House Desparius, Revendreth, approximately five years after the end of the Shadowlands Operation...
Her arrival came unannounced, a sudden shimmer of the blood mirror and a soft, reverberant hum the only indication of an unwelcome guest. The Gravewing guarding the foyer stirred and snarled, slamming into the ground as the armored figure approached, black scarf drawn across the lower half of her face as golden eyes stared straight at the beast's vibrant reds, long ears poking up from her short, black hair. The Gravewing's impressive wingspan billowed across the hall, the hawklike beak of the stoneborn snorting as it sniffed out the woman. A plated hand greeted the beast's cheek, which it nuzzled, and with her other, she drew away her scarf, smiling softly.
"It's just me, Corvallis. It's just Raynell."
Her ears perked to the approach of footsteps, a tall, gaunt looking Venthyr woman striding through the foyer. Greyed, messily combed tresses frame her sunken features, and a near skeletal hand raises a finger to point at the Blood Knight.
"Your presence has been expected...if not unwelcomed. You still have a chance to leave well enough alone what burdens you've come to collect."
"You know as well as I, Confessor, that I don't intend to leave without them," Raynell retorted, stepping astride the Gravewing to confront the Venthyr. "Their power is needed...and I need to put these nightmares to rest."
"...Very well," the Venthyr rasped, letting out a heavy sigh as she stepped aside and motioned ahead to a tall set of double doors. "They are waiting for you."
Raynell nodded and stepped around the Confessor. As she approached the doors, she took a look over her shoulders. No longer did the Venthyr stand there, but in her place, an older elven woman in worn regalia, a look of sorrow on her face.
"I tried what I could to separate and recover their essences...to no avail. I am sorry, Raynell."
"...I am too," Raynell whispered, turning away to bow her head and close her eyes for a moment. With a firm push, the doors open, and into the pitch black, she strode, the doors slamming behind her as she stood in darkness.
The flicker of flame echoed in the chamber, the wall sconces brimming with warm light. At the center of a stone chamber was an altar built like a large stone sword, the lifeless stone suddenly brimming with sinewy red anima. Embedded in its center, surrounded by the blood red wisps of energy emanating from the altar, was a sword of blackened steel, a ruby gem embedded in the hilt and a gold chain with a large amethyst wrapped across the guard. A soft, ethereal, discordant hum softly emanated from the altar itself just above the soft scrape of metal boots echoing through the chamber as Raynell A'laria, Blood Knight Captain, approached the altar. She stopped short as the discordant noise suddenly rose and the brimming red energies began to coalesce. The knight winced, holding the bridge of her nose as pangs of discomfort assaulted her forehead. Her eyes opened again as the pangs subsided, a narrowed glare set upon a ghostly red figure that seemed to hover just above the greatsword.
"Vin'sarin."
The figure remained motionless, not even as much as a glance over the shoulder as it stared out ahead at the altar.
"Tch, not so much as a broody little sigh and wave? Have the years of imprisonment been so unki-"
The figure suddenly turned around, a booming, bass-heavy roar of indistinct sound shaking the stone chamber as Raynell stumbled backward, nearly toppling over. She hissed at the ghostly figure, now looking upon the skull-like visage under the hood, ears twitching as a haunting echo filled her ears, no louder than a murmur and yet beating against her eardrums like war drums.
"You returned for me..."
In the din of the echoing voice, Raynell could distinctly hear three presences melded into one. The first - the dark, deep rasp of her old comrade, Nalithas Vin'sarin, whose namesake now adorned the blade - and the phantom - before her. An upstart knight with a cruel streak, having slaughtered combatants and innocents alike before he fell only mere days into the Northrend campaign, his place taken by hers when the call finally came.
"Even after leaving me to fester in penance, to reflect upon my sin in these shadowed halls, while you walked in the light and followed the courageous hero's path...you still returned for me."
The second she was not as familiar with, but it was one revealed to her by the Lord of House Desparius, Rivan, as the former and sole occupying soul of the greatblade, Carmylla. A noble, lilting feminine voice, almost sickeningly sweet to the ears considering what cruelties the blade had carved out of would-be usurpers to Revendreth's order before she, herself, was usurped by Remornia in Denathrius's attempted purge of the House.
"Your comrade. Your friend. Your -wrath- made manifest."
The last presence made her stomach churn, the taste of bile at her throat as she struggled to keep steady in the presence of the blade. She faltered to her knees, grasping at her head. She felt her mouth open to scream but could hear nothing beyond the rapid, racing pulse of her heart and the discordant hum, now a wailing chorale. The nightmares from before rose to her mind's eye again. Pristine elven halls scattered in gore and viscera. Bloodied skulls trampled under gold-plated heels. Hands soaked in blood as they clutched to the pommel of the greatsword before her. Her gaze lifted from the blade and straight ahead as she stared at a bloodstained visage through the mirror.
The visage was hers. The last voice was hers. The visage grinned and spoke with pristine clarity in her own voice.
"What a fool."
The glass shattered, a sea of red blood flooding her vision before a distinct figure broke through: that of the phantom, the presence haunting the chamber, the altar, the very blade itself. The phantom of Vin'sarin, Sin's Severance. This time, however, there was no altar, no blade...only the disorienting swirl of red and black miasma as they occupied a space indistinct, a liminal representation of the Hell they shared.
"Now what drove you to return -here-, of all places, of all times?"
The droning echoes of the presence bombarded her ears once more, and a solid gulp clutched at her throat as she mustered a response.
"Spare me the theatrics, Vin'sarin! I have need of your power. Shadowflame threatens to engulf the work of the Emerald Dream, and my power alone is not-"
"ENOUGH," shouted Vin'sarin, the woman recoiling as the voice boomed in her ears. "You'd dare return to drag me along for your dalliances and daring-dos? We both know no penance is enough for the trails of Kaldorei blood we've spilt in the name of Silvermoon, of -your- Horde. You think protecting the dragonflight's precious little sapling will EVER make up for the ASHES you've left in your wake!?"
"And you would have me do -nothing-," the knight spat back, "and you content to DO nothing but wallow in this chamber, never to see the light of day!?"
The visage of Vin'sarin remained unmoving, but she could swear past the mask she could feel them snarl at her, feel the piercing glare behind the spiked blindfold. She glared right back, defiant, teeth grit and stance firm. A low chuckle echoed from the phantom, a hand outstretched.
"What a fool. You left here a hero unburdened. You now intend to return to your world with -our sins- crawling upon your back."
