Journal of the Rising Sun ((IC #4))

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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A brief conversation made over the Fellowship guild stone:

Azmos Whitemane, his voice deep and hesitant : "I seek to speak with Cyaer Sunblaze if he is available. Cy?"

Cyaer Sunblaze, warm and friendly: "This is he. Az, is that you? Come back to us, my friend. Tempers flare, in the heat of a discussion and when tensions are high...come back to us."

Azmos, his voice is barely a whisper: "No, I can't."

Cyaer, his voice still friendly yet curious: "Can't or won't, Azmos? All will be forgiven, we... I need you here, old friend."

Azmos, quietly: "I won't come back, Cyaer. I won't have my loyalty questioned. Not by the likes of him, or anyone else. I fear nothing, Cy, you know that. I have the Light, and that is enough."

Cyaer, questioning: "Az, would you leave us, the family, the Fellowship when we need you most? When we need everyone of us together, building and rebuilding? You would leave for something so simple as someone questioning your loyality? I am beginning to wonder if you were ever really a part of this Fellowship, Az?"

Azmos, quietly: "Was I ever a part of this Fellowship, Cy? You offend me with such a question. I have given my skills and talents in saving some of the Fellowship, or have you forgotten your dying daughter, or what I tried to do to save your wife, Kel'tira at that moment. Do not think you have the position, no, the right to question me, and where my loyality stood or has standed for so long.

"Where were you, old friend, when I needed help, when I was alone and had no one to aid me? Where was anyone?"

Cyaer, quietly and passionately: "Az, I never knew you needed help. Did you reach out to us? Did we fail to come to your aid? When did you ask for it, and we denied you? My stone is on all the time, and I heard no plea from you, Az. Not once.

"Do you think I would not come? Do you not know I will always remember what you did, and have done for me and this Fellowship?"

"I will offer one more time, please Az, reconsider, come back to us, we need you and the Light you have to help illuminate our way. Don't turn your back on us now. Please."

Azmos, quiet and softly: "I cannot, Cyaer. I wish you well and the Fellowship too. But I cannot."

Cyaer, tersely: "So be it, Azmos. Good luck to you. Oh, and Az?"

Azmos: "Yes?"

Cyaer, coldly: "Throw this stone into a deep river or ocean. I cannot believe you would betray us, the family, the Fellowship...or me this way. Over something so trivial, when so much more is at stake. Good-bye." <sound of a stone going off>

Azmos, quietly: "I am not a traitor, Cy. No matter what you may think. Good-bye, my friend."
Kel sighed. The book in front of her was almost empty. And images flashed through her head. Scrambled memories left behind from Tychus' assault on her psyche. Memories that she wanted hidden. Wanted buried. Memories that she couldn't place. Memories that she hated.


The night in the cave came back with startling clarity. The pain. The anguished cries, hers and Mia's. The hatred, the blood, the self-loathing. She could feel his hands on her body again, in that moment, in the memory made vibrant by magical attack, and her skin crawled. She hated him. She hated herself, too, in that moment, and there was nothing she could do, but lay there and take his punishment. Bound, gagged, and broken.

And she hated it, now, that she had been so helpless. She hated that she hadn't been able to do anything. She hated that she had been humiliated, like that, and hadn't been able to stop it.


The mage stood out in startling, painful clarity in her mind. It hurt, to see her, alive after so long, and feel the wash of emotions that came with Ash's mental image. The day she died. The day they first met. Countless days spent talking together.

Fleeting moments that the two, tall paladin and short mage, had spent together that came back in agonizing detail.

The past is blurred in some places, too clear in others.

Her parents.

The two elves were in her memories as if she should be able to run to them, hug them, and tell them everything, just like she used to. Just like she wished she still could.


Her husband laughed at her, and with her, from the halls of the past. Sharp focus on him bringing a stinging wave of pain to wash over her. Loss. Sorrow. Grief. She missed him. The empty spot in her heart that he used to fill ached sometimes, still, as it always would, but at least... he was alive.

He is alive?

No thanks to her. She hadn't been there when he needed her. She hadn't been there when he-- No.

That was Tychus' meddling.

And now the present calls.

The communicator hooked on the binding of her journal beeped insistantly, demanding her attention. The voice, when she answered with a languid, "Hello," was rough and entirely Orcish.

"Kelly dear?"

"Kraig," Kel's voice was flat, "I don't want your games."

"Oh, I know, precious."

"What do you want?"

Kraig, the Orc, laughs, "I think you know. I need an example made. You were always good at those."

"I'm not a hired killer."

"You used to be, Kelly. That much changed, eh?"

Kel was dangerously quiet, "Kraig. I'm married. Back off. I'm not doing your dirty work, not for your coin, not for anyone else's."

"Oh, I see. There was something between you and Gear, huh?"

"No, you're quite mistaken. I simply had nothing to live for."

"Whatever you say sweetheart."

Kel's voice shifted, sharper, "Kraig. Stop. Now. Find someone else to murder for you, I'm done."
The wind whipped around the large tent located in the heart of the Horde Forward Camp in Townlong. A woman with chestnut brown hair stood over a small table spooning tea leaves into a jade green pot. Not far from her was a blood elf paladin, his hair currently loose around his shoulders rather than pulled back in his normal unkempt ponytail. With him were two other blood elves and three orcs. The six of them were studying a map that was laid out on large table. As they conversed about the movements of the Alliance, trolls, and the occasional stray band of Yaungol, fingers jabbed the map at certain vantage points and small flags and wooden pawns were moved about.

Some distance from the camp, a huge man moved slowly away with a small trail of warriors and mages. His target had been two of the blood elves in the tent, but they were surrounded by an army—the Horde’s army. Although he could move in and do considerable damage, the victory would go to the army. Fifty to one were poor odds no matter how you calculated it and he was not an idiot. He would have to wait this out, but from the small snippets of information that he had picked up in his travels to get here, it seemed that it would be a long time waiting. He would send word back to the people who paid him to seek out this particular quarry and wait to see what they wanted him to do.

Back inside the tent, the woman had poured several cups of tea and now stood looking down at the map, adding in the bits and pieces that she knew from her forays deep into enemy territory. An hour later, the small group broke and the rogue and paladin made their way back to their tent. The hush of night had fallen over the camp and while things had quieted down and appeared still, the stillness was an illusion as the army continued to breath and surge.

As the two went through undressing, bathing, donning night cloths, the front of the tent rustled and a page stepped in.

“We were able to move your letter,” he told the woman who was now sitting on a wide cot rubbing her feet.

