Baerythan's Ashes (Closed/IC)

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
1 2 3 8 Next
OOC thread:

Hate is a powerful motivator. Hate could drive someone to push themselves to their limits and beyond. Hate could spark seeds of invention. Hate could spur even the most mundane into action. Hate was the catalyst that turned an enemy into a nemesis. Hate could rest in one’s heart like a writhing worm, spurring endless hours of planning.

And endless hours were what he had.

It had been a glorious time. The screams of frightened night elves rang through the air as the demons poured into the city, beckoned there by the foolish arrogance of the Highborne. People were slaughtered as they fled and the air was rich with the smells of smoke, brimstone, and fear. Bargains were struck and souls were sold. Somewhere in all the chaos, Queen Azshara stood watching, smiling, welcoming, and unaware that her own undoing was at hand. Stupid…

Now the once beautiful queen was a deformed creature hiding at the bottom of the ocean surrounded by her loyal followers. A shade of her former beauty, but far more powerful… But then, he had traded beauty for power as well. Tall, handsome and accomplished with magic, he had little trouble finding companionship of any kind. It had been a bittersweet transformation, but one he did not regret. Bones cracking and reforming, body stretching, tearing, rebuilding. Oh, it had been agony… rapturous…mind shattering…better than anyone he had taken to his bed. He would do it all again in a heartbeat.

His transformation to a satyr had come quite some time before the demons flooded the streets. He had been there ushering in the destruction reveling in the chaos and fear when he had come. Oh no, not Malfurion… that wretch was off trying to stem the tide of demons from coming through the portal. It was another druid, one who he had hated before his transformation and one who was going to give him another reason to further despise him. Baerythan Moongrove was closing in on him, his small force of druids and hunters with him. The task of opening another portal—thus clawing his way up another step in the hierarchy—would have to wait until after the druid’s demise.

In the end, it would not happen at all. He had escaped the druid with his life, most of his underlings had not, and the promise of power in exchange for the portal had been stripped away. The dreadlord had not been pleased and he found himself back on the bottom… a minion.

It was unforgiveable.

His chance at redemption had been put on hold as after the destruction of the Well of Eternity and the growth of Nordrassil, the druids went into slumber. Unable to reach Baerythan in the wakened world as he slept, he tried seeking him out in the Emerald Dream. That also proved to be difficult, so he contented himself with proving himself worthy of redemption in the eyes of the Burning Legion while he waited for the druid to wake. Slowly, over thousands of years he worked, gained power, and plotted until he came up with the perfect plan. One day, the druid would wake and he would be ready. This time, he intended to be the victor.

The Third War came and with it, the druids woke. His plan was simple; he would corrupt the druid’s body with fel magic. By the time he was finished, the druid would be a living bomb, one that would spread taint everywhere. It was a fitting end for the wretched druid if he did say so himself. Kneeling down on the hilltop, he watched his nemesis below directing druids and sentinels in the protection of Nordrassil as the Burning Legion wormed its way up the mountain.

It was time.

Baerythan Moongrove shouted out orders. The Burning Legion was pushing in and he knew that Nordrassil could not be compromised. What he had not planned on was the satyr, Ziantov, showing up. He had defeated the creature once before in Zin’Azshari just before the Sundering. He would defeat the demon again and this time, the twisted thing would not escape.

When the sun rose that morning, Ziantov had been captured, but the damage had been done. His plan to taint the druid with fel energy had worked and although he was being transported for imprisonment, he still cackled gleefully. As far as he was concerned, he had won a personal victory.

With the Burning Legion still pressing close to Nordrassil and the threat of Archimonde bearing down, Baerythan lay on a pallet, his body filled with fel energy. It burned him, devouring him from the inside out. Beside him people whispered, talking through whether or not the druid could be saved and if not, what do with the corrupted body. In the end, it was Baerythan that made that choice.

“Kill me before the corruption spreads too far. Take my body to Moonglade and ask Remulos for aid in removing the corruption.”

Remulos was able to provide instruction for removing the corruption, and the body was burned in a purification ceremony. The idea that someone who had given so much to the land and people should be lost forever did not sit well and the ashes were placed in an urn and taken to Winterspring—a land that Baerythan had loved in life—where they were enshrined at a remote location. There, a small library was built in his memory, tended by a group of night elves.

All was well until Deathwing rose and cast his shadow and fire across Azeroth. The prison where Ziantov was held was shattered, its guardians killed as the Twilight Cultists poured into Mount Hyjal, leaving the satyr to walk free. It did not take him long to learn that his nemesis had escaped the dark fate that the satyr had so carefully planned. Enraged that the druid had thwarted him, even in death, the satyr took to working on a new plan.

As the satyr crouched on the same hill overlooking Nordrassil, a cruel smile curved over his lips. He would use the druid’s remains to corrupt the very thing he gave his life for.
The wind swept over the hill, causing the loose snow to fly up and shower the night elven hunter and her cat., tugging at her long violet colored hair. The morning sun danced off the small flakes, making them sparkle. It was a rather pretty sight, one that she could still appreciate as bone tired as she was. The air was crisp and clean, something she loved about this frigid land, but she did miss the earthy smells of the forest. Unfortunately, she did not have much time to dawdle. The large bear that had been griefing the library was still out there and for the safety of those staying there, it needed to die.

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and continued on, tracking the beast that had been on the move all night. She wondered what had agitated the creature… normally they did not have trouble with the wildlife as long as they gave it a wide berth. Whatever the cause, she would deal with the bear now, and track down what might be amiss later with one of the druids at the library.

Each of her footfalls was announced with a slight crunch of snow. Beside her was a frost saber whose padded and webbed paws made no noise in the stuff. The white cat with black stripes had been chosen because it could withstand the cold of Winterspring whereas her normal companion, a night saber, would not fare as well. When she left the area, she would leave the frost saber behind. The thought made her a little sad as the beast had proven to be quite reliable, but as a night saber would not do well in Winterspring, a frost saber would not do well outside of it.

It was another thirty minutes before she found and killed her quarry. After taking the time to cover the corpse with snow to help preserve it and keep it from predators, she turned back towards the library. She would come with others to collect the bear later… after she had slept a few hours.

The trip back was fairly quick but the relief she felt at the thought of climbing into her warm bed vanished when she saw the two slaughtered guards at the door. Rushing inside, she found more bodies and as she was about to despair that she was the only one left, a weak voice called out.

“Feliathae… over here…”

She spun around to see Talyrus, a druid sitting propped up against a wall by an overturned table. Beside him were some empty bottles, across his chest were slash wounds that were slowly closing.

“Talyrus! Hold still, I’ll get some bandages.”

“No need, I will heal just fine…” he gave her a wry smile.