Raynell flinched at the statement. Our sins. Her mind raced with thoughts of regret, of bridges never mended and hatreds that still roiled beneath the surface. She reached out with her own plated hand, firmly grasping Vin'sarin's.
"I know what I am doing," she replied. "I won't let it end like last time."
The black and red miasma pulsed and rippled, suddenly closing in around them like waves crashing upon the shore. Raynell's vision drowned in the discombobulation, a heavy sinking feeling dragging her deeper into darkness...
She awoke with a jolt, a gasp escaping her lips as she sat up atop the altar. When had she collapsed? How did she even get to the altar in the first place? When did the sword -
The sword.
There, clasped in her gauntlets now, was Vin'sarin, Sin's Severance, the newly reborn Greatblade of Desparius. She could feel the weight, the burden, in her tensed hands. Wisps of crimson anima brimmed upon the surface of the red ruby embedded in the hilt. She carefully shuffled off of the altar and down the steps, blade slung over her shoulder. As footsteps echoed through the chamber, a voice murmured to her, an echoing phantom from the blade itself...
"Be it your will, however, then unleash me upon your foes, that they may know why I am Sin's Severance…"
(( OH WE ARE SO BACK. Had to get this out in the open because this had been sitting in the back of my mind for a good while now and I know Shadowlands stuff is kinda old/stale and the expansion itself was a giant wet fart but man I just could not get enough of the Venthyr stuff and want it to be central to Raynell's character going forward. Expect moar.
Also, just for funsies, a handy listening guide for each picture, which represents a segment of the story:
Ewige Wiederkunft - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes
Liminality - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes
Coal Ash Slurry - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes
Die Toteninsel (Emptiness) - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes
...Yes, they're all from the Signalis soundtrack. No, I refuse to elaborate. PLAY SIGNALIS. ))
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."
"You don't understand...I slaughtered them all. The people I hated. The people I loved. All to try and sate that which is insatiable, to purge Quel'thalas of a rot that -still- festers beneath the surface. I have spilt the blood of thousands to ascend to the throne. What's one more pitiful miscreant from a timeline of pitiful miscreants in need of a good BLOODLETTING!?"
-Raynell A'laria, Blood Queen of Silvermoon (Bronze Timeway 707 - The Blood Queen's Reign)
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.
“Hatred is what drove him in life. Hatred is what consumed him in death. Hatred consumes his soul now, and with his soul essence bound to Carmylla and your anima, -their- hatred combined is now yours to wield. Be wary, Raynell, for if you let your guard down, it is that hatred that will consume you in the end...”
-Confessor Alende, bestowing Vin’Sarin, Sin’s Severance and Greatblade of Desparius, to Raynell.
“Remember that the burden of sin is yours, and yours alone, to bear. Let its burden strengthen you without crushing you, and let the chains be your liberation, lest they tangle and choke you..” - Confessor Alende of House Desparius, Revendreth.
(( New expac, new story! Never mind the fact that I’ve effectively abandoned past stories due to disinterest, lack of time, etc...gonna try to write more for Shadowlands...I hope >_>;; ))
And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for you are at my side...
They rode through howling, ice-driven winds, cloaked in black furs to shield themselves from the harshness of Northrend. Hooves trampled over scarred earth, three black warhorses galloping through rot and ruin, brittle bone cracking beneath their hooves. They rode deep into the very seat of death, undeterred by the towering spires of Saronite built walls, the long abandoned necropoli looming in the distance, and the shattered machines of war strewn about, along with the bodies that once manned them, many of which still drew upon life through unlife as they shambled aimlessly, shackled by the dark powers that sat high above the scarred glacier, upon the citadel itself. What little light cast down upon Icecrown had to contend with the oppressive dark clouds that had long lingered even after the fall of Arthas, for light had long abandoned this place.
“We’re close,” said one of the figures in a firm, feminine tone. “We’ve but a mile or so to go.”
“How can you tell, Lady Raynell?” chimed another woman, gazing ahead with her bright blue eyes, head cloaked well beneath the warmth of her furs against the oppressive winds.
“It has been over a decade, I believe...but I still recognize the markings, the tattered banners.”
“You’ve a keen eye, adept, even if I question the keenness of your motive...” spoke the third, a deep, weathered masculine voice that cut through the howling gale. “Steady yourself, Ravaina. If she says we are close, then we must trust her instinct.”
“Yes, father.” The other woman tucked low on her warhorse, riding to keep pace with the other two. They fell quiet once more, only the thunder of hooves and the howl of frostbitten gales carrying around them until they rounded a clearing, circling their warhorses around a desolate patch of snow before each came to a halt. They each dismounted, heavy plated boots crunching beneath the earth as Raynell drew back her cloak. She brushed a hand through her freshly cut blonde hair, the once obscuring bangs of her original cut now shaved along the sides, leaving the top cut and styled. She gazed about, her once golden eyes now revealing the wear of wars past as the once enchanted false right eye had now faded, leaving a pale grey sphere that only had traces of the magic it once held. Kneeling before the snowy patch, she brushed aside the dirtied snow and dug her hands into the dark soil, her hand emerging with a pair of golden signet rings. She gazed upon them, her throat tightening and her brows furrowed, drawing a deep sigh.
“This is it. This is where I left them all those years ago.”
As the other two figures made their way to Raynell, the tallest among them drew back his hood, sporting golden eyes of his own that shone bright in contrast to his dark skin. He had not a hair upon his head, clean shaven across every inch of his scalp, yet sported a thin, dark beard across his chin and a moustache to match just above his lips. His ears were shorter than those of the other two, and scarred along the tops, and as he approached Raynell, his eyes fell upon the rings as well, his own expression darkening in sorrow.
“Fiyeran, Aliana...my friends. I am so sorry, Raynell.”
“They were lost to me, Ozmin, long before the final blows here in Icecrown,” she murmured, clasping her hands around the rings before placing them into a pouch on her belt, “but even the curse of the San’layn could not cloud their last look upon their daughter, nor the love they harbored before dying.”
“So this is why you chose this place, then?”
Raynell rose silently to her feet, leaving his inquiry unanswered as she looked back to the last of the three figures, a woman a few inches taller than Raynell, gathering a large sack from the back of her warhorse and setting it upon the earth below. “Is everything accounted for, Ravaina?”