She nodded and thanked him. The page left and she scooted over as her husband sat down next to her. “How long ago did you write that?” he asked, brushing aside her hands and moving to massage her feet himself.

“Two or three weeks?” she said, settling back against the pillow. She rubbed a hand over her face. “I know these black out where nothing goes in or out are necessary for our safety, but it has really been too long. Kel has to be worried.”

He didn’t say anything, but nodded frowned as he looked towards the door. They both knew very well why the lock down had gone on for so long.

“At least here we are safe from whatever is happening to the Fellowship,” she pulled her feet from him and patted the bed beside her. “Hard to reach us in the middle of an army.”

He chuckled for the first time in days. “That it is, love. That it is.”

(Journal entry on a plain piece of paper that has been tucked away in a bag)

Lok’tar… for the Horde.

The missive came while we were in Orgrimmar picking up fresh fruit. Apparently, they had been looking for us for some time as Sol’s presence was needed back in Townlong. He tried to argue for us not to go, but in the end, the Horde called and he obeyed. I came with him, there was little they could do to stop me but I will not be going as an infiltrator. I will be going as the wife of a commander and I will be working in the camp earning my stay since I won’t be on the battlefield… or behind it as the case may be.

At first they were not going to allow me to go. They wanted me in a separate camp to be able to run infiltration missions but Sol managed to persuade the man to let me stay with him. Hopefully the man won’t press charges; he seemed more agreeable once I arrived and explained why we wanted to stay together.

I wrote a letter to Kel, explaining where we were heading but didn’t have a chance to get it out until yesterday. Unfortunately, when we arrived, the camp went on blackout so I don’t know when the letter will get out.

I feel terrible having to leave the Fellowship when we are being hunted, but there is no choice. Forgive us, Kel.

(Letter to Kel’tira, opened and read by an orc communications officer before being passed on. The letter is dated a little more than two weeks ago and written in Auxilia’s hand.)

Kel, I hope this gets to you. The war in Townlong and surrounding areas as escalated and Sol has been called back in to lead his men to fight. I am going with him. Know that we are in a large military camp that will be spending most of its time in lockdown. We will be safe within the camp… if we die, it will not be because of the Firehawks.

I know the Fellowship needs all of its members right now and it tears at my heart to know that we can’t be there to help, but we cannot say no to the Horde. I don’t know when either of us will be able to leave the camp, we are still getting settled in and once we arrive, the whole place when on lockdown with a communications blackout. No personal communications will be going in or out until that is lifted. I will try to keep in touch as best I can.

You are stronger than you know and I have faith that the Fellowship will get through this. Take care Kel, please let Cy and the others know what happened.

I'm sorry Kel... Auxilia
The hunt is full of surprises, Fynnariel mused. She sits inside the Fairbreeze Village Inn. Her finger tapping the wine glass before her, she watches the liquid inside ripple in response. With her free hand Fyn pulls her new guild stone from a bag. She warily inspects it, running it between her fingers.

A tattered leather bound book sits open in Fyn’s lap, the ink still fresh.

“Today Wings and I had set out to hunt, but instead we met someone quite interesting and unexpected. Shadow…

In the middle of Eversong Wood of all places!

Another named Ratheron soon joined her. She and Ratheron extended their arms to me in friendship. A hunter they do not know, have never met. I am stunned at how easy it was for them to pull me out of my shell. Even more stunned to know that I accepted their offer to join the Fellowship of the Rising Sun.

I hate large groups of people, I hate the smell and sound of cities…what was I thinking?!

No family, my only friend being the Dragonhawk at my side. The wilderness is my only home. I have been alone since I can remember, never trusting in anyone or anything. Though I suppose even the most solitary of people crave companionship.

Everyone walks into your life for a reason. The Paladin who saved me once spoke those words, and with those words in mind I know I cannot turn away.

Maybe I will be of help to this guild, maybe they will be of help to me.

These are things I cannot know. For now I shall comfort myself with the knowledge that I have started a new adventure, with new friends

Trouble seems to be on the horizon for them, and those troubles are now my own. I am uncomfortable not knowing the depths of their current situation, all will be clear in due time.

The Fellowship of the Rising Sun…new friends and new beginnings.”

Fyn stares longingly at the glass of wine before her. A hunger from deep within tempting her in a moment of uncertainty and in that moment she pushes the glass away. Packs up the book and the stone, slings her bow over her shoulder and leaves the inn.

The full glass of wine is left behind, untouched…
Nearly a month. Nearly a month has passed since those moments of bliss when we met, both in a mental and physical sense. Perhaps as soon as since I came with child. I find myself struggling now, but not because of my path. Every day I spend in this hell hole they call New Dawn, the more that I miss the comforts of home. However, I am not a stranger to 'roughing' it. With a tattered pile of quilts to call a bed, a fireplace that barely works, a small house where the heat leaks out and the cold seeps in, I can say I've slept in worse conditions. I also will not be the kind of woman who demands constant pampering. My child will grow to be strong.

And yet, I had a moment of uncertainty. Watching him sleep after those bastards left us high and dry… Eve is no healer, I've watched her do what she could, but with Shadow unstable and Kel'tira out of commission, all of the work fell on Varus! Those pathetic traitors ought to pray I never find them, seeing how drained he has become. Still he works, not only as a healer, but as my body guard, my lover, and everything else thrown at him. It was no wonder that his sleep was restless.

That he dreamed of darker days.

A part of me wanted to reach out and taste that suffering, as he begged, "Stop… Please…"

Another part wanted to comfort him. I compromised with himself reaching out to him, and found him awaking with a start. The man could have snapped my wrist in the state he was in, and I shudder to think where his blade might have ended up, had he brought it to bed. I wanted to kill him then and there, knowing that his nightmares were a threat to me. And yet, for some idiotic reason, I stayed my temper and comforted him.

I asked him many questions that night. Not about his troubles, but to see just where his mind and heart truly lay. I see in him what made him fall prey to Wynd. It is still strong within him. He would murder even Tyrael, his beloved friend and mentor. An undead blight who walked into his home and was welcomed with open arms by Varus, a man who was tormented by the Scourge. If I asked, he would. The man would do anything for me to see to my safety. I struck him for his idiocy.

My hand stung, but I didn't let it show. I stared at the mark on his face, at the fire in his gaze, and I waited, but still, I cannot find the end of his fathomless patience and dedication. A small part of me began to resign itself to the fact that I may never find the bottom, his attentions to me not unlike a zealot worshiping his idol. And another part of me twisted with a sickening realization.

A gentler woman might have made Varus a happier man.

