Journal of the Rising Sun Fellowship (IC #3)

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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((Number three! This is exciting!

Journal thread #1

Journal thread #2

OOC thread #1

OOC thread #2

OOC thread #3

Write on, minions! I don't have anything hugely clever for this intro, so... I suppose I'll put up the last journal entry from the previous thread.))

Kreindis Blazestride

Kreindis walked through the streets of Silvermoon, searching for two things: His love, and a jewelers shop, or any shop, really, that sold a ring like the one he had imagined he would buy for her, to propose to her with. So far, he had yet to.

Suddenly, a sign caught his eye. It read: "Silvermoon City Jewelers: Anything you wish for and more!" It was written in Thalassian, and purple letters. There was blue around it. Kreindis walked in, hoping this shop might have what he wanted. The man at the counter called, "Welcome, sir! How may I help you?" Kreindis moved to the counter. "I was looking for a ring. A purple one, to be precise." The man nodded, "I believe we have one. Follow me!" He led him through various displays, until they reached one at the end of the shop.

The ring inside was beautiful. Purple, with a mix of a silvery color, and a perfectly cut blue gem was placed on it. It was almost exactly what Kreindis had wanted, but it was close enough. "How much is it?" he asked, and the man replied, "Five-hundred gold, or something worth such." Kreindis thought over the price. He wasn't exactly the wealthiest Paladin, but it was exactly what he wanted. He would have to pay with gold, as he had nothing to trade otherwise. Finally he decided.

"I'll take it." He opened his coin bag and dug out the five-hundred coins asked for, handing them to the other man, who removed a small gold key from his pocket, which he unlocked the display with. He took the ring out, and handed it to Kreindis. "Anything else you wish to buy?" He had already begin to walk away. "No, thanks."

He exited the shop, and began running to his room at the inn. Once he got there, he began to think. "I have the ring... I know where I'm proposing... now I just need to find out what I'm going to say..."
Kel'tira Sunblaze

I am indeed half the woman I used to be.

The irony strikes me.

I am thin, and at the party the other night, the brief dances with Cy left me exhausted. Drained.

The sickness has taken a toll I never expected it could on me. I suppose that, slowly, I am regaining my strength, but it does and will take time for me to reach the level of physical fitness I once was at.

I do not mean to sound vain, but I was once the strongest of my House.

And now? I am but a shadow.

I may, however, have to take Gear up on his offer.

Bounty hunting...
A few sheets of parchment, and faded black ink

I am finding myself more in "like" with Pandaria each passing day. I know Karamia does not feel the same way, but I feel a certain peace within me as I go about the area. The people, the food, the fishing, and the land have captured my heart. I love it here. I could make a home here and settle down here.

I know I have not yet explored all it has to offer, and yet I cannot shake the feeling I have of this place. My soul has been in torment for quite some time with the blood of all my victims, and I fear my life of death and destruction just doesn't suit me any more. Am I a tamed tiger? Has marriage changed me? Maybe. But a part of it is Pandaria. It gives me hope and a sense of peace I have never felt before. Perhaps...someday.
Kel'tira Sunblaze

A strange thought crossed my mind this morning. Perhaps it is the dreams I have been having, now that I have been staying in the Shrine of Two Moons. Perhaps it is the horrors I have witnessed, and still witness, in this place. Perhaps the beauties.

I cannot help but wonder about Mia and Cyaer, and what will happen to them together, or how they will deal with it. I want both of them to stay safe, I want both of them to understand that they are unique, and special, because of the things they have faced down together.

I have faith that Cyaer will do the right thing, and tell her everything, good and ill, but I worry that it will set them further apart than they already are. I am strangely afraid that the lure of innocence from his lover and wife will be too great for Cyaer, and he will chose to omit our... encounters...

If it came to it, I would tell Mia what had gone on between her husband and I myself, consequences be damned. She needs to know. She needs to realize that he made the choice to come back to her himself.

(Tears splash on the pages)

I could, and would, relive my mistakes for my people. My poor, misguided people who push me away, the people I have done so much for, and continue to do so much for, whether they know it or not. It is gold out of my own personal stores that goes towards maintaining our Hall. It is what I do that they cannot grasp. It is the things I still work towards for them, even on the other side of the world.

Do they know that they are the thoughts that force me to move on through the pain? Do they know?

(A number of pages are skipped, and left blank)

The Hall is quiet today, a mixed blessing. It would have been wonderful to see the others, but at the same time, it leaves me here alone with my thoughts. Blissfully alone.