“Yes, Lady Raynell,” she called out, opening the sack and beginning to rummage through the contents. The first to be removed was a rolled up carpet made of fine red and gold silks. Ravaina quietly cursed under her breath about the dirt ruining the silks, but dwelled no further on it as she continued to gather other items; from the sack, she produced a box of enchanted candles, a couple vials of bright golden liquid, a brass brazier accompanied by a tightly packed and bound pile of firewood, and a long sword, sheathed and wrapped in burlap cloth. Both Raynell and Ozmin approach the assorted items as Ravaina drew back her own cloak, long flowing black hair spilling across her shoulders, and part of it even tied high above her head in the ever popular ‘thalassian chonmage’ style. Unlike the other two, her eyes shone a light crystal blue, and as she took the sword in hand, she knelt and offered it to her father, Ozmin, raising it up and bowing her head.
“Shorel’belore-Zaram, Blade of the Sunspeaker...of your once student, Diliandra Sunspeaker.”
Ozmin looked upon the wrapped blade, hit with another pang of sorrow as he took it upon his clawed, gilded gauntlets, unfurling the burlap wrap to reveal a simple scabbard and an unremarkable hilt. As he drew the blade, however, the steel seemed to hum brightly through the howling gale, gleaming silver cutting through the darkness around it. His eyes examined the golden glowing script engraved in the blade, etched in the days of the Highborne.
“Diliandra was among the first class of knights brought up through the Order. To think she held such power in her lineage...”
His gaze paused on a break in the script, his eyebrows perked in surprise. “The blade is scarred. How did this come to be?”
Raynell looked to Ozmin, rubbing the back of her head. “It was...shattered in battle during the campaign against N’zoth. Both it and her sister blade, Shela’Luneth, clashed in Uldum, splitting both blades in twain.”
“Clashed? Shattered!?” He frowned, sheathing the blade. “How could you let an artifact of such import be shattered!?”
She cleared her throat. “I underestimated both blade and opponent, I suppose, but that is neither here nor there. Thistlebreeze was able to repair both blades after the campaign’s conclusion. Honestly, a story for another time...”
Ozmin sighed and shook his head. “You’ve much to explain after this, adept...but aye. For now, the ritual must be prepared. Ravaina, lend me a hand...”
The other woman nodded, joining her father as she took up the rolled silken carpet, laying it across the scarred earth. Ozmin set the candles around the carpet in a wide circle, then set the brass brazier in front of it, carefully untying the bound rope that kept the firewood packed together. Through the thick wood at the base, he stuck the unsheathed Shorel’Belore, then lit the wood around it with a flicker of holy flame. The wood flared alight, though remained unscarred by the magic. Warmth permeated the unforgiving cold around them, and in the relative darkness, light prevailed, the candles aglow as the resonating magics lit them in succession. Raynell watched the ritual with a sense of awe. Normally, the ritual of communing would be held back home, among the relative peace of Quel’thalas. In the dire lands of Northrend, it looked all the more impressive.
“Step forward, Adept Raynell, and kneel, for when you rise at the end of this ritual, you rise a knight once more.”
A knight once more. The words stung a little for the Sin’dorei. She was a knight, once, but the burden of Teldrassil’s fall, the swaths of death left in the Banshee Queen’s wake, and the misdirection of the Horde’s war effort, pushed her to make the difficult decision to step down, to abandon the Order, in order to find herself and her purpose. The journey, as it turned out, had a roundabout conclusion among the shattered landscape of Icecrown, now on the cusp of returning to the Blood Knights as an act of contrition.
She stepped forth, kneeling atop the silken carpet as she cast aside her fur cloak, clad in simple Thalassian half-plate. Ozmin towered over her opposite the roaring brazier, casting aside his cloak to reveal resplendent plated regalia, his armor resembling a grand robe, and his shoulderguards bearing glowing medallions that floated above the mantle, each one emblazoned with the symbol of the rising phoenix. He looked to Ravaina, clad in black armor as she cast aside her own cloak, the vials of golden liquid held in each hand, and nodded.
“Bring forth the blessed waters of the Sunwell. It is here, in the shadow of death, that we shall stand in the Light of the Eternal Sun, in defiance of death itself.”
Ravaina nodded, stepping forth to hand one vial to each person. As she did so, she turned her head to her surroundings, feeling a chill run through her spine. A small host of shambling skeletons and ghouls passed their roaring flame several feet away. Some even looked upon the display with cold, blue eyes, before their dead-eyed gazes were drawn back to the looming spire of the citadel in the far distance. She reached back for her lance, grasping it tentatively as if ready to strike before her father spoke once more.
“Pay no heed to them. They remain shackled to the crown’s will, and shall do us no harm.”
Ravaina gulped, but relented, releasing her lance and standing by. Ozmin then cast his gaze upon Raynell, opening the vial. Raynell, in turn, opened her vial and nodded.
“These blessed waters were drawn by your own hand, Raynell. Did you go about the proper measures to filter and infuse them for your Trial of Light’s Vision?”
“I have,” she answered.
“Good,” he curtly responded. “Let us drink.”
Both Ozmin and Raynell drank from their vials as Ravaina stood by, lance drawn this time, but planted in the ground astride of her as she held the shaft, her other arm positioned in parade rest behind her. She glanced sidelong at the shambling audience of undead. Not a moment before, the deep canyon running through Icecrown was quiet. Now it stirred, and its denizens shuffling with gazes cast toward Icecrown. It unsettled her, the grip on her lance tightening as the ritual continued unabated, both participants setting aside emptied vials. Ozmin’s eyes glowed brilliantly as he reached for a large tome latched to his belt, unclasping the gilded, leatherbound cover and quietly turning the enchanted pages.
“Excellent. I feel our spirits in ascent. Now is the time, Raynell. Reach through the flame and take hold of the blade, so that we may explore the past, conquer its challenges, and carve forth a path to the future.”
Raynell nodded, her own eyes glowing brilliantly. Even the faded false eye shimmered alight, completing the woman’s gaze. She rose up on one knee as she reached through the golden flames rising from the brazier. Though it burned hot, she felt no searing pain, her flesh unmarred by the billowing holy fires. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the hilt of Shorel’Belore, gazing upon the sword with a sense of awestruck sorrow. This was her mentor’s blade before her passing, and though it was passed down to her, she never felt fully worthy of its power...nor of its burden, which weighed heavily both on her and on Diliandra before her. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and she grasped the blade in one hand...then the other, locking herself in a sort of prayer kneel before the fires of the brazier, her eyes drifting closed as the light faded into darkness around her vision.
Satisfied, Ozmin drew a hand forth over Raynell’s head, closing his eyes as holy power teemed from his brilliant regalia, shining forth upon his adept as the two began their trial...
“Focus, Raynell, on my voice, as your spirit is drawn through the trial ahead of you. Focus on maintaining your will throughout, never letting it waver or break from the path ahead. Focus, Raynell...focus...”
