Writings, musings, and music for the surviving members of House Runeweaver: Blood Elf Magister Ran'thas Runeweaver and his cousin, former Magister Raethar Runeweaver, of Wyrmrest Accord-US.
(( Years ago during the aftermath of the rebirth of the Sunwell, Raethar Runeweaver made the decision to depart the Magistry and leave his title of Magister behind. ))
Calm.
The golden glow of Quel’Danas spread evenly across the paved walkways, the whisper of a breeze dancing through the shining leaves of the coastal trees. It was hard to imagine that this very island was the front line of a conflict so great and dangerous that it nearly ushered in the end of their civilization entire. The cracked and blackened stone structures remained as keen reminders, of course; the scorched earth and the smell of brimstone still in the air juxtaposing the gentleness of the shoreline. However, the silence was staggering - the definitive proof that it was over, that a new era had truly begun.
Raethar sighed as he looked out across the sea, leaning upon the stone railing outside of the courtyard to the Magisters’ Terrace. He glanced down to find his own face looking back at him in the reflective stone, his eyes beginning to take on a golden glow as the felfire green began to lift.
Just as this day marks an ending, so too does it herald a new beginning.
Ever since the defeat of Kil’jaeden and the subsequent reignition of the sacred Sunwell, the words of Prophet Velen swirled through Raethar’s mind. It was not a matter of agreeing with words - it was a matter of a reborn soul, of a new path that needed following, of untold and immeasurable possibility. As he stood there upon the Terrace, he pushed up the sleeves of his robe to look upon his scarred and mangled forearms, the last gift of his wife Nilwissa after she lost her mind to magical addiction. He could still see her body on the ground, lifeless, fallen by Farstrider arrows that saved Raethar’s life. He closed his eyes in silent prayer to her, hanging his head in momentary reflection as the breeze tossed his silvery hair.
“The conclave is just about to begin, Magister.”
Raethar’s eyes shot open as the apprentice stepped onto the grass. He pulled himself upward, returning his sleeves to their proper place as he brushed off the front of his robes. “Excellent,” he replied, nodding his appreciation. “Thank you, Aelvar. I suppose the call of destiny awaits.”
Aelvar smiled weakly, offering Raethar a tight scroll that contained his speech and relevant notes. “You are certain that this is the right path, Magister?”
Raethar smiled warmly, closing the gap between himself and his apprentice. He placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder, the gentle Light energy within his palm offering calm to the younger Magister. “My dear Aelvar,” he began, looking down to the bundled scroll in his apprentice’s hands. He paused to conjure the right words before he tapped the top of the closed parchment.
“Clarity,” he said simply, pulling back to regard Alevar fully. “Clarity, Aelvar. For the first time in years, a path forward has been introduced. I can see my footfalls leading onward, urged forward by golden radiance birthed from the Sunwell herself.” He glanced over in the direction of the fount, feeling its energies surround him as he turned from Aelvar to take a step in that direction, his arms opening wide.
“My time as a Magister has come,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I feel not betrayal nor disappointment - I will hold close the memories of that time and continue to devote myself to the cause. But…” His voice trails off for a moment as he turns to face Aelvar once again, his expression gentle and reassuring. “Well, I will save it for the big show, hmm?”
Aelvar smiles and nods, holding the scroll forward once again. “Very well, Magister. It has certainly been an honour, in any case.”
“A new beginning,” Raethar spoke in near silence, Velen’s words still swirling in his mind. He reached his hand toward the scroll, pushing it back toward Aelvar. “Those are for you,” he said with a smile, knowing that he had tucked instructions and guidance for his soon to be former apprentice within the bundled speech. “I know my words, fret not.”
Aelvar retracted the documents with a soft chuckle. “But of course, Magister.” He gestured toward the courtyard. “Though we should not keep them waiting.”