I drown in time. Days, weeks, months. Has it really almost been a year?

It seems like so much longer. It seems like oh so much longer.

The Hall echoes with silence, the stillness strange, but I remember. I remember the first time we gathered here, Kara standing up to speak. I remember the last time I saw her, crystal clear, standing in Hillsbrad, looking happier than she should have had any right to be, if only she had known what would transpire.

I remember Tyrael. Fiery Tyrael.

Traly... Poor girl...

I remember days we would meet and laugh together, share in each others' gayety and laugh. I remember tears shed here, lives changed here. The night Nic and I spoke together, really, for the first time. The night I saw him for who he is to me now, for the first time.

That first kiss shared here. His arms around me, his chin on my shoulder.

The details that come back to me are amazing.

I remember the day we learned of Tyrael's death. Ang'iel's face. The pain in her voice. The self-loathing. I remember the day I met Cyaer.

I remember Tislina finding me here, and our rushing out to find Kreindis. I remember the broken body in Undercity, and the desperate healing.

I remember my people, the good times and the bad. I remember the freedom, and the pain.

I remember Velin. I remember Viragona. I remember all the pain and sorrow I have faced.

I remember the day they made me their leader. I remember the vow I made to all of them, "I will always lead as best I can."

I remember the day we met in the Hall of Blood, after my concussion. I remember the words of encouragement welling up in my voice, and I remember their salutes.

I remember mornings with Auxi, scones and tea.

I remember the day we had Cy's rune altered... The single, bittersweet kiss we shared. A stolen moment that was not mine.

I remember the tears.

I remember the laughter.

I remember Solorin offering to deal with Velin's child. I remember Cyaer offering the same in a different way. I remember the night I made up my mind. The days spent in the chairs here, sleeping. I remember the fights with my lover, and the gentle words.

(Half of this page is covered in tears)

I recall the days spent here, and elsewhere, wading through paperwork. I remember the days I have sat here and sung the songs of our people, my people, and my own words.

But most of all, I remember the days I have sat in this Hall, tears in my eyes, or laughter, and I am glad to have had them.
A few sheets of parchment, and faded black ink

I met Karamia in Dawn's Blossom, and we chatted about several subjects. Me, the Fellowship, those who had died in the Fellowship, the past and present...all over several cups of hot tea. I do believe I'm becoming addicted to the tea.

I explained to Karamia that I didn't want to force myself upon her. I love her so much, but to her, I am a stranger...and so I move slowly, and take my time now.

She asked about the Fellowship, I was telling her of the four tenets of the fellowship, and I couldn't remember it. But she did - Valor, Compassion, Faith, and Honor. Her memory comes back to her in bits and pieces, I'm so proud of her, and the memories she has remembered. She has come so far...yet she has so far to go, I will aid her in every way I can.

She wasn't sure about remembering the painful memories, but I reminded her that it is all our experiences that are the sum of who we are...the life lessons that lead us and aid us. The good, and the painful ones. A part of me dreads telling her of Kel'tira and I. Will it alienate her from me...will she come to a conclusion different than she did before? It hurts my heart to think about reliving it all over again.
Journal of Karamia Dawnstrike Sunblaze

This journal has been returned to me and I am shocked at the things I find here. Memories of the love and the pain. It is an old Journal, dating from when I first became a member of the Fellowship. My cousin Karavaelia was the one who started it. Along with a few others who wanted to bring back the Glory of the Sindorei.

She was so happy in her letters to me, telling me of these courageious people who worked together, supporting each other. I remember feeling a bit jealous of the attention she was getting.

Then the letter, the courier....telling the family of Kara's death. I was devastated and in my grief I went to them to see what had happened to her. What I found astounded me.

They were grieving over her death as if she was a part of their family. There were people there who even argued on continuing her legacy. The greatest shock was them asking me to join them. How could I refuse? In spite of the misgivings of our family I did join them and began my training as a paladin.

As I page through this Journal and find tidbits of information and realize how much the Fellowship meant to me I feel tears running down my face. I have neglected them. I was helping to protect some of the junior members from some warlock. And now she still runs free, who knows what evil she has committed or will commit?

Most of all as I finish the last pages I realize how much I loved this rogue, Cyaer. In spite of his infidelity, in spite of the betrayal of my trust by Kel'Tira...I still was part of the Fellowship and working to repair the damage done.