Focus.
Focus!
----------------------------
“Focus, Raynell!”
Raynell gasped with a start, her vision clearing to the Farstrider’s Square in Silvermoon City. She stood in the center of the square, a training blade and shield in hand, the high ivory towers of her home casting shadows in the mid-afternoon sun over the red cobblestone. Before her, a host of her fellow knights stood, training weapons at the ready to strike out at her. The voice that called her to focus was that of a stern woman’s, and as she looked toward the voice, she saw the imposing stature of her former mentor, clad in resplendent gold, black, and red armor, and bearing the tabard of the Blood Knights.
“Stay focused, Raynell, and do not strike out too quickly, nor too late. Maintain your timing, and keep your shield level. They will come to you...”
She nodded, setting her feet under her. I remember this, from the days leading up to my knighthood...
As do I, Raynell. Diliandra was growing into her role as a true Master of the Order, and you were her pride, even if she boasted more talented students.
Raynell heard the words of Ozmin echo in her head and smirked. She twirled her blade, shifting her stance to keep her opponents in her line of sight as they circled. With a shout, one of them charged forth, and two more followed him. Raynell felt time slow around her briefly as they struck forth, and to Ozmin’s backhanded compliment, she responded.
Then let me show you how talented I truly am.
The first strike slipped across her parrying blade, using the attacker’s momentum against him as she struck high across his throat, knocking the wind out of him and onto his knees. The next strike bore against her shield, and she charged into the assailant, shoving both him and the knight behind him to the ground. Her gaze turned to a charging woman with a training blade held high. She shoved the edge of her shield flawlessly into her gut, twirling to intercept her with a quick-footed response. Another pair of women struck out for her, and with another twirl, Raynell hurled her shield like a frisbee, the projectile bouncing off of one, then striking the other, before swinging back to her grasp. The scattered knights lie around her, grunting and groaning as they gathered themselves from Raynell’s valiant defense.
“Augh...you rotten -bitch-. Did it have to be in the throat!?”
Raynell turned to see the first rise to his feet, a man with long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She gazed at him for a moment, briefly awestruck by the vision playing out in her head, before laughing softly.
Nalithas Vin’sarin. I knew him.
“I’m sorry Nal. I guess I was caught up in the moment.”
“Oh don’t be sour, Nal. We all got our asses handed to,” spoke another, a blonde haired fellow with well tanned skin, as he helped up his compatriot, a man with bright orange hair and paler features.
That’s Sarenval Starsaber and Ben’erah Thistlebreeze. Belle never liked Ben much, but I know it pained her to lose her brother...
Raynell’s thoughts lingered a moment on the fate of Ben before another voice called out.
“What the hells was that? Where was my support? We had a clear vantage out of her line of sight!”
Raynell twirled around to a woman with short cut raven locks and a scowl on her features. She grinned as she watched the woman complain to her compatriots behind her, the ones that she caught with her shield throw.
Avanaya Sunherald and the Dawnfeather sisters, Tiralin and Teralin. Avanaya would later cross the Dark Portal and train under the Illidari, becoming the Killherald...
“Oh come off it, Ava! How were we supposed to know Raynell was going to toss her shield?”
“Yeah. Next time, she ought to toss it at you, you -twat-.”
“That’s enough, everyone...” Diliandra strode forth to the gathered knights, a bit of a bemused smile on her face. “You all did well, today, though your approach in our last spar left a lot to be desired. Remember your drills and techniques, and make ready for tomorrow. Dismissed.”
The others nodded and made their way past Raynell, each giving her a firm pat on the shoulder and a word of congratulations, even if defeat stung for them. As Raynell watched her compatriots depart, she turned to look to her mentor. Another woman was with her, one of regal stature with silver earrings hanging on the lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, black ponytail, and she spared a brief glance at Raynell, furrowing her brow in a sense of disdain before looking back to Diliandra, offering a few words of departure before bowing politely. Raynell scowled a bit, her form tensing as recognition dawned upon her.
Lunisara Silverblade. Traitor.
Raynell felt a sense of regret echo in her head in the form of a heavy sigh from Ozmin.
She deceived us all, Raynell, and the Order suffered for it.
Raynell dwelled quietly on Ozmin’s words, looking a bit downcast before Diliandra approached. “Something the matter, Raynell?”
“Oh! N-nothing, Master Sunspeaker.”
Diliandra smirked. “Well, your performance today was far from nothing. A bit overdone, but impressive, none the less.”
“Thank you, Master Sunspeaker,” she replied, bowing deeply. “Will that be all for me, today?”
“Not quite. You have one more challenge awaiting you, and she made certain to be here to make good on it after her patrols.”
Raynell tilted her head a moment, then heard another voice call out from behind.
“Sorry to have kept you all waiting! You best be ready, Raynell, because I am coming at you with all I’ve got.”
Raynell smiled, feeling a soft flush rise to her cheeks and a renewed sense of vigor in her form. She gripped her training blade tightly and readied her shield, bristling with excitement.
“Oh, I’m ready for -anything-.”
She twirled around with weapons at the ready, steadying her stance.
Here I come, Fi-
SCREEEEAHHH.
Raynell nearly leapt out of her skin as her vision filled with the lunging visage of a ghoul. She raised her shield in time to repel the leaping corpse, then cut it down with her now sharpened silver blade. The Farstrider’s Square was gone, replaced by rotted fields of brown grass, gnarled trees, and a brown, darkened gloom in the sky. Her nostrils scrunched, and she briefly retched at the stench of rot and undeath around her.
What’s happening!? I don’t understa-
Relax, Raynell.
The voice of Ozmin echoed in her head once more.
The Trial of Light’s Vision is ever shifting, turning through the pages of your story and revealing them from chapter to chapter. This is but another chapter in that story...
Raynell looked around once more, seeing another swarm of ghouls approaching her. She struck the ground with her blade, consecrating the desecrated earth as holy flame ripped through the gibbering mass of risen corpses, then drew her sword from the earth and charged forward to cut down what remained, taking a moment to catch her bearings.
This is not a great chapter to end up in. This is our battalion’s fateful foray into the Eastern Plaguelands, the one where...
“Raynell!”
The voice of her mentor called out from behind, riding atop her warhorse and flanked by a pair of other knights, their faces concealed by black hoods, and Diliandra’s concealed by a hood and mask, which she quickly drew back as she spoke.
“The battalion is falling back to the Ghostlands border. The captain is ahead in pursuit of the death knight and his legions. I need you to intercept her and bring her back! We’ve suffered casualties, and I fear Vin’sarin hasn’t much time...”