She ignored his words, kneeling beside him and looking over his wounds. “You don’t look fine,” she said quietly, “you look like you were mauled by a bear. Talyrus, what happened?”

“If only it were a bear,” he grimaced. “Satyrs… with imps---nasty creatures—attacked just as most of us were going to bed, took everyone by surprise.” He nodded towards the library, “Check for other survivors while I work to get my strength back.”

In the end, there were only four out of twelve still alive and one of the survivors, a druid named Sirthea, was not going to live much longer despite the best efforts of Talyrus and Virdek, a draenei shaman who had been visiting.

“The ashes…” Sirthea whispered, shock making her unaware that her chest was gashed open. “They took Baerythan’s ashes… why…would they… do that?”

“Shh…” Feliathae kneeled down and took the woman’s hand, trying not to slip on the blood that pooled around the mortally injured druid. “Just rest now.”

The trio watched helplessly as the woman breathed her last ragged breath and went still. They stayed there for some time, mourning the loss of their friend before Talyrus rose and moved to the back of the wrecked library, ignoring the books that littered the floor until he came to the small room where the ashes had rested by a small basin that held purified water. The waters in the basin swirled green with fel energy and the wooden table where the urn had rested was bare.

When he returned to where the others stood, his face was grim. “Feliathae… take Virdek, head to Darnassus and tell the Cenarion Enclave what has happened,” he spoke in a low voice. “I have no idea what a satyr would want with Baerythan’s ashes other than to desecrate them, but Darnassus needs to know what happened here and who is dead. I will stay behind and guard the remains until help arrives. I will make my way to Darnassus when I can.”

Quickly, the huntress and shaman packed their bags and headed out. She had not thought that she would be saying good bye to the frost saber that had been her companion for the past two years so quickly, but she knew the beast needed to stay in the lands from which it came. She would tame another cat when she reached Teldrassil, one that would be more versatile in its environments. As she left Winterspring behind, she wondered when, or rather if, she would call it home again.

Balanad sat by the lake in Darnassus, watching the moon as it rose over the water. The calm water gently rippled as a breeze drifted over its surface carrying with it the scents of night blooming flowers and fresh, moist earth. The shimmering silver reflection was beautiful, bringing with it a sense of solace.

It was too bad the feeling would not stay with him. There were things in life he knew that he would regret, but he felt that he would rather regret doing something rather than regret never having the courage to do it. This was a time that he knew that little tidbit of wisdom was wrong. He knew that it was past the time to call off his tumultuous relationship with Alasseya Silvermist. The lovely priestess had proved amusing some many years before when he had first met her, but soon proved to be difficult to abide by. Still, she had proven to be a hard person to disentangle himself from. Regular fights had been followed by passionate reunions and every time he fell for it. Lately it had turned into drudge and he was tired of her fiery temper and volatile disposition.

What was it her sister had said? Ah yes, it was something along the lines of she will always be first and you should be content to serve her whims and play her games—or she will lash out at you will all the fury of the Maelstrom. At the time he had been told that, he had hoped that the older sister of the priestess had been jealous, but it soon became evident that huntress had merely warned him.

But now, he knew that she had merely been warning him and he wished that he had not caved in so quickly. That he had been able to see past the games and not been blinded by the thought of companionship after so many years of self-imposed solitude. He would call it off, he decided. He just needed to pick a moment that he was least likely to get something thrown at his head.

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion coming from the portal leading to Ruth’eran Village. Much to his surprise, the sister of his current—and hopefully soon to be ex—lover stepped through with a draenei. Both appeared to be weary and agitated, neither notice him as they rushed towards the Cenarion Enclave. Where had she been? He mused as he followed, curious as to why she had returned to Darnassus. Winterspring… that was what he had been told by some friends. She had gone to Winterspring.

They stopped inside the Enclave as a druid stepped forward to greet them. Balanad could see the trio speaking in hushed tones as he approached, but they broke off and the druid hurried up the ramp, looking decidedly worried.

“Feliathae,” Balanad stopped by the huntress, ready to issue a friendly greeting but the words died when she turned to look at him. Her tear streaked face was pulled into an angry scowl. “Feliathae, what happened?”

“Baerythan’s Shrine was attacked by satyrs. They killed almost everyone and stole his ashes,” she spoke evenly but with effort. “We don’t know what provoked the attack or why they would take the ashes.”

Whatever she was going to say, this was not it. Balanad’s jaw tightened at her words, “Feliathae… I’m sorry… how many…” he was cut off as a trio of druids appeared and she retold the tale.

Balanad listened as she told them what she knew about attack. He felt uneasy with just how close she had been to being there and wondered what Alasseya would say when he told her just how close her sister had been to being killed. His interest was further piqued about the stolen ashes and as the druids retold the tale of how the ashes had come be in Winterspring, he was left wondering why the satyrs had chosen to take them.

“Would you like for me to ask the spirits of this demon’s intent?” the draenei shaman spoke up and the five night elves turned to look at him in surprise. He gave them a polite smile, “I would like answers as much as you. I was there when the attack happened. This is something that I can do, a way that I can help.”

The divination spell did not take long, and when the shaman emerged from the dream-like state, his face was grim.

“The satyr is named Ziantov,” the shaman explained. “He intends to take the ashes to Vordrassil to corrupt them using some type of scroll… it was a rubbing from some glowing ruins with tall crystalline trees. From there, he will spread the ashes over the land tainting it.”

“We need to assemble a group to go after this satyr,” the elder druid spoke quietly. He turned to the two druids standing with him, “inform Tyrande and Malfurion then put out word that we need able bodied people to go after this demon.” He looked at Feliathae, “you will go with them. I doubt there will be many here that will be able to recognize the urn.”

“I will go as well,” Balanad spoke up, already hearing the argument that would take place tonight as he packed his bags. “I have tactical experience.”

The druid nodded, his mind running forward. “We have lost time with this… hopefully we will be able to travel much faster than the demon, but you will need to leave soon. We will scrap together enough people to make certain that the satyr will easily be destroyed but small enough to move quickly. We will gather at dusk with who is willing to go and inform them of the situation.”

Balanad murmured his understanding and turned to Feliathae, “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

She pushed a lock of her long violet color hair behind her shoulder, “I have some friends that I would like to visit. I also have some things to attend to. I shall see you tomorrow at dusk.” She left it unspoken that she had no wish to visit her sister, but the message was clear enough.

He sighed and stepped back, thinking that Alasseya wouldn’t be too welcoming to Feliathae’s presence. The two had parted ways some time ago and thus far, time had not healed those wounds—although it seemed that neither of them were willing to try. He followed the huntress out of the building and watched her as she walked towards Teldrasssil before turning to head home, dreading the argument that he knew was coming.