After all this time, I know now that we are never perfect. Expecting perfection is unrealistic. I love Cyaer as he is, because he loves me and suffers for the wrong he did. I return to Dawn's Blossum with a renewed sense of purpose. We will help the Pandaren people, all of us who are able to fight to bring this troubled continent peace will do so.

I look forward to speaking to Cyaer and letting him know all is well. There are still gaps in my memories, but they may come in time. It does not matter, my mind is set and I will be the wife he is longing to hold. I will speak to Kel'Tira and offer my help as much as I can. though her House troubles will have to be taken care of by her...I can only do so much.
Lyrilia walked down the stone street toward the inn, her new furred armor uncomfortably warm even for the cool of night. She had stopped by the blacksmith earlier, her weapons shined and armor now clean and repaired clanked less as she walked. Reaching the inn she entered, her plated footsteps muffled slightly as she walked across the rug, nodding curtly to the innkeeper as she passed. Entering her room, she smiled. No new letters from her cousin sat on her desk, everything was exactly as she had left it, in order. In order. Most things were in order now, except for the bits of excitement Northrend had provided her. She was glad to be out of that place, even if it was just for a short while, a small break before she would soon have to return.

Placing her bag on the bed, she emptied it, most of her belongings wet from the snow that had sneaked in and melted. Her journal was relatively unaffected, only the bottom wrinkled from water damage. Setting things out on the desk to dry, she sat on her bed, journal open on her lap and back against the wall.

I am glad to be out of that frozen wasteland, remnants of the scourge shambling across the frosty lands waiting for me to clean up after others who have moved on. Some of the things they ask me to do, or to collect disgust me, but I put up with it only with the hope of leaving sooner. I have some time in Silvermoon before they send me back, to a less frozen place this time, yet still partly scourge-infested. Oddly enough, I seem to have silenced my cousin’s letters finally…but speaking of odd things…

Pandaren. They walk the streets amongst us, in Orgrimmar and other such Horde cities…as well as Alliance. I have no desire to speak with them, or learn of why they are here; I just know I do not trust them. Any race with people in the Alliance is not to be trusted by my standards, no matter how many times I hear of how the Warchief has assured they will remain loyal to us, or other such things I have heard. Rumors. That is all I know of these strange people, rumor people have passed on to me or I have overheard. For the time being, I have no desire to learn anything more of them, I will not be persuaded to.

I hope Alenthis is doing well, and not taking any more of those risks of his leaving his hiding spot. I worry about him…once he gets out of there, what if he was to run into Solorin? Or other Fellowship members? Has Kel’tira spoken to the others about Him? I have not spoken to him, or much of anyone else for that matter, in some time…but I still worry. I have been quite busy in Northrend and I assume I will be just as busy once I return.

~Lyrilia Dawnblade.
The woman with the brown hair shifted in her bed. One hand reached out and found the space next to her empty. He was gone. With a sigh she rolled over onto her back and rubbed a hand over her face. He had been gone for several days now—a product of his position with the horde.

She lay there motionless for a while longer before tossing off the covers and slipped out of the bed. Lighting a candle, she settled at a wooden desk and started writing in a journal.

(New entry in a light green leather journal etched with a tree)

I have to wonder if I have ever been able to sleep through the night. Ever since I woke up in the hospital, a continuous night’s sleep has always eluded me. Was I this way before or is this something from the blow to my head that put me out cold for two weeks?

Sol is gone; to where, I am not entirely certain but the horde is probably behind it. It is an unsettling feeling and one that I can sympathize with. But it cannot be helped. I understand duty – mine and his – and just pray that he comes home in one piece. The good news is that solitude is something that I have been accustomed to and I will manage on my own quite well.

My time in Pandaria has been enjoyable, but coming home has reminded me of all the things that I have been missing since journeying to that far off land. Perhaps I will contact Kel tomorrow morning and see if she is free for tea and scones. I have been looking for Nicias, but have not heard anything on where he is or what he is doing. I think he is back in Northrend but I cannot say for certain.

What strikes me is that when he left again, he didn’t tell Kel where he was going; it seems that he just left without word to anyone. I have not mentioned this curious fact to Kel, but then, she has probably thought of it herself.

