Ina'thia Dawnblade of [H] Wyrmrest Accord. | Knight-Lord of the Blood Knights | Reservist-Commander (GM) of Phoenix Guard [retired guild] | Avatar art by @hollowlaughter | Cover art by me
Knight-Lord Dawnblade, known well for her sharp tongue and sharper blade, is stunned into silence. While holding her left arm out for Selindel, she uses her right hand to rummage through a pocket on her belt. She produces a piece of enchanting vellum with a phoenix illustration on it. In silence, she looks at Ruthar over her shoulder. "...It's time, Lt. Commander."
Ina'thia burns the vellum in her hand. Magic arcs into the sky, creating a faint shape of a phoenix. "The Phoenix Guard is reborn!" she proclaims loudly. Her voice echoes throughout the crater.
She keeps her hand outstretched until the phoenix enchantment in the sky fades away. She turns to look at the gathered sin'dorei, actively fighting back the tears -- a tempest of emotion swirled within her. Pride, reverence, determination... all overshadowed the fear of calamities untold and unknown.. "...The Runesworn as we have known is now a part of the Phoenix Guard, by declaration of Magistrix Silverspell and Magister Duskfury. We have our first mission. Gather your weapons, your enchantments and your bravery -- we meet at the Pavilion in one week."
"We shall together become the Sword and Shield of Quel'Thalas once more! Selama ashal'anore!" Commander Dawnblade raises her sword in celebration of the Phoenix Guard’s rebirth!
In all of her nightmares, Silvermoon was burning. Black smoke often choked the streets and blotted out the sun, raining ashes and embers down on her. Such scenes of destruction always hearkened to the fall of Silvermoon to the Scourge. Things were different, this time. Silvermoon was being consumed. The sun had long disappeared in the dream and the city had begun transforming into voidglass; a dark mirror that reflected the ugly truths revealed only in her subconscious. Once grand golden spires had turned to towers of dark purple, shimmering with the untold galaxies within.
It made a terrible sound underneath her feet, but she had to keep running. The Hall of Blood would be safe. Her family was there, and they were waiting for her. Bey’ron and the children.
There were children in this dream. Two of them. A son, who had grown up to be a Blood Knight just like her. A daughter whose talent with the arcane was matched only by her love for her people. She knew it was just a dream, but she already knew so much about them. Their likes, their dislikes, their hopes, their dreams, the fact that they inherited the best and the worst of Bey’ron and herself and turned out even better.
Shards of voidglass crunched under Ina’thia’s feet as she arrived at the Farstrider Square. The battle had already happened while she was on the other side of the city and sin’dorei corpses littered the street. She recognized them.
Ruthar slumped lifelessly against a lamppost, eyes burned out by voidfire, clutching Ana’dal. Arkanae had been overrun by voidbeasts and collapsed on the ground. The Light had not yet dimmed from his eyes, but it would. It always did. Gattius and Syrielle had died together, impaled on void crystals yet still holding each other’s hand. There was little left of Sineros, aside from his broken flail, a tattered hood and a smoking crater. Ithanar knelt with his sword, head bowed, encased in voidglass. Josrial laid in the street, clutching his spear in one hand and covering half of his face with the other. Under his hand, the scars that marred his face had turned to painful markings of the void. A long red scarf, ripped at the ends, was stuck on the top of a lamp post. It whipped in a wind that she couldn’t feel. Sitting at the end of a nearby bench was the crystallized form of a woman holding an apple. A soft arcane glow radiated from within the fruit, brightest where the last bite was taken.
“Mother, hurry!” a deep voice called out from the Hall of Blood, snapping Ina’thia’s attention away from her fallen friends. That voice belonged to a tall Blood Knight, dressed in regal armor in accents of black, red and gold. His long blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail and his golden eyes shimmered with a ferocity that contrasted the void corruption all around them. Of her and Bey’ron’s two children, he took after the Dawnblade side the most.
“Talen…” she murmured, still taken by the sight of him. He wasn’t real, she knew that. But the possibility that he could be was astounding enough. They named him after her father. “Coming!”
The Blood Knight, fully armored, ran to meet his mother at the intersection in the Farstrider Square. He held out his hand, which Ina’thia took, and they both ran into the Hall of Blood. As they entered the refuge of the Blood Knight’s sanctuary, an arcane barrier formed around them.
With a wink, a mage stationed by the door finished her conjuring. Long dark hair, untamed, whipped around her face as she finished her spellwork. The bright shimmer in her eyes faded to the usual arcane glow of the sin’drorei: a bright bluish-green that spoke volumes of arcane aptitude. Their daughter had become a Magistrix. Brilliantly talented in the arts and arcane, she somehow inherited the best parts of Bey’ron and Ina’thia. The softest, most hidden pieces of their hearts had come together to form Araden.
Bey’ron stood at the circular railing on the upper level of the Hall of Blood. His hands were held up, palms out, conjuring a portal that coalesced in the center of the circle. The place that once held Mu’ru prison would be their escape. This time, in this dream, it would surely work.
“What’s our position?” Ina’thia asked, shaking off her enchantment with the characters of her dream. She knew they weren’t real, they didn’t exist and never would. But she loved them nonetheless.
“The voidglass is advancing. Araden’s protection spell is keeping it at bay from this location, but we’re not sure how longer it will hold. Father is trying to connect with the gateway at the estate, but that is proving… difficult,” Talen reported, glancing over his shoulder to his father. Bey’ron would have rolled his eyes if he had not been focused so intently on the portal.
“Difficult how?”
“The Harbinger’s influence is suppressing portals. It’s like she’s cast a net over the whole city to keep us in.”
“How can I help?”
“Keep watch with me by the door so Araden can help father. Kill anything that breaches the barrier.”
“Finally, something I can do.”
Ina’thia and Talen stood with their swords drawn, eyes set on the street beyond the conjured barrier. Behind them, Araden joined her father to work on the portal. The two of them stood opposite of each other, hands outstretched, willing a tear in the fabric of reality to allow their escape. Bey’ron’s teeth gritted as his hands began to shimmer with arcane energies of the portal, then cried out loud when his hands crystallized into voidglass.
“Gah! What is this?” Bey’ron hissed in pain and stopped all incantations to look at his hands. Araden maintained her focus, pulling her outstretched arms wide to stretch their new portal to be big enough for them to use. Darkness descended upon the Hall of Blood. Bey’ron sank to his knees, depleted of mana. Araden knelt beside him to try and reverse the voidglass on his hands.
“How kind of you to let us into your little family reunion… we won’t be long…” a voice rumbled with laughter from beyond the portal. Ina’thia only recognized it as the voice in her nightmares from so many times before. It didn’t belong to one particular person. Rather, several voices of her past rang out in a chorus that always came with the crescendo of her nightmare’s calamity.
“I won’t let you take them from me!” Ina’thia turned from the portal to face the shadowy figure that had emerged from Bey’ron’s portal, thus leaving her back to Araden’s conjured barrier. With her sword raised, she took a step forward in her charge toward the portal. Before she could finish that first step, she felt a spike of voidglass pierce through her back. The violet shard exited through her chest and she stood there in stunned silence.
Everything happened so slowly after that. Blood poured from her mouth onto the spike and the floor. Bey’ron yelled in a rage she’d never heard from him before and a tempest of felfire formed around him and Araden. Talen held his hand over his mother’s wound, whispering desperate prayers to the Sunwell, to the Light, or any deity of Azeroth and beyond that would listen.
“No. But I can take you from them. Isn’t that what you do? Recklessly charge into battle with little regard for those you leave behind. Seven years lost to your demons and seven years he waited. You didn’t think about him, or anyone.”
The shadows fell around the figure at the portal, revealing a corrupted version of herself. This Ina’thia’s lone eye glowed with shadowflame.
“You may have just killed him yourself. A part of him died when you left without a word.” With a snap of her fingers, the shade of Ina’thia encased Bey’ron, Araden and Talen in voidglass. The felfire stopped and the prayers that kept her wound at bay faded away. Again, she bled. Her eye grew heavy and her vision blurred.
“You will lead everyone who ever follows you to ruin.”
Inat’thia’s vision faded to darkness. To the inexplicable, inescapable nothingness of the Void…
~ ~ ~
“--I won’t let you take them from me!!” Ina’thia screamed and bolted upright in her bed. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and she was drenched in sweat. The sheets around her were a mess. Bey’ron stood up from his chair and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“You had the same dream again, didn’t you?” he asked softly.
Ina’thia took longer than usual to regain her sense of reality. She had these nightmares often enough that Bey’ron had gotten used to them. He knew when they were likely to happen, what she would be talking about, and how violently she would thrash. They only happened after she returned from her self-imposed exile.
“...Yes. I did.” Ina’thia mumbled into the sleeve of Bey’ron’s dressing robe. “It’s the same one every time.”
“It’s just a dream, my dear. It’s not real,” Bey’ron replied in a comforting whisper, punctuating it with a kiss atop her forehead, “None of this will come to pass. I love you.”
“...I know, Bey’ron. I know. I just want one night of rest.”
With a heavy sigh, Ina’thia laid on her back atop the messed blankets. Bey’ron laid down next to her, grasped his hand in his own and held it there between them until they both drifted off to sleep again.
In all of her nightmares, Silvermoon was burning. Black smoke often choked the streets and blotted out the sun, raining ashes and embers down on her. Such scenes of destruction always hearkened to the fall of Silvermoon to the Scourge. Things were different, this time. Silvermoon was being consumed. The sun had long disappeared in the dream and the city had begun transforming into voidglass; a dark mirror that reflected the ugly truths revealed only in her subconscious. Once grand golden spires had turned to towers of dark purple, shimmering with the untold galaxies within.
It made a terrible sound underneath her feet, but she had to keep running. The Hall of Blood would be safe. Her family was there, and they were waiting for her. Bey’ron and the children.
There were children in this dream. Two of them. A son, who had grown up to be a Blood Knight just like her. A daughter whose talent with the arcane was matched only by her love for her people. She knew it was just a dream, but she already knew so much about them. Their likes, their dislikes, their hopes, their dreams, the fact that they inherited the best and the worst of Bey’ron and herself and turned out even better.
Shards of voidglass crunched under Ina’thia’s feet as she arrived at the Farstrider Square. The battle had already happened while she was on the other side of the city and sin’dorei corpses littered the street. She recognized them.
Ruthar slumped lifelessly against a lamppost, eyes burned out by voidfire, clutching Ana’dal. Arkanae had been overrun by voidbeasts and collapsed on the ground. The Light had not yet dimmed from his eyes, but it would. It always did. Gattius and Syrielle had died together, impaled on void crystals yet still holding each other’s hand. There was little left of Sineros, aside from his broken flail, a tattered hood and a smoking crater. Ithanar knelt with his sword, head bowed, encased in voidglass. Josrial laid in the street, clutching his spear in one hand and covering half of his face with the other. Under his hand, the scars that marred his face had turned to painful markings of the void. A long red scarf, ripped at the ends, was stuck on the top of a lamp post. It whipped in a wind that she couldn’t feel. Sitting at the end of a nearby bench was the crystallized form of a woman holding an apple. A soft arcane glow radiated from within the fruit, brightest where the last bite was taken.
“Mother, hurry!” a deep voice called out from the Hall of Blood, snapping Ina’thia’s attention away from her fallen friends. That voice belonged to a tall Blood Knight, dressed in regal armor in accents of black, red and gold. His long blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail and his golden eyes shimmered with a ferocity that contrasted the void corruption all around them. Of her and Bey’ron’s two children, he took after the Dawnblade side the most.
“Talen…” she murmured, still taken by the sight of him. He wasn’t real, she knew that. But the possibility that he could be was astounding enough. They named him after her father. “Coming!”
The Blood Knight, fully armored, ran to meet his mother at the intersection in the Farstrider Square. He held out his hand, which Ina’thia took, and they both ran into the Hall of Blood. As they entered the refuge of the Blood Knight’s sanctuary, an arcane barrier formed around them.
With a wink, a mage stationed by the door finished her conjuring. Long dark hair, untamed, whipped around her face as she finished her spellwork. The bright shimmer in her eyes faded to the usual arcane glow of the sin’drorei: a bright bluish-green that spoke volumes of arcane aptitude. Their daughter had become a Magistrix. Brilliantly talented in the arts and arcane, she somehow inherited the best parts of Bey’ron and Ina’thia. The softest, most hidden pieces of their hearts had come together to form Araden.
Bey’ron stood at the circular railing on the upper level of the Hall of Blood. His hands were held up, palms out, conjuring a portal that coalesced in the center of the circle. The place that once held Mu’ru prison would be their escape. This time, in this dream, it would surely work.
“What’s our position?” Ina’thia asked, shaking off her enchantment with the characters of her dream. She knew they weren’t real, they didn’t exist and never would. But she loved them nonetheless.
“The voidglass is advancing. Araden’s protection spell is keeping it at bay from this location, but we’re not sure how longer it will hold. Father is trying to connect with the gateway at the estate, but that is proving… difficult,” Talen reported, glancing over his shoulder to his father. Bey’ron would have rolled his eyes if he had not been focused so intently on the portal.
“Difficult how?”
“The Harbinger’s influence is suppressing portals. It’s like she’s cast a net over the whole city to keep us in.”
“How can I help?”
“Keep watch with me by the door so Araden can help father. Kill anything that breaches the barrier.”
“Finally, something I can do.”
Ina’thia and Talen stood with their swords drawn, eyes set on the street beyond the conjured barrier. Behind them, Araden joined her father to work on the portal. The two of them stood opposite of each other, hands outstretched, willing a tear in the fabric of reality to allow their escape. Bey’ron’s teeth gritted as his hands began to shimmer with arcane energies of the portal, then cried out loud when his hands crystallized into voidglass.