Blind as he is, I know he will never say that he is unhappy. But the fact that I could twist him to betray someone who saved his life with my words, with my insistence, tells me another tale. This man would follow me into the Nether and back without flinching, and I find myself wishing that he hadn't fallen for me. I pity him. I feel sorry for the wreck of a life I am leading him into. But I cannot change.

I might have to abandon him before he makes me wish otherwise.
The rogue sat cross legged holding a cup of hot tea, at the end of their platform, watching the sunrise over the calm sea that lay at his feet. He found these kind of days were the best, when he could see the sinrise, sip a cup of tea, and think on his own.

Cyaer turned to look over his shoulder, glimpsing his wife still sleeping on their bed. Never in his life had he felt so at peace with himself or the world as he did with Kel'tira. The other day they shared something so intimate and real, he still held it close to him. And now she sleeps, carrying the twins, they both had hoped for.

He promised her he would stay by her side, and care for her. And he did not take his promises lightly, especially those made to her. Cy knew that there would be time to talk, to hold one another, and for love. He loved her so much, and she finally knew just how deep and wide that love was for her. She was the single red rose in his garden of life, and he would always take care of that beautiful rose.

Cy tipped the cup to relieve it of the small dregs of tea leaves, and stood on their platform. He stretched and listened to the sound of the seabirds, and the gentle lapping of the sea to the shore. Then he sauntered towards the door of their home, where he stopped and watched Kel sleeping.

He set the cup on the table and returned to their bed, and he put his arms around her and held her close. As Kel'tira snuggled close to him, he kissed her on the forehead, and whispered softly, "I love you, Kel'tira". He lay there several minutes, savoring the warmth of her laying beside him and in his arms. And he sighed, content with his life with her in it, and closed his eyes.

He smiled as he dreamt of the day he would bounce his babies on his knees, and he glanced up to see the loving look Kel'tira gave him. Life was indeed good.
From darkness came light. And from light came the darkness. I wonder to myself when the last time was that I had wept, if not silently away from prying eyes in gratitude that we made it through this. There was sacrifice on this path, but still, we have to move forward. My sight was damaged as a result of a certain priestess' spell, though it wasn't her fault. None of us could have known how that monster would have reacted to having such a spell thrown at him. None of us could have predicted that this enemy would win over so many points. The Fellowship staggers, but it continues to move forward.

From Dalen weeping in shame at his inability to protect me to Varus giving me a cold shoulder when I attempted to ask for his cooperation in promoting peace between myself and Zarina, to Shadow approaching me and asking me for help with wording a heartfelt letter to the Fellowship. Life continues in a chaotic swirl, but I do not find myself growing tired from watching it. I wonder when the young ones will realize that this is success at its finest. That live -can- move this way. Shadow certainly struggles, I can see the open pain in her eyes whenever those who have left us are mentioned. Such wounds will take longer to heal than the scars inflicted in battle.

A meeting is planned and I've heard of its time and location being whispered around over the guildstone. I think it's about time that Dalen and I take a small vacation of our own as I consider how to approach Zarina. Varus may have wished for us to leave it in the past, but I can see the flames of hatred in her eyes whenever we cross paths. With her digging in the local area for crystals due to Varus being bogged down and myself being a patient, this happens more often than he seems to realize. Zarina is as transparent as the gems she uses for power. The woman would murder me given half a reason to do so.

Other whispers have begun to reach me from the order as well. What happened at the Firehawk estate, the project Zarina had been in charge of. Soldiers slain, one sea side home set aflame with a sole survivor brutally scarred for the rest of his life, the bodies of women, even children found. I wonder if Ratheron does not yet realize how powerful the woman's ambitions are, and what she has done under the Fellowship's name.

I will personally have to either attest to the Fellowship's innocence with the Blood Knights or damn them, Zarina, Varus, Dalen, and everyone associated with this incident. It is being demanded of me.
Sometimes I wonder what it is that pushes us forward along a certain path. Is it truly our own will? Or are we simply pawns in a large game played by beings of such vast power that we can't even begin to comprehend their existence? In times past I have debated with staunch supporters of the Light, I've even witnessed the so called "Twilight's Hammer" now and I see a similarity between each group that says they serve the "divine."

Idiocy. They blind themselves to all things that would otherwise turn their thoughts to the possibility that what they believe might be wrong, that what they believe would have to change and thus fall prey to the trappings of ignorance. I shake my head at such things because I see it now in all walks of life, in every aspect of the world. From the Darkspears and even my own people to the Alliance and the common enemies we share.

Ignorance. The true downfall of all living things. What I would not give to simply rid the world of such stupidity and yet to do so would require an act far beyond what I am capable of. So how does one begin? Yet an even better question is where does one begin? Such questions lead me to back to the same place as with all things. Start small.

I laugh at the sheer audacity of such a statement and yet it is both accurate and logical. Start with one ripple and as it moves out make another and another and another, soon they add to each other, strengthening and building upon the previous ripples and in time you will have your change. So I again look back to my small part in this world and realize where I must begin.

I have already set such things into motion, asking Lineron and with the intention of asking Kreydes as well to train all within the Fellowship who require it in the arts of combat. I will not see what happened to Honi happen again, nor will I see it divided in such as way as occurred with Azmos.

We must be strong yet to build that strength we must create bonds that go deeper than simply the tabard we wear, the stones we carry. I asked them to instruct those who need more combat training because of how they fight. They are Death Knights and thus are harder to defeat, harder to kill and also they bring a level of ingenuity to a fight that few can. They will attempt a suicide charge one moment and the next draw their opponent into the same action.

They are without a doubt some of the most fearsome opponents anyone could and would ever face. Thus I will have them teach so that the Fellowship can once again grow stronger, I also hope that they will impart upon the younger generations that war is a mean business. It is not the heroic tales of heroes sacrificing themselves to save others. It is gritty and dirty and nasty. Evil even as men and women fight to the bitter end for whatever reason they chose to fight for.

Now I progress from there to the next logical task which is the completion of New Dawn, our base has grown lax in what needs to be done to turn it into what we wish it to be. A home. So I now have a list of tasks, errands and projects that need be accomplished yet I will not just assign people to do them. I will post them out, on the guild stone's message and in letters to all the Fellowship.

All will have the chance to aid us, those who do will have a chance to rise further in rank. I already have several candidates in mind for higher positions.

This is posted upon the Guild Message Board, as well as detailed in the letters Ratheron sent out.