Of course, my own husband has set off without word to where he was going. I can accept that there will be times that he will have to go and I cannot know where or why. I can only hope that he does not disappear like Nic has.
A few sheets of parchment, and faded black ink ...continuing on the same sheet -

I went to rest and sometime in the night the nightmare returned. I can only call it that as the repercussions of that "dream" would make my life a nightmare. I am not sure if it is my own doubts in myself, or if I am reading something into Karamia's movements and speech...but I'm feeling like I'm losing her.

The "dream" is vivid, and hurts my heart to review it, but she believes she cannot trust me after what she has remembered of my infidelity. And wants nothing to do with me. Have I lost my Karamia for good this time? Don't I deserve it? I mean, I don't deserve her heart is breaking and I find it hard to breathe. The other shoe has finally fallen and it's not the way I wanted it to be. Gods, I still love her so much, what am I going to do?

(Tears appear to have fallen on the page from here.)
The warrior studied the dress lying across her bed, a large tear visible in the folds of smooth red fabric, still wearing the embersilk gown from the night before. Throwing her hands up in frustration, she turned on her heels to face the desk, pulling out a quill and sitting down.

Just when I had thought my cousin had had enough of me, just when I thought she’d leave me alone she sent one of her...’friends’ to bring me to where she is staying in Silvermoon. I received a letter from Alen, inviting me to a ball and I was quite late because of my cousin and her antics… She seemed to feel the need to inform me of the death of her friend, and although she did not say it, I know she thinks I did it and soon may accuse me. Perhaps that is why she lent me a dress…so I would have to go see her again to return it. I shall have to think up quite the story for I have ripped it by accident. It snagged on my weapon rack as I walked past it…

The warrior turns to glare at her weapons rack, then back to her journal, writing swiftly.

The rest of the night was much better though…despite all the Alliance. I met Alenthis in Orgrimmar and he took me to the ball…it was in Hyjal underneath that tree, by that glowing was quite beautiful…so beautiful. The whole thing was rather hard for me though. There were many Alliance, some Alen seemed to know. I held my tongue around them, choosing my words carefully, but I hope they realize if we met under other circumstances, I would most certainly not go to such extents to...’behave.’

I did find out some...interesting information. The human we spoke to appears to know that…high elf…which just gives me all the more reason not to trust her. I have no problem saying I have lost a small bit of respect for Kel in her letting Cyndine join the fellowship. It is like her suggesting we pair up with the Alliance to me….I do not care much for the Warchief and other such Horde matters, but the Alliance remain my enemies, and it will take much convincing for me to befriend one.

Lyrilia presses her quill to the paper; the smile that had spread across her face at what she was about to write faded quickly. Lifting the quill from the page, a large splotch of ink left behind on the paper, she thought for a moment before pressing it down again.

I have just realized something. And I do not like it one bit.
Kreindis sat at the small table in his room at Wayfarer's Rest. The door was locked. His ice blue journal was open on the table, and a blank page was opened to. He held a quill in his left hand, and after awhile, he began to write.

Three weeks... and now the fourth begins. It has been three weeks since I last was with Tislina. I miss her so much, and I cannot help but be worried sick about her. I have not heard from her in any ways, either.

I hope she is well... When I see her again I will most likely will propose to her, if we go to our spot together, as I have planned. If not then, whenever we do go. Until then I will wait patiently for her return, and maybe search for her, and call over guildstone for her as well...
The warrior walked along the beach, her feet sinking slightly into the soft, dry sand as she walked, the ocean water lapping at the shoreline a few feet to her right. The next evening she would be leaving Silvermoon, and returning to Northrend. She was determined to enjoy her last two days without anyone ruining her good mood. So far she had accomplished that. Her skirt swished through the grass and small shrubs around the foot of a tree, its trunk twisting upward and splitting into two large branches, providing a nice amount of shade for anyone wishing to sit and watch the water. Her favourite spot and it had served her well for many years. The tree’s barks was rough, yet smooth enough for you to lean on. Just the right amount of grass surrounded its trunk, allowing you to sit in the grass, with your feet in the sand, and your back against the trunk…

Dropping her bag to the ground, she sat and leaned against the tree, pulling her leather shoes off and placing her feet in the sand. The water sparkled in the sun, and foamed as it beat into the shore, leaving behind little bits of the ocean…

The past few days have gone well, although it appears to have not gone quite as well for others. For the most part, I do not care. I have many of my own troubles to deal with and can only wonder why few have sprung up, leaving me to enjoy my time in Silvermoon for once. I have thought it best to write a letter to my brother in this time while I am in a good mood, in hopes it will not turn out as volatile as my other attempts. I wish to have nothing to do with my cousin anymore, and I may send my brother the dress to bring back to her.