“Gah! What is this?” Bey’ron hissed in pain and stopped all incantations to look at his hands. Araden maintained her focus, pulling her outstretched arms wide to stretch their new portal to be big enough for them to use. Darkness descended upon the Hall of Blood. Bey’ron sank to his knees, depleted of mana. Araden knelt beside him to try and reverse the voidglass on his hands.
“How kind of you to let us into your little family reunion… we won’t be long…” a voice rumbled with laughter from beyond the portal. Ina’thia only recognized it as the voice in her nightmares from so many times before. It didn’t belong to one particular person. Rather, several voices of her past rang out in a chorus that always came with the crescendo of her nightmare’s calamity.
“I won’t let you take them from me!” Ina’thia turned from the portal to face the shadowy figure that had emerged from Bey’ron’s portal, thus leaving her back to Araden’s conjured barrier. With her sword raised, she took a step forward in her charge toward the portal. Before she could finish that first step, she felt a spike of voidglass pierce through her back. The violet shard exited through her chest and she stood there in stunned silence.
Everything happened so slowly after that. Blood poured from her mouth onto the spike and the floor. Bey’ron yelled in a rage she’d never heard from him before and a tempest of felfire formed around him and Araden. Talen held his hand over his mother’s wound, whispering desperate prayers to the Sunwell, to the Light, or any deity of Azeroth and beyond that would listen.
“No. But I can take you from them. Isn’t that what you do? Recklessly charge into battle with little regard for those you leave behind. Seven years lost to your demons and seven years he waited. You didn’t think about him, or anyone.”
The shadows fell around the figure at the portal, revealing a corrupted version of herself. This Ina’thia’s lone eye glowed with shadowflame.
“You may have just killed him yourself. A part of him died when you left without a word.” With a snap of her fingers, the shade of Ina’thia encased Bey’ron, Araden and Talen in voidglass. The felfire stopped and the prayers that kept her wound at bay faded away. Again, she bled. Her eye grew heavy and her vision blurred.
“You will lead everyone who ever follows you to ruin.”
Inat’thia’s vision faded to darkness. To the inexplicable, inescapable nothingness of the Void…
~ ~ ~
“--I won’t let you take them from me!!” Ina’thia screamed and bolted upright in her bed. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and she was drenched in sweat. The sheets around her were a mess. Bey’ron stood up from his chair and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“You had the same dream again, didn’t you?” he asked softly.
Ina’thia took longer than usual to regain her sense of reality. She had these nightmares often enough that Bey’ron had gotten used to them. He knew when they were likely to happen, what she would be talking about, and how violently she would thrash. They only happened after she returned from her self-imposed exile.
“...Yes. I did.” Ina’thia mumbled into the sleeve of Bey’ron’s dressing robe. “It’s the same one every time.”
“It’s just a dream, my dear. It’s not real,” Bey’ron replied in a comforting whisper, punctuating it with a kiss atop her forehead, “None of this will come to pass. I love you.”
“...I know, Bey’ron. I know. I just want one night of rest.”
With a heavy sigh, Ina’thia laid on her back atop the messed blankets. Bey’ron laid down next to her, grasped his hand in his own and held it there between them until they both drifted off to sleep again.
Magistrix Sidori Silverspell (@inathia)
Magister Vinlan Duskfury (@ronaestrider)
Get to know <Phoenix Guard>'s new Magistry sponsors (NPCs) and what criteria they have set for reactivating the dormant military unit. Surely, they won't have to use this document and nothing will ever go wrong...
(Cross-posted from our Discord server in case anyone is interested! We will be officially re-opening at the Midnight pre-patch.)
Magister Vinlan Duskfury triple-checks his timepiece before slipping it back into his phoenix-emblazoned robes, the purple cloth and silver thread dancing in the illuminated streetlights as the evening hour begins to settle. He nods to passers-by as he patiently waits, a product of his constant penchant for arriving quite early. As he glances up to the building before him, he is greeted by a luxurious domicile, one fitting for a Magistrix of Sidori Silverspell’s station.
His mind continues to wander as he paces patiently. His curiosity of the upcoming meeting grows as he thinks of Silverspell, her interests, and her current affairs. The Runesworn project is, of course, well-known and well-regarded, a scholarly mission of safety and security, but how that intersects with Vinlan’s militaristic interests is an item that weighs heavily upon his mind.
As the timepiece clicks closer to the 5pm hour, Vinlan straightens his posture and dusts off the front of his robes to ensure an impeccable display. He takes a few steps toward the ornate door of the Magistrix’s domain, knocking gently upon the wood to announce his timely arrival.
Magistrix Sidori Silverspell’s residence is near the Sunfury Spire, in a neighborhood of wealthy scholars that either never leave their homes or are never actually there due to research demands. Silverspell is among the latter, owing to the injuries she sustained during the Third War. An apprentice Runewarden answers the door when Magister Duskfury knocks, bowing his head respectfully as he steps aside to allow the guest entry.
Calling it a residence seems inaccurate when it feels more like a library. An enchantment makes the foyer of the apartment seem much larger than it actually is, with a large room lined in books and bewitched tomes flitting around like birds. The Magistrix sits at her desk in the middle of all the organized chaos and, with some effort, rises to greet him.
Normally seen with a hood in public, Magistrix Silverspell’s striking white hair is uncovered and her braid loosened. Her red and gold robes shimmer with their own enchantments and she regards her guest with a warm smile.
“Magister Duskfury, thank you for coming on such short notice. Do you prefer pleasantries, or getting right to the point?”
Vinlan bows in deep respect in response to her greeting. “Pleasantries are always appreciated, Magistrix, especially in such a beautiful spire. Though, please - do not rise on my account.” He unfolds the letter of invitation that Sidori sent for this meeting, tapping it with his fingers.
“I must say,” he begins, still holding himself fully. “I was quite surprised to have seen this come to my desk. It is no secret that we operate in somewhat differently-focused echelons within the Magistry.” He pauses to smile and bow his head once again in her direction. “It is an honour, but of course - I look forward to the potentiality of bringing our circles closer to orbit.”
He folds the paper in his fingers before gesturing to a chair near her desk. “May I?”
Sidori seems relieved to not have to fully rise, instead leaning back in her chair with a contented posture and expression. With a hand featuring numerous rings and enchanted tattoos, she gestures for Vinlan to sit opposite of her. With that same hand, she waves to an apprentice who scurries off to a side room. Said apprentice returns quickly with a porcelain tea set and begins setting out service for two.
“I would venture to say that we exist in completely different specialties, actually,” Sidori responds with a light chuckle, “But there have been times before and certainly times ahead that such opposite specialties must work together. Have you been keeping up to date on the reports from Khaz Algar and K’aresh detachments of Thalassian forces? There are Reliquary agents stationed in both places who have written concerning reports about Hallowfall in particular. K’aresh is, well… a vision of a future I hope does not come to pass.”
The elder Magistrix lets out a light sigh as her apprentice pours cups of herbal tea.
“Although I am a Runewarden without a Runestone to guard at this time, I still have a connection to the convergence of leylines here in Quel’Thalas. They shuddered with the re-emergence and subsequent defeat of Dimensius.”
Vinlan nods as he listens intently, his eyes tracing the ornate patterns of the teacups as the offering is poured. His mind turns over her topic of conversation while he nods slowly. “Yes, indeed,” he admits softly, measuring his words with care. “The whisperings of the Void’s machinations have spread throughout most circles, both magical and otherwise.”
His features darken momentarily. “I do not believe it to be a mystery that Dimensius’s defeat was crafted by the Harbinger - another twisted step up her spire of games.” He shakes his head with an audible sigh. “You know I’ve spoken heavily on the subject of Thalassian martial defenses, but do permit me to make myself plain, Magistrix - it is not that I see weakness in the Magistry or our magical abilities as some would suggest. I only mean to assist in unifying Silvermoon’s collective abilities by ensuring that our individualized talents are collectively focused on defense.”
He takes a moment to pause, releasing his reflexive grip upon the wooden armrests. As the apprentice steps away from the pair, Vinlan breathes deeply to inhale the steaming aroma to permit the tea to calm the subject. “It may be bold of me to say so, but I have a suspicion that such a desire for unification is of interest to you as well.” He smiles warmly over the desk to Sidori before gesturing to the tea. He waits patiently for Sidori to take up her cup first.
“Is that a hint of wintersbite from Alterac I detect? You must be in the very good graces of Botanist Nathera, I take it. Truly, I am flattered by the offering.”
The Magistrix keeps her gaze leveled on Vinlan as the tea is poured, measuring the darkening of his gaze as if she can read his very soul and intentions. Her scrutinizing gaze is redirected as she lifts the teacup to her lips, taking a sip that is followed by a contented sigh.
“You are a man of good taste, Magister Duskfury,” Sidori comments with a smile, which is tempered by the severity of the discussion at hand.
“My pursuits and interests are largely of a scholarly nature, but it would be foolish of me not to prepare for war when I feel that one is on the horizon. What happened in Khaz Algar, I fear, may be but a taste of what may be visited upon Quel’Thalas. The Void consumes, Magister, and we are keepers of a most sacred fount of power.”
With a pause for another sip of tea, she continues.
“Knight-Lord Dawnblade was the head and organizer of the Runesworn. Her talents, while vast, are much more suited to martial endeavors — I asked her about the Phoenix Guard. And I asked her, in turn, to ask her former Lieutenant Commander about it. They are willing to wear the mantles of leadership again if needed. And if the Phoenix Guard is to be reborn, we will need a sponsor within the Magistry with more military knowledge and influence than I.”
Sidori bows her head politely to Vinlan, suggesting that he is, in fact, that Magister.
Vinlan lifts the secondary teacup to his lips in a moment of brief contentment. As he looks to the steaming liquid before him, the comforts dissipate quickly as the aroma of Alterac is replaced by one of acrid smoke. The gleaming spires of Quel’Thalas shudder beneath the onslaught of the Void’s machinations as the people scatter and scream. He blinks as the tea swirls slowly in his cup before him, the vision a glimpse of the fears he too holds.
“I admit that I share your concerns, Magistrix,” he replies softly as he places the delicate china down before him. “Alleria, powerful as she may be, is a lesser pawn compared to the forces that may descend upon Quel’Thalas. If the Sunwell had such an adverse reaction to her visit, I can only imagine what else may be possible.”
He lifts the teacup again for another sip, settling into the comforts of militaristic conversation. “Ah, the Phoenix Guard - well-known for its willingness to leave nothing to chance. A shame it was eaten by the Windrunner war machine those years ago. I admit that I was surprised of your selection of Knight-Lord Dawnblade for the Runesworn project - seems an…interesting fit, if you’ll permit my opinion.”
He sits back slightly and lifts his cup for another sip, his posture one of a Magister preparing to enter a discussion in which he knows he holds value. He says nothing of offering a sponsorship yet, preferring to continue to hunt and needle. If there is anything these high-level members of the Magistry were capable of, it is posturing.
Sidori lets out a light sigh as the subject of the Runesworn project and her unorthodox choices in leadership are brought up. With a dismissive wave, she again reaches for the teacup to bring it to her lips.
“All of my years of strictly academic pursuit of such a project yielded little in the way of results. Hints, here and there, without the necessary force to take it across the finish line. The Knight-Lord is well known for taking orders and getting an assignment done. Sadly, I overestimated how many scholars she had in her retinue…”
The Magistrix trailed off into silence for a beat, then flicked her gaze up to meet Vinlan’s with a playful sort of annoyance.
“Oh, Magister Duskfury, must I really beg?”
Vinlan chuckles at that, leaning back as the proverbial ball lands on his side of the court. “I would never deign to make someone of your station do anything of the sort,” he quips, taking the final sip of his tea. He places the gentle cup down upon the edge of Sidori’s desk, leaning in slightly to turn the topic of conversation quite serious.
“Tell me, Magistrix,” he begins, his voice slightly lower. “If we are to lift the Phoenix Guard up once more, pull it from the ashes as it were, do you believe it can slough off the stains of the past? It is no mystery that there were some…unsavory events in its history. Suncrown, notably, but also their penchant for running directly into the jaws of the beast. While some would call that bravery, it can also be foolish.”
He pauses a brief moment to regard her expression, but decides to press onward regardless, embracing the opportunity to have the floor. “You know more than anyone that I am keen on shoring up militaristic defenses, there is no reason to hide such wishes any longer - I know that such desires are no longer uniquely my own, especially now. I just wonder if bringing forth an old contingent once again is the better move compared to birthing a new one.”
He sits back a touch, looking to Sidori curiously. “I suppose my question is ultimately simple, though I want to make a point to not question particular military dossiers as we know many of the Guard are abundantly capable. But, why them instead of something new?”
Magistrix Silverspell watched Magister Duskfury from over the rim of her teacup as he jested about not making her beg for his help. Her incredulousness was skillfully hidden behind her pleasant features, even offering him a smile as she set the teacup down in its saucer, then the saucer down on the table next to her. Sidori’s long, thin fingers steepled together just below her chin as she thought on her answer.
“To critique just the Phoenix Guard for unsavory moments in the face of insurmountable odds would be unfair to critique our people as a whole of our lapses in judgement when we faced survival or annihilation. You and I both know that we, as members of the Magistry, had a direct hand in some of those unintended outcomes,” she gives him a pointed look with her fel green gaze, using the very corruption of her own features as a way to underscore her point.
She leans back in her chair again, bony elbows poking prominent depressions in the plush armrest of her chair. Her fingers still remain steepled at her lips. Finally, she rests her hands in her lap.