Fellowship Projects:
1) Rebuilding of the Forge - We require the Forge to be completed so that we can produce weapons and armor for those in the Fellowship.
2) Clear and Rebuild the Training Grounds - This task is a simple one, simply clean up the debris in and around the destroyed keep and prepare it to be used as a training field. Target dummies and the like should be set up.
3) Rebuild the Town - We must make this place far more livable than it is, thus I am asking all who are capable to design bed cloths and other furnishings for the homes that still stand. For those able to build I would like to see the buildings that are in disrepair be rebuilt and prepared for more to come live within New Dawn.

Fellowship Material Needs:
1) Ores - We require all ores at the present time. Preferably Ghost Iron Ore for our weapons and armor and Iron Ore for the construction of buildings.
2) Cloth - Windwool and Silk cloth is needed both for bandages, clothing and bedding. Please provide all the cloth to us that you can.

It is a hard concept to understand, one that many fail to realizes is as multifaceted as the individual people themselves. Yet it is also simple, easy to realize if one has been in love before or on the cusp of love. I sit here writing in my journal while Zari is off mining gems, resting as she told me I needed to before the ritual to aid in Tyrael's resurrection, and I find myself pondering our latest argument and debate.

I have to chuckle at how our conversations always end this way, with her continuing to miss the point of my words or even vice versa at times. Yet it is that very thing that adds such flavor to our relationship, that makes it refreshing compared to the many relationships I see around us. I look at Tyrael and Eve and I see a subdued man, whether it is from the fact he is trying to understand how to deal with his undeath or from the woman he now shares a bed with I do not know yet I am confident of one thing. He is a changed man, yet change in and of itself is not bad. Change can be good or bad, the question is whether Tyrael's change will be good or bad. Mine, when I was and after Wynd was bad. I found I lost sight of who I wanted to be and who I really was.

Yet have I found that end? Possibly but life is a long journey, one that I do not see an end to unless it is unexpectedly at the hands of my enemies. But the question still nags at me some, where do I want to go? My sole remaining enemy is a Death Knight I do not have access to, he is strong and powerful and surrounded by allies who would crush me and mine the moment they caught wind of what we intended. Yet again I wonder if that is not the path I should take. I look to my lover and I find that she holds grudges worse than I do, she loses sight of all things when she hates and rages. While attractive I sometimes find myself having to show her the need to temper such things, bold action is useful only when it serves a purpose.

Perhaps that is what Zari wants of me, not to serve her as a companion of just the heart and bed but one that shows her a way different than her own. Perhaps my complete indifference to what she does, to how she acts and even to my assent to help her kill those who threaten her, even if I have yet to deem one truly fit as such a threat, is why she thinks me a fool. I find it odd that the woman, so taken with my intelligence would believe me to truly be a fool, but maybe she is trying to cover up for the fact that she loves me and is afraid of the future.

I see it plain as day on her face and yet while I won't tell it to her outright as it would only cause to create a fight, one with magic and weapons and not words, would serve no one. But its obvious and she fears it, her own heart as if it were the most terrifying thing in the world. Yet I know the feeling, I feared my own heart for a very long time. I feared falling in love, rebuilding my family and then having it snatched away from me. My fears were even realized with Wynd when she lost our child, and yet I came to realize that this is simply a test of will. A test of our resolve for the path we choose, do I take a lesser road? An easier road? Do I fight, as Tyrael has always said, for the road I wish?

Such a question is hard to answer because while one might say in the comfort of their temporary home, or even their real home, that the answer is yes. When the going gets tough, when the cards are down and the pieces are in place is your answer still yes? Or are you truly a coward at heart?

So far I have lived by a code of conduct that has me challenging death and life at every stage, pushing them back. While at times I have fallen short of that ideal I rise again to meet it and fight constantly for that wish I want. Right now what I want is Zari and our child. Right now what I want is a world where our child can grow up and be whatever they want to be and have a chance of being great.

Thus I will fight for that.

Varus set the journal down, closed but it was obvious what it was, and headed outside to get some fresh air and food. He also wished to speak to Ratheron about something and so made his way towards the Town Hall, they would need to think of a better name for that building here in the future he thought.
Lying on a hospital bed in Pandaria, Jana flinches as the healer checks the slash on her arm. It stings and throbs, possibly infected. "Ouch! That hurts still!!" she protests.

The healer frowns slightly, "What were you fighting anyway? This should be healing, it has been several days. If it is infected, we may need stronger healing. I will get some herbs to combat the infection." she then reaches up to feel Jana's forehead and detects a fever. Her head shakes and she refrains from another comment as she turns to leave.

"It was some kind of monster, odd in color, swirling with dark energy. I felt hopeless fighting it. If it had not been for my companions we would have all succumbed to it I am sure. The monk with us called it something...what was it..OH! It was called a Sha! I have never seen its like, from the moment I landed here with the ship. It is so beautiful a place, but the darkness is under it all. At least that is what the rest of us surmised. How do we fight this thing? It preys on emotions. Twisting and tearing at the very soul of a person." her ramblings become blurred as she slips into unconciousness.

The healer gasps and heads for the main healer and nearly panics, "She is slipping away! We need to combat this now! The monk tries to soothe the nurse and heads to Jana's bedside.

"If she was fighting the Sha, we will need to purge it from her. We will need to reopen that wound and clean it out. Get hot water and bandages, this will not be an easy task. We may lose her. I do hope she is strong willed."

They prepare Jana for the surgery, cleaning out the wound and removing whatever corruption is in there. A healer skilled in combating Sha infections, the monk works swiftly. The wound is reopened and the small glob of Sha infestation is removed. As the clean out the wound again, she starts to come around.

"What happened? My arm is killing me! It hurts like hell!" she mumbles as she looks up at the monk hovering over her. Her arm still throbs, but it is now cleaned and bandaged.

"This will leave a scar, and I think you should maybe check with the Fellowship. You will not be returning soon. They seem a lively bunch. Perhaps they are worried about you?" the kindly Pandaren chuckled as he sent soothing mists into her arm to lessen the pain.

Jana sighs, picking up the guildstone only to hear them talking of love. She listens for a short time before replying. "I don't have time for love. There are more important things to do with my time." she is clearly still in some pain. The irritation and sharp gasps as they move her arm to check her responses.

Jana will not admit to anything indicating weakness. She has found it to be the only defense mechanism that works for her. If pursued she merely fades into the shadows. She listens to the Fellowship banter for a time before she falls asleep. Her message to them forgotten as she drifts off.
Rhannah sat up in her tent and reached out beside her, her brain still in that twilight land between dreaming and waking. The empty space jolted her brain into it's fully awake state. She placed her head in her hands and rubbed at her eyes in a futile effort to chase away the last images.