I shall be returning to Northrend tomorrow evening, with few troubles as I have forgotten what had upset me a few days ago. I have made myself forget as it is not worth worrying over. I will be stationed in Sholazar Basin for a short amount of time, and then I will be shipped off to wherever else they may need me. I cannot wait to return here again, where everything seems to be in order for me, such a contrast to the trouble I came back to before.

I spoke a bit to Tislina the other day; I may make a friend of her yet. I spoke to her of Alen, my cousin, and that one High Elves’ human friend I met. She appeared to be upset over her missing lover, and I offered to help should he be captured again. Perhaps it is those few things she said, that one thing more than others…that eased my worries a tiny bit less, and that one thing or two perhaps, that earned a bit of my respect. I am not entirely sure…but I will not befriend that High Elf as she has, nor accept it as Kel has. That will take much, much more.

Perhaps...I shall write two letters, as there are things that could make this time better. I may even write three….

I am becoming too friendly. Perhaps returning to Northrend shall fix this, I am not sure I like it however good for other people it may be.

She placed her journal beside her, open, so it may dry. Her bag was packed with food and other things, so she may spend the day at her tree, and return to Silvermoon at night. The tree was beautiful at night…
From the Journal of Cyaer Sunblaze:

Karamia and I were in Dawn's Blossom, when she said she wanted to go someplace private to talk. On the one hand I was open to being alone with Karamia and talking. We had done that so many times before. On the other hand, I felt a cold chill run through me.

I lead her down to the small pond outside of the village, and we sat down side by side near the water. Karamia had received her old journal, and read through it. She wanted to talk about what she had read. And she told me she also read about Kel and I. She told me she loved me, she had just realized it, and kissed me.

We kissed and decided that the bank of a pond was too public for our amorous kissing, and we went to the inn to explore our feelings for one another.

"We are not perfect, and yet together we are so good." I found that my wife had forgiven me yet again, and my insecure dreams were unfounded. I'm beginning to trust Karamia's good sense and judgement more and more. I don't deserve her, but I am thankful she loves me and she's in my life. By the light, I'll be the best husband to her!
The sound of the wind in the leaves of the Jade Forest was a background that suited the armored figure that stalked through the trees. The wooded edge of the beach served to hide her well enough, and above the sound of the waves, wind, and rain, no one was likely to hear her even if she had been jumping around.

The day was surprisingly dreary. Not an altogether unpleasant fact for the faceless figure, but yet, not entirely what she had been hoping for. The rain could be turned to suit her needs, however. Digging a hole in the wet sand with a plated toe, the figure tipped her faceplate towards the ground contemplatively, and then turned, pacing carefully towards the edge of the tree’s sheltering limbs.

Staring out at the beach was no challenge, nor a difficulty, for the woman in the white and red armor. The scene she saw through her all-concealing faceplate was one of controlled chaos, and a dangerous beauty. The storm that whipped the air and rain into a frenzy around her had not left the ocean’s waves untouched, and the booming crash of the surf reached her just as another peal of thunder shook the sky.

Standing still, the woman considered, for an instant, the wisdom of plate armor and salt water, then shook it off, she had yet to be struck by lightning in all her years. Frowning behind her faceplate, she readjusted her helmet slightly, checking the straps on her armor for the hundredth time that morning, and settled to the sand in the shade of a storm-tossed tree.

What was I thinking? Taking Gear up on his offer seemed a good idea at the time… but I am struck by the number of things that could now go wrong. Lightning. The storm. What if the mark does not show? What if they are delayed, or change courses to avoid the cape?

The woman rose with a graceful motion that belied the shaking in her hands and that same shiver in her heart and stomach as she peered through the foliage, her shield on her back and her mace within easy reach on her belt. They had come. The ship had reached its destination after hours of waiting.

The three-masted ordeal wheeled wildly in the storm, the wind catching the half-furled sails with a vengeance. A murmured word escaped the woman in the shadows of the trees as the crew of the vessel struggled to right her, to bring her into the cove where the huntress had been told they would sink anchor for the night.


It was with a small smile under her mask that she slipped out into the storm, hugging the edge of the woods still, but knowing that her light armor would be hard to pick out in the sand and the rain. When she reached the edge of the cliff overlooking the most sheltered part of the bay, she noted with relief that the ship, the Darkened Bough by the paint on the side, had successfully gained the cove, and that her crew was having a much easier time wrestling her in to the sheltered segment.

