ‘Go’ and all we can do is ask where.”
“Where this time then? Will you write?”
“Of course I’ll write, Nissa.”
Behind the sheer, silk curtains, Ren could see the sun disappearing behind the city wall. She was running out of time. “Nissa, listen to me. Whatever you hear, whatever people say about me – just don’t listen ok? Study hard and no matter what happens, remember I love you best.”
Nissa looked worried and she clutched the little heart pillow tighter to her chest, “I love you best too Ren.” In the distance, a horn blew and Ren grabbed Brock’s hand, ignoring the ridiculous make up on his face and ran out the door, slamming her shoulder into the doorjamb on the way out.
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The mysterious sweepers around the city refused to show themselves. Berzhula knew they were there. Brooms didn’t just hop up and start sweeping where he came from. Silvermoon was kind of wonky though. For one thing, everyone seemed to walk really really slowly.
The sun was nearly set, but there were no sentries hanging around the big fountain for once. The little mage edged over to the water. His empty eyes looked over his right shoulder, then his left and seeing no one a gleeful smile broke out across his skeletal features. His fingers tingled and crude ice sculptures sprung up in front of him in various compromising positions. Giggles could be heard around the courtyard, echoing off the stone walls, getting louder as the pairings and positions got more and more ridiculous.
“Maintain order within these walls”
The Arcane Guardian had snuck up behind the little undead while he was chuckling to himself. A half dozen arcane energy orbs flew from the sentry’s fingertips, shattering the ice sculptures. Berzhula pouted, sitting down on the fountain’s edge, arms crossed across his chest. “Stupid sentries,” he mumbled before the bright light encompassed his body and he appeared outside the city gates, startling a nearby doe.
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In a swirl of purple silk, Cloe flew out of their tower with her final warning (“Not a moment after sundown!”) still hanging in their ears. Down the street, her cloth slippers echoed in the silence of dusk. From her spot at the head of the long mess table, Doogie sighed and continued the slow, methodical cleaning of her armour.
At the other end of the table, Mukesh had begun the same slow and seemingly therapeutic process. The blood came off easily, regardless of its colour, so it just took time. Time to think, time to relax, time to sink back and wander through the endless plains of one’s own mind.
Both Forsaken and Tauren were silent, each respecting the other’s privacy and each eager to spend some time alone. The linen cloth in Doogie’s hand slowed, the circular motion almost coming to a stop as the warrior slipped back into her old life...
Their new little home at the end of the lane. The flower boxes beneath the front windows. The wreath on the front door. The lantern at the end of the walk. Her mother’s favourite Gilnean rug in the sitting room. The tiny bedroom upstairs. Furniture he’d made. The quiet, calm satisfaction of a clean house, a day well spent. The smell of dinner cooking all day. Fresh buns, his favourite. Meeting on the step, a kiss hello. Picking wax from his cheek. Marcus.
“Uh Doogie? Its Mukesh – not Marcus.”
The Forsaken didn’t answer, only nodded and returned to her work, moving from the breastplate to her shield. Drusilla Camblewick was married to Marcus Camblewick, a candlestick maker in Andorhal, for a mere two weeks when the plague hit. Marcus and Drusilla Camblewick were both dead.
Mukesh nodded back at Doogie from across the table. He had nearly finished his pauldrons. “Being exiled isn’t so bad,” he started, his low voice resonating in the empty tower, “The others, they’ll miss their families, their loved ones, but the two of us? The city isn’t any more home to us than anywhere else.” The two soldiers sat in silence, their respective resurrections sitting heavy in the air. The Tauren moved on to his belt, his thumb caressing the carefully crafted buckle. He could still remember the day he made it, years ago, in another life.
He could barely lift the blacksmith hammer over his head, but somehow managed it time and again, the metal striking against his would-be buckle in a shower of sparks.
“Whoa! Careful where you’re swinging that Mukie! Your mother would kill me if you chipped a hoof!” the friendly blacksmith of Freewind Post chuckled at the little Tauren, so determined to smith a buckle. The other children at the small trading town avoided him and the rumours regarding his parentage had spread to even the smallest of Tauren. It wasn’t hard to surmise that his father was anything but a Grimtotem and considering the soft, cream coloured fur of his mother.... Well even little Mukie himself began to believe the stories.
“Almost there little guy! One more will do it!” The smith already had tongs and a bucket of water waiting and before the hammer left his eager little fingers, the buckle was hissing in the pail. “Not too bad at all for a first try...”
Mukesh beamed from ear to ear, carefully inspecting his new buckle. “Fanks Elder Brighthorn!” he lisped, clutching it to his chest and running home as fast as his hooves could take him.
His vacant, glowing white eyes stared back at him in his freshly polished buckle, so different from the eyes of his childhood. The death knight’s soft sigh fogged up the metal and he set the buckle aside.