“The Phoenix Guard is the most logical choice because they made a name for themselves fighting those insurmountable odds and surviving. By being the sword in campaigns outside our borders, they kept Quel’Thalas safe. If they are called upon to be the shield in a time of need, they will fight tooth and nail to fulfill their oath of service,” Sidori’s voice, normally gentle and measured, becomes a touch more impassioned with each point she’s made.There used to be stories of her delivering such speeches at Magistry gatherings or lectures at the Academy; most thought that she had lost her fight after the war.
“I don’t mean to be fatalistic or even nihilistic about this, Magister Duskfury. But you and I both understand the enormity of cosmic powers and related horrors from Karesh that could very well be waiting to converge upon us. What is the nature of the void?” she asks in a tone not unlike an Academy professor, and answers her own question. “The void’s nature is to consume. Where is the brightest spot of its antithesis on all of Azeroth? Right here. The Sunwell.”
Finally, the Magistrix sighs.
“...I can’t lose it again, Vinlan,” she murmurs, foregoing formality in the name of vulnerability. “None of us can. It’s up to us to stack the deck in our favor and use everything in our power to help make sure that doesn’t happen again. I believe the Phoenix Guard to be a part of that.”
Vinlan removes his formal guard, his defenses lowered with the veritas of the subject matter. He allows a lengthy pause before taking a long, soft sigh, looking up into her fel green eyes with his own. He manages a soft smile, a genuine one.
“You know,” he begins, his tone markedly different as he drops the guise of a conniving Magister. “There are so many who would say that we operate at opposite sides of the spectrum. That your penchant for academics and my militaristic interests are to be at odds.” He sits a little straighter, shifting his body to face her fully.
“They would be wrong,” he says firmly with an accompanying pause for emphasis. “And I am most glad to see it. You are right, and we all, myself included, know it. The Sunwell must be defended at all costs by any, and every, means necessary - our very continued survival depends on that. I don’t think any of us can lose it again - I would fear for what we would become.”
“To reflect on my earlier points,” he continues, “I mean not to criticize the Guard, truly. I only posit potential lines of questioning that others within our ranks may consider. I cannot and will not deny their potential, their strength, their courage, or their merits - their dossiers speak fully upon all of that.”
He relaxes somewhat, still continuing his thoughts as they swirl from one to the next. “Ultimately, that you chose the Knight-Lord to lead the Runesworn project speaks to your trust in militaristic affairs, something that most assuredly piqued my interest. While unexpected, your summons this evening has laid bare your plan, your vision, and your goals, and I am humbled by your openness on the subject.”
He leans forward, glancing across the desk to see if any documentation had already been drafted while returning his voice to one of formality. “Magistrix Silverspell, it would be my honour to offer my support of recommissioning the Phoenix Guard in an effort to strengthen the defenses of Quel’Thalas. I believe our co-sponsorship could send an important message to the Magistry at large, and I do thank you for the trust and the opportunity.”
Sensing the discussion reaching a favorable conclusion, one of Sidori’s attendants brings in a leatherbound file folder with a formal declaration having already been drafted. With a bow, the attendant presents the file folder and Sidori shows the new charter for the Phoenix Guard.
Proclamation for
Circumstances Regarding Reactivation of the Phoenix Guard
WHEREAS, the mixed military entity known as the Phoenix Guard shall be considered for reactivation should the following criteria be met:
• Military action taken against Quel’Thalas, the Sunwell or other territories belonging to the Kingdom.
• Defense of existing Runestones or minor Runestone fragments discovered through the Runesworn project.
• Existential threat to Quel’Thalas, regardless of nature of aggressor.
• Any other emergency requiring decisive military action for defense or stabilization.
WHEREAS, should the Phoenix Guard be reactivated for duty, it shall be overseen by the undersigned officials:
• Magistrix Sidori Silverspell
• Magister Vinlan Duskfury
Both of the Sunspire, reporting to the Regent-Lord and Grand Magister.
WHEREAS, should the Phoenix Guard be reactivated for duty, it shall be commanded by the named individuals:
• Knight-Lord Ina’thia Dawnblade, of the Blood Knight Order
•Ranger Captain Ruthar Ronaestrider, of the Farstriders
The undersigned members of the Magistry sign this document understanding the responsibility of the defense of Quel’Thalas, and do so willingly and without hesitation. Should the time come for dire measures to protect the kingdom, both Magistry officials will activate the below enchantments on the parchment.
HEREBY SIGNED by,
𝑀𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓍 𝒮𝒾𝒹𝑜𝓇𝒾 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓁𝓁
(The rune intended for Sidori is an elegant circular pattern with four circles within it, referencing the Runestones of Quel’Thalas and penned in glowing blue ink.)
𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔙𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔞𝔫 𝔇𝔲𝔰𝔨𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔶
(The rune intended for Vinlan is a more geometric representation of a phoenix and the sun, referencing his preference toward militaristic strength and penned in glowing red ink.)
Sidori waves an enchanted feather quill over to her hand, which she snatches out of the air. Without any fanfare, she signs her name in large and flowing script next to her rune. Once satisfied with her signature, she floats the parchment and quill to Vinlan.
Finally, she offers a kind – but weary – smile.
“I hope that we do not need to use this.”
Vinlan takes his time reading the document with deep scrutiny before taking the quill in kind and affixing his signature.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he adds after added the final filigree of his signature. “Though I believe I speak for many when I offer that I’d rather be prepared than surprised.”
He places the quill down next to the document and looks upon it, the swirling official text glinting with the power of their combined signatures. “The Sword and Shield rings out from the Spires once more, Magistrix Silverspell. I thank you for the opportunity to see it so. May this partnership bear much fruit in the time to come.”
Ruthar looks around with a smile, removing his helmet as he clinks his way through the upper chambers of the Phoenix Guard's former headquarters on Quel'Danas. His chainmail rings over the gentle sounds of the shore as he breathes in the salted air. He relishes the moment before heading through the curtains.
There's a light flickering in the old Commander's office of the Phoenix Guard's former base. Heavy steps crisscross the office, signaling the clanking of armor and weaponry belonging to one Knight-Lord Dawnblade. Once in the office, she's revealed to be... cleaning? Dusting? She has a dirty rag in her hand, wiping surfaces and fighting back sneezes.
Ruthar watches curiously before softly clearing his throat. "A sight for sore eyes," he says gently, wafting some dust away from his face. "Though I didn't expect your letter to summon me here for manual labour."
Inathia abruptly sneezes when Ruthar addresses her, then turns to regard him with a smile. A sniffly smile. It's just dust, -of course-. "Right? A little homesick, I guess. Turns out, putting fancy rocks back together is harder than I thought." Ina'thia crosses the office to pull open the curtains and open the windows overlooking the harbor.
Ruthar chuckles at that, leaning his bow against the wall near the door so he can pick up some papers from the ground. "I did have my doubts, to be honest," he chides mirthfully. "It was hard to imagine you leading a community of scholars and researchers. No progress to report on that end, then?"
Ina'thia laughs in turn, "Turns out it was, primarily, one scholar and researcher. One and a half if you include Magister Everblaze. But what can you do, when the Magistry tasks you to something? You do it."
Ruthar nods as he continues to gather old papers. He lifts one off the ground with his own signature on it, an action report from the Broken Shore. "We did a whole lot of things that were required of us," he says as he scans the document. "And we were damn good at it."
Ina'thia leans against the now clean desk, crossing her arms. Her gaze falls to a stack of papers recounting Draenor -- and how Ranger Captain Ronaestrider had almost been lost to the Iron Horde's war machine. Banishing the unpleasant memory with a grin, she looks back over to Ruthar. "You're damn right we were. To the point where I feel so uncertain about everything else I've been up to, as of late. The Magistry project, desk duty with the Blood Knights... dare I say it... quiet domesticity."
Ruthar nods knowingly. "I know what you mean. Ever since this nonsense on K'aresh, it's been an endless sea of meetings of defensive thoughts and concerns. A lot of talk, very little action. Not that I'm particularly interested in this Void nonsense looking upon Quel'Thalas."
Ina'thia raises a brow, "You went to K'aresh? Or just dealing with the meetings and chaos? That explains why Magistrix Silverspell summoned me..."
Ruthar shakes his head. "The latter. Farstrider leadership has made a point to circle the proverbial wagons in the aftermath. A responsible move, but you know how bureaucracy can be." He lifts a brow. "Silverspell? I'm not sure I'm familiar."
Ina'thia keeps her arms crossed, "She's the Magistrix who initiated the Runesworn project. Surviving Runewarden from the Third War -- I digress. She seemed worried about something, and asked me about the Phoenix Guard."
Ruthar halts his paper-gathering at that, standing up straight with his interest quite piqued. "Oh? Does she have interest in starting a militarized unit in tandem with the research initiative?"
Ina'thia seems troubled, evidenced by the furrow of her brow. "She didn't signal any particular interest -- a military venture seems absurd and unnecessary at this time, doesn't it? She just kept saying 'in case' or 'in the event of' and 'would you do it again?'"
Ruthar 's eyes shimmer at that as the sun dances upon the upper reaches of the spire. "In a heartbeat," he says without so much as a moment's pause.
Ina'thia doesn't respond immediately, but a genuine smile creeps across her lips. "I told her the same, but only if my Lieutenant Commander was interested. It seems we are woefully -bereft- of a military conflict, though. Unless you count what happens when the Lord-Magister can't get his hair to style perfectly."
Ruthar chuckles at that. "A conflict, to be sure, but hardly a military one. I dare say I'm not qualified for something of -that- scale anyhow. I leave that to your particular realm of expertise," he says with a playful smirk.
Ina'thia smirks, "The key is to just mess it up even more, clearly." Another light chuckle has her fussing with her own hair, mostly out of habit. "I doubt we'll get the Starfrosts on board, though."
Ruthar nods as his eyes shift over to a piece of parchment with Syrielle in the middle of a field of text. "They have most assuredly continued on, for better or worse. I daresay that we are a bit more...predictable."
Ina'thia finishes fussing with her hair, "They seem well-established. A doctor and a Magistrix, a kid and all of that." There's a strange tone in her voice when she says doctor, in reference to Gattius. A mix of disdain and disappointment. "It's for the best."
Ruthar watches her curiously for a moment. "This is starting to sound more official than I think you're letting on. Is this a serious inquiry of this Magistrix, then? Seems a hasty departure from the focus of the Runesworn."
Ina'thia shakes her head, "It's fun to think about, but I question the seriousness and necessity of it. Came here and started cleaning to keep my hands busy, lest I beat the absolute shit out of an unsuspecting Initiate."
Ruthar laughs at that. "I shouldn't laugh because I know that wasn't a joke. Even so, I do miss working with the recruits - too many meetings at hand for that at present." He rustles a few more documents and clicks them in order against the desk. "Did you hear that Ranger Lord Dawnstrider is formally retiring?"
Ina'thia allows herself to reminisce. "I miss being out in the field, holding the line between demons -- orcs -- demonic orcs, even -- and our Spellweavers and menders." She sighs, snapping back to attention. "Ranger Lord Dawnstrider? That's who you've been working under, right?"
Ruthar glances down to the shoreline, his mind recreating the demonic scenes of what feels like a lifetime ago. "Indeed," he replies. "He promoted me to Ranger Captain in the months prior to the Dark Portals rebirth."
Ina'thia taps her clawed fingertips on the desk's surface. "Will you seek promotion, then? I think it's about time, honestly. You've more than earned it. Promotion now will give you time to adjust, rather than in the middle of a war."
Ruthar drums the desk with his armored fingers. "Humility is the default when it comes to such matters, you know me - if it's meant to be, then it shall be." His eyes dart to his own title under his signature on a nearby document. "Still, the word is getting around and I've placed the bug where it needs to go. The Ranger Lord and I have been quite close over the years."
Ina'thia follows Ruthar's gaze to the page with his signature. "Look at you, boasting humility yet playing the game of whispers. You've clearly spent a long time in Silvermoon..." she teases.
Ruthar chuckles. "You don't get anywhere if you can't play the game, even if you don't like it." He sighs exaggeratedly. "Perhaps I would have been a decent fit for your Runesworn Magistry project after all."
Ina'thia rests a hand over her heart, where her Knight-Lord insignia is pinned to her tabard. "I can think of no one more deserving of such a station and the honor it brings. If you need a recommendation, I will deliver it personally."
Ruthar smiles softly at that. "Much appreciated, of course. Should such a note be required, you will be the first to know. I'm not sure anyone on Azeroth has seen the best or worst of me as you have."
Ina'thia squints a little bit as she tries to recall something about the worst of Ruthar. "Well, there was that one time, in Draenor..." she laughs. "Your so-called worst is positively angelic compared to mine. You'll be fine."
Ruthar chuckles. "You literally pulled me out of the jaws of death's door on more than one occasion - I'd say that counts as the worst. Unless, of course, you want to count my relationship missteps, though those are probably best left markedly -off- the record."
Ina'thia smirks, "That -does- remind me of that one time in Draenor, actually. When we all thought we were going to die, and everyone was freezing..." she laughs. "Rest assured, none of that will get mentioned. And I once again reiterate -- your worst compared to mine makes you look like an angel. Don't worry about it."
Ruthar nods. "There is a lot of uncertainty on the horizon, but with uncertainty comes opportunity. Speaking of, I fear I glossed over your own opinions on the Magistrix and such affairs. Would she close the Runesworn project if some sort of situation would arise, or did she not even mention any of that yet?"
Ina'thia pauses to think on that question for a moment. "You know, I'm not sure. If something severe enough to recommission the Phoenix Guard ever happened, a scholarly project for magic rocks would have to be put on pause. Wouldn't you think?"
Ruthar nods. "I would assume so, but, then again, magical defenses and artifacts could be a huge benefit depending on the conflict."