The ship could have been sunk, the job could have been finished like that, but the tall armored figure had no desire to plunge in to the certainly frigid water to retrieve the heads.

Watching carefully and alertly, the woman flexed her fingers in her gloves, already feeling the bone cracking under her mace, not a pleasant sensation all together. She was set, steeled for this job, but did she plan on enjoying it? Not entirely. It was indeed a distraction, but a dangerous distraction for her. Less dangerous than some, but still, not without its risks.

Settling into the brush on the cliff edge, and the careful blind she had constructed the day before, the armed figure folded heavily armored arms across a plated chest. Waiting. Hours passed, and day slipped into night, the two almost indistinguishable in the storm.

Thus the real work begins…

The mask concealed her face just as the plate helmet protected her physically, so too did it protect her identity. She knew she would garner yet more enemies from this. She knew she would be forced to stay on her toes yet more than she already did.

But still, she was here, the cold fire in her eyes behind her visor testament, if there were any who could see it, to her determination.

It was about two hours later that she rose again, having watched the crew drink themselves into a stupor while playing dice through her spyglass. As silently as a plated figure can move in the undergrowth, she made her way down the hidden path she had discovered on her scouting trips, careful to remove her footprints behind her.

Never too careful.

Gaining the beachhead, she stopped for a moment, crouched in the shadows, and produced her spyglass again, peering through it at the ship, still scoured by the rain, still tossed by its half –furled sails. Not a single guard stood on the deck, not that she had expected one, after watching them.


With the silently spoken word, she rose to her feet, moving swiftly and carefully across the wet sand. Glancing at the rowboat on the shore, she almost laughed aloud, but held her tongue. The first test.

The man with the boat was entirely sober, yet posed little opposition to the silent figure that took him by surprise. His Alliance tabard was stripped off of his body and donned by the woman who had killed him. Silently, she hefted his body over one shoulder, carefully avoiding watching his head, where the fractured skull leaked blood and other clumps of matter and liquid.

Securing the belt, the woman dropped the body into the waves, the storm-tossed sea swallowing the man quickly. Turning back, the huntress kicked sand over the trail of blood and brains that marked her path with the body from the beach. Equally efficiently, she dunked her blood-stained mace into the ocean, cleaning it effectively, and slipping it back into her belt.

For a moment, she struggled with the boat, working to overturn it before stepping back, breathing heavily. Growling a curse, she set her shoulder against the wood and heaved, righting the dingy finally and shoving it into the waves.

Hefting the paddles, she leaped into the boat and began rowing through the stormy waters towards the Darkened Bough. When she neared the ship, she shipped her oars and rose carefully, balancing in the tossing vessel as she stared at the rope ladder the crew had left hanging down. Catching a loose bit of rope, she secured the boat and stared again at the ladder for a moment.


With a leap, and a frantic moment where she was stretched between the ladder and the boat, she made the transition, the boat bobbing wildly on the rope and the waves. She had landed with a thunk, her foot hitting the side of the ship hollowly, and she paused, listening for movement over the storm. When she heard nothing but the waves, wind, and rain, she continued her climb, hauling her plated figure up the ladder quietly, occasionally slipping, or being blown, against the hull.

When this happened, she would freeze, holding on to the ladder tightly and listen for a moment, again frustrated by the storm. It was both helping and hindering her efforts. Always, she would resume her efforts, climbing steadily until she made the deck.

Swinging over the railing onto the deck lightly, she stalked towards the door she knew led to the captain’s chambers. She also knew that his two bodyguards would most certainly not be drunk, and that they could prove troublesome. She was banking on her Alliance tabard and white armor to get her closer to them, close enough to lure them away and let the captain remain ignorant of her presence.

Her plan worked wonderfully, a nice change, to have something go right for her. The plated figure staggered towards the bodyguards, pretended to retch once over the rail, and the smiled inwardly as she felt and heard the pounding of feet on the tossing deck. Gathering her feet underneath her, she counted silently, turning on three to face the bodyguards.

They were unprepared for a fight.

Instantly, one of them caught the bolt of holy magic she had been hoarding while she leaned over the rail. The second became intimately acquainted with the mace she wielded deftly. Both staggered, the woman ducked forward between them, using the momentum of the rolling deck to aid her half-run half-crouched walk.