-----------------------------------------
Dusk was sacred in Eversong. The leaves were stained gold and pink in the sun’s last rays and everything was serene. The birds were silent, the breeze was still and not even the squirrels dared to dart along the grass. Only the soft, padded footsteps of his red hawkstrider, Melinda, dared to disrupt the reverent tranquility.
A deep breath and a small smile graced his elegant features upon arriving at the Eversong docks, taken back from the wretched over a year ago. The salty, sweet air reminded him of his childhood and Seishougen easily steered his mount over to the familiar orange and red sails of his father’s ship. The mage dropped a handful of old breadcrumbs onto a shipping crate and dismounted to leave his happily occupied hawkstrider far from the water she so despised.
“Sei my boy! Come aboard, we just docked an’ could use a hand!” The mage cringed, remembering his days of hefting heavy crates around.
“Hi Pa,” he mumbled, hanging his head and then blinking aboard the ship.
“I thought I smelled that odd magic whatsit, but yer brother didn’t believe me, didja Fangon?”
An older, wearier and more hardened picture of Seishougen stuck his head up from the hold, “Naw I didn’ , I says ‘Its jus’ them mana thistle patches on the eas’ side of the harbour’ but naw, Pa didn’ believe me nothing.” The mage cringed, he didn’t smell like thistle did he? It had been years since he last had...
“What’re you doin in town again so soon boy? Get kicked outta tha army yet?”
“Ah no-“
“Here, don’t just stand there boy, carry somethin’” Grumbling like a recalcitrant teenager, Seishougen glared at several heavy-looking milk barrels before grinning and levitating them easily ashore.
“Didn’ bring yer girlyfriend I see. Have a fight? I tell you boy, I used to just lick yer –“
“No! No, I didn’t bring her Pa – no, no she’s not my girlfriend! She’s my commanding officer for Pete’s sake.”
“Ya ya, call it what you will. Whatever happened to that sweet li’l thing you showed up with at Midsummer that one year? Redhead, cute li’l ass I could jus’-“
“Pa....” Sei whined, his face aflame, “Ambassador Dawnsinger lives in Orgrimmar now. Remember, Sin’dorei representative to the Horde? She doesn’t have time for me anymore – we’ve both grown up.” He set his jaw, his face carefully impassive in the vibrant joy of the sunset.
Captain An’telas merely shrugged off his son’s fussiness, tossing another sack of dried swift thistle onto the dock. “So, jus’ come to dear ol’ Pa for advice on how to bed that uh... filly of yours?” His face twisted into what Sei suspected was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but ended up horribly tinged with reluctant curiousity.
“No, Pa. I don’” he coughed, attempting to retain his cultured tones and consciously refusing to slip into his old accent, “I came to see if you needed any help unloading.”
“Always son! Magic summore of them there heavy flour sacks. An’ be gentle! They sell ‘em by weight an’ if you make a flour cloud with ‘em they’ll dock my pay!”
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“Missy!” Cloe yelped as she was pounced on by a massive golden lynx and dissolved shortly afterward into infectious giggles. “Missy! I missed you so much!” she crooned to the large cat, currently pinning her to the walk and covering her face with a wet, rough tongue. “Missy get up! Missy that’s enough!” The grownup, battle hardened priest was reduced to her twelve year old state and soon after was rescued by her father.
“I’m so sorry Clothilde! We weren’t expecting you so the gate was left open... You know how she gets cooped up in the yard.”
“It’s ok Dad,” she chuckled, taking his hand as he helped her up from the ground, wiping her wet face on her sleeve. “I wanted to surprise you and Mom. Is she home?”
“I’m sorry sweetheart, you just missed her. She left for Marthalia’s just two seconds ago. Poor woman isn’t doing so well in her old age. Your mother went over to do some cleaning for her.” He smiled lovingly at his daughter, holding out his arm and walking her to the house, Missy trailing eagerly behind.
“Tea, my dear?”
“Yes please, Dad!” Cloe called from the front room. She had reclaimed her favourite couch and was enjoying a (somewhat awkward) cuddle with a very grown up Missy. The fading light of day streamed in through the window and the furniture cast long shadows. Cloe didn’t mind and Missy was so soft and warm she was loathe to get up and light any candles.
“Brooding in the dark are we? Not reverted back to your darker self have we?” Her father winked and set down the tea tray, ignoring the blush on Cloe’s face. Neither wanted to remember the horridly depressing poetry she would write in her dark room. Or the time she had her hair spelled black. Or the lack of colour in her wardrobe. Or the –
“Still 3 sugar, no milk?”
“Yes please!” she smiled and leaned over a content Missy to accept the delicate cup.
“What brings you by unannounced? Not in any trouble I hope?” he chuckled.
“No no, just was in the area and had some time off....” the priestess sighed and with a reluctant glance out the window, began to disentangle herself from the sleeping lynx.
“Gone so soon, love?” Cloe only nodded in response, setting her tea cup on the low table quietly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be back in no time! Come now, don’t be upset.”
“I love you Dad,” she whispered in the safe circle of his arms. Her tears fell on his collar. She let herself out.
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