Raethar nodded as he motioned for Aelvar to lead through the archway, following behind him as they both joined the collected Magistry. It was truly a sight to behold as the most powerful of Silvermoon’s spellweavers mingled and spoke, a joy in the air that had not been felt within these walls in some time, certainly not since before the great Fall of Quel’Thalas. For these few hours today, this place was truly once again the Magisters’ Terrace for they, the Collected, this gathering of the full Magistry itself, joined together to celebrate, to mourn, to plan, to discuss, and to reflect.
Raethar smiled and nodded in greeting to so many, shaking hands and sharing laughs as he and Aelvar settled in for the lengthy proceedings.
-----
“Thank you, Magister Sun’fallos, for your contributions to our continued studies. Your sabbatical is thus accepted and approved - we greatly anticipate your reports and learnings upon your return to Quel’Thalas.”
With a crack of a gavel and a round of thankful applause, the current matter is closed, the most recent of these lengthy proceedings. High Magister Varnil Belo’var stood at the podium, placing the gavel down to sign a document produced approving the current action of permitting Magister Sun’fallos time away from his station. Sun’fallos bowed to the collective in thanks before offering his signature to the parchment. The document was then passed to the front row of observers for further signatures, those of the highest station within the Magistry including Grand Magister Rommath himself. Sun’fallos retreated from the front, receiving praise and handshakes as he returned to his seat even as silent judgement was cast upon him from elsewhere. Raethar stood as Sun’fallos approached, placing a hand upon his shoulder and offering his own words of congratulations.
Belo’var returned to the podium, lifting a hand to quiet the murmuring that had swelled during the minutes of silence as the document was finalized. “Thank you, thank you - this conclave will continue.” He glanced over to his agenda, striking the matter of Sun’fallos through with a stroke of an inked quill before calling upon the next subject.
“We, the Collected, do hereby recognize the esteemed Magister Raethar Runeweaver.”
A sea of eyes turned toward Raethar as he stood, smoothing out his robes as he began the journey to the front. He smiled to Aelvar knowingly as expressions of curiosity, joy, and judgement spread across the faces of the collected Magistry, this point of proverbial no return now cemented with Belo’var’s announcement. Raethar smiled warmly as he approached the front, nodding in kind to those who would greet him along the way, old friends and associates from his many years with the Magistry, and smiling even more warmly to those who he knew looked upon him with secret disdain.
He offered respectful handshakes to the front row of Magistry leaders to thank them for their time and service before clasping the hand of High Magister Belo’var as the leader of the day’s proceedings bequeathed his position behind the podium to Raethar.
“Thank you, High Magister Belo’var, for the opportunity to address the Collected this afternoon. Your expert leadership of these proceedings is particularly noted, and I know I speak for far beyond myself when I offer my sincerest thanks for your oversight.” A gentle wave of applause is given to Belo’var as he nods and takes a seat to the left of the podium, settling in for Raethar’s remarks.
“Esteemed members of the Silvermoon Magistry,” Raethar began, his hands resting upon the edges of the podium. “A new era,” he said, looking out over the faces of his fellow spellweavers. “That is what we are here to recognize. We gather here during a time of rebirth for all of us, for all of Quel’Thalas - a time of new horizons, new possibilities, and new direction. While the future itself remains unclear, what is clear is that the opportunity for us to proceed toward that future as a unified and strong collective has been won. We are cleansed, we are pure, and we are true. True to what it means to be sin’dorei. True to the strong tenets of Quel’Thalas. True to ourselves as we all embody our mantra of perseverance time and again!”
His voice grew in power throughout those lines, ushering in cheers of agreement from some of the prideful attendees. Raethar let go of the podium, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved to the side to stand in full view of the Collected.
“But this day, these months of success, this aftermath of victory - these did not come without clear challenges. Without pain. Without deep loss.” The collective quieted as Raethar continued, a somber mood returning to the gathering as it did before during the speeches of reflective memorial. “It is over those dark memories that our current dawn ascends. But, just as the darkness of twilight gives way to the light of the sun, the grass and land beneath is touched by both.”
