It was always said by the elders among Suramar, “If the night skies vary, mark the end of times.” It was not the end, at least not yet. The barrier stood, and as far as everyone was concerned, the world did not exist beyond the walls and magical barrier. All that truly existed was Suramar City. This was no less true for Cathiir, a child with his shelter under the bridges of Suramar. He seemed to be debating something, shaking his head frantically, and to those passing by it may look as though one child was pressuring another to do something he did not want to do.
They would have been right.
“Come on, Cathiir, drink it! We need to get a little extra food – oo, oo! And something pretty like last time!” Elodine, a young girl, was hopping about, holding a bottle of arcwine with merely a single drink left in it. “It took me a long time to find it, Cathiir, come on!”
“No, Elodine, no! That stuff makes me feel woozy, I can barely focus and I– I–”
“And you do that cool thing? Come on Cathiir, please?” She pouted at him. Cathiir crossed his arms and turned his back to her.
“What happened to the ring I got you, huh?” He turned his head slightly, a prominent, childish frown on his face. The sort that adults would warn them would stick if they kept it that way.
“I told you, Sildor wanted it so we could be here longer.” Her pouting somewhat ceased. She knew well enough it would have disappointed Cathiir, he never liked giving in to Sildor’s demands – though he was the unofficial landlord of the homeless around their parts of Suramar. All had to pay their piece, or else they would have to find their own space.
And he did not hold that back. “I’m sick of Sildor taking our stuff! I’m going to get caught at some point, Elodine! Those guys will catch on!”
There was a silence between the pair for a while, Cathiir with his back turned and arms crossed looking as a rock, and Elodine with her arms to her side trying to think of the right things to say. It was not selfishness that motivated her, but the right words to say to make Cathiir realize their situation.
Homeless and hungry. Perhaps what Elodine did not quite realize was how reliant Cathiir would be to the arcwine with each use. She heard adults talk, though. Some of the nobles had fallen from grace and ended up looking malnourished and akin to walking skeletons – what remained of their flesh and skin sagged. They grew paler, and hair more brittle. For a moment, she observed Cathiir, but was not convinced from the view she had from behind. So she laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to swing him around. He turned to her, arms losing their unending knot and frown dissipating to that of shock as he was face-to-face with her.
The purplish tint to his skin was still there, except with a slight tint of red to his cheeks, as well as his dark locks that he had directed to go down his back. A couple of stray strands wandered to his face. Elodine stared at him with what she believed was the finesse of an experienced medical professional. In truth, her eyes were just squinted and her tongue left her mouth in a sort of contemplation.
“What?” Cathiir was getting worried. “Elo, what?! What’s wrong?” She did not answer, and it clearly only frustrated him more. After a final exclamation of her name, she twitched her pointed ears and looked him right in the eyes.
“Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing. I just– I wanted,” she looked away, turned, and sat on her bedroll. “It’s nothing Cath. Just… you’re right, it isn’t a good idea. We’ll find some other way, right? I can just… figure something. Something safe, right?” She laid on her back, and had stopped dwelling on the subject. Except for one bit.
“I’m sorry, Cathiir.”
~
He kept saying it was all nothing to be concerned about. That was, until the barrier fell. Thousands of years it had held – Cathiir was not even alive for one-thousand of those years. He was barely five-hundred years old.
His father (who had adopted him) had been alive before the barrier even existed. As Cathiir stood on the balcony to the large manor his family owned, he stared up as the sky slowly became exposed.
Daytime. There was a sun, and clouds. Birds flew about, confused at the opening of new land. Animals scattered far in the distance where the border of the barrier had been, terrified by the display of magic. It hit him all at once why his father had been so busy.
The advisers and the Grand Magistrix herself had to have been aware. Though they could do nothing. Some days had passed after Cathiir witnessed this most wonderful and fearsome display and he was told by the other young shal'dorei that ‘demons’ were about, patrolling, and executing dissenters.
Public execution.
Cathiir was not entirely ignorant on what a demon was. Stories were often told by others, his father included, of the horrors invoked by the War of the Ancients. Destructive aliens bent on the submission of the world, the recruiting of malicious like-minds, and encouraging desperation among the masses.
It had only been a week when Cathiir felt the desperation sink into his stomach. He was sitting in his family’s manor, and a thought rolled through his head. The advisers to the leadership of Suramar who disagreed with the Legion’s siege and wanted to revolt were executed just the same as commoners. Though here his father was, sitting, eating among them.
He was a sympathizer, and all had known. Cathiir felt the desperation, but he wondered if his adoptive father felt it even more. He had not spoken much to Cathiir or Milaes, his sister. Cathiir felt as though his training into lordship and to be a protector of the family was placed on pause – all to surrender to the end of the world.
He had nothing to distract himself with, and so that panic set in more and more. It was night – which notably, was a harder time for him. There were real stars in the sky, put onto a grand display. Moons shining along with them, and a darkness that could not be replicated by magic, even. He had suddenly left the house, his father and sister asleep, and wandered through the streets. His feet held all of his thoughts, and he guided himself nowhere – it was all as if he was being piloted by memories.