Almost laughably, the two goons spun, one catching the side of her shield with his sword, the other landing a solid punch on her side. Spun, the woman growled a curse, and then wondered why the two had yet to call for help.

Cursing her inattentive cockiness, the huntress lashed out again, a lucky hit with her mace breaking an arm, sending blood across the deck in a decadently morbid shower. The rain would take care of that. Turning her attention momentarily to the other guard who had been sneaking up behind her again, the plated figure whirled, smashing a heel into a kneecap and then a knee into a much more sensitive place.

He went down.

The first guard had yet to say anything, but was making incoherent grunts, and then she understood. No tongues.

“Cocky idiot.”

Almost laughing again, she refrained, instead slipping a knife from her boot and up through the first guard’s rib from behind. As he fell, she caught his head, looking between her knife and her mace, neither of which were suited for cutting heads off.

Letting the corpse drop to the rain-slicked deck, she turned towards the second, still living, guard, approaching him and kicking him once, brutally, in the ribs before dropping her weight on his legs and lower torso, causing him to fall back in pain.

Rising and raising her mace, the woman, clearly a paladin after the display of holy magic by the railing, offered a prayer that was torn from her lips by the wind. The mace fell. Once brought nothing but a shower of blood and a gruesomely mutilated neck, the second almost separated the head from the body. The third sent the head rolling away from the body, the jaw crushed and the brain leaking out of the crushed skull.

The first guard received the same treatment, and the heads were placed into a cloth bag as the bodies were slid overboard into the sea. The blood and gore on the deck couldn’t be helped, it would have to stay there. Although, she hoped the rain would wash it away nicely.

Walking carefully with the rolling deck, the armored woman made her way to the cabin door she had lured the guards from, knocking quickly on the door, a hard rap, and standing erect as it was opened. She was banking on luck, here, hoping that the captain did not know all of his men by name.

“Yes? What do you want?” Irritably, the tall-ish human man opened the door in his nightshirt, the bed behind him occupied by twisted blankets and a young woman.

Examining every detail of his face behind her helmet, the woman spoke in a deeper voice than natural for her, her Common clear and concise, “Sir, issues below-decks.”

Looking annoyed at the interruption, the captain dragged a hand through his short brown hair, his green eyes piercing, clearly wanting to get back inside the cabin and close the door on the rain and wind, “Well, deal with it!”

“Sir, come with me, please.”

“Who are you to order me around? You’re not one of my men!”

With a cry, the man launched himself at the woman in the doorway, a knife making an appearance in his hand as he tumbled through the air in a furious rage. Catching him, the huntress shook her head mentally and lifted her own hand, the fist with the knife pivoting to catch his stomach.

With a groan, the captain sank to his knees, and the tall woman kicked the door closed, a warning snarled at the girl in the bed, “Stay put!”

Turning her attention to the captain as the door slammed shut, the huntress knelt by wounded man, blood pooling on his stomach along with the fluids that inhabited his abdominal cavity. The white nightshirt was stained red with his life as it escaped him, his eyes dimming slowly.

Sharply, the woman asked, “Who is the girl?”

“No one…” the man gasped, his breath wheezing in his throat, “an amusement… I swear…”

Frowning, the woman rose, her eyes distant behind her helmet as she raised her mace, then sent it crashing down on the prone man. The ship rolled sharply with a large gust of wind, shaking the huntress and sending the mace into the man’s skull instead of crushing his chest. Cursing sharply into the wind, the standing figure again knelt, digging through the mass of pulped flesh, blood, and bones to find some recognizable feature.

Cursing as she found little, she took her knife and hacked at the man’s neck. Managing to look disgusted through the full faceplate, the figure dropped the disfigured, broken thing into her bag, rising and tearing the tabard from her body to fling it into the wind. Timing her efforts with the roll of the ship, she sent the body crashing into the waves below her.

Red blood was a black stain on the rain-scoured deck that washed away rapidly as she turned to face the door once more. Carelessly, she pushed inside, unprepared for the blistering stream of curses that greeted her. The sharp pain in her abdomen was equally unexpected.

Staring first at the girl, and then at the knife lodged in the gap in her armor just above her hip, the plated figure reached to grip the girl’s wrist, forcing the release of the offending piece of metal. Holding her attacker at a safe distance, the woman used her other hand to remove the knife from her side, an increase in the flow of blood that ran down her armor a testament to the girl’s aim, or her luck.