“What do you mean?” Raynell asked. “What’s happened?”
Diliandra fell silent, her expression dark and downcast as she took a breath before shaking her head. “Go, Raynell. Do as I’ve asked, and return swiftly, before you are overrun!”
Raynell tried to speak once more, but the thundering hooves of the warhorses turned away, charging back to the border. Raynell stood alone, silent in the midst of the plaguelands, a surging panic rising in her throat as it tightened, hands shaking and cold sweat trickling across her brow.
Focus, Raynell. Do not let your vision waver. Remember, you must go -forward-.
As Ozmin’s voice called out to her, she paused, took a knee, and drew in slow breaths. In and out, in a state of balanced trance, quieting the swarm of thoughts in her mind’s eye as she opened her eyes once more, looking forward on the path ahead. She heard a scream in the distance, perking her ears, and nodded firmly.
There.
She brought her fingers to her lips and let forth a sharp whistle. The whinnying cry of a horse sounded in the distance, and from the gnarled wood, a proud steed rode forth.
Darktreader. Ever my ally in battle. He was cursed with death’s touch during the battle for Icecrown, but found redemption at Light’s Hope during the battle with the Legion.
Raynell took quickly to the horse, lifting herself upon the saddle, then urging him forward through the Plaguelands, across wretched earth and through abandoned villages toward the cry of anguish. As she closed the distance, she could hear more voices, many of them her companions, and that of the captain that led them, calling for them to rally back.
“Hang on, I’m almost there!”
She cracked the reins hard against Darktreader, breaking into a full sprint across the deadened landscape, their destination just over the ridge.
I’m almost there, Fi-
Suddenly, her weight shifted backwards, as if someone had lassoed her from behind, and her vision darkened. She toppled and rolled against the earth below, rolling against what felt like snow. The metallic taste of blood sat bitter upon her tongue, and shooting pain suddenly seized her. As she gathered herself and opened her eyes, she saw a human woman, clad in black armor, her skin as pale as the snow around them, and a runeblade draped over her shoulder.
Gwenlien Allendare. She was a knight of Alterac raised by the Lich King, and was terrorizing Forsaken caravans passing between Tarren Mill and the Undercity. In truth, it was a ruse meant to lure me...
Raynell gathered herself and her blade, this time a greatsword, and brought her unsteady legs into as steady a stance as she could.
I...lost this battle. Perhaps another chance...
----------------------------
The silence unsettled Ravaina as she watched both her father and her new ward locked in trial. At the very least, Ozmin had awareness of his whereabouts, quietly turning a page or two of his tome on occasion as minutes passed like hours in the frigid north. She held tight to her lance, ever vigilant as her ears picked up more movement some distance from them, the sound of cracking limbs and schlorping, rotted flesh passing by.
“Father, how much longer must this go on?”
“As long as is necessary to fulfill Raynell’s visions. I am providing her with guidance, but it is her task, and hers alone, to complete.”
Ravaina scowled, looking away as she watched another group of undead shamble across the wastes. She noticed the throngs growing ever more prominent, all with their glowing eyes raised to the spires of Icecrown Citadel in the distance. She shivered as the howling gales seemed to pick up, cutting even through the insulated plate.
“Something feels off. The other knights have told us that Icecrown has long been quiet and desolate...”
“Most of them aren’t aware of the lingering presence of the Lich King. The new one, that is.”
Ozmin glanced briefly over his shoulder at the shuffling masses. One ghoul turned his slobbering gaze to the knight. He scowled as they met gazes before the ghoul continued shuffling away.
“They say Fordragon sits upon the Frozen Throne, now, keeping the Scourge tamed and at bay from ever overwhelming Azeroth again.”
His eyes returned to the tome, then lifted slightly to regard Raynell.
“Still...something -is- off.”
“Father?” Ravaina lifted her gaze to Ozmin, eyes betraying a sense of worry.
“These visions are jumping all over. They test Raynell’s focus...and mine. I should be able to control the pace, and yet I find the trial slipping through my grasp.”
He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more, brilliant Light teeming from his aura as he fought the cold, oppressive dark around him, along with his fears of losing control.
“We should be fine...but stay vigilant.”
Ravaina nodded, gulping softly. She held firm to her lance and steadied her stance, remaining at parade rest...and yet around her, a scene began to unfold, and in the distance, Ravaina could swear she saw flashes of something happening atop of the citadel...
----------------------------
In the snowy drifts of the Alterac Mountains, among the long abandoned ruins of Alterac itself, a clashed played out. Raynell, clad in red and black, her blade clashing against runecarved steel. Gwenlien, the death knight, towering over her and laying down brute force as bitter frost swirled across her saronite-clad form. Swirls of fiery Light followed Raynell’s strikes, trying to fend off the sickly frost of the Death Knight’s runeblade. Fighting through searing pain, through struggled breath, Raynell gained a brief advantage and struck out with all her might, bringing her blade crashing down against the Death Knight’s armor. The human reeled back, down to a knee, open to one last strike. Raynell lifted her blade high, ready to strike down the Death Knight...only to have herself intercepted by dark magic, a clawed, black spectral hand rising from the Death Knight’s outstretched grip. She could feel the air being strangled out from her, struggling and flailing in panic as she tried to rip the hand free from her throat, even as the Death Knight trudged forward, runeblade dragging across the snow.
“You’ve given me enough trouble, elf, and now your story ends HERE.”
Concentrate, Raynell! Do not let your vision fade!
Ozmin’s voice cut through clear in her mind, and Raynell felt a surge of desperation as she found purchase in the dark magic, prepared to break free. As the runeblade thrust forward, however, a sudden flash of Light struck the Death Knight, causing her to reel away. As Raynell freed herself, she hit the snow hard, coughing in fits and coughing up blood as her dazed vision looked up to see a blurry clash unfold. Another had come to her aid, an elven woman with long, braided black hair, bearing the Blood Knight tabard and an ebonsteel zweihander.
Valaane Duskbanish. She came to save me that fateful night, having followed Gwenlien’s trail to the mountains...
She continued to watch the clash unfold, both knights, one of Blood, one of Death, locked in ferocious combat. In a decisive strike, the Blood Knight, Valaane, ran her sword through Gwenlien, drawing it out with dripping ichor splashed across the snow before planting it in the ground. The Death Knight fell to her knees, sputtering in her weakness as final death approached.
“Your wicked reign of terror ends today, cur.”