He left the sprawling manors, went over bridges with intricate gardens and statues, away from the pens of exotic animals, as well as the vineyards were arcwine was made. He wandered until he went were the dark was familiar to him. A large bridge connecting two parts of the city, he had gone underneath and lingered. There was a small nook that was empty; he had known it was empty for some time.
He sat down, legs crossed, and leaned his head on the stonework. There was scattered litter here and there; papers, some bottles, and even a rotting shadefruit in a nook parallel to him. His head lowered and lowered until he looked into his own lap. The gravity of the situation seemed to, at first, hit him so hard he felt the wind leave his lungs. He slammed his fists into the hard ground, leaving scuffed marks on his knuckles.
Then, just like that, it left him. It all faded when he convinced himself of the reason why he had arrived here. He was in such a daze he had forgotten.
He was waiting for someone to arrive. He was waiting for someone so he would know the best course of action. Though for a while, all he was left with was memories.
And for now, it would do.
~
It was the dead of night. The bustle of homeless shal'dorei quieted, and Elodine had been asleep.
Cathiir laid in his bedroll, eyes up at the bridge above them. He stared at it and tried to count as many discrepancies as he could. It… was not a long process, truthfully. Almost no cracks or even points, it was entirely smooth. Though he started to become good at noticing them nonetheless. He was not about deluding his time-wasting distraction, but rather, give practice to what he was about to do.
If he could notice the problems with even a perfect structure, he could notice the problems with a horribly flawed plan.
He could not sleep because it ran through his mind again and again. Feeling too confident was always a concern of his, but not of his companion’s. Or at least so she seemed. He sat up and stared at the bottle of arcwine that was beside him. His hands reached for it and grabbed it by the neck. He struggled to get the cork loose, but it inevitably came off.
Instinctively, he sniffed into the bottle, and immediately darted backwards. It was pungent for sure. A strong beverage. Though Cathiir could smell it had exactly what he needed in it. With a hand pinching his nose, he downed the remaining drink it, and immediately felt the surge of power.
Though he also felt the nausea. He quickly laid the bottle down and stood up, taking breaths as he had practiced time and time again. He muttered words in shalassian, gestured his hands, and his form started to disappear, completely. The moment he disappeared, he felt the strain in his mind. He had to focus to keep the spell intact. He walked around a bit, and observed his hands to ensure he stayed invisible. It did not break, not even slightly.
He recalled a point where he looked as a floating display of rippling water. He came to learn it was the lack of focus that caused his spell to distort him instead of entirely conceal him. As he stepped around, and felt as though he was ready, he stopped, and sighed out.
That was when a voice came out of seemingly nowhere. A girlish voice, “You know, if you keep breathing that loud they’ll find you for certain!”
It was Elodine, who, well, was as awake as he was. The surprise of this caused Cathiir to twitch, then lose his focus on the spell entirely. “Elo!” He quietly said.
She simply giggled, and stood up. “Whoops – oh come on, you weren’t going to walk there all sneaky.” She placed both her hands on Cathiir’s shoulders, and with a big smile, she said, “Now then, let’s go, I’ll keep watch. And this time, I promise: Sildor won’t get anything! I’ll hide everything well!”
Cathiir nodded at her. “Good, because if you keep giving up all our best stuff, he’ll start wondering how I do it.”
Elodine nodded in response, then suddenly leaned in to peck his lips. She let go of his shoulders, and stepped passed him. “ For good luck. Let’s go, while you were staring at the bridge the owners got a couple of hours of rest – hurry!”
Cathiir was a bit red in the face, and of course, sporting a tipsy demeanor to himself. Though he followed Elodine nonetheless. While she was thinking of all the wonderful things they could manage… he chose to concern himself with alternate plans if it all fell apart. Potential escapes, and especially how he could get her away if anything went sour.
Though for once… although it may have been the alcohol speaking… he felt as if it would all be fine.
Elodine could barely sleep, even with what important work she knew she had to do tomorrow. She awaited the signs of Cathiir asleep for sure. She had been staring at his face, both intoxicated with emotions and with intent. He caressed her face and played with her hair, and she blushed all the while. Inevitably, his eyes closed, and his breathing became slow and relaxed.
He was asleep. So she started to sneak out of the bed, moving covers and sheets in the process. Cathiir stirred, but did not wake. She scrambled to look for the satchel he had on him. In the heat of the moments that happened a while ago, she had forgotten where it was left. So she moved his clothes aside, as well as her own -- she was stark naked, searching in the dark. Though her eyes adjusted quickly, and to a shal'dorei, the dark was no problem.