Raethar stepped from side to side as he continued, his hands still clasped behind his back as his eyes darted from face to face, establishing personal connections to his audience who offered him respectful silence. “For well over two centuries, I have had the distinct pleasure of serving this body. I recall fondly studying voraciously at the Falthrien Academy, shoulder-to-shoulder with some of you in this very audience, before continuing advanced work in Silvermoon. Deep, targeted study in the subject of runestones pushed my trajectory to the spires of Dalaran itself as I swelled with pride as the opportunity to represent our great Kingdom grew ever larger.”
He smiled as he spread his arms to the audience. “These are all feelings that I know I share with you all. The pride, the academia, the knowledge, the greatness - these are all experiences that we, the brightest minds of Quel’Thalas, this grand Collected, welcome and appreciate regularly as we hone our collective abilities sharper than the tip of the finest ranseur.”
He tapped a finger into his opposite open palm. “But what happens when that proverbial ranseur cracks into armour made from stronger materials?” He splinters his fingers apart in mock explosion. “The spear cracks, bends, relents - bested by a stronger will.” He allows his hands to return to his side.
“This was my experience.”
The silence from the audience was deafening for there was no cause for reaction. Raethar allowed the moment to linger before shifting back toward the podium to place his hands on its sides once more. “Six years ago,” he continued, “I truly had everything I had ever dreamed of. A strong House,” he said as he pointedly looked to his cousin, Magister Ran’thas Runeweaver, “a proud position alongside you all, keen magical abilities at my fingertips, and, of course, Nilwissa, my beautiful wife.” He smiled as he looked out to the collected faces. “Needless to say, the proverbial ranseur was sharp, indeed.
“Sadly, that spear met its immovable object, as you all can know and imagine. With the coming of the Scourge, the Fall of our great Kingdom, and the destruction of the Sunwell itself, all of the comforts I held were stripped away. Our House was crushed, my abilities grew distant, and, despite our best efforts, Nilwissa fell to the callings of the Wretched.
“Even still,” he added, tapping the podium with his forefinger, “somehow, the worn spear was lifted again and again. Though broken, the sharpened point merely a dullened extension, the ranseur maintained potential against all odds.”
He gestured to the green felfire displays that still glowed around the courtyard. “Despite the gifts that our fallen Prince had found, our magical salvation, my own prowess continued to slip away. My hunger was sated somewhat, yes, but the shattered tip would need to be fully remade. As I eventually made my way to Quel’Danas after many long years, I did what I could to assist, but…” he sighed, shaking his head. “It was nothing compared to what I once was. My talents were beginning to feel akin to distant memories.”
He shifted away from the podium once again, looking over the faces before him. “Fortunately, all of that changed.” Raethar held himself higher, his voice ringing more proudly as he commanded the attention of those gathered. “With the rebirth of our great Sunwell, the ranseur was remade, its dullened metal replaced with shining golden might. But not just mine, no. The weapons of so many of our kin were similarly remade as Lady Liadrin ushered in a new future at the very heart of the Plateau.”
With a push of holy magic, Raethar conjured around him a golden aura, a shimmering barrier that surrounded his form as his eyes glowed with golden radiance. “The Light,” Raethar offered, his hands outstretched to his sides as the audience continued to watch, “...is my salvation.”
He allowed the energy to retreat, returning to the podium as curious eyes watched him. He truly was unsure how the Collected would react, but he knew that this was now his path. He smiled toward Aelvar in the audience as he repeated and expanded upon the words he spoke to his apprentice earlier.
“Clarity,” he said with purpose. “For the first time in years, a path forward has been introduced, a path that I see myself taking. No longer does the dullened ranseur lay to the side; it is now sharpened with renewed purpose. I can see my steps leading onward, urged forward by the Sunwell’s newfound golden radiance - a true opportunity to return what was lost and rededicate myself to the whole of Quel’Thalas.”