With no one to comfort her, she bent her knees, rested her head on top of them and wrapped her arms around her legs. The nightmare was bad. A replay of the events that had seen even Micah turn against her. Micah. How she now despised the man she once thought she had loved.

He had been a playmate in childhood. Together they had gotten into, and out of, so many scrapes that their parents constantly worried when they were together. As they grew into their teens, they had been inseperable. Even when her calling had made itself plain, he had not rejected her as so many others did. He had encouraged her to find her path inside her calling. Was proud of her when she showed that she had the skill with shadow magic needed to call herself a shadow mage.

Rhannah snorted at that. She was no shadow mage, she was a warlock, capable of summoning and controlling powerful demons. She could set buildings alight from yards away if she chose. Her specialty though was the magic of the shadows. She could lay a curse on someone from across a crowded room and have no one be able to say that she did. Her calling made her hated amongst her own people, although they had no qualms about using her skills if they needed it.

The hypocrites actually thought that calling her a shadow mage made it somehow more acceptable. Whatever. She went along with them because she needed them as much as they needed her. She needed people to buy her potions and elixirs so that she could buy the things she needed to survive.

That her people rejected her because of her calling hurt, but it was to be expected. What wasn't expected was how Micah and her few friends had turned against her. She hadn't expected how that traitorous b***h Meghann had wormed her way into Micah's bed. It would have been so easy to incinerate the house with both of them inside it. To show them that she was no shadow mage. To show them that she was a warlock in full control of her powers.

But a voice inside her head spoke to her as she was in the middle of casting a ball of fire that would destroy the building in an instant. Her brother's voice. The memory of a time when she had just been coming into her powers surfaced and halted her mid spell. Leon had put her arms around her that day and told her that no matter what, he she was his baby sister and he loved her. The thought of how disappointed Leon would be had her turn the spell towards a nearby bonfire that was dying out, causing it to flare up brightly for a few moments.

Rhannah brushed the tears from her eyes and dug her journal out of her pack, the nightmare finally starting to loosen its hold on her. She opened it to a blank page and began to write.

I've finally arrived in Light's Hope Chapel and Ratheron is not here. The people say that they will send word to him so all I can do is wait. Still it's not such a bad place to be stuck for a few days. The people here seem accepting, but I'm not going to push my luck. I'll just keep to myself and relax for the time being..

I had another nightmare tonight. I seem to be cursed to relive the time of my betrayal whenever I even think I will find people that will accept me. I hate to think of what will happen if any man even dares to try and get close to me. I doubt that I will ever see that though. Micah's betrayal was so total that I may never be able to trust anyone that way again.

Of course, I can't blame him totally. I've seen that b***h Meghann have stronger men than Micah begging for her attention. Heard her boast about how easy it is to wrap men around her finger. I didn't expect her to use her... talents ... on Micah. I just wish I had seen the weakness in his soul long before she had set her sights on him.

I can't help wondering though, about the people I am going to meet. What sort of people are they? Will they accept me as a warlock, or as a shadow mage? Will they have need of an alchemist, or do they have one amongst their number already? It matters little. For now, all I want is a piece of land that I can grow my herbs on and a space to call my own. A space where I can finally start to put the past behind me.
Cyaer sauntered down his short walk on Singsong Ranch towards his mailbox. He found it a pleasant idea to have a mailbox of his very own. He thought everyone should have one, it made it so much easier to receive notifications, and personal letters.

He opened the letter that had come from Ratheron, and he nodded as he read the conclusion. With these things he could help. He ran back to the little plot of land he considered his own little bit of heaven, and tore up the crops he had just planted not more than an hour ago.

He had the seeds, and he planted the whole field with them. Soon enough he would have plenty of windwool for New Dawn. And he would make a special trip to a few places he knew he could find the Ghost Iron ore as well as the ordinary iron ore. He would do what he could to help the Fellowship grow strong and prepare for what lay ahead.

As he looked out over the already half grown field, he thought of Neryth and how his blacksmithing skills would be helpful for New Dawn. And how Azmos would utilize the windwool for bandages and dressings for any wounded the Fellowship might have.

Then he shook his head. They weren't a part of the Fellowship anymore. They had run out on it when the Fellowship had needed them most.

And Cy moved towards his little home away from home. And found the box of commstones Neryth had shipped to him. The new stones. And he would take them to New Dawn and give them to Ratheron, he would know what to do with them, and how to dispurse them out to the Fellowship.
Fynnariel stands outside of New Dawn. Her eyes sweep over the structure, still under construction, and its surroundings. So this will be home…is home.

The area in general is desolate to a hunter’s eye, but perhaps once New Dawn is rebuilt it will hold more appeal. Wings flew away earlier with something glittering in his mouth and returns to Fyn’s side. “Made a nest here already?” He nuzzles her gently in response. “You had better not taken anything for those Death Knights; I won’t be able to save you if you did.”

Tyrael, Kreydes, Kazz, Kel’tira, Eve…

Her mind reflected on the people she had met, and their conversations. Not that Fyn spoke much, she rarely did. Especially in large groups!

Tyrael and Kreydes were intimidating and off putting. Though Tyrael seemed to relax, slightly, when he learned Shadow and Ratheron had recruited her. Deathknights… she shivered. Kazz was interesting, the first Goblin she had ever met. When Fyn first saw Kazz the typical stereotypes popped into her head. She chuckled remembering how Kazz interacted with the Deathknights. The Goblin is…feisty. I think I like her.

‘The Goblin’, ‘the Deathknights’…I really must stop referring to them as such. With Azeroth the way it is now, these stereotypes and prejudices do not help.

Kel’tira had caught up with her while she explored the area surrounding New Dawn. The Paladin seemed nice. Fyn cringed slightly feeling bad for not being more talkative. After meeting so many people at once she had been pushed to her limit and felt like fish out of water. Uh’s and Um’s…they must think I’m an idiot. Eve she was never formally introduced to.

Tyrael had opened Fynnariels eyes to the goings on in the Fellowship, the Horde, and Azeroth. During her ‘recovery’ she had stayed out of the world and its many problems. The threat of extinction was nothing new to the Sin’dorei. She knew the pain, madness and despair that such a threat brings with it all to well.

Wings chirped at her and she stroked his head. “Tyrael is right about this place isn’t he?” Absolutely defensible, a snipers dream in combat, the exhilaration she felt made her uncomfortable. A hunger roared from deep within and Fyn licked her lips with a frown. The murderer inside, waked by drink and madness will have to be controlled if I am to be of any help in combat…

Tychus had wounded the Fellowship deeply and Fyn had seen the sorrow in the eyes of her new comrades. At the moment Tychus was the threat that concerned her most.