She found it finally. A tattered blue satchel, ripped at the bottom, but it had been sewed up by Cathiir himself when he was younger. One time, during their thieving youth, that rip lost them quite a bit of funds. It ensured they were late on paying their tribute to Sildor. Ever since that time, Cathiir was blamed by Sildor for being the more ineffective of the pair. Yet for some reason, Cathiir kept it. He was not ashamed. She suspected it was because of the memories such a simple thing kept.
She sat on the ground and placed the satchel in her lap. Paranoia struck her and she looked back at Cathiir. He turned slightly, sighed, but soon returned to his idle raising and falling of his chest that meant he was concerned only with inevitable dreaming.
Elodine considered if it was necessary to invade his privacy. Doubt had often crossed her mind when thinking if it was possible that Cathiir would betray her, and all of their people. If he even considered the demons as a master was never a thought she believed to be possible. Though she could not help but hear Sildor's voice, so dryly and so nonchalantly stating that even Cathiir was susceptible to the pitiful fate of submitting to demons.
She had to be sure. But what would she do if the worst happened? She could not hurt Cathiir, but if he turned out to be on the wrong side, it made him an enemy. Would he admit that knowledge to him? Or would she pretend she was none the wiser, treating him as if he was one of the noblemen who would often plot and gossip whilst she entertained -- they thought her to be deaf and dim, incapable of truly listening and understanding what vile things they would say.
This was different, though. It was war that was happening in Suramar, and around it. She inhaled deeply and opened up the satchel. The first thing her fingers found was quite strange. It was smooth, feeling polished. When she pulled it out, she gasped in a bit of confusion, then glanced back to see if her quiet, yet sudden action disturbed Cathiir. He was still asleep, so she decided to look more closely.
It was a mask. It only covered half of one's face, leaving the mouth exposed. The longer she focused, the more she realized it radiated with magic she was familiar with Cathiir using.
A disguise. But why? What could he possibly be doing that would require a disguise? Her heart sank, and she started to believe the worst. She laid the mask to the side, then dug through the satchel again. Papers were within, folded and slightly crumpled, though they did not interest her. There was one more hard object within.
It was slightly jagged, feeling like something of a rock, though it too radiated with a hint of magic. She traced it from within, only feeling along the edges of it she found. At first, she concluded it was simply a rock, until she felt the front of it. She traced a carving on it, and her eyes widened. Her heart went from in her gut right back to her chest, and started working overtime, pumping rapidly.
She threw the satchel off her and had taken the 'rock' with her. It was not a rock, but a sigil to prove loyalty. Loyalty to the dusk lily -- to the Nightfallen. She ran her hands over the carving of the purple flower in both disbelief and relief.
She mouthed the words, "I knew it," even with disbelief in her system. Stray tears left her eyes, and she regulated her breathing to try and calm her panicking heart. She glanced back at Cathiir, he was still fast asleep, eyes shut tight.
She placed the sigil to the side and breathed out deeply. She then wiped her tears away. He did not betray -- he was fighting, just like she was. She then remembered there was papers inside of his satchel. This time, it was less a dire situation that motivated her to be nosy, but more so, well... just simple nosiness.
She suspected the papers would give insight into what he had to do for the rebellion. Lie to the Duskwatch, perhaps? She knew that Captain Nelaris was slain escorting Cathiir through the wilds, but she did not think it was Cathiir -- she believed entirely the story that was presented. Nelaris fell by Saber's hand. In knowing he had the sigil of the dusk lily, she now suspected, too, that Nelaris was actually killed by Cathiir. He was good at lying, she would give him that. Which means, of course, she would be sure to make it clear to him that he would not lie to her again.
She removed the gathered papers. Upon looking over them for a couple of minutes, she knew immediately they were orders detailing the aftermath of Captain Nelaris' demise, and information concerning the leak that exposed Lady Aslyssa. Elodine tensed up reading that -- Sildor was right.
Lord Manabloom. He who approached Elodine with such intent to comfort her in the hard times. He made Aslyssa think she had an ally, then exposed her to be thrown into the wilds, and suffer. If Aslyssa died, the demons were surely to blame, but also this scum. Elodine looked back at Cathiir again. That was why he was so tense, he likely vaguely threatened the Lord. Cathiir could never keep his words to himself.
She continued to look through the papers, not missing, but barely caring that she was at risk, too. She suspected it herself the moment she heard Manabloom was the cause -- he suspected the daughter of Aslyssa would undoubtedly defect, just like her.
His mission was to transport the Lord away with the help of disguised outlanders, so that he could exiled as Aslyssa had been. Though she glanced, again, at Cathiir -- she could not stop glancing at him. He was not going to do that.
Was it such a bad idea to do what she knew Cathiir would resolve to do? He exposed her mentor, her teacher, her mother. Cathiir loved Aslyssa just like her. Upon looking over the mask a second time, taking the time to soak in the details, she noted other aspects; there were purple flowers all along the edges of the mask. As well as an engraving on the inside.
I. L.
"Ilyris Luntheta," she mouthed. The late husband of Lady Aslyssa Luntheta.