He opened his arms to the audience from behind the podium. “Today,” he continued, his voice still ringing with pride as he fought down any uncertainty, “after two and half centuries of service as a Magister, I announce my departure from these ranks in order to dedicate myself to a new calling. In honour of my late wife and to all those of Quel’Thalas who may need the Light for protection, I prepare to depart this podium as a sin’dorei reborn. In time, I expect to return to my academic studies and discover how these Light-born energies may be utilized to reinvigorate my lost abilities, but such learning will require an alternative path.”
He takes a moment to pause, moving once more to the side of the podium, bowing his head in thanks to all collected here. He looks over the Collected with a warm smile, catching the eyes of many in attendance before he repeats the words of Prophet Velen at the time of the Sunwell’s rebirth.
“Just as this day marks an ending, so too does it herald a new beginning.”
Raethar stood there in silence for a moment, curious how the body would react. Breaking the silent pause following the conclusion of his remarks, Raethar heard the scrape of a chair followed by the beginnings of a soft clap. Aelvar, his beloved apprentice, stood up from his seat and began to applaud the former Magister. One by one, other members of the Collected, the members of the Magistry that comprised today’s gathering, stood from their seats, offering their own respectful applause. As Raethar continued to stand next to the podium, he swelled with pride as he looked from face to face, nodding at those who celebrated both his newfound path and his years of dedicated service to the Magistry.
He bowed to the front row before him as the most remarkable members of the Magistry applauded as Raethar looked to his right to find High Magister Belo’var looking upon him with pride. The High Magister ended his applause to discuss matters briefly with a scribe, a Magistrix Silvale, who hurriedly began to write upon a parchment before moving to review its contents with the front row. Belo’var approached Raethar as the applause began to subside, placing a hand upon his shoulder as he nodded and took the podium once more.
“Thank you for your words, Master Runeweaver,” the High Magister offered both to Raethar and to the greater Collected. He looked down to catch eyes with the Grand Magister who nodded, sending Magistrix Silvale back toward the podium to confirm the written contents. Belo’var received the parchment as the Magistrix retreated toward her seat, continuing to address the audience.
“Your impassioned remarks are duly noted and appreciated. While it is always a moment of reflection and, on occasion, disappointment when one of our own decides to depart, I believe I speak for many of us when I offer that I understand your position and appreciate your many years of contributions.” The High Magister picked up the gavel once more to address the full Collected.
“In recognition of your many years of service to the Magistry, we offer the honorary title of Raethar Runeweaver, Magister Emeritus. This body accepts your formal resignation and looks forward to a meaningful continued partnership in service to Quel’Thalas.”
A fresh round of applause was ushered forth after the High Magister clapped the gavel in finality. The appropriate signatures were offered as Raethar began to make his way back to his seat, finalizing his honorary title of Magister Emeritus. Raethar returned nods, handshakes, and appreciative smiles as he made his way back to his seat, receiving a strong hug from Apprentice Aelvar. He chuckled at the lad as he lowered himself to his seat, looking to the podium as High Magister Belo’var continued the proceedings.
While the next speaker was introduced, Raethar’s mind returned him to the shores of the Sunwell itself alongside Lady Liadrin and Prophet Velen.
Just as this day marks an ending, so too does it herald a new beginning.
(( To view this as a Google Doc instead, please click here ))
I hope you are all doing well! I am pleased to introduce another member of House Runeweaver, the former sin'dorei Magister Raethar Runeweaver.
To learn all about him, please feel free to follow the link below to his Wyrmrest Wiki page. It contains his full history and potential hooks for our characters to know one another.
"We will not let them through - not this time." - Sunsworn Cleric Raethar Runeweaver Raethar Ral’tios Runeweaver is a devoted priest and pro
Since Raethar and Ran'thas are cousins, I have renamed this blog from Ran'thas to House Runeweaver so that it can serve as a collection of materials for both characters.
I do hope this missive finds you well in the calm after the Argus storm. We have spoke briefly on a few occasions before - perhaps you may recall my revised treatises on Portal and Transporational magics of a few years earlier.