Deep within the forests of Duskwood sat an small aged fortress, it had never been too impressive, it had been used, by the humans during the Scourge invasion. Needless to say the defenders did not fare so well, slaughtered then raised as undead, for years it had sat abandoned, surrounded by the spirits, and risen corpses of the former human defenders. No one had dared approach the cursed place, until a few weeks ago when a dark cloaked rider came up the overgrown trail that led to the fortress. For some reason the undead let him pass, they did not once try, and attack him, in fact it was as if they feared the dark rider. Since then the rider had taken up residence in the fortress, and had taken control of the surrounding undead, using them to make raids on unwary travelers, who he used in some sort of dark ceremonies. Ceremonies to summon demons of all kinds, from felguards, to lowly imps, and they all served the dark man.

In the biggest room of the fortress the dark man sat in a high backed chair, resting his chin on his fist listening to an imp he had dispatched to Darnassus searching for a certain druid. Though the man he searched for had not been found what the little imp had learned brought a wicked smile to his face. "So this Ziantov plans to use these druid's remains to taint the land does he," the imp nodded, to the man's left stood his favorite demon, a succubus by the name of Zara. She clapped excitedly, "Master, these remains could be just what you have been looking for," the man raised his hand to calm the demon woman, "yes, my dear I had the same thought. Finally after ten thousand years of searching I may have found the perfect conduit for the spell to bring my sister back from the dead." The man stood to his full 6'3" height, making the succubus swoon, out of all of his demonic servants Zara was th eonly one he did not have to control through force. She also had the added benefit of keeping the rest of his demons in line, and she made for a decent lover as well, throwing back his hood revealed a handsome Kaldorei. Though slightly paler compared to his kin, this anomaly came from his dabbling in dark magics, but those same magics gave him power beyond compare. His eyes were the biggest indicator of his corruption, one being black as death, and the other burned with green fel fire, "Finally I can begin to set my plan for vengeance into motion. Zara gather a small squad of your demons, and a contingent of undead, I expect this Ziantov will not part with those ashes willingly."

Zara nodded, and quickly left the room to fulfill her beloved master's task, "I wonder if he will go after the satyr as well, it is definitely in his character, yes I suspect he will join this little band of heroes to stop the satyr. Heh heh heh, soon dear brother, we will have our little dream family reunion, unfortunately for you it will be a nightmare you wish you could wake from. I will have my vengeance dear brother, my dear little Sammuroth heh heh heh hahahahahaha," the dark man Illisadel Shadowfury left his "throne room" laughing all the while.


In the peaceful forests of Moonglade a great white cat lazed around in a tree, but not just any tree, no this one happened to be his favorite. I allowed him to fully enjoy the afternoon breeze, and the cat found himself purring despite himself, unfortunately a bout of giggling brought him out of his reverie. Lazily he looked around, and listened, until a voice made him turn his head upwards to the branches above him, there on a branch directly above his own sat his adopted daughter Lori Nighttalon, of course she had taken to calling herself Lori Stormfury now. "Rare is th eopportunity to hear the stoic Sammuroth Stormfury purr in contentment," the cat huffed, "am I not allowed to fully enjoy a beautiful day dear daughter." Lori giggled again, "Oh, you are perfectly allowed father, but still it is kind of funny to hear you of all people purring, you don't even let that sound out when I scratch you behind your ears." The cat druid growled, but Lori knew better than to take it seriously, "You know some people might sya that you have gone soft if they saw you right now."

Sammuroth chuckled, "Perhaps, but since when do I care what others think of me, let them think what they want it doesn't make them right. Anyway Lori what brings you out hear, I though you were running errands for one of the elder druids today." Lori swung her legs back and forth, enjoying this rare father, daughter time, "I was, until a messenger arrived from Darnassus, carrying a letter addressed specifically to you, and I was told to deliver it." The cat sighed, "And I am sure you didn't read while you came to deliver it," the girl took on an innocent tone, "of course I didn't, that would be wrong," Sammuroth chuckled, this girl was a handful at times, but he loved her dearly. "So what word from Darnassus," Lori innocently began to explain the contents of the letter, she had know way of knowing the implications it held. "I don't know why they need you specifically to go on this mission, it's just some jar of ashes," Sammuroth shook his head, "I am afraid it is much more than that my dear, those ashes hold enough taint to corrupt a good portion of Azeroth."

Those words brought forth a serious tone from the girl, she knew better than to assume her father was joking, not about something like that, "I take it you know of these ashes." The cat nodded, "I should considering I was there when Baerythan's remains were purified, it was a sad day for not only the druids, but all of Azeroth. Baerythan was a good man, and a good friend to those who knew him personally, I unfortunately did not have that pleasure, I knew him only through reputation." The druid stood, and jumped from his perch, his daughter right behind him, "If this satyr, has stolen the ashes I can only imagine the corruption it could spread, besides Malfurion, I am one of the few druids who remember the day of Baerythan's death, and purification. In that sense it isn't a surprise they would call for me specifically, and I have a duty to go," Lori had a determined look on her face, "let me go with you. " The cat shook his head, "No, and do not argue this decision with me, it is far too dangerous, you are still too inexperienced, this Ziantov could taint, and corrupt you, unless you want to be turned into a demon."

The girl's face fell, "Not really," the cat nodded, "good girl, I wouldn't be able to focus if I had to worry about you, I know you can take care of yourself, but I would feel better if you stayed here where it is safe." Lori nodded, but she couldn't hide her look of concern, and Sammuroth smiled, "Don't worry I will be back before you know it," not waiting for her response the cat druid ran back to town to make the trip to Darnassus. Lori knew few could match her adoptive father in battle, but that is not what had her worried, it was the "other" that dwelled in her father she was worried about, what if the satyr used that against Sammuroth. There was nothing she could do for him though, except offer up a prayer to Elune begging the Moon Goddess for her father's safe return.


The trip had been short, and a day after he received the letter Sammuroth Stormfury stepped foot on the ground of the Cenarion Enclave. Ground he had not seen in many years, he was directed to the designated meeting place. When he arrived he saw no one else, "Guess I am the first one to arrive," he chose a spot in the shadows, and lay down, as he waited for others to arrive.

((All dialogue in this post is spoken in Darnassian.))

“What a stench...” Lanura whispered to herself as she surveyed the disgusting sight before her. She crouched, perfectly still and hidden, in a thick clump of bushes in eastern Ashenvale. Before her, where only a short time ago, there had been soft grass and towering trees. Deer, sabers, and other animals had run free through the ancient forest. But now the trees were nothing more than ugly stumps, the grass was gone and in its place was a field of dirt and mud. The animals were replaced with hated orcs and their goblin henchmen. There were too many of them to drive out completely, but Lanura was to make sure she slowed their deforestation as much as possible.