She could not help but give a breathless laugh. He intended to assassinate a noble lord wearing the mask of the husband of the woman the man possibly doomed. Lord Luntheta was a master of illusionary magic, too. Lady Aslyssa had taught Elodine a couple of tricks that had taken her time to learn -- all tricks to enhance the impressive nature of her dancing ability. Cathiir had often helped Elodine refine the tricks -- illusionary magic was always an easy learn for Cathiir.
She found it ironic how similar they were. Aslyssa told stories of how headstrong Ilyris was, how dedicated he could truly be. Though also how easily he lost hope. Aslyssa said that, at some point, she blamed herself for her love being lost behind the barrier, all because she restored his faith, and that encouraged him to fight harder.
She dismissed it, though. For even though she missed him dearly, she had taken happiness in the fact she loved a man willing to give so much to protect the world, protect their people.
And now, thousands of years later, here they are. Elodine Luntheta, Cathiir Starsunder. At the first hours of the sun being up, she would carry arcwine long distances to safe points, rebels would gather the arcwine and distribute it to those who needed it most. Cathiir dealt with those who sold their souls to demons, and worked to make himself a message for those who lived in fear. They were not along, and Elodine and Cathiir would be sure of that. Though who would look out for them?
Elodine stood up, mask and dusk lily in her hand. She strutted her hips ever so slightly, all to climb onto the bed, and on top of Cathiir. She ensured to be under the covers, touching her skin with his. He stirred from his slumber, looking up at her with eyes appearing sleep.
The first thing he saw as he had awakened was Elodine, naked, holding his sigil of the dusk lily, and the mask of Ilyris. She grinned down at him.
At first, he was worried. But her expression showed she was not at all displeased or mad with him. Her eyes were lidded, and she straddled his hips.
"Today?" She asked with a heavy tone.
"Today," Cathiir replied.
"You'll be safe?"
"It'll be nothing," Cathiir ran his hands up her thighs, which caused her to shiver. She placed both the sigil and mask on a table at his bedside. She laughed, and repositioned her hips.
"Me, too, today. I'll be outside of the city." Elodine gasped quietly as Cathiir repositioned his own hips.
"You'll be safe," he asked, grunting quietly.
"Probably not," Elodine said, leaning over Cathiir. "But I'll run fast if I get into trouble."
Cathiir laughed quietly, sitting up to get closer to Elodine. His lips brushed over hers. "If that's the case, you'll be doing what you do best."
She laughed, but her laughing was interrupted by further repositioning. She swallowed hard, and pressed her lips against his.
They spent the rest of the night enjoying eachother's company, resting, and speaking.
All before they had awakened to the dreaded son that revealed itself, and ruined their fun. As it had the past recent weeks. The two lovers wondered if life was better with or without the barrier as they got dressed, and prepared themselves to fight their pieces in a war.
Cathiir did not often dress up. Though he did today. Even when he did dress up, it was often in garbs that were not often all that unique. The house he belonged to may have dictated he was able to have his own, distinguishable style, but his style was always to blend in. It was likely his poor childhood that influenced that.
He wore a purple vest over a white shirt. Below, simple blue pants, buckled with a grey belt. It barely mattered what he wore, though. An agent of the dusk lily came to ask what to look for, and he explained it clearly: look for a man with a mask on, wearing the aforementioned garb, on the way to the party. Travel with him, and look as though they have been traveling together the whole way there.
He did not know what to expect. There would be five of them, and the agent explained they would be adept in emulating shal'dorei manners, but they were not experts. Hearing that made Cathiir sigh. If they were exposed, it would be by their design. He knew this to be true.
Cathiir stepped down a pathway that was mostly clear. It was a scenic route to the party, near the canals. Lord Manabloom's house was often prized for being on the canals itself, anyways. Boat rides to the party, and trips around the city, representing the party, were popular. And, as it happens, in style for the past decade. They only became more popular now that one could sneak out into open waters. Though recently, it was forbidden; the Duskwatch closed off canals that left the city. Both to stop rebel activity, and to also discourage the common people seeing the Duskwatch's expanded operations across more of the city.
He continued walking until the expected happened all around him. One, then two, then three, four, and five individuals all around Cathiir, lining up behind him and followed.
Two looked stiff. One of them was looking around far too much, looking like a tourist. Another kept picking at their armor underneath the illusion, which caused the illusion itself to waver here and there. The last often walked too slowly and had to lightly jog to catch up.
Cathiir suddenly stopped, then spoke as a commander might to soldiers.
"This is who the Nightfallen send me?"
They were all silent, looking among one another. Cathiir tried not to be too expressive, for even with the mask, expressions could be read.
"Has a manasaber got your tongue, outlanders? Speak, explain why you all seem as though you're about to go to a party in disguise."
"Well," a man started, sounding as though his accent was not even concealed. It was thick, and came from his throat. "Lad, listen, we're in disguise, about to head to a fuckin' party."