It has been brought to my attention that a recent calamity in the Ghostlands resulted in your direct involvement. Furthermore, I have come to understand that these actions have moved you into direct participation with the unit you so adeptly rescued. A curious move, I must say - I would not have expected a man of your status to have affiliated himself so directly in the affairs of Silvermoon’s underlings. Should you have the time in your busy schedule, I would request a private meeting with you to discuss these matters more closely as I do feel we are of very similar thinking in many ways.
You may be wondering as to how or why this knowledge has made its way to me, but I assure you that such matters will become clear in due time. For the safety of us all, certain matters are best kept out of circulating pieces of parchment. The eyes of Silvermoon are forever upon that which is easily seen.
Within this package you will find a simple communication stone that offers a direct line to me personally. I do so hope to hear from you soon.
I haven’t done one of these in a while and because I’ve gotten a lot of followers since the last one, and because so many of you have been excellent to me, I want to do something for you too.
For this giveaway, I will be doing one drawing similar to the ones above of any character(s) of your choosing, with a limit of two. I primarily draw races from the Warcraft universe, but if you have references for something else I’ll draw that too. I will do some NSFW art but I reserve the right not to draw anything that I find distasteful/offensive/beyond my comfort levels, such as anything underage, non-consensual, etc.
I will use random.org to randomly select a winner. If this post exceeds 250 notes, I will select one additional winner and draw that person a character of their choosing.
RULES
You must be following me.
Reblog this post. You can reblog as many times as you like.
Ran'thas clasped his hands behind him as his robes swirled along the floor. His eyes continued to search his bookshelf-lined walls for a specific tome, but it was out of his grasp for the time being. His ears perked toward Rhia as she stood in the center of his study, her question causing him to smirk though she couldn't see it from her vantage point.
"Ah, my dear Lady, that is a loaded question." He chuckles dryly as his eyes continue to flit along the spines. "I suppose it would matter what kind of power of which you were referring." He spins to face her slowly, his dark red hair falling about his shoulders as his face sports a wicked grin. He holds up a palm of his hand as a small ember of fire alights within before he closes it away.
"Some might say I already do."
He whirls around to continue looking among his books. "But power comes in all shapes and sizes, of course. Martial prowess, a studious mind, aptitude in arcana, adeptness with the Light, political ability - these are all merely examples of powers one might yield." He reaches out to gently pull a tome from his shelf, his fingers wrapping around its spine as he begins to leaf through the pages. He looks up to her from over the book with a sly smirk.
"The question shouldn't be if one seeks power, dearest Me'Gara, as it is only natural to want to excel at something." He claps the tome shut before taking a few strides closer to her.
The portal jockeying had left him drained and fatigued, but the Magister knew that time really was of the essence. It had been a long time since he had even seen the likes of his fellow Magister Lord Everblaze, but even members of high Sin’dorei society such as Ran’thas Runeweaver held the Phoenix Guard in high regard. Puppets of the city, no doubt, but powerful puppets - ones that could serve the Magistry well, the Magister reminded himself internally.
When he learned of the Guard’s distresses, their being severed in twain by the distance of the Portal, he had stepped up to the plate to assist. He accompanied the contingent lead by Captain Dawnstar to the Blasted Lands in an attempt to acquire any and all information necessary to communicate or even retrieve their stranded cohorts. Though they learned the location, both time and space, of the rest of the Guard, the difficulties now began - creating a functional portal to not only a distant world, but a distant world in the past, would be no simple feat.
The Magister returned to his tower with haste, his hands already swirling with the glow of arcana as soon as he arrived. His staff floated delicately next to the door, suspended by a simple levitation field, while he immediately planted himself in the middle of the large room. All walls from floor to ceiling were covered with books and cases, information from every inch of Azeroth, some such volumes obtained through ways the Magister would never admit. With a snap of his fingers, a book removed itself spine-first from its resting place and flew through the room toward his large wooden desk.
He placed his hand on the volume and closed his eyes, the book glowing a soft frosted blue. Not a moment later, the book was on its way back to the shelf, another taking its place and flying toward the desk. The Magister whispered the keywords to himself again and again as the books travelled through the tower.