Leaning over to Wings she whispered. “We must tread carefully.” She stroked the Dragonhawks wings. “You and I are easy targets for the Firehawks.” As they were right now, Fyn and her pet didn’t stand a chance if cornered. We shall have to stay off the grid. That was not hard for a hunter to do. Eversong Forest had long been her home, but she would have to leave Quel’Thalas soon. Large cities of any type will be bad news.

She remembered the look on Kazz’s face when she realized there was no turning back and a wave of compassion swept over Fyn. There was no one who would miss Fyn if she left, but Kazz was different. Kazz had friends, probably family in Orgrimmar.

We will do all we can to help the Fellowship. We shall regain our strength and see if we can gather the items needed to rebuild this place. Fynnariel’s gaze landed on Wings for a moment. He was old, and battle scarred, she would have to retire him soon. He could stay here in New Dawn, he would be happy here…

Shaking herself out of her thoughts Fyn motioned to Wings and the two bolted for the gate.
The basement had been thoroughly cleaned, painstakingly so by the priestess. The ground was covered with markings, the walls, for she had studied many, many arts of magic in order to pull together what had to be done. A pile of cloth and pelts with a pillow on top made for where the man was to lay, each spot marked carefully for those who would take part in this near blasphemy. Eve waited patiently on her spot, marked at where the Death Knight was to lay with his head near her. The room was divided into thirds, with Eve alone taking up one of the portions. The other two were set up so either two, or up to four others could join in on either side of where the bedding was set up. Candles were lit, filling the room with a dim glow and a soothing scented fragrance. The very room was already humming to life with her energy, with her magic.

Silently, she sat, her eyes closed as she waited, no longer dressed in her usual blues and blacks, even her chains replaced as she wore a simple dress, letting her pale golden hair fall as it would. The room was already charged, she merely needed for the others to show up, her heart pounding as she wondered if this was really happening. So much time and energy was being spent on this, and yet she couldn’t help at dread the results of failure. With such high stakes, she considered running up the stairs and calling it off. Telling Tyrael to leave, to forget it. To let the enchantment placed upon him at his death wear away, its ability to preserve him allowed to fade until there was no longer the glimmer of hope that he could be raised as a warrior.

“So, anxious?” Varus asked of his friend, the two of them sitting upstairs as they waited for Ratheron and Shadow to arrive. Varus had no doubt that Tyrael’s uncle would come to at least witness this show. He also knew Zari would be coming over here shortly, he had left ahead of her because he wanted to speak with Tyrael. The Death Knight shrugged, not really worried at all.

“It will either work or it will not. I am not going to worry about something I cannot control.” He replied and then he heard a laugh from the doorway, looking up he noticed his uncle was standing their with an elderly looking orc.

“Spoken like a true stoic, yet you aren’t one and you never have been so don’t act heroic for us please?” Ratheron said with amusement evident in his voice for his nephew as he and the orc, Crom, stepped inside the Inn. Tyrael rose to embrace his uncle and then joined Varus in giving the orc a questionable look.

“Oh you young elves, thinking all orcs follow Garrosh eh? Fools is what you are. Crom Seerseye is the name, try not to look so incredulous I might decide to pour stones into your mouths.” He said with a wheezing laugh.

Ratheron also chuckled and clapped Crom on the shoulder. “He’s a shaman of some renown, I have no doubt he will help you walk the spirit realm and bring some great insight to this task ahead of us.” Tyrael had enough grace to bow to the man who was probably going to save his life. Varus smiled and offered the orc his hand which Crom took.

“Varus, you probably know who that one is, I’m also helping in the task ahead.” He said and Crom nodded.

“Good good. Seems we have a good array of arts available to us, where is that lover of yours, Elf. She seems to have wandered off again!” Crom said with annoyance, it was obvious that he found Shadow to be far too rambunctious.

“Here, present!” Shadow had spotted Zari and had stopped to greet the warlock, who had reacted with her usual reservation and barely withheld annoyance. And yet, had been forced to follow, if only to watch Varus work his magic. Shadow smiled all too happily as she greeted everyone with an excited “Hello!”. Her left wrist had been splinted and she gave no indication that it was hurting, but given her usual demeanor, that wasn’t surprising at all. The young monk always seemed to be happy given the slightest reason.

Zarina Dawnstalker looked at Shadow with annoyance behind the woman’s back, only to shake her head and approach Varus, inclining her head to the rest who had gathered in polite greeting. “I was hoping to at least watch, as I’ve no knowledge of the healing arts...” the woman murmured softly and looked around for Eve, but the woman who had pulled all of this together wasn’t present, so she looked at the group instead. “Does anyone have any objection?”

Shadow shook her head quickly, but then realized that she hadn’t a clue if there would be a problem or not. She had never revived someone before, and certainly not a walking, talking someone. Concerned, she looked up at Ratheron to see what he thought.

Ratheron smiled at Zari and nodded, “That should be fine. We should check with Eve first as this is her brainchild but I think we are safe to assume you can watch. Now let’s go downstairs shall we? I’m sure Eve is already down there?” He asked looking directly at Tyrael knowing the young man would know where Eve was at all times. Tyrael rolled his eyes at the look and decided to lead the way down stairs the other men falling in behind as Varus draped an arm around Zari, kissing her hair as they walked. When Tyrael spotted Eve in her spot he danced over to her and placed a kiss on her nose before settling on the spot where he knew he was supposed to be.

“Ratheron brought a friend.” He murmured with amusement as the shaman stared around at the markings and grunted with approval.

“You’ve done good priestess. All we are missing now...” He stopped speaking as he reached into the largest pouch at his waist and withdrew what looked to be small wooden objects that he held with reverence. Tyrael suddenly realized that they were Crom’s totems, the things that let him directly commune with the elements and the spirits. Crom set these up around Tyrael at the four points of a compass before nodding with approval and stepping back waiting for Eve to direct them to where they needed to stand. Ratheron for his part was also impressed but he had less to do, he was here as a calming force, someone to bring vast sums of energy to the ritual and provide a means to pool that energy together. He wasn’t as skilled in these arts as others yet he had stores of energy unlike any the others were capable of attaining.

Varus sighed as he stepped a bit away from Zari and began to remove his armor so that he was more comfortable and able to work without it being an issue. As he did this he too looked to Eve to see how she would take control of this situation.

Eve kept her eyes closed, at least until her lover’s lips touched her nose. Chuckling with amusement, she opened her eyes and looked at everyone gathered before directing how she would have those participating stand. With a monk on either side of Tyrael and Crom next to Ratheron, and Varus next to Shadow, she felt more than comfortable with this arrangement. Her eyes drifted towards the warlock who had been left out of the equation and tilted her head towards the doorway.