"Is that an excuse that it worth taking in," Cathiir asked. He turned around to face his face allies. "You are in my city now, outlanders. You will act accordingly, and not draw any attention, or I will dismiss you here and now."
"That was not a part of the plan," said a woman this time, her voice less plagued by accents, though still seeming too... base. It was not at all near what Cathiir would have wanted.
"Plan?" Cathiir asked her. "The plan is that you assist me in dealing with someone who is getting saviors of the innocent in harm's way. Not that you walk around like you've got something in your rear, hm?"
The woman straightened up when she heard that, assuming a far more believable posture. Cathiir gestured to the woman who could not seem to keep up with the group.
"Get some pep in your step. You're going to a party, not a funeral. Shal'dorei love them."
The woman nodded, and her first attempt to speak was interrupted with a crack in her voice. When she finally did speak, she sounded almost childish. "How... are you an expert?"
"I would know," Cathiir said firmly. "I'm a damn shal'dorei."
All of their eyes widened in unison. They looked amongst one another again. Cathiir sighed again.
"You thought I was disguised like you?"
"We just thought," a different man, this one with a deep voice, dry and apathetic, "you were a damn good actor and got into the character."
"No," Cathiir replied. "I am-- well, my true name means little. You will know me as my fake name. Ilyris." He crossed his arms.
"We are performers, and will be doing a short routine to entertain guests. In the aftermath, we will be given the right to mingle and drink. You will not drink, you may mingle briefly, but after a short time, you will be on lookout as I slay Lord Manabloom. We will then leave the estate as if we are spent, and let the people figure out their esteemed host has died."
"Lord Manabloom will die?" Said the final outlander who had not yet spoken. He was the one who was picking at his armor, "We were told he was to be kidnapped. Death would be, somethin' like, 'extreme'?"
"Perhaps," Cathiir replied. "But Lord Manabloom intends to do something very personal to me, and if he even drips with what he plans, I could regret not handling him as effectively as this." He then narrowed his gaze.
"Enough questions," Cathiir said. "Names."
The first to speak, the man who walked stiffly with a thick accent had said, "My name's Hargoth." Cathiir nodded.
The next, the woman who walked stiffly, meekly said, "A-And I'm Fitsy."
The last woman spoke next, "Catherine."
The who had not spoken yet, a man with a respectful tone, and voice that seemed to originate from the chest -- whose tone alone could make him seem a shal'dorei -- said, "Wrathdor."
Finally, the man with a deep, dry voice, said his name to finish it all off. "Samuel."
Cathiir then recited, "H, F, C, W, and S. Only by initials, though you can call me by initial or by my full name. Your names will not do and we have no time to craft intricate identities."
Cathiir then looked up to the sky. The sun was starting to set. He grunted, and gestured. "Practice moving with grace, precision, and confidence. The more forced it seems, the better. Such is the way of the shal'dorei."
He then led his ragtag band to the party. All the while, the further they walked, the more convincing they seemed. Cathiir muttered a quiet prayer under his breath to any deity that may had been passing, attempting to get some sort of aid on his most risky endeavor.
Elodine peeked from behind a corner. She was not far from the city limits. Truth be told, this was the easy part. She ensured as she peeked, the satchel of ten total bottle of arcwine would not show. They were heavy, but she easily handled it. It was only made easier that the satchel was enchanted to make any contents within it lighter. The bottles were sturdy, and the satchel was padded to account for any rough-handling it would suffer, the bottles inside would not break or crack.
The hardest part was getting out of the city. Sneaking around people without giving away the fact she was carrying cargo that would get her in dire trouble was simple, but upon nearing the city limits, Duskwatch became more dense. Elodine came across a simple straight-shot to leave the city, only to find that dozens of guards gathered to stand watch -- after she observed them a couple of minutes, she found it was because the withered were swarming this border of the city.
Every other spot she thought of nearby had similar situations. One was covered due to a demonstration by the demons -- orders being handed out, training being done. Elodine witnessed some of the first among the Duskwatch who accepted the gift of the demons: fel magic.
They commanded small demons, and their skin glowed a sickly green color. They often showed off their powers to their fellow Duskwatch. Notably, they were quite rare. She had only seen two so far. Regardless, it made her sick to her stomach seeing such things.
She felt as though she would need to improvise with a risky alternative. Knowing Cathiir and his family had its benefits.
She knew of a tower that overlooked parts of the city. It was often used for one or two guards to keep watch over some noble estates, though with a refocused effort of the Duskwatch, the tower was often left derelict. Elodine started to work her way through the city. The path was clearer and clearer, people tried staying away from enclosed places and alleyways. As a result, Elodine had a safe pathing to get to her destination.
She weaved around, coming in contact with little others. At some point, some Duskwatch patrolling with demons went down the street nearby, barking harsh orders to passerbys. Elodine hugged a wall with her back, and waited for them to pass. When they did, she worked her way further.