Lanura waited patiently, knowing she would get only one shot at completing her task. As fun as sending an arrow through an orc's eye was, she had a bigger target. The destroyed trees were taken to a central processing area, where a large crane loaded the planks on carts drawn by kodo. Orcs, kodo, goblins, harvesters... all those were apparently easily and quickly replaced. But that crane was another matter. It had taken weeks for them to bring in the materials and build it. By lucky chance the foreman of this operation, a burly orcess with a heavy hand, loved to stand at the base of the crane and hurl insults and orders. If things went as planned, both of those things would soon be out of commission. All Lanura needed was the right moment.

Finally, her patience paid off as one of the goblin harvesters stomped past her, looking for saplings to destroy. The goblin piloting it walked farther and farther from his camp, and Lanura silently stalked him. When he was far enough that Lanura felt safe, she raised her bow and let one arrow fly. The goblin never knew what it was that ended his life. Lanura smiled grimly, then got to work. She ran a short ways to a hiding spot, where a bundle of gnomish explosives, tethered to a metal tank of fuel, lay ready. Lanura picked up the bundle and carried it back to the harvester, which stood smoking and trembling. She clambered on top of the monstrous machine and heaved the dead goblin onto the forest floor. She gingerly placed the explosives in the pilot's seat, trying to remember what the gnome who had supplied these told her.

“Alright... stick the fuse... here?” she mumbled to herself. “No... here... I think. And hold the green button until the light turns... blue was it?” The gnome that had instructed her on arming the bomb weeks ago had spoken so swiftly in Common, and Lanura thought she had caught it all, but now she wasn't sure. Lanura bit her lip and decided she had followed the gnome's instructions as best she could. Now she turned her attention to the instrument panel of the goblin harvester. She furrowed her brow and gently pushed a tiny lever forward. The harvester lurched forward crazily, nearly throwing Lanura from her perch on top of it. “Damnable machine!” she bit out as she gripped the metal hull. After some trial and error, Lanura managed to get the harvester pointed in the right direction. She then pushed the lever in the forward position and tied to securely with a small strip of cloth. She then hopped off and returned to her hiding spot in the bushes, watching the harvester make its way toward the crane, now carrying a deadly load of explosives.

She removed the remote detonator from her bag, waiting for the right time. None of the workers gave the harvester any attention, as from a distance it appeared to be just another machine returning from the forest. Not until it bumped into the crane and stuck there, its legs still churning the mud, did anyone notice anything was amiss.

With a vengeful gleam in her eyes, Lanura pushed the red button on the remote detonator.

Nothing happened.

Lanura pushed it again. And again. It wasn't working! Across the barren field, Lanura watched the orc overseer hop off the crane and inspect the harvester. The green-skinned woman reached inside and removed the bomb, turning it over in her hands. Lanura tossed the remote to the ground and charged out of the bushes, knowing she had to take matters into her own hands. She ran as fast as her long legs could carry her, readying an arrow in her bow as she did so.

A guard spotted her quickly and sounded the alarm. Guards converged from every angle, and Lanura knew she could get no closer. She raised her bow while still running, aiming off to the side toward the crane. “DIE, SCUM!” she shrieked as she shot the arrow. Regardless of the guards, she then dove to the ground, covering her head. The arrow whistled through the air, striking the fuel tank that was connected to the bomb dead center. The metal arrowhead sparked against the metal canister, starting the explosion that instantly consumed the fuel and explosives. The fireball created was huge, consuming the crane and everyone near it. The guards fell flat, unprepared for the explosion. Lanura, her ears ringing and part of her shirt smoldering, picked herself up and ran back toward the tree line. No one tried to stop her, as they were transfixed by the explosion and the toppling crane.

Lanura ran without stopping until she reached a more secluded area of the forest. Still running, she put her fingers to her lips and blew a sharp, two-toned whistle. She continued running, and soon became aware of a heavy padding noise nearby. Pacing her was a large black panther with silver spots. Lanura jumped on it mid-stride, and it picked up speed, streaking off through the trees toward Astranaar.


“Excellent, Lanura. That should slow up the orc's filthy desecration for a while,” the Sentinel officer said with grim satisfaction after listening to Lanura's report. They stood together on an open-air terrace in Darnassus, about them Sentinel trainees could be seen sparring and engaging in target practice. The officer gave the recruits below a motherly glance before turning back to Lanura. “My plan was to give you some time away from combat. But I know you, and I know you'll want to hear this new bit of information I've just received earlier today. During the chaos of Deathwing's attack on Hyjal, a powerful satyr escaped. He already had kaldorei blood on his hands, and is responsible for the death of a powerful druid. He has killed again since escaping, and it is thought he will not spot until he himself is killed. It will be dangerous...”

“I'll go,” Lanura said confidently. She had no family, unlike many of her sister Sentinels who had husbands and children at home. She didn't want to die, but she also felt that if it was her fate to die protecting her people, she would gladly accept it. The Sentinel office gave a nod of assent, and lanura picked up her small bag of belongings.

“Head to the Cenarion Enclave, they'll instruct you from there. Elune guide you,” the officer said in farewell.

And so, a short time later, Lanura found herself led by a druid to the designated meeting spot. She glanced around, noting a druid seemingly asleep or at rest near the wall. She wasn't sure if he was here on the same mission as she, or if he was just a druid who happened to be resting there. She was a reticent person anyway, and chose to simply set her bag on the ground and sit beside it. She studied her hands for a moment, then began digging dirt out from under her fingernails.

Ashel sat up abruptly, a hand moving to wipe the gathering beads of sweat from his brow. His gray were barely focused in the dark, seeing only small shapes that in the light would be familiar to him. He sighed and swung his legs from the bed, placing both cautiously to the floor. The same dream, it was the hundreth time, no, the thousandth time he'd been drawn from his slumber by it. In all this time, he was still never completely sure what it was that he was seeing. The dream was just a series of images, flashes of scenes playing in his mind, sme with sound, screams, cries of terror, others with nothing. There was blood, always so much blood.

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his raven black hair, tucking it back behind his ear as he stared off in the darkness. There was no use even trying to go back to sleep now, it was impossible. The screams, the blood, it would all bubble to the surface of his mind when his eyes closed. Instead, he rose up from the bed, using one foot to sweep out and check for obstructions as he moved across the room. He managed to make it without bumping into anything, feeling along the wall until he came to a table.