Ina'thia shrugs, "At the end of the day, it's not really my decision. It's her project, and I can't very well do both if enough shit hits the fan that I'm a Commander again."
Ruthar nods. "Quite so." He taps his chin in thought. "Have you heard anything from a Magister Duskfury? He's been helpful to the Farstriders for a while. He's a pro-military Magister, a former Sunreaver, as it were. I wonder if he'd be a great point of contact for your Magistrix should her attention be turned toward military interests."
Ina'thia quirks a brow, "Odd that I've not heard of him. Regardless, I'll pass his name along to Magistrix Silverspell. If things do go south enough to bring back the Guard, it'd be worthwhile for them to know of each other's interests."
Ruthar smirks again. "Consider it another chess piece in the game - such a meeting might push a hand on the Magistrix's scale and further her interest in such things."
Ina'thia mutters under her breath, "If it keeps my nose out of a dusty old book..." she smiles. "We can put our thumb on the scale just a little bit, too. Not that I'm hoping for a disaster, or anything."
Ruthar glances to the desk filled with stacked reports of conflict after conflict. "I don't think you need to hope," he says, gesturing to the contents. "I think the word is 'inevitable.'"
Ina'thia glances back to the desk, "...Fair enough. Well, with you and I leading things again, we'll have a fighting chance, won't we? Whether it be vanquishing demons or boredom."
Ruthar chuckles, looking around the office. "The first thing to vanquish is this forlorn furniture. Let's get this done quick - there is a bottle of Thalassian red waiting for us at the inn below."
Ina'thia finally stands up straight, smoothing the wrinkles from her tabard out of habit. "By the Sunwell, I've -missed- you." She gestures for Ruthar to exit first, so that she can close and lock the door behind her. Maybe next time it won't be years before the office sees its next visitors.
Ruthar slips through the pavilion, his boots clanking softly against the stonework. He stops as the doorway opens to the sea, breathing deeply as his mind slips into long-held memories. He watches as Analyse salutes beneath a phoenix banner, Rositsa focusing upon a target. The banner snaps in the breeze as a phalanx of Silvermoon's mightiest gather to trade information and plan their next move. With a blink of his tired eyes, the images disappear, revealing the calm scene before him - no guards, no protectors, just quiet. He looks over to the table nearby to find a seated Ina'thia.
"Of the three centuries I've stalked these forests, few places feel like home as much as this pavilion."
Ina'thia 's ears flick as she hears the clanking of Ruthar's boots as he exits the pavilion, out to the little clearing with tables. There's a picnic spread, complete with a red and gold embroidered cloth, and a bottle of wine.
"And that's why I always seem to find myself here, after all this time and everything that's happened."
Ruthar saunters over to the table, his eyebrows raising as he looks at the spread. "You certainly went all out. I didn't expect this when I received your letter..." He shifts over to take a seat on the bench across, noting her relatively unarmored form.
Ina'thia gives Ruthar a bit of a smirk as she pulls the cork from the wine bottle. "Well, we meant to do this how long ago, now? A lot has happened since then and now. My guilt, made manifest in a picnic."
Ruthar watches her uncork the wine bottle, enjoying the sight of someone else kick off the drinking for a change. He rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, a while ago, for sure. But the tables in Fairbreeze aren't going anywhere and I'm a patient elf." He picks up a crystal glass and slides it in Ina'thia's direction.
Ina'thia is quick to pour into Ruthar's glass, then into her own. "I ran into Li-Mei last night. What's her status, these days? Still a traitor... probationary... questionable...?"
Ruthar chuckles dryly, taking up the glass. He lofts it, somewhat dismissively. "Before we slide directly into that sort of business, to fond memories in a fond locale. I do appreciate the invitation, whatever the circumstances may be." He holds the glass aloft for a soft clink.
Ina'thia raises her own glass to toast with Ruthar, "You're right, you're right. My mind and entire life have been going entirely too fast. I planned to slow down, but here I am. Talking business."
Ruthar clinks it, sipping the Thalassian red softly, cherishing the taste before popping a small fruit into his mouth. "Commander Dawnblade," he quips. "I don't believe you have ever had a reputation for slowing down."
Ina'thia takes a sip of her own wine, following it with a small wedge of cheese. "And that's where I'd say 'Lt. Commander Ronaestrider, I'll slow down when I'm dead!', right?" She laughs into her wine glass.
Ruthar smirks at that. "Truly, the memories come swirling back on this beach. A lifetime ago, it feels..." He allows the moment to slip, taking another gentle sip before returning to the present. "Interesting that you would mention Li-Mei first and foremost - I only just today received an unprompted missive from her."
Ina'thia 's gaze trails past Ruthar to the beach itself as she relives her own memories. "She's looking for... something. Work? Assignment? Belonging? I'm not sure what to do about her."
Ruthar nods, his expression somewhat quizzical. "Precisely," he admits. "That was nearly verbatim what was in her note."
Ina'thia lazily plucks a grape off of the picnic spread and pops it into her mouth. She rests her elbow on the table, chin in hand, thoughtfully chewing. "Part of this is an apology for not letting you know of my current assignment sooner. I'm sure you've heard about it, from the Magistry. Runestones. It's... not a strictly military affair. Li-Mei needs structure and I'm not sure if I can provide that."
Ruthar nods slowly, his eyes shifting down toward the spread a moment. "I heard whispers, certainly. Of course, I don't have the strongest of ties to the Magistry these days, so I know precious little. I would assume, as always, it is a need-to-know situation."
Ina'thia watches Ruthar, "I wanted to tell you, but things moved quickly. I would welcome your involvement, however much you can provide. I know the Farstriders keep you busy."
Syrielle smiles brightly as she silently approaches the familiar faces.
Ruthar nods. "Busy is certainly one way to..." His eyes shift over to his left and widen as he catches sight of Syrielle. "Goodness, I wasn't aware this would be such an occasion," he leans back, raising his glass toward Syrielle.
Syrielle brings her hand around over Ina's eyes, "Guess who!" She giggles playfully.
Ina'thia 's ears flick as she feels a presence behind her. Before she can turn around, hands cover the top half of her face! Her first reaction is to snarl, but her expression turns into a bright smile when she realizes who it is. "Syrie! I -just- sent that letter before I came out here. Are you that anxious to get out of the big fancy house?"
Ruthar lifts himself up partially to pour a glass of red, sliding it across the table toward the empty seat next to Ina'thia.
Syrielle wraps her arms around Ina in a hug, "Just got out of a boring meeting actually. It was perfect timing! Oooh! We drinking?”
Ruthar smirks, pushing the glass even further. "Always."
Ina'thia leans in to Syrie's hug, then pats the seat next to her. "Eversong Red, the best and only! Come, come. This is hardly boring."
Ruthar cants his head to the side at Ina'thia curiously. "You are quite...different than the last we spoke. Dare I say, happy? Content? This must be some project you've got."
Ina'thia raises a brow to Ruthar as she sips at her wine, holding the glass to her lips longer than normal as she measures her response. "Having a new project helps. Settling some personal issues also helps."
Syrielle takes a seat next to Ina. Her gloved hand reaches for the drink, "That the new project Bey's got his eye on?"
Ruthar narrows his eyes curiously as he takes another sip, listening for the moment though curiosity radiates from his features.
“Must be quite a project!” Syrielle exclaims. “I haven't seen him in this good of a mood ever since…”
Ina'thia sets her glass down, "He's quite involved." She mutters under her breath, forgetting for a moment that she's in the company of elves. "We're quite involved. ANYWAY. This project is to restore some of the runestones that made Ban'dinoriel!"
Syrielle gasps at Ina'thia. “Ohmygoshreally?!” Her ears perk all the way up and her eyes glow with excitement, "You're together again?! AHHHHHHH!" She hugs Ina, again.
“Ban'dinoriel is long gone,” Ruthar states matter-of-factly. “The only restoration of note here is between you and the Magister, it seems.”
Ina'thia lifts an arm so that Syrie can go in for all of the hugs, but also so she can pat the top of Syrie's head. "Shan'dor still functions, and there are other, smaller runestones. If we can piece those back together, imagine what could be done for the others. Plus, I've gained a reputation as actually accomplishing the impossible. It's far from surviving suicide missions through the Dark Portal... but it gives me purpose."
Ina'thia is, pointedly, not discussing Bey'ron.
Syrielle is focused solely on the Bey’ron and Ina thing, but is content to just keep hugging Ina happily, allowing she and Ruthar to continue their conversation.
Ruthar considers that, taking another sip before sampling a piece of Sunsail Gouda. "Knight-Lord Dawnblade has a new venture surrounded by magic-oriented folks? That seems like an...interesting choice."
Ruthar smirks as he takes another sip. "No offense, of course. Clearly, there is a little magic in you now."
Syrielle grins wickedly at Ina'thia. “Yeah there is!”
Ina'thia playfully messes up Syrie's tiara, "Plenty of other familiar faces in the group. Hawkcrest, Dawnreaer, Ravenscar, Bloodwrath, Tiderunner..."
Syrielle chuckles, releasing Ina so that she can fix up her tiara.
Ruthar snaps up a little at that. "Ranger Captain Hawkcrest? Goodness, it sounds like you plan to beat the stones back into service."
Ina'thia snickers at Ruthar, "Well, has anyone tried that yet? It just might work."
Ruthar shakes his head with a smirk, reaching to pour another glass. "Fair enough, I suppose, though I was unaware the Knights had such a vested interest in magical defenses. A sign of collectivism that we should all aspire to, certainly."
“You getting the Guard back together?” Syrielle asks.
Ina'thia shakes her head, "No. The Guard is long gone... this is something new. Magistrix Silverspell is calling us the Runesworn." She shrugs a little bit. "The Blood Knights and the Magistry have always had a close relationship..."
Syrielle grins at Ina, "Yeah, they have."
“Sometimes fraught,” Ina’thia continues, “but one nonetheless. It hearkens back to old times for our Order, but far more pleasant circumstances."
Syrielle waggles her eyebrows at Ina.
Ina'thia holds the driest possible cracker up to Syrie's mouth, hoping she'll be too occupied with chewing and swallowing a desert than talking about Bey'ron.
Ruthar snorts into the wine glass at Syri before resting it down to sample some Falthrien Fontina. "Doesn't seem to me that there is much need for us old, non-magical defenders."
"There's magic around us everywhere in Quel'Thalas,” Ina’thia offers. “The leylines, the Light, even the land itself. Even if I don't understand it, I can protect those that do."
Syrielle smirks as she chews the cracker, taking a sip of wine to help with it.
Ruthar nods, taking a long sip. "So, Li-Mei is interested in this as well? I take it that such a desire is the catalyst for her note."
Ina'thia drums her fingers on the edge of the table. She seems a little frustrated, and not quite sure how to articulate it. "I don't know if she's interested in this particularly, or just... -anything-. I don't know if I can trust her to keep the magical secrets we are already discovering."
Ruthar considers that. "It is that very betrayal of magical secrets that exposed Ban'dinoriel in the first place, but I wouldn't say Li-Mei is the next Drathir..."
Syrielle finally swallows down that cracker, "She would never do it out of malice or on purpose, for sure."
Ina'thia nods slowly, "...I know, but the fact that I wonder about it gives me pause. And as I said; this isn't a military operation. It's not the Guard. There's no rank or role for her to be neatly boxed into."
“How has she been doing?” Syrielle inquires. “I haven't seen her since the trial.”
Ruthar munches on a grape before replying. "Fairly well, from what I understand. In fact, I worked alongside her and Lord Everblaze in apprehending a traitor to the Kingdom along the southern border recently. Certainly, the Magister would vouch for her given those circumstances in addition to all his other efforts in her favour."
“Oh! You helped bring Sunwhisper in?” Syrielle asks. “That’s great!”
Ina'thia shifts on her half of the bench, quirking a brow. "Traitor? ...Sunwhisper? Why does that sound so familiar..."
Ruthar nods. "It was mostly a trivial affair, to be honest. One of the betrayers who orchestrated Suncrown near the end of the Guard's tenure."
Syrielle looks up. “Really? No trouble bringing her in?”
Ina'thia nearly chokes on a grape, "That's -not- a mostly trivial affair. I thought those fuckers were D E A D. They should be, after what they did!"
“Not that I doubt you, Rosi and Bey's abilities, but isn't she like... super strong?” Syrielle offers as a follow-up.
Ruthar nods. "Turns out, she is, in fact, dead. She's still in Everblaze's custody, I believe. He had intended to find answers to quite a few questions."
Syrielle nods to Ruthar's words, "Events are recent and it's not very talked about."
Ina'thia exhales sharply into her wine glass and takes a big gulp -- the rest of the contents, in fact. She's stewing about a great many things. "I hate everything about this. But it's out of my hands."
“The important thing is that she's in custody,” offers Syrielle.
Ruthar looks to Ina'thia curiously. "They are in Thalassian custody, I could think of no better place." He nods to Syri. "I am certain there are many answers to come. Regardless, Li-Mei was part of the collecting party, no questions asked. A good omen about her trustworthiness, perhaps."
Ina'thia lets out a sigh as she consciously wills the tension from her body. "You're right. Maybe I'm being too hard on her. I don't have a whole lot of room to talk."
“Only you can decide who is best suited for your venture, of course,” Ruthar states plainly. “I only offer that I do believe she can be trusted, despite her momentary slip. She is certainly under the Magister's ever-watchful eye, at the very least.”
Syrielle takes another drink of wine, "She ever let anything slip when she was in the Guard?"
Ina'thia makes a funny face at the mention of the Magister's ever-watchful eye. She decides to take another wedge of cheese. "Not that I'm aware of. I'll... keep it under advisement."
Ruthar looks over to Syrielle. "And you, Lady Starfrost? Are you also involved in this rune-venture?"