She finally ended up making it to the tower, and no one was readily in sight. It was quiet, and to either side of her was simply a wall, and a back entrance to a store that was boarded up. In front of her was the tower itself, though no entrance to it. Instead, Elodine started to scale up the plain wall to her left, using the doorframe to inch herself up. From here, she stood on the edges, jumped, and caught a grip of the roof. She pulled herself up, then turned around to face the tower again.
She judged the distance from here to the tower -- she quickly concluded that a running jump would be plenty to reach the watching point of the tower. So she had taken a couple of steps back, ran, then leaped to catch the edge of the tower. She hung for no longer than a second before she pulled herself up, grunting from the strain of it all. She then knelt as she caught her breath.
"Elodine?" She locked up, and stopped her breathing. The voice was familiar but she could not precisely place it. It was a woman, and she sounded strong, commanding, and serious.
"That is you-- why are you here, Elodine?" The voice quieted. That was when Elodine finally replaced the voice, making it unneeded to turn around. It was Cathiir's sister, Milaes.
Elodine then heard the sound of a sword returning to its sheath. Then the sounds, happening lower, of swords leaving their sheathes. "Captain! What's happening up there? Do you need our help?"
Elodine turned around, her hand on her own sword. She looked nervously at Milaes.
Milaes had taken a moment to look Elodine over. She was dressed in a tunic with exposed sleeves, and shorts. She was dressed as if she was leaving the city and did not want to dirty her garbs. Furthermore, she had a satchel that was brimming with something at her side. Elodine tried to pull it back and behind her. Milaes saw enough from the distortion of the satchel -- it was bottles of something, likely arcwine.
Milaes had her hand on her own sword, but she slowly removed it, then shouted back down, "There's nothing up here, men. The withered're confined to the front parts of the city, it seems."
"That sound, though? Were you out of breath?"
Milaes looked over at Elodine with a piercing gaze, responding as she looked at her. "No, no, it was just a rat hopped up on mana. Big bastard, but he got away. I'll give a full bottle of arcwine to whoever finds it, though."
There were three men downstairs, and they all laughed. "We'll get right on it right after we report that, Captain. We'll meet at the barracks, then."
"Sounds good," Milaes responded. "You are dismissed."
The men all clattered out, and even when they were all gone, Milaes was quiet. She gestured a head at Elodine for her to leave, and Elodine did not need to be told a second time. She started to climb down the tower, the side that led to the outside world.
Milaes called out as she started to work down the stairs.
"For future reference, we barely patrol the vineyards, but that could change. Even if it becomes necessary, our eyes are usually forward, and not backwards. It's how Aslyssa met with people according to the report I keep forgetting to send." Her voice was smug, though well-intentioned.
"Keep Cathiir safe, will you? Our father's... getting more distressed. I fear what will come of that."
Elodine nodded in response, seeming still to recover from a bit of shock. Milaes turned, and worked her way down the stairs, the echo of her voice singing out, getting quieter and quieter as she went further.
"Elodine and Cathiir sitting in a tree... k-i-s-s-i-n-g." She repeated it twice before stopping altogether, ending up at the bottom of the tower.
Elodine could not help but laugh, which relaxed her just a bit. Just enough to work her way down, and off the tower. Her feet landed on dirt.
When she looked to the sky, the sun was just starting to set.
The sounds of marching and wind ran through Suramar. Both rather rare things before the barrier was down. The Duskwatch had little reason to ever march about the city and proclaim their dominance over the commoners. Cathiir heard it more clearly because they started to march towards the noble's districts now. Everyone was under scrutiny.
The nobles of Suramar varied in respect among the poorer, and the poorest. A good deal of nobles were respected, even willing to share their wealth and ensure the success of all of Suramar. Others were reclusive, which was not always exclusive with selfishness. Nowadays, the two sections of nobles were those who were devoted to their new masters, and those who would be exiled or executed. It was practically random which of the latter would occur.
Cathiir had a lot to think about under the bridge today, but the most important thing was what he would say to Elodine. In his pocket, he ran fingers over the carved insignia of the dusk lily. He wanted it to be his good luck charm in his future endeavors -- it felt almost ritualistic every time he had done this. In times of stressful thought, before sleep, after waking up, and he resolved he would do it before a mission as well. As if he was transferring all his senseless luck into it to cash out on it at a later time.
This counted as one of those times he found he would need it.
Elodine soon approached, her steps quiet, though the heavy air she brought caused Cathiir to look up as she rubbed her elbow and looked away from him. She did not want to speak first, though Cathiir did not know what to say. His words caught in his throat, and he damned the luck he transferred into the insignia.
"You say it first, dammit," she finally muttered, arms crossing in a rebellious fashion.
Cathiir shifted his feet and stood up, at first unable to look towards Elodine, but he soon surrendered his strength and looked at her face.
"I'm sorry," he said, now thinking maybe it just required a bit of patience to go through with the whole 'luck ritual.'
"For?" Elodine asked, glancing at his face, but still not meeting his gaze.