With a bit more of a struggle, he managed to light the small lantern sitting at the table's center, filling the room with a soft glow. He lifted it, moving to hang it up just beside his bed so that it would provide him light to read. As he moved, the shadows retreated from the light, falling back to the corners where they held the gruesome scenes from his dreams. Ashel closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly to try and shut them out, but they came to him still.

His chest heaved as the images continued to haunt even his waking mind. His fingers clenched the air, curling into his palm hard enough to draw blood. He hardly noticed the pain or the warmth as crimson droplets ran down from his palm. The world was changing around him, becoming darker, shrinking almost. His eyes lowered, looking to his arm, noting that his skin had gone taut, veins peeking up along the surface. He gave a surprised gasp as he saw the skin darkening, starting to become coated with jet black fur.

"No,!" The change, he had let his emotions run too wild, the beast saw an opening and sought to free itself. Control, control, control. Find your center, find your calm. Breathe..breathe...breathe

Ashel managed to stop himself this time, breathing heavily as he collapsed atop the bed. His hand would reach out to the table side, grasping his prayer book, fliping it open. He lost himself in the scripture, reading it over and over again, seeking solace within the Light.

He hardly noticed the gentle swaying of the boat as it ventured across the sea, ferrying him to Darnassus along with many of the other Gilnean refugees who sought a new life, outside of the crumbled walls and desolate Gilneas City.


"Have you heard there was an attack in Hyjial? A powerful Satyr escaped, killing many druids there." Ashel peered outside the Inn, eavesdropping ona conversation between two sentinels stationed nearby. While he had not personally dealt with anything remotely close to a Satyr, the news troubled him. If the sentinels were worried, there was good reason to be too.

"There's an expedition being organized to go to Hyjial, to track him down and end him before he can do any more harm. They're meeting at the Cenarion Enclave, I think I may go."

The Gilnean disappeared back inside, throwing a linen shirt and slacks on before pulling his robes on over them. He grabbed the book from the table next to his bedside and was off. Ever since he had come to Darnassus, he had seen nothing but fair treatment from the Kaldorei. He didn't think they deserved it. While the Alliance fought the Third War, Gilneas cowered behind it's wall, ravaged by a curse. Was it fate? Karma? Who knew, but he felt an obligation to return the favor to those who helped in their time of need.

Not only did the Kaldorei help them deal with the curse, controlling their feral side, they also saved them from destruction at the hands of the Forsaken. These thoughts ran through his mind as he made his way to the enclave. This would be his chance to make up for..everything, to make a difference, to show that Gilneans were not lost.

"I'm here for the mission to Hyjial," he spoke to the druid barring his entrance to the meeting spot. The druid met him with a critical eye, looking him over once before stepping aside to allow him entrance.

He stepped inside, peering left, then right noting that there were several gathered already. If any looked towards him, he gave a brief nod before heading to his own spot, lowering himself to the ground. He immediately pulled his prayer book, flipping it open to read while he waited.

The huntress watched as the night saber moved through the forest. She had been following the beast for some time now—it was aware of her presence and was constantly looking her direction, keeping track of where she was—regarding it with more interest than she had the previous cats she had come across.

She was enjoying herself out in the forest. The earthy smells, water, flowers mingled with the sound of the wind rustling grass and the leaves in the trees. It formed a soothing balm around her heart, allowing her to forget a moment what had happened yesterday. She lifted her face to the breeze, inhaling deeply the comforting scents before turning her attention back to the night saber.

She liked the way this one moved; certainly he was graceful, but also aware and intelligent. He had spotted her before her had him, watching the tall violet haired huntress with a curiosity that the others had not displayed. This one was aware, but not wary; cautious but not skittish. He would do nicely, she though, moving closer.

An hour later she returned to Darnassas with the sleek black night saber by her side. She had not spent much time with the cat outside the city as she would have liked, but matters were pressing. She didn’t have the time to spend a week in the wild getting her new companion acclimated to the life of a hunter’s pet. Belatedly, she wondered if she should have kept the frost saber, but ultimately, she knew that she had done the right thing in leaving it in its natural environment.

Beside her the cat watched the goings on in Darnassas with keen interest. Several times she had stopped with it for it watch something or smell the air, letting it get comfortable with the city. Slowly, they made their way to the Enclave, arriving at the appointed building well before time.

Three others were there waiting: a human reading a book, a sentinel picking at her hands, and a druid, in cat form. She greeted them politely, “Ishnu-alah,” before settling herself against a wall. The cat, which she had yet to name, lay down beside her, its bright green eyes slowly turning from one person to the next. Instinctively, she reached down and stoked the back of the creature’s neck to calm it.

“Not what you are used to, hmmm?” she spoke in Darnassian, giving the cat a sad smile. “Not good circumstances, I am afraid.”

She rubbed the back of the cat’s neck for a moment longer before she dug in her pack and pull out several small items, finishing with a mirror which she set in her lap. She proceeded to work small braids into her hair, using moon-shaped clips to hold them in place before pulling the violet mass back into a ponytail. Her actions were less about vanity and more about having something to occupy her mind. Once finished, she tucked the mirror back in her pack and leaned her head against the wall, her mind replaying the events of the past twenty four hours.

She reached out for the cat again—this time to soothe herself—and she wondered if she should have spent another hour or so outside the city. She had spent the previous evening with friends, their sympathy and warm words doing much to help, but the images were still fresh in her mind and she wondered if she should have taken a detour to the moonwell at the Pools of Arlithiern to seek additional peace at its calming waters.

Part of her knew that going out again was foolish, she hadn’t had time to reconcile the deaths of her friends, but there was nothing that was going to stop her from hunting that demon down and putting him to a swift and painful death. Besides, she had been more or less told to go. Out of the few survivors, she was the only one who had not been injured.

She gave a quick glance around the room. At least once everyone was gathered, she would not have to retell her tale; Delsaran offered to give her that respite, knowing that later in the trip she might be called upon to relive that morning. That though brought little solace, and unconsciously, she hugged herself as if she were trying to ward off a chill.
The peaceful grove of Darnassus was home to Raevien. She had come here with others when it had been first seeded and grown, working with them and the wisps to create the beautiful buildings and the lovely ponds and streams. It had been a labor of love and hope.

There was corruption here and there, they fought it constantly. Beating back the fel creatures and trying to keep the city itself free from taint. It was not without effort that the city was as peaceful as it was. The woodland creatures came here to escape the grells and satyrs, as did the people. All in all, the springs the trees and flowers flourished in the busy city.

Rae walked among the flowers and sought her mate, Haerolin, near the quiet of the small pond. He often came here and just sat quietly and meditated. He was a very reserved and often taciturn druid. Not openly friendly to just anyone, he was often mistaken for a woodland creature. His preferred form being that of a great horned owl, though he could take any form of woodland creature he wished.