Minutes turned quickly to hours as the Magister continued to stand in the midst of the swirling arcane powers, his unrelenting fatigue pushed aside as his craving for information pushed him forth. With a heavy sigh his trance was broken, his visage now truly showing his weariness. He leant upon the desk as his eyes caught sight of a few glasses of water and some bread.
"My compliments, Aartis," he muttered to his unseen assistant as he picked up half a loaf of golden nourishment. Not a moment after he had tasted a small portion of the food had his mind immediately snapped him back into his task.
"Yes, of course!" he exclaimed energetically, the weariness temporarily subsiding once more as he reached out for his targeted volume. Mysteries of Northend - Powers of the Dragonshrines. He pulled the book closer to him, immediately leafing through its contents with a smirk.
Perfect.
"Aartis!" the Magister called loudly. A distant crash could be heard accompanied by the scuffling feet of the tower’s curator. "Yes, Mag…"
"Alert Lady Dawnstar that I have the answers she seeks. Set up a meeting at once." Aartis bowed, heading to the door once more before Ran’thas interjected. "And bring me that full report of the Timeless Isle that Lord Emberdawn signed off on - I need those details."
"Right away, Magister," Aartis said gracefully before sweeping through the doorway. Ran’thas finally dropped into his great armchair behind his desk, his mind still calculating the possibilities before him.
"I hope you are ready, Lady Dawnstar - this won’t be easy."
Ran'thas Runeweaver - Magister of Silvermoon. Put the last touches on his RP gear just in time to break him out for some RP tonight. Will be nice poking around on my Magister again, it's always a nice change of pace!
The golden streets of Silvermoon always comforted Ran'thas greatly. He remembered the dark times, the coming of the Scourge, when the glowing beauty of Quel'thalas was darkened and greyed with terror. He remembered the Troll Wars, the problems with Thalassian borders of years passed. He remembered the rise and fall of Kael'thas, the destruction of Arthas, the Nexus War, the breaking of Azeroth, the invasion of Pandaria, and Proudmoore's removal of the Sunreavers from Dalaran and the Kirin Tor proper. Ran'thas closed his eyes and clenched his fists;
We have seen so much in so little time.
He relaxed slightly, opening his eyes once again and looking out upon the great Silvermoon City - walking through these gorgeous streets once again lifted away these negative thoughts. The Sin'dorei were clearly on the right path, Ran'thas thought to himself - a path where the prosperous times of old may soon come to pass once again.
He tried not to let the past dig at him too much, though it proved a very difficult task. Especially now as there was much to do and consider. The return of the brothers Ronaestrider was something Ran'thas had to be very careful with. He knew wholeheartedly that their tragedy in the Twilight Highlands was his fault, but he didn't regret his decisions - he knew he was right in that allowing the lesser races acceptance into their ranks would be a fatal mistake.
Still, Ruthar and Rehmaar are good, perhaps even great, men - it would be a shame to be on opposite sides over this.
Ran'thas's mind immediately turned to his meeting with his Forsaken associate Traegus Frostbane. The looming and powerful Death Knight had been cast aside by almost the entirety of the Horde, but Ran'thas saw an opportunity in him for his own personal gain. Traegus was a fantastic tool to use against those who would so readily stand up to Ran'thas and his ideas, a powerful ally that would serve Ran'thas almost unquestioningly. The loose morals of the Forsaken were truly an asset to Ran'thas would the necessity arise. Ran'thas sighs heavily, his soft shoes silently pressing against the stone street;
Let's just hope the Ronaestriders will not need to come in contact with Master Frostbane - hopefully we can move past the errors of the past into a more prosperous future. That is, after all, what we all want.
Heading southwest out of the city's main gates, Ran'thas makes his way back to his estate just north of the border to the Ghostlands. The humming magical wards dance playfully against him as he makes his way onto his property, the arcane energies a welcoming feeling to the masterful mage. He makes his way around back of the estate, towards a large orange-yellow tree a good hundred meters from his back porch.