Cathiir repeated, with more sincerity than before, "I'm sorry," there was a pause before he swallowed, and continued, "for letting the dire situation get to me. I had no intent to offend you, Elo, you know that."
She finally met his gaze, and softened a bit. "I know, but it does not mean that your tone and intent match up, you know."
Cathiir nodded, mouth open. He would not argue that; she was more perceptive of that sort of thing on him. Others paid attention to his expression and the content of his words, not as much his tone. He wondered, cluelessly, for a moment, why something so simple from him affected Elodine so greatly.
His thoughts all culminated to a passionate blurting of his next words, "We will find her, Elodine. No harm will come to her."
His thoughts were snuffed out by the pressure of her arms wrapping around him, and a hug being secured.
"For a nobleman's son, you're quite ridiculous sometimes." She laughed breathlessly.
"Not by blood -- and even if it was by blood, wouldn't that be a good excuse?"
Elodine laughed again, and hugged him tighter. "Oh, shut it." The hug loosened as she started to say, "You're coming, right?"
Cathiir had actually forgotten what she was referencing, though he knew he should have remembered, that he was told at some point. "Uh... to?"
"The party, Cath! Your father brought it up, he said. It's a little gathering, some important people, one of the few I will not be performing at."
Cathiir smirked an invisible expression, saying, "A shame, it's always good to see you dance."
Elodine pulled away, then stared at Cathiir, looking for an answer, clearly. "So you'll come then, yes?"
Cathiir sighed, wishing in this moment he could start rubbing the insignia. He figured for now, he would manage if he just nodded his head, hid his reluctance, and speak sweetly.
"Of course, Elodine. If you're there, I was not going to plan on missing it at all."
Rarely did the Starsunder estate have a tense atmosphere. Though lately, that all changed with the introduction of new supervision. Everyone was on edge, and everything was in question, including some of the most trusted nobles.
The bane of comfort was known as Elyran. She was an arcanist, and as of recent, she ranked above even Lord Starsunder himself. For her title, and designated role, was a traitor-hunter. She tested for the signs of betrayal among the people of Suramar, especially those in leadership positions, and judged whether they were defecting, or if they were trusted allies.
She noted multiple times in this meeting with Cadsrai that she believed, without a doubt, he was clean of any doubt. Though she was not so certain of her son, Cathiir.
"There is no way, Arcanist. My son has not done one misdeed towards the Grand Magistrix, or the Duskwatch." Cadsrai sat in his study, a table between the pair, and in front of them was a fireplace, roaring with a fire conjured, and able to be maintained without attention.
"That you know," she corrected dryly. She was not affected by Lord Starsunder's emotions. He wanted to protect his son, and it was clear he would not believe he was capable of such actions. "The problem with taking in children from the streets is you never know their intentions until it is too late."
"I know Cathiir, I have had him five centuries, and there has been no sign of a rebellious streak." A lie for sure, but a well-told, and well-placed one.
That was, if Elyran had no idea who she was dealing with. "He seldom showed up to training, he preferred magic. His swordplay is passable, but far beyond what it could have been if he paid attention instead of improvising." He sipped from a cup of leypetal tea, then laid the cup down onto a plate.
"He grew into his role, and Saber could have slain Cathiir out in the wilds, too, but she could not manage to."
"I am no fool, Lord Starsunder," she said firmly, looking over Cadsrai with a harsh gaze. "Saber is no rabid animal, she is a rebel. She isn't blindly killing people. I find it more suspicious Cathiir not only got away, but got away without injury. Even you suffered an injury trying to subdue her, no?"
Lord Starsunder winced, remembering his singed flesh that covered the right half of his upper body. He remained quiet, not offering words to his superior here. He did not want to raise suspicion himself. It was hard for him to deny that it was all so suspicious, it was why he had hoped he could distract Cathiir long enough to solidify his safety. How he could ensure his safety was not entirely certain to him.
"He is under my watch, Lord Starsunder, there is nothing that can stop me there." Elyran continued to stare at Lord Starsunder, and when he met that gaze, he remembered it as the description given to him at accounts of assassinations. She was cruel and unforgiving, though she never worked with blind vendettas. She always had irrefutable proof.
It was why she came here. She could not prove it yet, or else she would be presenting his son's head here and now.
"Understood," Cadsrai said, his muscles all tensed up.
"Where would he be, now?" Elyran said, studying Cadsrai's reaction.
Lord Starsunder rotated his jaw, thinking. He remembered the gathering -- a simple arcwine tasting, a social gathering. "Tonight there'll be a party, I told Cathiir it would be a good idea to go, because Elodine will be there."
Elyran smiled, though somehow she made that seem horrible, too.
"His lover?"
Cadsrai nodded slowly. He wanted very much to try and deny everything, to protect his son.
Though he could not shake the thought that it was all true.
That his son was actually a traitor.