“If you can stand there, then we’ll be certain to get the most out of this,” she spoke calmly, as if she had done this a thousand times before. The wear on the woman’s face was still evident, she had invested so much into this, that Zari didn’t even try to argue. The warlock leaned down to kiss the back of her lover’s neck after he had settled and offer his shoulders a gentle squeeze before stepping out. At the doorway, she could look in, but wasn’t close enough to affect the group’s energy.

“Thank you,” Eve turned her attention back to those gathered as she pulled a dagger from a small pouch at her side, noting that the totems only added to her arrangement.

“Everyone. This wouldn’t be possible if it was just me alone... A resurrection is not an easy task, especially considering that Tyrael is now known as a Death Knight...” her eyes drifted towards her lover, offering him a small smile. “And yet he is not. A powerful flame of desperation can return the soul to one’s body. A lich can infuse a soul into a blade... But our dear Tyrael here is quite special indeed... His soul is where it should be. Though he has been considered ‘dead’ for some time, his body was perfectly preserved before it even went cold. He is here with us, yet he is not altogether whole... the Death Knight energy infused in him merely casts the illusion of his status as a Death Knight. In truth, he is... somewhat of a warrior in limbo. Neither here, nor there...” she trailed off, letting this information seep into everyone present.

“He is in stasis, the magic that is preserving him is also chaining his being from moving on, much like the unholy magics now within him are keeping him from returning to fully to life.” Ratheron noted, it made sense and he realized that what they had to do was first break the unholy enchantments upon him and then break the second set of enchantments, both had to be broken almost simultaneously else Tyrael would either be stuck in limbo or lost to them forever. He considered this with equanimity something he knew Eve would not be doing.

“So the task is simple yet complicated we must break all but a single strand of each set of magics upon the man and then sever both while tethering his spirit to the body. Hmm...” The shaman thought about this and then an idea came to him, he leaned over to Ratheron and spoke to him in quiet tones as he pulled out what looked to be another totem. Ratheron got a glimmer in his eyes and he slapped Crom on the shoulder. “It appears we actually could use Zari here Eve...” Ratheron murmured to the priestess before eyeing the warlock.

“We shamans learn how to walk the spirit realm and while I do not have the time to teach Tyrael to do so, and tether it to his body, I can however use what we call ‘ankhs’ to tether his spirit here. However it will only hold his spirit in the realm of spirits, with me there watching over him, to pull him back to this world he will need what we would call a push. However such a push is almost impossible to create if you and the others are focused entirely upon banishing the last of the magical tethers.” Crom stops and looks to Ratheron wondering what the woman was capable of doing that would warrant her involvement.

“As my friend said the push can come from Zari, who has the ability to provide that push. Combining her magic with the ankh would give Crom and Tyrael the means to return his spirit to his body thus resuscitating him and renewing to life that which is technically dead.” Ratheron said with a smile, Varus had to agree it was the best option they were going to get and while he first looked to Tyrael to see if the man was okay with this he let his gaze drift to Zari to see if she was okay with what was being asked of her. “Let’s just clarify all we need her to do is infuse some magic into this ankh and that is all correct?” Varus asked on behalf of Zari, hoping to make it so that she was not being put into a situation that she didn’t want to be in. In response Crom simply nodded as if it had been obvious.

“I’m not familiar with Shaman magic,” Zari crept back into the room, careful to not step on any of the marks Eve had made, watching the group warily. Truthfully, she thought this was all quite round about, and though she appreciated what they were trying to do, part of her wanted to scream that she could just jerk some of Tyr’s soul into a soulstone, then summon it all the way back into his body after the rest had fled into the afterlife. And yet, she found her throat closing, silencing herself. Of all of the people she expected to be least understanding of her semi-secret status as a warlock, it would have to be a group of healers and a Death Knight. “Please describe what exactly you want me to do... Because I usually really just burn things.”

Shadow had to giggle softly at the thought of Zari trying to burn Tyrael back into life. And yet, the depth of the conversation wasn’t lost on her in the slightest. Though her smile had faded, it was obvious that the gears were turning in her mind. An intelligent gleam was all that gave away her thought process on the matter, that she was completely tuned into what was going on. Her eyes drifted towards the dagger and offered Eve a questioning look, but the priestess simply shook her head and directed her attention back to Zari, more than just a little interested to see how this theory played out.

“What we are asking is that you take this ankh and you store a portion of Tyrael’s soul within it. So that when its time to draw him back to his body Crom can shatter it and then Tyrael’s soul will flood back into his body. If the soul is within the body when the magic falls he will perish with it and be lost to us. We need to make sure he is not within his body. Crom will pull him out for the breaking of the enchantments but to bring him back we need you to create what I believe is called a soulstone.” Ratheron said quietly, he was trying to be as delicate with this situation as possible. Crom nodded, showing his obvious confidence that this plan would work and it was even more obvious that Crom had no qualms with warlocks, it seemed odd for the shamanistic orc but without knowing anything about him it was hard to judge.

Varus was eyeing Zari with concern, he didn’t want her to run and he was ready to protect her and whisk her away at a moment’s notice should she need it. Whereas Tyrael was simply watching the entire conversation with a stoic mask not at all worried about this.

“Soulstone,” Shadow mused. Eve leaned forward as she looked at Zarina thoughtfully, only so that she could press her lips to Tyrael’s neck, trying to sneak him a kiss. The warlock looked at everyone present, gauging their responses critically as she let a silence grow. No one reacted negatively, though Shadow certainly was giving Zari a more curious look than the woman ever wanted to experience. Zarina let out a soft sigh before reaching forward into a small pouch she always wore at her belt, pulling out a tiny shard which she slipped between her lips.

(sorry did not mean to post this here)
In the dim lights of the room, the shard was illuminated with its potent energy moreso than usual. She came forward to sit in front of Tyrael before looking at Crom, holding her hand out for the ankh as she rolled the fragment between her lips, much like a smoker would with their stick. Nothing about this was simple, she thought to herself solemnly, but then again, Tyrael wasn’t a simple patient. Though she wouldn’t look the Death Knight in the eyes, nor Ratheron, not even her own lover, Varus, her lips drawn into a thin line.

Crom handed the woman the ankh it was a small wooden cross, wrapped with kodohide leather and set with a small tribal symbol it thrummed with power. Crom then re-took his place as did Ratheron who closed his eyes and began to meditate. The monk slowly sat on the ground and then began to float in the air, his Chi energy giving him the ability to hover in the air. While this threw Crom off for a moment Varus didn’t pay any of them anymore attention as he too centered himself in preparation for what was to come. While he continued to watch Zari the Blood Knight drew the Light to himself and began to slowly concentrate his energies, building them up within himself so that they could be used to deal with the magical enchantments.