Valaane’s hands glowed with teeming holy flame, prepared to put an end to the Death Knight once and for all. The human only responded with a bitter laugh and an eerily prophetic warning.
“You...will join me...in DARKNESS!”
Suddenly, the elf found herself blindsided by a shadowy strike, the same shadowed claw that gripped at Raynell’s throat now slashing through Valaane’s. The once glowing hands suddenly lost their shine, the Light dissipating in sickly, pale violet embers, and the Death Knight charged the woman, sending both toppling over the slopes of Alterac and unto a fate previously unknown. Raynell staggered to her feet and rushed to the edge, huffing and panting as she shook her head and silently cursed herself.
Gone. Like last time.
She looked to Valaane’s blade, left to the wayside, and drew it from the snow.
Little did I know I would see her again...but immensely changed. The shadow cut more than her throat. It cut through her very being, tainting it so that she eventually became Ren’dorei...a void elf.
She slung the zweihander over her back, then gazed out over the cloud-darkened foothills and peaks below.
I thought I had lost her that night. Lost her, like I had lost...
She scarcely had time to finish her thought before the hum of a flying blade cut through the air. Raynell quickly ducked it and drew the greatsword once more, charging forth to clash with the serrated glaive of another: a Night Elf this time, clad in the armor of the Wardens...and bearing a fiery fel green gaze in the eyes of her helm.
Shiane Blackgrove.
The two backed off from their clash, heavy plate boots crunching on the snow beneath them. This time, Raynell was surrounded by the towering pines of Winterspring, the same ones which she found shelter in during her days of reclusion before the Legion invasion. Raynell stared down her new foe, quiet breaths carrying in the cold winter air in soft, misty vapors. Once more, Ozmin’s voice echoed through, though it seemed to hint at confusion.
You...will have to bring me up to speed on this one. I had departed before the Cataclysm to train my daughter afar.
Raynell smirked, raising her blade at the ready as she locked eyes with the corrupted Warden. At the Warden’s side, a pair of snarling felhounds emerged, their bone white faces starkly contrasting the long, black, wiry manes across their heads and backs, and the deep red skin that surged with fel blood. Following them, a pair of burly felguards stepped from the shadows, bearing axes in their massive grey hands, and clad in demon-forged armaments from head to hoof. At Raynell’s side, new allies came to the fore; first, a woman from an earlier vision, the very Avanaya Sunherald, returned as the Killherald, a demon huntress with long horns jutting from her forehead and skin that was scaled and deep red; and to Raynell’s other side, a tall, muscular elven woman with long red hair and a pair of axes in hand, clad in red platemail.
“Ava, Belle.”
“That name is dead to me, as is the woman who once bore it,” the demon huntress replied, “but call upon the Killherald, and she shall lead the hunt...”
“Oh wow, lookit’ you bein’ all cool and edgy...” the warrior, Belle, chimed. “Come off it and let’s just knock some damn heads.”
The demon huntress shot a glance at Belle, or at least as much a glance as one with a blindfold could offer, then grunted. “Let’s...”
Wait, that’s Avanaya? And the other woman, that’s...that Daroen’s youngest! How did that scrawny wretch get to be so...ferocious!?
Ozmin, focus. This is still a trial.
Don’t turn this around on me, adept! You are the one on trial, here!
Raynell chuckled softly to herself. Both Ava and Belle stared at her, then at each other, shrugging indifferently, as if being left out of a joke.
Fine, then. In that case, let me show you how it’s done, Ozmin.
“ASHAL THORI’ANORE!”
The trio of women charged forth, with Raynell leading the way. The Warden and her demons responded in kind, a clash imminent as they rushed forth on a collision course. As Raynell raised her blade to strike the Warden dead on, the scene suddenly faded, and Raynell found herself in a dark, empty void. She looked about in a brief panic, having to take a few steadying breaths to gain her bearings before asking for her new mentor’s guidance.
Ozmin, what’s going on? I seem to have lost the vision.
No response. The void lingered in unsettling silence around her.
Ozmin, can you hear me?
Another long pause. Nothing. Suddenly, a warm, orange glow settled in the distance. Raynell began walking toward it, trying to get a better view.
Ozmin, do you see this? Ozmin? What’s happening out th-
Raynell stopped dead in her tracks as the vision became clearer. She was no longer in snow driven landscapes, or tranquil Thalassian forests, or even among the rot of the Plaguelands. What transpired before her was far worse than anything she had experienced thus far, and just a few paces away, a hooded figure gazed across a firelit expanse of sea, and high above it, a towering tree smoldered and blazed in unquenching flame. Screams of agony echoed throughout, and in the sea, the drowned floated across the surface.
Teldrassil. No...
----------------------------
Ravaina stirred as the undead nearby began to wail. The startling cacophony even unsettled the stoic Ozmin, whose focus wavered as he looked back to his daughter.
“What’s going on!? My connection to Raynell is unstable! No, no...this can’t be happening!”
Ozmin flipped through his tome rapidly, as if searching for a solution to his predicament. All the while, Ravaina looked up toward Icecrown Citadel, noticing something stirring in the distance, signs of distant battle as it appeared pieces of the glacier were falling from it.
“Father, it’s the Citadel. Something is happening up there!”
----------------------------
Raynell quietly approached the shore, recognizing the besieged Lor’danel nearby, but still drawn to the great tree collapsing under the all consuming flame. The hooded figure stood quiet as she approached, not even turning to regard her approach. As she stepped within a foot or two of the figure, a sharp pain spiked through her skull, and the knight reeled back, holding her temple as a harsh voice whispered in her mind.
Behold, all of your sins laid bare. The culmination of your failures, your lack of loyalty. A doomed world, created by your own hand.
Raynell hissed in frustration, raising her head to glare at the figure. “Sylvanas...” she spat, before reeling again as the figure seemed to respond.
No. She is carrying out his will, as am I. What she does will save your doomed world. What I do, I do to save you from yourself...
The figure turned, revealing herself as an elven woman, raven hair tied back in a neat ponytail, silver earrings sitting at the lower lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side, drawn now in her hand. Raynell’s eyes widened, staggering backward.
“No...Lunisara? You...you fell at Winterspring, after you tried to ambush us with Blackgrove in tow...”
The woman raised her blade, the tip pointed at Raynell. Again, the shooting pain bombarded her head, more agonizing now.
You have been chosen. All must return to him. All must return to the Maw. You will usher them forth, as one of the champions of death, as a liberator of The Jailer.
“Ozmin! Something is wrong! Ozmin! Ozminnn!”