Speaking in Common again, the figure sounded more annoyed than in pain, “What in nine hells was that for? He is dead. You can leave.”

The girl chattered in a different language, looking up warily. She could not have been more than 16 human years. The huntress looked confounded.

“Do you understand?”

The shorter figure nodded.

“But you do not want to leave?”

Again, a nod.

“Then what?”

Smiling sweetly, the girl pivoted, another knife making an appearance in time to drive into her captor’s calf at another joint in the armor. Biting back a curse, the recipient of the knife shook the girl a little too vigorously.

With a sickening snap, the human’s neck broke.

The huntress dropped her hand from around the girl’s neck as if burned, and she turned quickly to escape the suddenly claustrophobic cabin. Gathering the bag of trophies again, she limped rapidly out onto the deck, back into the storm. Unconcerned by the thunder and lightning that was starting to die down, she hastened back to the ladder, descending without dignity to the small boat.

Relieve to find it still there, the woman cut the rope with her knife and pushed away, letting the waves roll her towards the shore. The storm-tossed surf capsized her vessel, and, spluttering, she rolled free into the waves, hauling herself up with a heroic effort of will to trudge the rest of the way to shore. Ten minutes later, she was atop the cliffs, watching the ship for an instant before the boom of thunder and flash of lightning in the mast heralded a new obstacle for the crew.

Even the drunkest among them was roused from their sleep to combat this new evil, and she knew it would not be long before their captain’s absence was noted. Determined to be well away, the woman continued her rapid limp into the forest.

Walking until it became apparent she could go no further, she dropped to the ground in the relative shelter of a fallen tree, her hands going immediately to her hip and leg, too tired and distracted to do anything about it at the moment. Determining that the wounds were not crippling, merely troublesome, she wound bandages around them and leaned back against the tree, long fingered hands rising to remove her helmet in the safety of the storm beset forest.

With a groan, Kel’tira Sunblaze removed her helmet.

From the pages of Azmos' journal:

I felt I had been of real use and service in Hyjal. And then found myself in Orgimmar once again. The pungent smell of sweat, and orc a strong assault upon my nostrils, I sought out a way from this place, and find myself in the Maelstrom. And talking to a powerful orc shaman. Thrall.

Deepholm. I can only hope my aid here will help Thrall, and Azeroth itself. A quick prayer and I am off to aid the Earthen Circle. Discretion is important here, and I nod as I start my excursions into this chaotic place.
From an old dusty book of tattered pages and loose binding:

I don't know who I am, nor where I am. I think I have felt better than I do currently. There are aches and pains in places I have never felt aches and pains, I think. The physician believes I am blocking out a traumatic occurance, and my memory will return eventually. I...I...hope so, I feel lost. And the world is in a mist all around me. I cannot think clearly, my mind hurts as well as my body. So many many images...but nothing to connect them to me.

Several days later:

I believe I have slept more than is elvenly possible, but my mind and head don't hurt as much as they did yesterday? or was it the day before? And my wounds seem less severe now. The healers must be working overtime in taking care of me...I can't tell...tired...need to rest some more...

A week later: at the bottom of the page are several small drawings or etchings of a dark haired Sin'dorei woman

The doctor tells me he needs the bed for ones sicker than myself, and I am transferred from the infirmary to the barracks. If they can be called that...they seem more a staging area or something. Cannot think of the word...but that's no surprise.

My thoughts turn to the sketches I have drawn. I wonder who she is? She haunts my dreams, and yet she leaves me no clue as to her identity. She is beautiful, and I find my fingers tracing over her features over and over again.
From the Journal of Cyaer Sunblaze:

I have taken to wandering the roads and trails of the Jade Forest for several reasons. One, a monetary one, I watch for herbs and ore to utilize and sell. Two, I find myself finding small shrines, beautiful to see, and restful for the spirit. And three, to find those areas of natural beauty that capture my heart. I found Serenity Falls so beautiful and restful at the same time.

I'm enjoying my walks and runs through the various terrains of the Jade Forest. I observe the differing flora and fauna too. I try not to instigate or trouble the fauna, and have taken to stealthing my way to ore sites or herbs found so as to avoid interaction or fighting and killing of the local creatures.

I have also found small villages where I can talk with the local people of the regions. I am constantly finding them interesting and interested in me. I can only hope I can be an ambassador of good will and intentions for our people with them. I so enjoy their peaceful nature. I almost envy them that.

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