Tyrael was at ease, reaching an arm around to wrap around Eve’s head for a momentary squeeze to reassure the woman as he grinned at Zari. He knew that she’d be successful, this whole thing was going to go off without a hitch. There wasn’t a way any of these people could fail. At least this is what he told himself and he exuded that confidence to the others to help them as best he could.

Zarina reached out to put her hand against Tyrael’s chest once she had the totem in hand and closed her eyes. Generally, a ritual was required for this aspect as well, but she could feel the warm energies of all of the healers gathered beginning to swell. Even Shadow had abandoned whatever thought process was going through her chaotic mind in favor of meditating as well, gathering her energies. Everyone knew what had to be done by then, and it seemed as if even Tyrael had absolute faith in them. Mildly irritated at being called onto the spot the warlock drummed her fingers gently against the man’s chest, her eyes closing.

In complete contrast to the energy of the holy light, to the monks’ pure energies, and the shaman’s own earthly presence, a dark feeling crept from the warlock as she summoned her own magic, unaware of that tapping. It wasn’t unlike the rhythm of a heartbeat, one falling quickly after another. Considering how the woman dressed, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine she was about to let her fingers dance over the man’s chest, a playful gesture here or there, perhaps. Nor did Zarina care if anyone fantasized such a thing, for it had happened many a time to the slender warlock.

The Death Knight’s body did not welcome these magics readily, she realized with annoyance, but could not ask for him to knock it off. Frowning, she simply forced herself to push past the powers naturally filling his very being, corrupting and tainting him, though she had to marvel at him. Just as Eve had said, he was perfectly preserved. If she had been using her energies to look for more than just the life force of his soul, she might have been able to tell what he’d had for lunch, if even that process was halted. But that was too much information even for her to want to dig into.

Just like the priest had said, his soul was right where she had found it in every other being. She bit into the fragment in her mouth, then, and felt the familiar shock of energy pouring into her very being, fueling her, nearly overwhelming her with just that piece of energy. She reached out and attacked Tyrael’s very soul maliciously, the fel energies searing through his soul as she cut a piece away imperfectly and drawing it away to store into the ankh. A simple process, yet the cutting itself, the act of breaking through one’s natural resistances to such a thing, left the warlock panting heavily without a proper ritual to back it up.

Shaking, she held the ankh out to Crom, absolutely unapologetic to the brutal force needed for creating a soulstone or the sheer agony which accompanied it. Raising a hand to her eyes, she wiped at the sweat with a shaking hand and silently vowed to never rip a soul fragment out of another Death Knight. Grimacing at all of the stress the woman had gone through that day, she rubbed her stomach in annoyance at a mild cramp which had developed. These idiot people were going to give her an ulcer at this rate.

“There you go...” she murmured softly, needing a couple more minutes before attempting to even stand.

Ratheron watched through his mind’s eye as Zari worked as as she finished he funneled a bit of his energy into her. All he did was pour energy, unadulterated Chi which wouldn’t adversely affect her in any way and would actually make her feel lighter and less tired. It would be a temporary thing but it was enough to give her the push she needed to step away. Crom took the ankh and set it down in front of Tyrael. “Close your eyes Death Knight and be at peace. Do not attempt to stop me, it will only make it more difficult,” He paused as he closed his own eyes and sat on the ground murmured words of power under his breath before telling the others, “When we are joined I will tell you when to begin. Only do so then.” He then stopped speaking altogether and simply reached out to Ratheron, the elder monk accepted the Shaman readily into his mind and then he extended his senses to Eve, Varus and Shadow.

Tyrael was doing as he was directed and he simply sat there rigid as stone, he would thank Zari later. He felt the pain but thankfully his unholy blight made it almost difficult to feel, yet he would find a way to thank the woman for her aid. He slowly felt Crom reaching into him and at first his spirit balked, he himself balked for his instincts of self preservation started to override his good sense. The sounds of a wolf growling in the background grew and Tyrael realized it was Crom, the grizzled old orc was in the shape of a spirit wolf in his mind and he realized he was supposed to follow. Slowly but surely Tyrael pulled away from himself with Crom guiding the Sin’dorei out of his body and into the plane of spirits.

Once there Tyrael looked around at the world and noticed how blue it appeared, he looked around and still saw Zari sitting where she was slowly moving as if she were in water. “This plane moves faster than the physical world. Do not get used to it else you will make it more difficult for your soul to return to your body.” Crom’s voice was stronger, as if the orc’s spirit was still very youthful. Tyrael turned to regard him and stepped back in shock, for the orc before him was tall and proud. Powerful and regal as if Crom were meant to be a warrior, yet Tyrael realized this is what Crom had looked like when he was younger.

“Yes elf I am very old. I am not offended by your thoughts and nor can you hide them from me here in this realm for I am your guide. Rest easy as the others begin working, I will hold you here so that you do not wander the paths of the spirits.” Crom said silently and then the two men descended into silence, watching the proceedings as if they were merely spectators and not participants.

Varus wanted to reject Rath’s intrusions into his mind and yet he slowly fought down his defensive instincts and let the monk pull him into this “collective” it felt weird feeling the minds of the others around him as he began to feel out the magical enchantments upon Tyrael. The unholy magics balked at him and he realized that he could easily shatter them without a second thought, which was the problem. He would have to be careful with them, slowly dismembering them so that a single thread was left. ‘This magic is powerful and yet it looks as if it was only half completed.’ Varus remarked within his mind to the others knowing they could hear him.

‘Yes he was meant to be a Shadow Knight like those we faced in battle, you were not there but rest assured they are a force to be reckoned with. Crom are we able to proceed?’ Ratheron asked wondering if the elder orc had completed his task and when the shaman sent the affirmative to them the monk turned to Eve, ‘Let us begin then.’ He said simply.

Eve accepted the connection easily, Shadow struggling a bit with what was going on as she was new to this. Zarina had removed herself, returning to the stairs to watch with that extra boost of energy from Ratheron, needing to rest now. Rolling the drained shards in her mouth, she finally spat them into her palm and set them on the stairs, the fragments black and dead. The priestess was silently pleased that this meant she didn’t have to have someone murder Tyrael, or almost, as this was going to be delicate enough. She had spent enough time examining the Death Knight and his enchantment that, once they were given the signal, she began to unweave that aspect of the spell carefully.


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