Raynell stumbled backward, suddenly losing her footing. She felt herself plummeting into a dark pit, flailing about as she sought to catch herself on anything around her, even though there was naught but black surrounding her.
You will be reunited with her. Don’t you want to see her again? Don’t you remember what happened? Or has she become Nameless to you once more...
THUD.
Raynell once again found herself on solid earth, groaning softly as she picked herself up from the ground. Her vision cleared, and she jolted as the familiar stench of rot assailed her senses. The dull brown sky, the gnarled trees, the tattered grasses. She was back in the Eastern Plaguelands.
I don’t understand. Why am I here, again, of all-
“There’s...nothing you can do for me, R-Raynell...”
The knight snapped around quickly at the sound of a pained whisper nearby, accompanied by familiar, mournful sobs. She stepped around a ruined tower wall. Huddled against it was a woman with short, golden locks, and in her arms, she cradled another woman, this one with silvery white hair. The woman in her arms lay wounded and pale, and a sickly looking green vein seemed to stretch up from her neck to her cheek. Tracing it back down, one could see the wound causing the most suffering, what appear to be a grisly clawing of her side, tearing through armor and flesh. The silver haired woman reached up, a shaky hand gently stroking the cheek of her sobbing compatriot.
“You’ve grown so s-strong...you’re going to...make a fine knight, Ray.”
The other woman shook her head, tears streaking across her cheeks as the sobs grew louder. Raynell watched the scene in helpless awe, her face pale and her eyes filled with the same sense of sorrow that gripped the grief-stricken blonde before her.
“I can’t...I can’t! Please, Fia, you have to hold on! Lady Sunspeaker...sh-she can...”
“No! No...she won’t make it in time...I can feel it...t-turning me!”
The silver-haired knight began to seize up, wracked in agonizing pain as she let out a hoarse, dry-throated cry, the sickly paleness of her skin beginning to turn a dull shade of green. Raynell choked back a sob, reaching out in vain to the pair as she stumbled back. The blonde cradling her only mourned all the more passionately, hugging tightly to her dying compatriot in her waning moments. She sobbed into her ruined tabard, running a hand through her silver locks as they came undone from her ponytail, unwilling to let go, even as life quickly faded from the woman’s eyes.
“F-Fia...I love you!”
“Raynell...I...”
The words remained choked in her throat, the woman suddenly pushing herself off of the mourning blonde and staggering backwards with inhuman speed. She began to rise with an unsteady gait, her voice croaking out in a wordless, thoughtless cry as she gazed back with glazed over eyes, the rot crawling up her form as the last of her conscious life slipped away, overtaken by the madness of undeath. As Raynell drew her blade once more, she steeled her gaze on the shambling corpse that was once her Captain, her friend, and her first love, fighting through tears to see her clearly.
“I’m sorry, Fia.”
Before she could strike, though, the sickly woman burst into holy flame, her body consumed by it. She collapsed in a skeletal husk, left to smolder in embers as across from her, the blonde stood wide-eyed, hand outstretched as embers of holy flame flickered from her fingers. The shrill whinny of a warhorse sounded in the distance, and charging from the north came a trio of familiar knights rushing to the young woman’s side, the forefront of which threw off her hood.
“Raynell! What happ-”
The knight reeled back at the sight of the fallen captain, her body left in smoldering bone, the tattered tabard slowly burning away in smoke and ash. The blonde looked back to her mentor, her surrogate mother, and cried out in a broken voice.
“What have I done...what have I done!?”
She fell into the other’s arms in mournful wailing. The woman knelt aside her, holding her tightly in a comforting embrace, even as the dark, rot-filled air around them offered no comfort. The other knights stood back, unsure of how to respond, if they could at all.
“Lady Sunspeaker, what-”
“Leave us.”
“Pardon?”
“LEAVE US! NOW!”
The other knights stumbled back in shock before returning to their horses, riding off into the distance as mentor and ward remained to mourn their loss together. Raynell watched on, sorrow heavy in her heart as she gazed at the smoldering corpse left by her own hand all those years ago.
“I’ve seen enough, Ozmin. Take me back.”
She watched and waited. No response.
“Ozmin, the trial is over! You’ve made your point! Take me-”
Behold, all of your sins laid bare.
Raynell reeled again, feeling the sharp pain strike her head once more. As she raised her gaze, she noticed that the two mourners, her younger self and her mentor, were staring at her.
“Is it not fitting?” said the shade of Diliandra, her expression menacing as she stared daggers through the knight. “All you have ever laid hand upon, wreathed in fire. You leave naught but destruction in your wake.”
“No,” Raynell stammered, “No! That wasn’t...my fault. She was turning...I had to!”
“You didn’t save her,” said the shade of Raynell, raising a hand to point at her future self. “You didn’t even -try-. You let her burn, like you let Teldrassil burn.”
“No! NO! Stop it...STOP IT!”
She shut her eyes, trying to force out the voices laying accusations upon her. She suddenly felt a cacophony of accusations fill her head, so many that she could not discern their origins. She gripped her head, nearly screaming as she pleaded them to cease, and as she opened her eyes, her gaze suddenly settled on a new, unsettling visage: that of the skeletal remains of her long lost Captain, her lost love, Fia’delis Brightblade, now bathed in a new flame, one of eerie blue lichfire.
“All must return...to the Maw.”
The visage suddenly became clad in dark steel. Ebon wings burst forth from her shoulders. A clawed gauntlet grasped at Raynell’s throat, choking the air from her as the Death Knight did before. As she flailed and struggled, a deafening boom sounded above, and like shards of glass, the sky began to splinter, opening toward some desolate expanse high above, and from the black, a menacing spire emerging from on high. As the figure ascended, carrying Raynell in tow, a flash suddenly blindsided the winged knight, loosing its grasp, and Raynell began to fall once more, and for a good while as the ground below gave way to an infinite, ethereal expanse, her vision quickly fading as the figure above seemed locked in battle with another...
----------------------------
BOOM.
The howling winds suddenly died out. A sound like booming thunder echoed across the stillness, followed quickly by a terrible shrieking. High above the Citadel, and across the darkened expanse of the Icecrown sky, tendrils of energy shot across the expanse like ghostly strands of lightning. Ravaina reeled back at the sudden surge, and Ozmin flinched, losing grasp of his tome as it tumbled to the ground. Raynell’s eyes shot open, but were no longer gold, but a brilliant white. A chain suddenly appeared around her throat, tendrils of shadowy purple stretching along its length, and above them, the sky splintered into glass-like shards, opening to a great chasm above as the darkened sky split to reveal a new endless chasm, surrounded by dull orange and brown coloring, with a spire much like Icecrown’s just barely cresting past the breaking point. The chain seem to stretch to the tower itself, and in the ensuing moments of panic, Ozmin called upon his greatsword to shatter the chain, reeling back as the dark energies repelled him in a powerful rebuke.