Strolling among the flowers and looking carefully into the trees, Rae finally spotted him on a branch far above the ground. He looked at her and his large amber eyes blinked a few times, though he remained in the tree. His head swiveled around as he caught the sounds and scent of a grell trying to enter the city.

His flight was swift and deadly. Striking from the air without a sound until the scream of the grell broke the silence. Carrying the limp form of the Grell he moved off outside the border of the city and dropped the creature into the open sea. He returned to the grove and settled back on the branch. His great amber eyes blinked and he fixed his gaze upon her once more.

"Haerolin, please come down. There is an urgent message for you. I promised to deliver it. You are needed. The Council has specifically requested your aid in a very serious matter." her voice coaxing and gentle. She regarded him with her silver blue eyes and waited. She could not demand of him, he would simply ignore her. Over many centuries she had learned how best to work with him.

He did not respond right away, turning his head with deliberation he seemed to be mulling it over. Rae sat beside the small pond and got out her fishing pole. The wriggling worm she attached to the hook was the perfect bait for the small trout that lived there. As she cast her line she started humming a sweet melody. Her clear soft voice lifted in song, a sweet ballad of a young druid who searched for truth. His seeking took him all over the land, but he could not find truth until he came back home. There he found his true love and saw truth in her eyes.

Haerolin ruffled his feathers and hooted softly. He loved the song and his gaze upon her softened as she sang to him. When she had almost finished the ballad, she looked up at him with love shining in her eyes. Haer could not resist and lifted his great wings and drifted down to settle by her side as the elf form revealed. His muscular body was bare chested and a dusky purple. The feathered covering on his powerful legs and the leather boots only emphasized his oneness with nature. He carried no weapon but would often coax a long staff from a nearby stand of trees to use if needed. Without a doubt, he was in love with Raevien. His features would gaze with affection when she was near him and there were no others about.

Rae smiled as she finished her song. A speckled trout danced on her line and she pulled it out. As she placed the fish in her basket Haer sat beside her and wrapped one arm around her to pull her to him. Still he did not speak, but his warmth and affection said all she needed to hear. "The Council has asked us to help. There has been a theft, Baerythan's Ashes have been taken by some Satyr. They left many dead. A call has gone out for volunteers to track them down and recover the ashes. One can assume they mean something foul to do." she spoke quietly and waited for his response.

Haer felt his anger growing and a deep growl came from his throat. How dare this satyr attempt to corrupt such a heroes ashes! He nodded to her then and got up to make ready. His questioning gaze turned to her and she smiled. "I knew you would want to help. They are meeting at the Cenarion Circle. I have already packed a few things, they are meeting today."

He held a hand out to her and she took it to pull herself up. Walking silently to the meeting place they settled down to wait. Rae looked around in curiosity. The Sentinels would not allow anyone not fit and ready to fight into this meeting. Her gaze settled on the human, wondering what he was doing here. She nodded to the others and leaned back into Haerolin's arms. His quiet gaze took them all in, measuring each one with his amber gaze.
Sammuroth preferred to be left alone, so he feigned sleep, being in the shadows, that task was easy enough, in truth he was taking stock of all those who arrived. It makes sense they would call upon other druids for this mission, was his only thought when the two latest to arrive settled in. A human, no I smell the scent of corruption, a worgen then, perhaps a volunteer, the other two seem to be sentinels, I would imagine one of them might be the survivor mentioned in the letter. It had been many years since the druid had hunted demons, he had elected to stay behind on Azeroth after the Dark Portal reopened. So his main focus had been on the Scourge, and the Twilight Cult over the last few years. "Why are we here mortal, surely you have better things to do with your time, than hunt a lowly satyr," the Voice came unbidden, and unwelcomed. I am here because it is my duty to prevent the ashes from being used to taint the land, the Voice laughed, "So what if some of the land gets tainted, besides I am sure those assmebles can handle it just fine without you."

The cat growled, maybe so, but I would be remiss if I did not offer my aid, I remember the day all those years ago when Berythan was purified through fire, it would dishonor his name if I allowed his remains to be used for evil purposes. The "other" continued to chuckle, "You do not worry that this satyr may not do to you what he did to this Baerythan, you are probably most at risk for that, what with your little, "condition." A condition you continue to impose upon me, and to answer your question no I am not concerned, like you said in the end he is just a lowly satyr, hardly a match for either of us. The druid's response made the "other" smirk in his mind, "You are beginning to think more like me everyday, how long until you cannot keep me at bay any longer, how long until I take full control, and destroy everything you hold dear, well maybe not Lori, perhaps I will corrupt her instead."

The cat growled louder this time, you leave Lori out of this, I would sooner end mine, and your existence before I let that happen, the Voice laughed, "Empty threats, you, and I both know that. You are too proud to take your own life, in the end Sammuroth Stormfury you will be mine body, and soul, heh heh heh hahahahahaha." The prescence once again receded into the cat's subconscious, a tear of frustration rolled down the cat's cheek, for he knew the "other" spoke the truth. He banished the thoughts as quickly as they appeared, looking around hoping no one had noticed anything amiss about him.
Allaynna wasn't sure why she was in Darnassus. She didn't get along with the place very well, and the inhabitants of the city tended to scorn her, but at least it wasn't boring.

That's about all she could say for the place. Dimly, she thought she used to love it here. Now? Not so much.

Although, she mused, wandering towards the Enclave that had sent up the call for fighters, it could always change.

The trees towered over her head, and as she entered the building, she hung back in the shadows, her helmet masking the glow of her eyes, but the metal armor, dancing with runes and emanating a chill, could mark her as nothing but the death knight she was.

The short woman brushed a hand over imaginary dust, pondering the wisdom of coming here, to the Enclave, and here, to Darnussus, in the first place.

She shrugged, turning her cool gaze on the others in the room, examining them, wondering how closely they would be working, and wondering just exactly what the hell was going on.

After a moment of silent inspection, the death knight stepped forward, asserting herself into the room quietly with a small cough, her voice strangely gentle, the echo in her tones clear, though, and her manner is entirely bored, but competent.

"Well," she offers, "What -are- we doing here?"

A quiet had settled over the room. No one spoke, the unfamiliarity between them speaking volumes. She wondered what things would be like in a few days.

Two additional night elves entered—a man and woman—and settled in. They were not talking, either, she noted but the silence was good. It gave her time to think. She stretched her legs out in front of her and wondered when Balanad would arrive.

A small shift caught her eye and she glanced over at the druid in cat form. She was surprised by the glisten of moisture, wondered if he had known someone at the library. Now was not the time to ask, she knew. Maybe later she would find out if he had known anyone there.