Syrielle shakes her head, picking out a piece of cheese, "Unfortunately not. Since I usually end up with Bey's work when he gets busy with other business. I can probably pitch in and help from time to time, but I don't think it's something I could fully commit to. It does sound interesting, though.”
Ina'thia offers a smile at Syrie, "I'd welcome any help you'd be able to give us. Same for you, Ruthar. I know the project seems far fetched -- impossible, even -- but the Phoenix Guard was successful against far greater odds and dangers."
Syrielle smiles at Ina, "Definitely call if you need anything. I can usually pop in pretty quickly, as you saw." Syrielle mumbles as she goes to take a sip of wine, "I thought it was a booty call."
Ina'thia nearly chokes on her own spit.
Ruthar polishes off his second glass, clicking it down upon the table. "I swore an oath to the Guard, an oath that cost me dearly on more than one occasion. If you need my help, you need only..." his voice trails off for a moment as he glances between the pair. "I...I, ah. Well, I can certainly leave you to it..."
“Nah, I like being on Bey's good side,” Syrielle replies.
Ina'thia rests her hands on the table as she finishes sputtering. "...and I don't need to have -another- fight with Gattius."
“Has he apologized to you yet? I told him he needs to apologize.” Syrielle pours herself another glass.
Ruthar shakes his head as other memories slip through his mind. "I commend your collective strength. I'm not sure I have many skills in this personal arena. The last ones...well, best to let those remain unreminded."
Ina'thia holds out her wine glass as Syrie pours herself more. "I don't think there will ever be apologies. But... it is what it is."
Syrielle refills Ina's glass, her ears lowering some.
Ina'thia falls into silence as she nurses her wine. "Well, happier topics. The three of us are here, now, which hasn't happened in years! New projects... new things... it'll all be okay."
Ruthar dusts off his tabard, standing from the table. "Sadly, I should retire back to the City before the night falls fully, as much as I'd love to watch the darkness kiss the shoreline once more." He sighs, looking out over the water as he shifts around. "It is truly good to see you both. New things, new projects - all indeed worth celebrating. A happy Ina'thia, too - a rare sight, indeed," he offers, turning around as he looks upon the pair with perhaps a hint of quashed underlying sadness. "But, a sight truly worth celebrating." He smiles at the pair. "As always, Sunwell guide. Send my best to both Sir Starfrost and Magister Everblaze."
Syrielle quickly gets up and walks over to Ruthar, pulling him into a hug, "It's always so good to see you, Ruthar."
Ruthar chuckles as he accepts the hug, holding tightly. "You as well, Syrie, should I still be permitted to call you that. A lovely surprise this evening, to be sure."
Ina'thia stands up as well. She doesn't rush in for a hug like Syrie does, but instead, stands awkwardly with her rigid postures and hands at her sides. "It was good to see you. And I hope to see you more. Remember... defying the impossible is what we used to do every day, and we did it well. Come help us build a runestone or four."
Syrielle smiles. “You can always call me Syrie. In fact, I prefer it.” She reaches over and pulls Ina into the hug.
Ruthar smiles at that, accepting the hug that Syrie continues, holding his dear friends close for a prolonged moment. After pulling back, his fingers instinctively brush upon his marred eye scars.
"Some were better at defying said impossibilities than others, to be sure. Though, perhaps this old soul still has something to offer to this Runesworn." He flashes a small grin. "Just as with Li-Mei, I suppose I will take it under advisement."
Syrielle smiles, finally releasing the two, "We need to meet like this more often."
Ruthar smiles and nods. "Indeed! Ina'thia still owes me a dinner in Fairbreeze - certainly another chair wouldn't hurt."
Ina'thia allows a much wider smile to cross her lips, and she finds herself in the middle of this group hug somehow. For once, she doesn't freeze up or complain. Instead, she pulls her two friends in closer. "Dinner in Fairbreeze it is. With more wine!"
“Yay!” Syrielle cheers.
Ruthar smiles at that, offering one final squeeze before slipping away. "I have some special selections from my vintner to share, I very much look forward to that. But, Sunwell guide and all that for real this time." He begins to walk toward the pavilion before turning to offer one final smile to the pair before trekking back to the City.
“Sunwell Guide, Ruthar,” Syrelle replies with a smile.
Ina'thia gives Ruthar a little wave, "Sunwell guide, my friend. Rest well."
Ruthar chuckles at that, always having wondered what it felt like to be sunwell guide-d. He takes another glimpse from his now helmet-adorned head before truly departing, his mind moving far faster than his feet.
He sighed as he slipped through the woodlands southward, returning to the walls of Silvermoon. He had truly received much more than he bargained for, for good or ill. Upon receiving a letter of invitation from In'athia for this evening, he had expected some basic updates about goings-on in regards to the Knights or movements in Quel'Thalas - standard points of their regular discussions. The focus on personal matters was not something he had anticipated.
There was never an opportunity, don't dwell on it, his mind whispered the reminder to himself as he walked along. The Knights and Magistry have always had a special sort of relationship - you chose your path long ago when you first lifted a bow.
He instinctively reached for Ana'dal upon his back, running his fingers along the ornate golden wood. No sense focusing on what could have been, he reminded himself.
a gold foiled piece i drew for around gallery's show 'laws of nature' ◡̈
if u're in singapore, u can check out the amazing artwork in the show and maybe even pick up a copy of the works on display or other goods while u're at it!
thank u so much to around gallery for inviting me and for printing my piece!
The summons to Dr. Starfrost were hand delivered by a Blood Knight Master and their Adept in an envelope that not only bore the insignia of the Blood Knight order, but markings of classification of utmost importance.
Dr. Starfrost - For your eyes only - Immediate attention required
Your presence is required at the Hall of Blood tomorrow morning, one hour after dawn. You are to perform a physical fitness examination on a knight, as part of their reinstatement process. We trust that you will perform this duty to the utmost ethical standards as a former member of our order, and esteemed physician serving Quel’Thalas.
Signed,
Knight-Lord Bloodvalor
Once the message was securely in Gattius’ hands, the two knights offered him crisp salutes and were immediately on their way.
The following morning, the streets of Silvermoon City were just barely starting to come to life. A gentle golden glow shone between the towering spires of the city. Knights and Farstriders had begun their morning training, merchants made their way to their stores and stalls, and those who had seen the sun rise were wandering home to retire for sleep.
Dr. Gattius Starfrost was received by the two Blood Knights from the night prior, who led them to a small office room in the back of the Hall of Blood. It was an unusual request to summon a physician to the Hall, rather than send a Knight needing examination or treatment to a clinic. Whatever was happening was clearly of utmost importance to them.
“Right here, Doctor. We’ll be waiting outside.”
Once inside the small office, a singular knight sat on a chair in the corner. Bereft of her armor and makeup, Ina’thia Dawnblade didn’t look particularly intimidating at first glance. With her arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of her, the black tank top and leggings she always wore underneath it revealed skin weathered by time and even more battles. Her hair had fallen flat and dry over the years, and she’d long foregone her usual dark kohl liner and red lips.
Upon realizing the door had been opened, she immediately stood up and leveled her gaze on Gattius. Ina’thia all but hissed, and the turbulent holy energies of her aura as a Blood Knight seemed to crackle in the air.
“I want a new doctor.”
“Oh, shut up.” Gattius groaned in response, as if already exhausted with her. “You know I'm the best there is.”
Gattius knew it could only be Ina'thia, even though the letter didn't say outright. He had heard the rumor the other night from Syrielle. Then, all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the missive's delivery. Knight-Lord Bloodvalor wouldn't put his name on an order to reinstate just anyone. And being summoned to the Hall, rather than the reinstatement case just be sent to his clinic? High profile and secretive. He hoped he was wrong. Maybe it was someone else. Anyone else.
Nope.
Still, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, resigning to his fate. He knew. Part of him resigned to it as soon as he got the letter. The rest of him was just catching up, now. He set his bag down on the small corner table, and opened the folder he'd been handed on his way in. It all could've been hallucination up to that point, but for some reason, seeing her name inscribed across the top of the examination form solidified everything else.
Ina’thia Dawnblade was back.
He stared at the form a moment. Just at her name, reading it over and over again– hoping maybe it looked like he was just reviewing her chart intently. His body moved ahead of him, hands digging his cigarette case out of his pocket to pluck one put and light it up. The familiar taste, the warmth hitting his lungs, all seemed to reel him back. His golden gaze lifted from the folder to look at her, now. Slowly, he exhaled a plume of smoke.
“Please state your name and date of birth for the record.” he instructed, all-business.
Ina’thia bristled at Gattius’s groaned response at her, quickly sitting down. She crossed her arms and slouched in the chair, pouting that this was the doctor that had been assigned to perform her physical. Gattius Starfrost, of all people. It couldn’t be some other rank and file Master, a spiritual knight who she pissed off years ago, or hell, even an Argent Crusader.
No, it had to be Gattius. Former knight, former Captain, former lover.
She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, trying her best to push those thoughts from her mind. He could very well be the one obstacle that stood in the way of her reinstatement if he wanted to be vindictive, and she knew it.
“Gods damn you, Bloodvalor,” she grumbled under her breath, then sat up straight. Just answer the questions.
“Ina’thia Dawnblade, July twenty-first.”
Scribble scribble. Gattius jotted down notes on the parchment. The form wasn't anything he hadn't filled out a million times before. He checked a few boxes, and filled in some of the basic information he knew about her already, like blood type and the like.
“Your last physical exam was over five years ago. Have you sustained any notable injuries since your last exam?” He asked, ashing his cigarette carelessly onto the floor beside him. “And were you seen or treated in the field or by any other physician in that time?”
His eyes remained fixed to the form. Voice monotone and interrogative, like he either didn't care… or cared intensely.
Ina’thia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her fingertips dug into her bare arms, pressing into the muscles and skin marred by scars both old and new. Her ears twitched and she took a moment to breathe in the sweet smelling smoke of his cigarette. Light, she’d kill for one of those right now. But then she wouldn’t get promoted. So she remained sitting… begrudgingly so.
“I was treated the monks and residents of Temple of the White Tiger at the Kun-Lai summit some six or seven years ago. Frostbite and exposure. Climbing that mountain is still an absolute bitch, by the way.”
The knight exhaled sharply, catching a fleeting glance at Gattius before pointedly averting her gaze to the small pile of ash on the ground.
“I was treated in the field with my own first aid and other menders I crossed paths with. Too many to count.”
Scribble scribble. He took down more notes as Ina'thia shared the information.
“Simple or routine mending, aye?” He asked, seeking clarification. “Nothing major, like broken bones or internal organs rupturing? Nothing requiring surgery?”
His tone leveled as he settled into the chair. Maybe the cigarette was doing its thing. Or maybe the routine of it all was helping him manage. It helped to have a focus of questions to ask, keeping him from asking his own. Like “what the fuck?”, or “how dare you show your face here again?”
“Just papercuts from too much paperwork and bruises from stubbing my toe on desks,” Ina’thia retorted in the most sarcastic voice she could muster, and even threw in a very annoyed eyeroll at him for good measure. The end of her eyeroll met Gattius’s gaze and she quickly found a spot on the wall to look at.
“My broken bones were set, the lacerations sutured and the burns treated with remedies both magical and herbal. You know that treating these things in the field can be unorthodox. No surgeries.”
With another heavy sigh, she shifted her posture in the chair and slouched in it somehow even more. The enchanted lantern light in the room cast a deep shadow over her features, which were set into a deep frown with the whole experience at hand.
“Do you really have to ask all of this?”
“‘Patient declined examination, physician advises against reinstatement.’” Gattius retorted, equally sarcastic– quill moving, but the distinct sound of it scribbling on the parchment was notably, obviously absent. “Or maybe you'd like a different recommendation today, aye? I don't wanna ask them any more than you wanna be asked. But if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right.”
He gave a warning side eye; one well practiced over a couple years of fatherhood. Then, back to scribbling down– for real– a few notes from Ina’thia's responses.
“Gonna need specifics on the breaks. Otherwise, I'll have to find them all manually.” he commented. “I think this is plenty awkward as it is, don't you?”
Something about Gattius’ response earned a concession from Ina’thia with regard to her sarcasm. Perhaps it was his own sarcastic remark in turn about not recommending her for reinstatement. Or maybe it was the stern side eye that he had given her. Either way, she sat up a little bit straighter and became slightly more cooperative.
“Dislocated my left shoulder. Broke several fingers in my right hand. Cracked several of my ribs on the left side…”
To demonstrate, she held her left hand up into the enchanted light. Her ring finger had healed out of position, and leaned slightly to one side.
“More bruises than I can count, but those have all since healed. Just like the other injuries. What else does that blasted form have on it?”
“The usual.” Gattius replied shortly, whilst filling out more of the form. “Do you smoke? Yes… Do you drink? Yes… Is there any chance you may be pre–”
He let that question fall off, instead answering it for her without finishing. Most of these he knew the answers to already, unless something had DRASTICALLY changed. Then, he turned the page– rarely a good sign, and a guarantee that this was far from over. He scribbled a few more things down without asking for her input. Either not needing it, or knowing well enough already.
Then… he sighed. He finally looked at her for more than a glance or narrow-eyed glare. Quiet. He ashed his cigarette, then leaned back.
“Where’ve you been?”
Ina’thia opened her mouth to answer his questions, but closed it immediately when he began answering the questions for her. At this point, she couldn’t help but wonder what the purpose of the questionnaire even was.
She leaned back as Gattius leaned back, and resumed her closed posture. Crossed arms over her chest, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Her gaze once again was going to burn a hole in the wall between Gattius and herself.
“Is that like, an official question? Or are you asking off the record?”