“RAVAINA! WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!”
It didn’t take long for the daughter of Ozmin to leap into action, channeling all her strength, both physical and Light-blessed, to drive the end of her lance into the chain. She, however, met the same rebuke as the edge of the lance struck the chain without so much as denting it, sending her reeling back once more.
“FATHER! SHE’S BEING TAKEN!”
As the two looked on in horror, Raynell’s body began to rise with the chain, slowly bringing her up from the silken rug she once knelt upon. Both knights hurled bolts of Light, along with a myriad of elven obscenities, in a vain attempt to break the shadowy chain. In their clamor, they failed to notice the shambling undead suddenly begin to turn against them, and as they began to swarm, both father and daughter had to now contend with the swarming undead, leaving Raynell to her fate.
In that moment, the blade of Sunspeaker began to float above the brazier, the clarion call of Shorel’Belore humming brightly as the blade drew from the flame below it. In one miraculous stroke, the blade cut through the chain, the shadowy energies engulfed in shining flame before dissipating into dust, and Raynell fell back toward earth, collapsed against the silken carpet...
----------------------------
Fear not, for in the shadow of death, I shall always be at your side...
Raynell awoke with a start, hearing the shriek of undead pierce the suddenly still air of Icecrown. Raynell scrambled to her feet, grabbing Shorel’Belore beside her and rushing forth to Ravaina and Ozmin, driving her blade deep into the desecrated earth and unleashing a surge of consecrated Light. The undead around it shuddered and burst into holy flame before collapsing, and with a heavy sigh, Raynell collected herself before quickly turning to Ozmin.
“Something’s wrong! The trial’s been compromised. What’s been-”
Ozmin raised a hand to quiet the panicked knight, then pointed to Icecrown and the shattered sky above. Raynell’s eyes went wide, seeing the familiar broken shards of sky, the gaping maw above, and the shadowy spire at the center of it. She nearly stumbled, taken aback by the sight high above the Frozen Throne.
“Icecrown...what does this mean, Ozmin?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, his faced locked in a firm scowl, “all I do know is that the fate of our world hangs once more in the balance, and the knights will once more have to march into the heart of death itself.”
Their gazes lingered upon Icecrown Citadel. Ravaina joined them, as awestruck as they were at the sight before them, and further unsettled by the wail of the undead in the distance around them, thrown into a sudden fit of chaos. Raynell heaved out a sigh, bowing her head, then looked back to Ozmin.
“This is probably neither the time or place, but...have I passed the Trial?”
Ozmin smirked, glancing sidelong at Raynell.
“As I said, Azeroth is going to need the knights once more. Considering the circumstances...I’d say you’ve more than qualified.”
She motioned quickly to Ravaina. “Ready the horses. We leave everything but the blade. The Argent Grounds are not far. They will be preparing as we speak...”
Ravaina nodded, collecting her cloak and quickly throwing it over her shoulders. Raynell and Ozmin followed suit, and as the three rode off, Raynell looked back at the abandoned ritual, then toward the trail ahead, riding through the valley in the shadow of death that lingered high above...
((friendship ended with Raynell, now T’saavi is my best OC. just kidding, I still love Raynell, but I would love to show T’saavi some love, and I’d love for you to show her some love, too!))
“On occasions, yes! I have a few slick, silky numbers I like to wear to set the mood, although I don’t usually get too dolled up. I think my favorite part of sex is still being half dressed, but pleasured all the same...”
(( one last answer before I log out for a while! ))
88. “Well...that’s how a few of my encounters started, with a confession of arousal. It’s a bit more on the direct side, but sometimes direct can be good. So is masturbation. Masturbation is good. That’s basically a yes to the latter question.”
81. “I’ve been called all manner of things in the spur of the moment, even mommy on one occasion, so yes~.”
74. “Through only breast stimulation? It would probably take a while, or take some very creative play to get me there, but I’ve been there once or twice.”
45. “Yes! I’ve been on all different ends of the threesome spectrum...well, at least the two ends that one can be on, and then smack dab in the middle on occasion~. One of my threesomes is practically why my office desk is a little, uh...creakier than usual.”
44. “This one, contrary to popular belief, is a little more rare for me, but I have taken a few rides on the benches around the Bazaar fountain, and did use one of the lamp posts around the city...”
35. “Contrary to popular belief, being horny on the battlefield isn’t as distracting as one would think it is, but being horny in the middle of a ceremonial outing or standing around at attention in battalion formation for hours on end is -definitely- not the best time to be aroused...”
5. “Gosh, you know...whether it’s giving or receiving, there’s something about standing positions that accentuate the rawness of a carnal act. If we’re on the floor, I tend to be on top, but I’ll bottom for the right person. Lotus is a good intimate one, and the Amazon...”
11. “I enjoy all manner of styles, but they always have to be red and black.”
48. “Oral is something of an art for me~. Every pair of blushing folds I’ve tongue-traced over with the Thalassian alphabet have had their owners squirming in pleasure, and every steely shaft throbbed in the confines of my throat.”
91. “I’ll admit that my more promiscuous outings have landed me in trouble on a few occasions, and I’m trying to dial back on the list of benefactors - especially as some of them have found more permanent partners! That being said, those who benefit from my company before may still benefit from it on the right occasion...”
Ina’thia had received the letter by courier. Not the usual Blood Knight or Magistry couriers she dealt regularly within Silvermoon City. This one came from a Royal Deathguard, clad in red and purple, face completely hidden from view. All she could see were those menacing glowing eyes of undeath. From under his helmet, the Deathstalker muttered a simple statement with the tone of a dire threat.
“The Warchief expects your answer soon…”
When Ina’thia had glanced down at the black envelope, the Deathguard had vanished from sight. Such was their strength, after all…
Ina’thia glanced around the back chamber of the Hall of Blood to see other knights watching her with a combination of curiosity and contempt. How dare that Forsaken walk into this sacred chamber? What business did the Knight-Lord Dawnblade with a direct emissary of the Warchief?
She didn’t intend to linger long enough to suffer their stares any longer. After closing her files, she tucked the letter under her arm and made haste for the exit. She hurried toward her home in the Court of the Sun as quickly as her plated feet could take her.
Upon arrival, she leaned against the closed door and tore the envelope open. The parchment smelled like soot and rot.