He approaches slowly, his green glowing eyes becoming softer as he makes his way towards the ancient tree. Images of the past assail him as he reaches the tree - a gorgeous young magistrix sitting in a large, red, comfortable chair in the candlelight; the same figure sitting behind a large runed book studying its magical contents; the magnificent Sunwell in all it's glory guarded by the magistrix and a handful of other powerful arcane wielders; their marriage on Sunstrider Isle; the happiness they shared;
...and her catastrophic death at the hands of one of Arthas's powerful knights.
Ran'thas stooped low, placing the bouquet of roses he purchased in Silvermoon City in front of the gravestone beneath the magnificent tree. With a greatly pained smile, the magister runs his hand delicately across the top of the headstone and along the imprinted lettering.
I hope these last eleven years have allowed you to find the peace you so greatly deserved.
Transmog for Traegus Frostbane, Ran'thas's Forsaken associate (who will also be featured on this blog as the two characters are closely related RP-wise.)
Ran'thas looked into the amber liquid in his glass thoughfully, his mind racing about with recent events. Things had been quiet for too long and he new it. The past finally catching up to him came at no real surprise.
He just always dreaded it.
The Magister quickly downs the last of his glass of fine alcohol, the desk resonating with a satisfying thud as he sets the emptied cup down. The Ronaestriders had no idea - there is no way they could have known where the orders actually came from. He walked over to the window, peering out upon the twilight with his hands clasped behind his back.
His small estate in Southern Quel'thalas on the border of the Ghostlands was a great place to come to think, to isolate himself from the greater affairs of Silvermoon, and to conduct private or personal business. He sighed as he looked over to his desk again, his eyes scanning the documents he had there - the files of the fallen Knights of Valiant Fury, the military unit he himself had commissioned those years ago. The same unit Ruthar and Rehmaar Ronaestrider had overseen as it marched upon its fateful expedition into the Twilight Highlands.
It's not my fault they failed - I told them what would happen if they opened the ranks to the impure lesser races. A pity good Elven blood was wasted thanks to incompetent Horde mongrels.
Ran'thas' mind returned to times past when Rehmaar Ronaestrider had approached him in this very office. His black and red armour glinted in the candlefire as the Magister listened to his advice. They were friends and colleagues for a very long time - Rehmaar was a prolific alchemist in the days before Silvermoon's fall while Ran'thas tended to one of the libraries which Rehmaar frequented.
He never could see reason, always thinking of grander plans.
It was Rehmaar's idea to open up the Knights to accepting other members of the Horde. He had preached that they needed to reach out to their capable allies in order to strengthen their bonds with the Horde and to ensure Thalassian security. Ran'thas, however, saw it as a serious threat.
The Orcs will run us into the ground with their bloodlust, their desire for war and conflict. We will never know peace alongside the likes of them.
Rehmaar had none of it, however - he was stoic in his beliefs to a fault. Ran'thas tried for an extended period of time to get Rehmaar to see eye-to-eye with him, but it was simply no use. The Blood Knight would do everything and anything in his power to get his way. The Magister knew his ties to the Order were strong, putting Ran'thas in a precarious position.
I was right afterall.
Ran'thas snapped a finger as the candles in the room illuminated, their flickering glow casting shadows upon the walls. He sat behind his desk, his elbow upon the wood propping up his head. His eyes moved over to the parchment to his right, the bold words on the top seemingly looking right back at him.
I knew it would be the proper test - to finally show them that those not of our lineage are lesser. Hopefully they've realized it themselves.
The loud knock on his door snapped the Magister out of his memories of the past. The clanking armour plating indicated to Ran'thas that his associate had finally arrived.
"Master Frostbane of the Undercity," he said in an authoritative tone as he raised himself to stand behind his desk.
It took Ran'thas a while to finally control his arcane-powered abilities. Many things were burned, set on fire, or turned to ash when he was younger before he found his true mastery of powerful magics.