“Official. Gotta know for localized diseases, parasites, all that.” he replied, calmly. “Sounds like Pandaria, at least. Anywhere else outside Quel’Thalas?”
Ina’thia couldn’t help yet another eyeroll at the continued line of questioning. If hell was real, this was certainly it.
“Pandaria, yes. I stayed in Kun-Lai, specifically at the summit and temples, for about a year. Maybe longer. After it was attacked, I joined up with other visitors of the temple to take the fight back to the Black Empire. Tanaris, Silithus, Uldum… most of Kalimdor, now that I think of it.”
“Mhm.” Gattius nodded along… though didn’t look like he was writing any of that down. “And in the past year, were you sexually active?”
Another drag off his cigarette.
The hopefully soon-to-be-reinstated Knight-Lord nearly choked on her own spit at that last question. It finally caused her to sit upright, and she gripped her knees with her hands. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her leggings like claws.
“What the fuck kind of question is that, Gattius?”
He shrugged, and tapped the parchment wordlessly.
“You’re not writing anything down, though. Are you being an asshole just because?” Ina’thia threw her hands up in the air in frustration, then quickly crossed her arms again. As far as she could recall, this is about how their last interaction went. A fight. Both of them storming off. This time, there was no room to storm away.
“Yeah, I was. Have been. There, are you happy now?”
“I remember what you said. I’ll write it down, relax.” he scoffed, shaking his head.
Slowly, he began to inscribe… something on the parchment. Occasionally glancing to Ina’thia, then back to the page.
“... Kun-Lai…” he mumbled. “And… hm…”
He tapped his chin, before ashing his cigarette again.
“Is there an apostrophe in ‘Bey’ron’? I can never remember.”
“Look, Gatto –” the nickname rolled so effortlessly off of her tongue, it caught her by surprise. Nevertheless, she continued. “-- If you’re not going to be serious about this, then I’m going to ask for another doctor to do this examination. You know how to goddamn spell.”
Ina’thia almost hissed, she exhaled her frustration so sharply. Her gaze leveled on Gattius, fueled by the anger she’d held onto in her years away.
“If you want to ask me questions, then fucking ask them. Don’t pretend to be filling out that stupid form.”
Gattius was expecting a reaction, sure– but still, he jumped as Ina’thia raised her voice. Startled enough that he dropped his cigarette. Just as well; it had burned pretty low. Straightening, he pulled out another, and lit up in a fluid, practiced motion.
“These are on the form, first of all.” he tapped the parchment again. “But fine– you’re right. Let’s set these aside for a moment, aye? Here’s one that’s not on the form; what the fuck, huh? Why’d you run off to that asshole Magister, then run off the face of Azeroth?”
He frowned. Deeply. Lips curled almost to a snarl. Casting aside all attempts to mask it, he just stared at Ina’thia with anger and pain in his eyes. He’d kept himself together as long as he could, to this point. Now, he wanted real answers.
It took all Ina’thia’s willpower to not march across the room and fling the parchment and clipboard out Gattius’s hands, and then punch him in the face. Doing so would all but destroy her chances at reinstatement, and so she kept her lips tugged into a deep frown as she rolled her head a bit to try and dispel some of the growing tension from her neck and shoulder.
Her gaze remained leveled on his, matching his anger with absolute contempt of her own.
“Because you do this,” she gestured vaguely around her. To him, to the form, to all of this, “You get angry and jealous, and you let it fester by being an absolute passive-aggressive jackass before you finally explode.”
Ina’thia exhaled sharply, finally breaking eye contact. She resumed staring not just at that one spot on the wall, but through it.
“There was room in that relationship for three, Gattius. The kid showed up and it was time for me to leave. I’m not good with them, anyway.” It was a half-truth, but at least it wasn’t an outright lie.
It was uncomfortably quiet after Ina'thia finished speaking. The silence hung heavy and tense in the air. Gattius’ eyes never peeled from her, cigarette burning down between his lips. Less anger in his expression, replaced more with pain. Frustration, if anything else.
With a sharp exhale, he turned toward the small desk and set the parchments flat on it. Ached his cigarette, scribbled down more notes. But otherwise, the silence sat a moment longer.
“Medically, no glaring issues.” He said calmly. “If the fingers bother you, I can get you the name of a good orthopedic surgeon out by Fairbreeze.”
He stood with that, and began to dig around in his medical bag.
Ina’thia froze in the lingering, uncomfortable silence. One sidelong look revealed the pain and frustration in Gattius’s eyes and entire countenance, but looking back at the wall and ignoring it was far easier for her than continuing to confront it. She shifted in the chair, finally replying.
“Am I cleared for reinstatement, then?”
“Yep.”
His response was exceptionally short, tone both defeated and uncaring. He pulled a stamp and small portion of sealing wax from his bag, and pressed it with an overly firm hand to make it all so. Then, carelessly, he tossed the stamp back into his bag and closed it up. The papers left laying open on the desk beside him as he turned to face Ina'thia.
“It was gonna be worse. I was daydreaming the whole walk out here about subjecting you to all kinds of needless and unflattering tests, today. Numerous blood draws just so I could stab your arm a few times. Planned to miss the vein a few times until your arm was black and blue. Undignified shit like making you strip down and put your hands up over your head, or touch your toes to inspect joint range of motion. Or a fucking colonoscopy. I came in here wanting to hurt you, Ina. Something close to how you hurt me.” he admitted, laying it all out. “But, just now, I realized I don't care. I used to care. I cared A LOT over the past seven years even through being mad at you. I worried the Magister had done some bullshit love spell to pull you away from me. I worried when I didn't hear from you for months and months that you got yourself killed somehow. I worried because I cared. And I cared because I loved you. But now, I realized you don't. You don't love, you don't care. Not nearly the same way. This was never gonna work, and it's not because of Tannis. It's because it was so easy for you to leave me, when I would've rather died than do anything but stay.”
Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes but by sheer willpower he wouldn't bid them to fall any further. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and smothered it into the parchment beside him, before tossing the butt away.
“Welcome home, Knight-Lord.”
With that, he moved for the door.
Ina’thia threw her hands up in frustration yet again, this time standing as Gattius started for the door. Although she stood, she didn’t pursue. She stayed put, almost as if her feet were glued to the floor.
“Sure would have been fucking easier for us all if I would have died, wouldn’t it have been? I wouldn’t have to be doing this formality for reinstatement with you of all people, and I wouldn’t have to be doing this tour of trying to make amends with people,” she snarled and continued, raising an accusatory finger at Gattius.
“I was going to try with you. I was going to give you a full explanation, but I don’t think you could even see through your anger to believe any of it. Guess it’ll just be a mystery for the ages.”
She rested her hands on her hips, then tilted her chin up to the door as a signal to leave.
“Good day, Doctor Starfrost.”
Gattius stuck around for Ina’thia’s last word, but didn’t respond to it. Not directly, anyway. After he was “dismissed”, he simply rolled her eyes at her, and departed.
“‘Oh no, the consequences of my shitty behavior!’” he grumbled in a falsetto voice clearly meant to mock the Knight-Lord. “‘Sure would’ve been easier to die than to take responsibility for any of it!’ Boo-fucking-hoo… won’t argue with that, you miserable… …”
His mutterings grew inaudible the further down the hall he went, stomping and huffing like a tantruming child. But, to their credit, the Knight Masters guarding the door kept their bearing through it all.
A small envelope is left at the front gate of the Everblaze Estate. It is left by a woman wearing plain clothes and a hood, who quickly departs by Thalassian charger after ensuring the letter's delivery. The envelope itself is barely larger than a note card, and sealed with red wax.
Bey'ron,
I have much to explain, and hope that you will hear me out over a glass of Eversong red. If not, I understand.
Ina'thia makes the long walk up the spire to the Phoenix Guard's former headquarters, motivated by the promise of wine and memories. She hopes for good memories, but if not, there's wine for that. The former Commander marches to the door, and lets out a frustrated hiss when it is, in fact, locked! She jiggles the handle, then begins pulling on it.
Ruthar makes his way up, a pair of dusty wine bottles and a pair of crystal glasses in his hand. He hears the jiggling of the locked knob. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised by that," he says with a chuckle. "It has been quite some time."
Ina'thia seems to be taking her anger, which had been buried deep for years, out on the door. She becomes more forceful with it. "Of course it's locked. Why wouldn't it be? Did they give me a key? Fuck if I know. I've been gone for seven - " she kicks the door once then twice. " "- YEARS." With a final kick, the door swings open in a whirl of dust and paperwork! It was exactly as it had been left, save for the layer of dust.
Ruthar opens his mouth to suggest something, but shuts it promptly as the door smashes inward. "That's one way to the put the shattered in Shattered Sun."
Ina'thia rakes a hand through her hair to toss it back over her shoulders, then steps into the office. It was small and cramped, but offered a beautiful view of the harbor. She'd lost count of how many nights she'd stayed up until the dawn here.
“I may have been a bit overealous.”
Ruthar makes his way into the office, the memories flooding back as he moves from the main meeting room into her office. "Perhaps a touch," he offers. He places the bottles and the glasses down on the desk, pushing a document out of the way. He lifts it up in his fingers, eyeing the red ink at the top. -Classified: Decommissioning Notice-
Ina'thia turns the decommissioning notice upside down, lest it sour her mood and make her become completely overzealous. "We spent a lot of time up here, didn't we? I remember planning our mission to Draenor and telling the others to get their affairs in order and make peace with the Light, or whatever they prayed to."
Ruthar nods, allowing a pause to settle as he moves to uncork one of the bottles. "I remember it very clearly. When I was captured in Tanaan, it was one of the things that truly kept me alive. Remembering the faces of all of you who accepted the suicidal portal mission." He pours the liquid into the glasses.
"Feels simultaenously like a lifetime ago and only yesterday."
Ina'thia pulls her gaze away from the harbor to Ruthar as he pours the wine. The pop of a cork seems to calm her heightened frustrations. "I really did think we were all going to die. Part of me thought you were dead already, and we were only going to recover your body. Gruesome times. I'm glad none of it came to pass."
Ruthar hoists the now-filled glasses and offers one to Ina'thia. He leans upon the edge of the desk, raising his up for a small toast. "Here's to being not as dead as we should be."
Ina'thia leans on the other edge of the desk and accepts the glass, eagerly toasting. "Here's to being too stubborn to die, no matter what is thrown in our paths."
Ruthar clinks the glass and takes a long sip, the bite of the old wine both a comfort and a memory. He looks out to the sea, holding his glass. "There is so much to discuss, even some recent things that are worth mentioning. I don't quite know where to begin - so many questions spring to mind."
Ina'thia takes a long sip of the wine as well. It's everything in her power not to drink it all in one go, but instead, savor the flavor. Just as she intended to savor the company and the locale. -
Ina'thia turns to face Ruthar. "You know you can ask me anything, Ruthar. You're my best friend, and always have been. A brother, even. No secrets."
Ruthar smiles against his glass as he takes another sip. "I know," he says softly, looking down into the wine itself. "And you have no idea how good that feels to hear," he offers, thinking of recent events. "I don't think I saw you at all since the decommissioning, then the next moment I hear you've departed entirely. So what's your story? You absolutely must have had a reason."
Ina'thia can't help herself; she takes that next long drink, and soon enough, the glass is empty. She holds it out for Ruthar to refill, because this story requires alcohol. And lots of it. "Well, it's a long one... I went directly back to Kul Tiras under the Horde's banner, in and around Stormsong Valley. Bloody battles. I retired from active duty not long after, and fooled myself into thinking I could do diplomacy and politics on a Magister's arm. Or was he on my arm? Hard to tell, really."
Ruthar gingerly takes the empty glass from her digits and just passes her the bottle. He doesn't interrupt the tale.
Ina'thia takes the glass back, but doesn't drink just yet. "I lived in Magister Everblaze's manor for some time... and I thought the monotony was getting to me. I started hearing things, at first. Then I began seeing them. Just little shadows from the corner of my eye. Then I couldn't see or hear or dream of anything but -him- and -his- Empire. I was losing it, Ruthar. Fuck. I had to leave. What if I attacked him? Retired Knight-Lord murders esteemed Magister! Or worse, Syrie and Gatto or their kid?"
“I -had- to leave.”
Ruthar considers that for a moment. "Did you find the source of such thoughts and whispers?"
Ina'thia gives Ruthar an odd look over her wine glass, "...It was the old god N'zoth. Shortly after I left, spires and faceless ones started appearing everywhere."
Ruthar blinks at that. "You...you're serious? I expected some sort of trick of the Magister, not the efforts of an Old God."
Ina'thia nods once, "Bey'ron is an absolutely insufferable asshole, but I know he would never do that to me. He was actually very kind to me while we were together. No... I was vulnerable, emotionally, after the Guard was decommissioned. Easy prey for an old god."
Ruthar looks at her with a truly concerned expression. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can only imagine how difficult those whispers were to silence. I heard so many stories from Kul Tiras, but I think you are the first I've spoken to with direct experience."
Ina'thia takes another long drink of wine, "It was a bloodbath, Ruthar. We've seen our share of combat with the Guard, but it was always for the good of Quel'Thalas or the world. We killed everyone. Farmers in their fields, their wives, their children. Even the cattle. No survivors. No resources. Burnt it all to the ground on the Warchief's order.”
Ruthar sighs, looking down into his wine. "I would have done anything for her," he admits. "She was my Ranger-General. I swore an oath that I held so firmly." He looks to her, his gaze supportive. "I would have done the very same."
Ina'thia watches Ruthar closely, "...She was -our- Ranger-General. Farstrider or not, we all loved and admired her. Either way... I left, and I went to Kun-Lai. It's a place that has brought me peace in tumultuous times past."