Another shape filled the door--smaller, human—bringing with it the unease that only a death knight could bring. Beside her, the cat shifted, raising its head to regard the new comer. It had once been female, the huntress noted, but now the feminine form, in her opinion, was just a shell.

Ah well, someone needed to be cannon fodder.

“Well,” the voice of the death knight was hollow, even in tone, “what –are- we doing here?”

Since Balanad had not yet arrived and she had no idea as to when he might show up, Feliathae spoke up,.

“A group of night elves were murdered in Winterspring and the culprit, a satyr, stole the ashes of a druid that were kept there. The satyr means to use the ashes to corrupt the land. We,” one slender violet finger gestured around the room, “need to track it down and retrieve the ashes before they can be corrupted.”

Balanad made his way towards the Cenarion Enclave. Around him, the streets were buzzing with people going about their day-to-day lives. Some were speaking of daily chores, others were laughing over the events of the previous day, and others still were reeling from the news of what had happened in Winterspring.

Outside the building he was met by the older druid from the previous night, who had introduced himself as Delsaran. “They are gathered upstairs,” the druid spoke quietly. “The shaman was able to provide us with additional information—although he does not think these events have happened yet. This is going to be a cat and mouse game.” The druid glanced upstairs, “Are you ready to meet your team?”

“I am,” Balanad adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Will the draenei be joining us?”

Delsaran shook his head, “No, he is resting now. He will not be joining you as he needs time to recover from his injuries.” He turned to move up the ramp.

The warrior followed, wondering who they were able to collect on such short notice. As they walked, he left his mind go back to the previous dawn, where Alasseya had proven to be her usual self and pouted when he told her he was leaving. Ah yes, the guild card. He knew it well but wouldn’t admit that he had at times used it on her. He preferred to think that he could dump the whole mess of their relationship in her lap and was content to do so. He just wouldn’t listen to that small voice that told him that he was as much to blame as she.

Reaching the top, Delsaran moved into the room his gaze moving over the people gathered until he saw Sammuroth. “Ah good! Our message reached you.”

Delsaran was not a particularly tall man for Kaldorei standards, but he was a commanding one nonetheless. His long green hair was slightly faded with age but his body still looked fit, his chest and shoulders were bare and he wore a traditional leather kilt.

Balanad paused for a moment at the doorway. His looked from one person to another: a druid in cat form, the human—or worgan?—sitting reading a book, the sentinel… his gaze rested on her for a long moment before turning to the huntress. He gave her a polite nod before moving into the room and leaning against the wall.

Delsaran moved to the center of the room. “A brief story, if you will…” he proceeded to tell the tale of Baerythan and Ziantov, ending with how the ashes came to Winterspring. “He was a good man who gave much to his people. Yesterday morning, the library was attacked and the ashes stolen. All but three were killed.”

He paused a moment to let the news sink in, his gaze resting on the huntress. “You are tasked with retrieving the ashes and returning them to Darnassus.”

He nodded to Balanad standing by the wall, “This is Balanad Whitethistle; he will be leading your group in the search for the ashes.”

“We were fortunate enough to have a shaman who was able to have a vision of what the satyr intends," Balanad spoke up as Delsaran ceded the floor to him, “to give us an idea of where the satyr will go, but not when. This has not happened yet… it is a foreshadowing as to what will be coming.

“He intends to use what appears to be a highborn spell to impart the corruption of Vordrassil into the ashes. Exactly what spell, we are uncertain. We are also uncertain which part of Vordrassil he will choose. From the description the shaman gave us, the spell he is looking for is in the Ruins of Shandaral. Our first stop is Dalaran and the Crystalsong Forest. Hopefully we will intercept the demon there before he has a chance to move to Vordrassil.”

The warrior paused to look around the group, “Are there any questions before I have each of you introduce yourselves?”
Sammuroth nodded to Delsaran, not much in a talking mood, the demon's words still echoing in his mind. He zoned out as Delsaran recounted the tale of the ashes, there was really no point in him listening since he had been there, and seen everything. He pondered on the demon's words in the meantime, it can't be true can it? Am I really starting to think like him, he shook his head of course it was all just the demon trying to mess with his head, there was no way he could be starting to think like a demon. He refocused on the discussion when it turned to their first destination, great nothing like going to a city of mages to bring back memories one would rather forget. He didn't even bother to hide the look of frustration, and disgust, about going to Dalaran, it wasn't that he hated mages in general, he just didn't trust them, and of course the painful memories being around mages brought back made things worse.

When the call went out for questions he spoke for the first time, "I have only one question do we have permission to destroy the ashes, should it become apparent we cannot retrieve them. Actually can we just destroy the ashes, along with the satyr, to prevent something like this from happening again, and I do not mean to sound like I am blaming anyone. I just think it will save a lot of future trouble if we destroy them now, who knows what else someone could think to use the ashes for." The druid was not trying to blame anyone for the ashes theft, he had always believed the ashes should have been destroyed rather than saved, to prevent things like this from happening, but no one had heeded his words, and now look where they were. He wanted his question answered first, before he introduced himself, no matter the answer he had every intention of seeing the ashes destroyed.


Illisadel Shadowfury sat atop his pitch black horse, looking over the forces Zara had assembled, an impressive sight. So many demons, and undead gathered under one who was neither Sargeras, or the Lich King, the thought made him smile wickedly. Zara came up beside him, also riding a black horse, she looked adorable as she rode side saddle, she ran her hand down his face. "It is an impressive force master, one that would make both the Horde, and Alliance tremble with fear," the statement was true enough. Undead of all kinds from the lowliest ghoul, to the bigger abominations, also demons of all kinds from imps, to felguards, he had even been able to summon a few infernals. Of course they made up his personal guard, of course not all of these forces would be coming along on this assignment. He had left one of his felguards in charge, he was only bringing a handful of demons, including his three infernals, his undead force numbered around one hundred.