Ruthar nods. "Of course. Our. Hard to tell who still sees it that way after everything." He finishes his glass and slowly pours another. "And how was the Summit? I haven't been to Pandaria since I had a nasty incident with the mantid so many years back."
Ina'thia looks out over the harbor. "Still steep and cold as fuck. I climbed on foot, fell face-down in the snow and was dragged the rest of the way on a sled pulled by grummles."
Ruthar raises an eybrow at that. "And yet here you stand. I assume the mission was a success?"
Ina'thia looks down at her fingertips, "Had to recover from the frostbite and exposure, first. Stayed at the temple for a few months. I was in a bad way, Ruthar. Bad. I snapped out of it when the temple was attacked and I got punched in the face by another sin'dorei who was there. We fought back the faceless ones, and I chose to continue the fight. I've been everywhere hunting them. Tanaris. Silithus. Uldum. Un'goro. All of Kalimdor, and then some."
Ruthar nods slowly, his eyebrows still raised. "I will fully admit that this was not the story I was expecting in the least. Amazing that you could face N'Zoth's agents directly and live to tell the tale. For how long did you fight the n'raqi?"
Ina'thia purses her lips thoughtfully, then takes another sip of wine. "...Years, I think. I lost time for parts of it. Don't you fucking repeat that, either, or I'll never get reinstated."
Ruthar nods. "Duly noted," he says quickly. "So when did you return from it, then?"
Ina'thia rolls one shoulder, "...When I set foot back in Quel'Thalas. I took the longest route possible. Boats and zeppelins and mountain and forest trails. Gave myself every opportunity to turn around, and I kept walking. Figured I'd made it this far... it was really time to come home. Last week.”
Ruthar blinks, lowering his wineglass. "That is the kind of tale I would tell younglings at the Retreat. But here you are," he gestures to her form with his wineglass. "Alive to tell it yourself. I...don't know what to say." He lowers his glass, looking her
Ruthar over for signs of the experience. "Your return is that much more pleasing after hearing what you were up against."
Ina'thia seems to be in remarkably good health at a glance, all things considered. "Mm. And here I am, after I survived all of that, too afraid to talk to my exes. I'd rather take the years of solitude and fighting literal monsters."
Ruthar manages a smirk at that. "You can go to the very end of the world and fight monsters of untold power, and yet you are still you." He takes a sip of wine. "Speaking of, I've had interactions with said exes it seems."
Ina'thia 's ears droop a little bit in absolute embarrassment. "For fuck's sake. I need more wine." With that, she knocked back the rest of her second glass.
Ruthar laughs at that fully, knocking back his own and taking the empty glasses. He begins to uncork the second bottle. "But, before -that-," he begins, pausing his uncorking of the wine. "I'm...sorry for all of that. Truly." He sighs. "But what I am sorry about most is not being there to help. I'm not sure what I would have done if I had heard you were truly lost, but I know that I did not do anything to mitigate any of that. You deserve better from your friends." He finishes uncorking the wine and pours a fresh pair of very full glasses.
Ina'thia finally looks at Ruthar directly, with the unmistakable intensity of the Blood Knight he's known for years and years. Emboldened by the wine, of course. "Stop it, Ruthar. Don't pity me and don't blame yourself. I didn't -want- to be found. Sometimes, we have to do things on our own. Get lost. Be shattered. Put back the pieces. When I was ready to be found, I came back. And you were the first to find me... and I'm forever grateful for that."
Ruthar looks out across the sea once more. "It's not that I pity you, and I entirely agree - such a pilgrimage can be important for self-reflection and soul recrafting. It's more about what you said earlier, something that seems to be a common theme." He takes a quick sip as he conjures the direct quote. "Your vulnerability after the decommissioning. That's where I feel the most guilty. I should have been there in that aftermath - for you, for everyone." He shakes his head. "It may not have actually changed anything, but the guilt feels very real. I suppose I'm just trying to do my own soul-rebuilding.”
Ina'thia sips at her refilled glass of wine. She's quiet for a long while, listening to Ruthar as she thinks on his words. "...We all lost something precious that day. Some more than most. We both should have been there. For each other, for the others."
“I ran away, thinking I wasn't wanted.”
Ruthar looks down into his glass and then far across the sea. "Wasn't wanted," he repeated quietly. "I suppose therein lies the issue then, hmm?" He sighs. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Ina'thia." He looks to her directly. "Nothing. I may not have been the best to show it, but you are wanted. You are cared about. You are loved." His eyes glisten slightly with the sun of Quel'Danas through the balcony. "And it really is so- damn- good to have you back."
Ina'thia watches Ruthar quietly. Her remaining eye seems to shimmer just a little bit, but the ever-stalwart Blood Knight is skilled at hiding all emotions other than her frustration, anger or exasperation. "The mind plays tricks on us, Ruthar, especially when under influence of something as terrible as an old god. I know in my heart of hearts that you're speaking the truth, and have only spoken truths. But the me of seven years ago still wouldn't have believed you. That's over, though... in the past."
“I'm looking to the future.”
Ruthar nods, his fingers tapping against the wineglass. "And the only reason it is in the past is because you pushed onward. I truly hope you never forget that." He lifts his glass again with a gentle smile. "To the future, then."
Ina'thia reaches her glass over to touch it against Ruthar's, smirking a bit as they make a little 'clink!' noise. "What are -your- plans for the future?"
Ruthar chuckles. "I haven't given much thought to -my- future, to be perfectly honest. I can only assume that I will continue to serve the Kingdom in whatever capacity I am able." He takes a sip, seemingly more relaxed after releasing the weight from his chest. "I can, however, speak to the immediate future. There are some things in motion that are worth mentioning."
Ina'thia quirks a brow at Ruthar. "Things in motion? Go on..."
Ruthar places his glass down, refilling it. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow to Ina'thia as he holds the bottle toward her glass.
Ina'thia finishes the rest of her wine, holding out her empty glass for another refill. A gentle dusting of red is starting to form over her cheeks. She would undoubtedly be sleeping in this office once again. "Seriously. What's going on?"
Ruthar finishes filling the glasses and sets the wine bottle down. "Unexpectedly, quite a bit," he begins. "I had a meeting with Farstrider leadership in the Farstriders' Square not more than week ago at this point. As I began to depart to return to Valdrakken, I found myself face to face with Magister Everblaze. He had pressing information, it turns out."
Ina'thia does her best to not visibly flinch at the mention of Bey'ron. Now that she's three glasses of wine deep, it's harder to temper and hide her emotions. "Bey'ron -always- has pressing information, and it usually involves him climbing over someone else for-
Ina'thia - power." She rolls her eye, ever annoyed by the politics of Magisters.
Ruthar nods. "I would assume the same, naturally. But this was different." Ruthar sighs, looking down into the wine as his expression turns downward. "It seems that Li-Mei is a deserter in a very real sense."
Ina'thia 's other brow raises to match her inquisitive look, shifting it to genuine surprise. "...Truly? I never would have expected... she was always so loyal. Like a weird little hatchling, at times, but still loyal."
Ruthar nods. "Truly. Admitted by her own mouth, as it turns out." He shakes his head. "Her tale is not dissimilar to your own, to be quite honest. After the decommissioning, it appears that she was a bit lost and became disenfranchised with leadership. She departed without a trace after the Fourth War. We thought her dead and updated her record accordingly, but that seems to have been in error. She reached out to Bey'ron for help returning to Quel'Thalas. He obliged, for a price."
Ina'thia furrows her brow, "Well... I had the sense to retire from active duty, at least. I was never marked AWOL." Still, she frowns. "What is Bey'ron having her do to earn her place back here?"
Ruthar shrugs. "Something about 16 years of service or what have you. Honestly, I'm not even sure what entails." He takes another sip. "Regardless, Magistrix Starfrost is involved as well. It was really great to see her, despite the circumstances. She will be doing a magical investigation into Li-Mei's whereabouts. That particular data will help the Farstriders determine what her next moves are."
Ina'thia can't help but smile over her glass of wine, "Shit, Syrie's a full Magistrix now? I'm happy for her..." her thoughts then trail back to Li-Mei, and she sighs again. "Probably ironing his dresses and other mundane nonsense. Still, though... I hadn't thought of what would become of everyone else after the Guard was decommissioned. I'm saddened to hear that Li-Mei struggled so much."
Ruthar nods. "It weighs heavily," he admits, taking another sip. "I promoted her myself, even trained her a bit. She was...is quite talented. I don't know how this will shake out, but here we are."
Ina'thia sets her glass of wine down on the table, atop the turned over decommissioning notice. "Give her a proper hearing, let her serve consequences and earn her place back. Just as I have to earn mine. Part of picking up our shattered pieces is facing the consequences, isn't it?"
Ruthar nods. "Indeed it is. Sadly, this one isn't up to me. Due to our professional history, I would need to recuse myself from any such proceedings. Nothing to do at this point but to wait, really."
“The silver lining here, however, is that I got the chance to reconnect with both Starfrosts.”
Ina'thia also can't help but cringe at the mention of the Starfrosts. "And both of those things are why we have wine, Ruthar. Lots and lots of wine."
Ruthar smirks. "You know I have it in spades. But, do tell. From how he speaks of you, it seems like there is a story."
Ina'thia 's lip curls at the idea of telling that particular story. "It was stupid, embarrassing, and wildly inappropriate bullshit that happened after the Guard was decommissioned. Gattius was jealous and I was angry. I don't know if we'll ever be able to speak to each other civilly ever again."
“It seems that you both harbor a similar sentiment, then,” Ruthar offers.
In’athia offers a sigh. “Yeah... I imagine we probably do. It's fucked up, Ruthar. -I- fucked up. And him being mad at me is a consequence. I've endured worse. I'll live.”
Ruthar looks at her for a moment, but doesn't press the subject. "Syrie, on the other hand, sends her best. I told them both that I was following a lead to find you, so she asked me to relay her regards should I be successful."
Ina'thia smiles warmly at that, but it's a small sort of smile. "Thanks for covering for me. I don't know if I could handle seeing her anytime soon, either. She's got a kid now, it's all weird. I'm bad at this, okay? Give me a sword and an entire legion of enemies to fight, and I'll be fine."
Ruthar scoffs. "Perhaps you are bad at it, but at least you make an effort for better or worse, speaks to a strength I falter with." He takes a sip. "That said, one final piece of new information. After Syrie and Gattius departed last evening, I happened upon Raynell A'laria in the woods of all people."
“The cosmos work in mysterious ways, really.”
Ina'thia 's mouth actually hangs open at that, "A'laria? Truly? Holy shit... everyone's coming back. All at once. The cosmos is right. Next thing you know, we'll see Calthos and Hylaudius and the world will have truly ended."
Ruthar laughs out loud at that. "Now that would be...something," he says tactfully. “I didn't get much time with A'laria, sadly, but yes - she is returned. I do look forward to speaking with her further. By the look of her, there is quite a story to be had.”
“If they were to truly appear,” Ina’thia replies, “I think I'd die on the spot. Die dead. Cease to exist. Now, A'laria... hers is a story I would like to hear.
Ruthar chuckles as he finishes another glass. "Indeed. Though, I suspect you will hear it before I do. She was sporting the Blood Knight colours, afterall."
Ina'thia actually smiles at that, "...Good. I'm glad she still wears them. Hopefully I'm reinstated soon and can speak with her more easily."
Ruthar nods. "If I can be of any assistance with all that, do let me know. Speaking of," he says as he picks up the now-empty bottles. "Where are you staying?"
Ina'thia puzzles out Ruthar's question, to which the answer seemed quite obvious. "...Tonight? Here. I can't be fucked to travel anywhere else right now. Tomorrow, I'll be laying in the years of dust in my apartment in the city."
Ruthar looks around the dusty office, noting the distinct lack of comfort. "To Argus with that, you're not staying here." He gathers the bottles and takes the glasses. "Come on, I'll put you up in the inn across the way. They've got some nice beds."
Ina'thia had already started leaning on the table like she was going to curl up and sleep there. She groans loudly, but ultimately follows Ruthar. "Fine, if you insist... I guess it'd be nice to not be stiff in the morning..."
Ruthar gathers the bottles and glassware and throws them in his pack before assisting the inebriated Ina'thia out of the former Guard headquarters. Fortunately, none of the Shattered Sun pay them any mind, most likely due to the tabard Ruthar still sports as they move toward the inn. After a quick discussion with Inaara, a nice room overlooking the Isle’s scenery is prepared for Ina’thia for some well-deserved rest.
Ruthar departed once Ina’thia was settled, returning to the former Phoenix Guard headquarters, his head beginning to throb in the wine’s aftermath. He climbed the stairs once more, making his way to the top of the building to look upon the meeting room where so much happened. As he walked around, faces and images danced through his mind, memories, both fond and painful, swirling around his head as he recalled his many companions within the Guard.
He moved over to the broken office door, the latch cracked by Ina’thia’s gusto. With the security of the office compromised, Ruthar rummaged for a dusty box to collect the paperwork left behind. He overturned the decommissioning notice with a sigh, placing it in the box first as he stared down upon it. So much had changed with one simple parchment.
After the contents of the office were collected, he scribbled a note that he left with Innkeeper Inaara for when Ina’thia rose the next morning.
Ina’thia,
With the lock and latch of your former office broken, I gathered the Guard documents and will place them in a secure location for the time being, most likely with the other high-level Farstrider records in Silvermoon. Do let me know if you need them.
I do find it difficult to put in words how great it is to see you returned, so I’ll leave it there. Looking forward to more enjoyable evenings. Thank you for the opportunity to speak freely - it is an unfortunate rarity of late.
Rest well, you know where to find me.
Ruthar
Ruthar thanked Inaara once more for her efforts and informed her of the broken door - he didn’t want anyone thinking that the office was ransacked. He left a sum of gold with her to ensure that it was taken care of, as well as a few pieces for her troubles. With a nod of appreciation, the Ranger Captain departed Quel’Danas to return to Silvermoon.
@inathia
@thefugitivemango @syrielle @arosesrambles @raynellalaria for mentions
Morning reblog because I am genuinely curious who is still out there, what’s been going on for the last like six years and if there’s any interest in throwing a bunch of crabby old Blood Knights in the same room sometime soon.
A familiar figure stands at the shoreline of an equally familiar place. The once-Commander of the Phoenix Guard still holds her same rigid posture as she looks out to the sea, sipping from a cup of tea. Her armor pieces, survival bag and other (few) belongings are neatly arranged on a table behind her.
Ruthar enters the old Guard stomping grounds quietly, though not silently. He stands there for a moment, his mind flooded with memories before slowly moving toward the shoreline. His helmet is removed, the wind tossing his silver-white hair.
“So, it seems the reports are indeed true.”
Ina'thia's ears flick as she hears footsteps. Her hand instinctively grasps her sword. Then, the familiar voice. Her grip loosens. "...Good to know that the Farstriders still do their jobs well. It'd have been embarrassing to have snuck in completely unnoticed." With a grin, she turns on her heel to face Ruthar.
Ruthar's typically stoic visage turns a smile, the glint of a tear in his eyes as the sunlight reflects off of the water. "Commander Dawnblade," he says softly, moving toward the water's edge. He opens his mouth to continue but finds words difficult in the present situation.
Ina'thia also struggles with a faint glimmer of a tear in her eye. Ever the stoic Commander, she forces an even expression by raising her chin a little bit. "Just Ina'thia, these days..." she gently corrects, "Ranger-Captain."
Ruthar places his bow down on the table next to Ina'thia's belongings. "If titles are now off the table, then Ruthar will do. Let's leave Ranger Captain to the Farstrider recruits."
Ina'thia slowly closes the distance between herself and Ruthar, appraising his appearance with the keen gaze of a commanding officer. Some habits never really die. On the other hand, she looks as though she hasn't had a good night of sleep in years.
"Tell me everything, Ruthar. How have you been? What about your brother? Have you heard from any of the others since we parted ways? Are you doing okay?"
Ruthar raises his eyebrows at that. "Everything? I'm not entirely sure all of is it interesting." He chuckles as he removes his unnecessarily pointy gauntlets and places them next to Ana'dal. He takes a step closer and places his hand on Ina'thia's shoulder.
"In the last six years, I've never been happier to read a report than the one claiming that you've returned." He smiles genuinely even though his features may appear older. "It really is good to see you, and here - of all places." He looks behind him with a pleasant sigh. "Where it all began."
Ina'thia, now without fear of being scratched by unnecessarily pointy armor bits, goes right in for a hug when Ruthar places a hand on her shoulder. It's a tight hug, going on far longer than she would have ever allowed in her days as Commander.
"It's the only place that made any sense to come to." Finally, she releases him from the hug, but not without taking his hand. "...I'm -so- sorry for leaving the way I did. It's shameful."
Ruthar returns the hug whole-heartedly, cherishing the moment. He allows her to take his hand as the emotion continues to flow freely. He shakes his head slowly, his voice soft. "There is no shame to be had. So many wars, so much struggle." He sighs as he looks out to the ocean before squeezing her hand and looking back to her. "It has affected us all in so many ways." He shifts away to gather a pair of chairs that he places overlooking the water. "There is so much ground to cover, Ina'thia." He gestures toward the open seat as he stands next to his own.
Ina'thia squeezes Ruthar's hand in return, then follows his gaze and gesture to the open chairs. There was so much to talk about, they'd need chairs and maybe a few nights to cover it all. "I took dissolution and reassignment of the Guard harder than I thought I would," she finally admits after a long moment of silence. "Surprise."
Ruthar places his satchel down as he takes a seat, taking out a flask to sip on while Ina'thia enjoys her tea. He leans back, closing his eyes in thought for a just a moment. "You and me both," he admits. "The Guard was the closest thing I've had to a family since before the fall of Quel'Thalas." He looks out to the water again. "Between you and I, Rehmaar and I are just...not on the same path. We never really have been since we were reunited after we thought each other dead. The Guard filled that deep void, and by the Sunwell I miss it terribly." He lifts his flask in her direction. "There really was no greater honour than serving as your Lieutenant. From Hearthglen to being abducted in Draenor, I'd -almost- do it all again."
Ina'thia gives Ruthar a sidelong look as she sips her tea, frowning a bit. "The Guard was the family we all needed. It even included bratty younger siblings neither of us could stand," she laughs a little bit at that."We made a good family. I miss it terribly, but I'd be content never to journey to Draenor again."
Ruthar chuckles at that softly. "Deal," he agrees as the pain from his felfire chest scar throbs ever so slightly. "Bratty siblings, obstinate uncles, and relationships better left forgotten." He shakes his head with a smirk. "It really did have it all."
Ina'thia balances her teacup on her thigh and crosses her arms, gazing out at the sea. "Much as I miss everyone, there are some I'm still afraid to speak to. Gattius and I did not end things on a particularly good note," she frowns.
Ruthar allows that to hang in the air for a minute, considering his word choices with care. "Fear is a powerful thing. It has the ability to halt even the most prosperous of futures." He follows her gaze to the horizon. "When I first heard word that you had come back, fear was absolutely a factor - I truly had no idea how you would react to being discovered." He looks down to the immediate shoreline. "Overcoming fear is a path to great reward, a lesson it took far too long to understand."
Ina'thia can't help but chuckle a little bit, "I know better than to fight a ranger in their home forest, if that's what you were fearful about." After a bit of a lull, she wets her lips again to continue speaking. "Fear is what drove me away from home in the first place. After I came home from Kul Tiras, I heard the whispers. Then I saw the shadows. Little things, out of the corner of my eye. Then the obelisks. They were there, but they weren't."
Ina'thia hangs her head in a strange mix of shame, embarrassment and regret. "I had to leave before I hurt anyone."
Ruthar considers that for a long moment. "You did what you felt was right," he offers quietly. "There is no shame in that. More importantly, you are here...and N'Zoth is not."
Ina'thia 's face is hidden by her hair, which had fallen over her shoulders as she hung her head forward. "The Guard kept me sane through so many years by being something to focus on. Without it, I went actually gods-damned insane."
Ruthar nods, his mind spinning back to a time long ago. "In the aftermath of the Scourge, having lost truly everything, I was moments from fading to nothingness." He took a small sip from his flask as he watched the water roll over the sand. "Time and again, we find ourselves on the brink and yet here we are." His voice turns more declarative. "There is absolutely no shame in falling from grace in any capacity, Ina'thia. It is what we do after that truly matters." He looks her way with a genuine expression of care and concern. "And you don't need to do it alone. Ever."
Ina'thia would lean over to bump her shoulder against Ruthar's, but his armor was pointy there as well. "You're always so kind and reassuring to me, Ruthar. I... needed that," she finally admits, then downs the rest of her now cold tea. "I don't know what I'm going to do now, t hough. I just knew it was time to come home."
Ruthar nods, capping his flask. "It is time to come home. Time to be back in Quel'Thalas and re-evaluate. Nothing has reminded me of that more than being right here, right now." He gestures toward Quel'Danas in the distance. "For years now, I've served greater needs, needs far beyond what we have here in Quel'Thalas. But this," he reaches over to pat her knee, "Us. Our people. This place. These memories. -This- is what truly matters."
Ina'thia rests the teacup on her thigh again, "I served the greater needs for so long. No regard for myself. And when I was finally relieved of that burden, I didn't know who I was. I've traveled the world, Ruthar, and I still have trouble defining myself beyond what I think I should do instead of who I am. Maybe making amends is a good place to start."
"That means talking to Magister Everblaze... if I'm set on fire in the coming days, you'll know why."
Ruthar would spit out his drink if he had liquid in his mouth. He composes himself in an attempt to hide his shock. "I'm not entirely sure that's the best first move. I hate to use the term, but hatchling steps. Jumping right to the Magister seems like a lot very quickly."
Ina'thia raises a brow at Ruthar, "Do you really think so? I've always thought to do the hardest thing first. Get it out of the way quickly. But, I see the strategic advantage in apologizing to the most people -before- I meet a fiery end." Ina'thia touches her chin thoughtfully.
“I mean, the Farstriders caught wind of you rather quickly. I would imagine the Magistry wouldn't be -too- far behind.” Ruthar sighs. "Regardless, what do you owe him anyway? I never felt that he did much for -us-."
Ina'thia anxiously fidgets with her teacup, "Oh, I know he already knows I'm here. He has spies everywhere. They hide in plain sight, instead of the trees." She sighs. "...He and I became... involved. I left him without so much as a word."
Ruthar raises his eyebrows at that and considers it for a moment. "Well, like you said - he has spies everywhere. If he wanted revenge or retaliation for your actions, he would already have it, no?"
Ina'thia runs her thumb over the lip of her teacup. "He's a stubborn and prideful man. If anything, he'd refuse to speak to me, especially if he knows I want to apologize. Or, set me on fire. It'll be the toss of a gold coin."
Ruthar considers her words. "Do -you- want to apologize?"
"...I feel like it's something I should probably do, yes. I guess."
Ruthar nods, watching the rim of her empty teacup. "There is a hard line to walk when it comes to doing what is right and doing what is needed." He looks up at her. "I just want you doing what is best for -you-, first and foremost."
Ina'thia peers over at Ruthar, "What I -want- to do is drink a whole bottle of Eversong red and fall asleep by a tree somewhere. But what I need to do is, well... make amends to those I've hurt."
Ruthar reaches into his satchel and produces a bottle of Thalassian red, ever-prepared for these sorts of things. "I think both can be arranged," he says slyly.
Ina'thia lets out an audible gasp at the bottle of wine. Of course he, of all people, would be prepared for such an occasion. "Light and Sunwell bless you for this, Ruthar. You know me well."
Ruthar slips it back in his bag with a chuckle, standing up from the chair. "I think there are some glasses still inside somewhere," he says as he glances back toward the pavilion. "I believe a toast is in order - to a reunion so long in the making."
Ina'thia snatches up her teacup and rises, following Ruthar to the pavilion. "I think the last time we shared a bottle of wine, we just drank straight from it. Legs dangling over the edge of my balcony on Quel'Danas," she gestures to the isle in the distance.
Ruthar chuckles. "That sounds about right. Perhaps we should pay the Shattered Sun a visit."
Ina'thia fusses with her hair as they head over to the pavilion, "I think that's a great idea. See what's happened to my old office! Something dreadfully boring, I'm sure. Either way... it's been far too long since I've gazed upon the Sunwell."
Ruthar smiles. "I can think of no better way than to celebrate your return to Quel'Thalas than a voyage to the Isle." He gathers his items from the table and offers her belongings to her. "Shall we?"
Ina'thia begins the task of donning her armor once again. Despite its many pieces and parts, she's well-practiced in putting it on by herself. Soon enough, she has secured her runeblade to her belt and looks at Ruthar with a smile. A genuine one, this time.
"Ruthar... you are my greatest, and truest friend. My brother. To Quel'Danas!"
The jewel-toned leaves of citrine, topaz and ruby crunched under the heavy footfalls of a child of blood long overdue for their return home. Black boots caked in enough mud, sand and blood made them appear dull, almost gray in appearance. The entire suit of armor had much of the same wear and tear after years of travel. A once pristine black tabard with a red phoenix was layered over the armor, with years of dutiful mending evident on the endlessly frayed and repaired hems.
Stopping just outside of Fairbreeze Village, the weary traveler looked up at the tall inn building. Memories of a past lifetime of chasing little lordlings caused a derisive exhale, though the days of walking had certainly taken a toll. A brief rest for a proper meal couldn't hurt, could it?
Finally, the tattered red hood that covered the traveler's face fell back over her head, settling around her neck much like a scarf. The face of Ina'tha Dawnblade, the once-decorated Knight Lord of the Blood Knight Order, and once-proud Commander of the Phoenix Guard, finally allowed herself to be seen. It was unclear if she'd been hiding her face out of shame for her abrupt and prolonged absence, or her lack of usual dark eye makeup and lipstick. Considering both her pride and her vanity, it was likely both.
With her chin held high, Ina'thia strode right up the ramp and sat a table in the inn. Before the waiter could approach the table, she placed a gold and several silver pieces on its surface.
"A glass of Eversong Red and a fruit and cheese platter."
No please, no thank you. Just the sharp comments of someone who had been away from civilization or entirely too long. Patrons of the Fairbreeze Village inn whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves, and Ina'thia couldn't help but catch one well-dressed man out of the corner of her eye. He had watched her a moment too long, and his chair made a gods-awful sound on the floor as he got up too quickly.
The man hurried outside in a whirl of red and gold robes, speaking quietly into an enchanted gemstone. Ina'thia leveled her one-eyed gaze on him as he left, then sipped at her wine the moment it was brought to her.
"M-Magister… are you there? Magister Everblaze…" the man stammered, covering his mouth so his lips could not be read, "You're not going to believe this. She's here."
can we start a club for aging millennials who went entirely too hard as guild masters in WoW, who now experience actual nausea when confronted with the idea of ever running a guild, free company or running any kind of RP group ever again? like where are we hanging out these days?
❤️ I too miss the good ol days and all of the internet friends I made along the way. I keep in touch with some, but have lost contact with most everyone else. I burned out so hard. I often think about how everyone has been doing and what we’ve all been up to, now that we’re all in our 30’s and 40’s. I hope everyone is well.
Ina'thia Dawnblade @inathia - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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