The dark man had used his considerable power to disguise his demons, as simple brutish humans, and he was transporting his undead in large carts, this way they wouldn't be stopped, by any soldiers, an deven if they were stopped, it just meant his undead minions would have a decent meal. An imp jumped up on Zara's shoulder, and she patted it's head, the imp was called Zug, of course that wasn't his actual name, it was just easier to say. Zug was Zara's personal spy, and had been the one to bring the information, about the ashes, Illisadel looked at the imp, "Have you discovered anything." The imp nodded excitedly, "Yes master it seems that the stayr intend to use some sort of Highborne spell to impart Vordrassil's corruption into the ashes. Though the part of Vordrassil he will choose is a mystery, it seems the spell he intends to use in the Ruins of Shandaral," Illisadel nodded, he had an idea of the spell Ziantov intended to use, but of course he couldn't be sure. He was sure however, on their destination, "Zara prepare our forces to move out, we head for the Ruins," Zara bowed, and turned to give the order, Illisadel smiled, soon my beloved sister, soon I will have the power neccessary to bring you back to me, then together we can seek our vengeance against our traitorous brother. The man laughed, and the sound echoed throughout all of Duskwood, sending both man, and beast running for shelter, for fear of the evil the sound carried.
Lanura had sat, silently watching as people trickled in. She wasn't a talkative person, being used to spending long weeks alone in the forest with nothing but nature as her companion. And even then, she wasn't some druid that could sit and talk to a tree for hours or days. She was more pragmatic, seeing the trees and animals of her homeland as tools. The trees provided shelter and cover, the smaller plants offered food, bedding, or medicine, and animals were more likely to end up as her dinner than as a companion. Make no mistake, she loved the forests as fiercely as anyone else, but she simply saw it in a more practical light than most.

The thick silence was broken by the death knight, and Lanura sniffed disdainfully. She had seen death knights here and there on occasion, and had always given them a wide berth. They were unnatural and she had no use for them. The death knight asked a question and was answered by a newcomer. It took Lanura a few moments of mental translating to understand their small exchange.

Soon after, a male night elf entered and explained their task in more detail. It was the same basic story that the Sentinel officer had given Lanura, with more details. Lanura was disgusted by the proposed desecration of a fellow Kaldorei's ashes, but her hot anger chilled to icy fear when she realized they would be going to Dalaran.

Lanura wasn't afraid of heights, but leaping through the boughs of a tree that was solidly rooted in the ground was a far cry from traipsing about a floating rock that was held aloft by nothing more than a damnable arcane spell. Lanura hid her fear well, her body stiffening slightly and her eyes widening as she struggled with the thought.

"We'll only be there a bit," she thought, trying to calm herself. "It hasn't fallen yet, there's no reason for it to fall while you're on it.

She stood as Balanad asked for introductions and questions. "Lanura Shadewing, Sentinel Archer," she said in thickly accented Common. "I have no questions. Druid is right," she said carefully, indicating Sammuroth, "Ashes should be des... destroyed." She then returned to her seat, waiting for the others to make themselves known so that the group could be on their way.
Allaynna nodded, and grinned wolfishly, rising after the Elf had sat back down, her voice cool, "Allaynna Kidrain, death knight." Her lieutenant's insignia on her armor was old, not the modern stuff, a design 5 or so years old, in fact.

She continued, "I've got no questions," she said, turning her gaze critically around the room, "Elfy types should know that I'm not out to get them, or their precious trees, I'm just along for a fight. But," she added, "Fight I will. For what we want. Those damned ashes."

She shrugs and settles back against the wall, blue eyes gleaming from under her helm as she watched the others, she had no qualms with Dalaran, in fact the actually liked the city. Death knights were relatively common there, and she could fit in better in Northrend than most anywhere else on Azeroth.

And besides, Dalaran tended to not be boring, so she would go along happily, sword ready, and jump at the chance to kill something.

She shot the Elf who had spoken before her a glance, and a predatory smile, flashing white teeth in a tanned face.

Turning her gaze back to whoever had decided to speak next, the death knight thunked her sword point-first in the ground and leaned on the hilt, languidly, almost like a very large, very dead cat.
Ashel tipped his prayer book forward, peering over the cover as people started to file in one at a time. Kaldorei, after Kaldorei, after Kaldorei, this was going to be fun being the only outsider. He closed the book with a sigh, preparing to rise when the death knight entered. It would be a lie to say that he did not breathe a sigh of relief in response. At least he would not be the odd man out, though he did feel the death knight would suffer more than he. It was one thing to be cursed but able to control it somewhat, it was another to be..dead.

He silently watched and waited, his gaze roaming over each gathered as if expecting one of them to step forward and introduce themselves. None did, so there they sat in silence.

It wasn't until the last Night Elf came in that things started to get rolling. Ash listened intently as the mission was explained. A Satyr? Ashes? He hadn't the slightest clue of what could actually be done with such things but if they figured it was important, he would help. When the call for questions came, he once again searched over the room, deciding that even if he had one, he would not be the one to stand out among the group.

As the introductions started, he rose up to his feet, brushing the bottom of his robes and straightened them out as best as he could. He tucked the prayer book inside of his robes and took a step forward, clearing his throat.

"My name is Ashel Gregory, friends call me "Ash". While I know I'm not..of your kind, I offer my service to repay that of which your people did for mine. We would surely have perished at the hands of the Forsaken if not for your help. So, here I am, ready to help." He tipped forward, bowing low as he finished speaking before stepping back. His eyes immediately went to the ground, not wanting to see them all staring at him.

"Oh, I am a priest of the Light. I can heal your injuries and instill you with the fortitude needed to complete this task.." Once he finished, he dropped back down into a seated position, plucking his book back from his pocket and pretending to be lost in it's words.

She listened as the group went around the room stating their name, watching each person in turn. When her turn came, she didn’t bother to look at Balanad—he already knew who she was—but took the opportunity to glance around the room again.

“Feliathae Silvermist—tracker and hunter. I can help with procuring fresh food during the trip,” she said. “I can also identify the urn and the ashes.”


The silence in the room when he entered it was palpable. There was nothing like throwing a group of people together in a room under curious circumstances to get them talking, he thought with some amusement. At least people were responding to the call for introductions. Slowly they stepped forward to introduce themselves and he nodded politely at them as they did.

"Lanura Shadewing, Sentinel Archer.”

“Lanura,” he repeated the name, committing it and the fact that she was an archer to memory.

"Allaynna Kidrain, death knight."

“Allaynna…” he paused slightly on the death knight, thinking over the best way to utilize the unique set of skills she would bring. He had not had the opportunity to work with death knights before. Perhaps a longer conversation with her would be in order to better understand how she would fit into the team.

"My name is Ashel Gregory, friends call me "Ash".

“Ashel… Ash,” he was happy to hear that the man was a healer although he hoped that they would not be called upon to use the man’s skills.

When Feliathae introduced herself, he simply nodded at her.

When the question about destroying the ashes was raised, he turned to Delsaran. The older night elf nodded sadly, “It may come to that,” he said quietly. “The ashes were kept because they would remind people of what a great man Baerythan was. However, at the time, it was not foreseen that they could be used in such a manner. If they need to be destroyed, then so be it. We can live with the memory in our hearts.”

“I am Balanad Whitethistle,” he restated his name as a matter of formality. He took a moment to glance around the room before gesturing to Haerolin, Raevine, and Sammuroth. “And you three are?”

Join the Conversation

Return to Forum