Cathiir wandered the streets for a while. He was told there was at least two more hours before it was considered, well, 'proper' to be at the party considering his standings among the nobles. It was all formality and tradition, something he saw no reason to break. He walked about, waving to numerous acquaintances. Some asked if he would make it to the gathering, he nodded and told them he would be there on time.
It was a pleasant surprise to most, and they all gave their usual pompous, exaggerated reactions. Gasping, fanning themselves, blinking at him as if he was a whole different person. They spread little rumors as he told them, and Cathiir waved a dismissive wave, chuckled, and moved on.
He wanted to do one thing before he actually made his way to the gathering. It was an odd thought that crossed his mind. Though he was in the business of engaging his curiosity all he could before he risk his life. Innumerable ideas crossed his mind, though this was the most readily available.
He made his way through the noble's section of the city, passing all the inhabitated houses, until he made it to a couple of houses that were empty. Many of the nobles simply up and moved from their houses considering the vacancy of their beloved neighbor, considering it a bad omen. Cathiir stood outside of Lady Aslyssa's estate.
It was not entirely uninhabitated, of course. Elodine often found other places to sleep, as far as Cathiir was told. She never felt the same being there without her mother in the estate. He suspected that it was because it would be the equivalent of her accepting that her mother was not coming back.
It raised suspicion, sure. Though even if Elodine fully devoted her might to the Legion, she would still worry for her rebellious mother. Cathiir, however, was here for a different reason. A most strange reason.
Lady Aslyssa was renowed for one main thing: dancing. She was renowed throughout all of Suramar for her abilities of movement, and entertainment through such gestures. She did so with grace, enthusiasm, beauty, and could convey emotions that words even had difficulty expressing. She mastered her artform, and when she found the love of her life, a Lord by the name of Ilyris, she settled and decided to share all she knew with her people.
Her dreams expanded beyond Suramar, and to all of Azeroth, her hopes were to unite the world through something so simple, yet so revealing. Though the barrier made her dreams shortened for two reasons: her husband ended up trapped, possibly slain by demons on the other side of the barrier, and she was left with a broken heart, broken dreams, and feeling hopeless.
The last remnant of her love was simply a mask he had left behind, and she kept it near and dear to her. She used to tell Cathiir a bit of his magic was left in it: illusionary, of course. For that, too, was his focus.
Aslyssa would often tell Cathiir stories of him. Tales of glory, how he fought valiantly to defend Kalimdor. How he had a personality that always made her wonder who was the actual entertainer in the relationship. Lord Ilyris could not dance, nor sing, nor was he the most handsome among the elves. Though he was so very kind, so very profound, and so confident in his purpose. When the demons invaded and began their conquest, he resolved removing them from destroying the world, he vowed his strength and more.
Lord Ilyris was the symbol of freedom that kept Aslyssa proud. She told Cathiir that he reminded her of her husband, and over time, he learned what that meant.
He started to walk silently into the estate, even uttering his spell to ensure his invisibility -- a seemingly unnecessary action since there was no one nearby, but he figured he could not be safer in these times. He walked through the estate, knowing it as well as the Starsunder's estate, perhaps even a bit better. He walked upstairs, and into Aslyssa's room. There was knocked over tables, broken vases, and the ripped canvas of elaborate pictures. The house was dead silent. When Cathiir stepped into Aslyssa's room, it was in a similar untidy state.
The sheets of Aslyssa's bed were across the floor, one of her bed posts was ripped off. Her vanity was battered, and the mirror in front of it was shattered to pieces, with just a fragment remaining. Cathiir stepped in front of the mirror, and uttered a dismissal to his spell. He saw his reflection, only slightly distorted.
His hands fiddled with the drawers to her vanity, opening up the top one. It would not budge, however. Cathiir spoke another spell, and sensed the source to this.
... well, there was no drawer there. When he uttered the spell, he noticed it. It was an illusion. From what he saw, there was thousands of drawers, all going downwards into an abyss that started right in front of his feet. He even believed he could see into the rooms below through this gateway.
Cathiir closed his eyes, had taken in a deep breath, then yelled out a spell. A gust of wind blasted all around him, and just like that, the abyss was gone.
All that remained was two drawers. Both large, one above the other. Cathiir kept his hand where he was tricked, and he was quite literally a whole four inches off the actual handle. A clever trick. So clever that he was still not even sure he was outsmarting it.
He reached for the handle again, the top drawer, and this time, it opened. Within, it laid. A single mask, one that could cover the top part of one's face. Cathiir reached for it, but hesitated.
Had he any right to do this? He had to truly think. It was not his belonging, but... it would serve a valuable purpose. He knew it would, and he knew Aslyssa would see it, too.
He exhaled loudly, then looked towards Aslyssa's doorway. All was clear, no one was nearby. So he inhaled again, as if trying to bypass some trap that sensed life, and gently grabbed the mask.
Nothing happened, so he felt more confident. He removed the mask, then sat down in front of the chair. He looked over the mask, taking in the features once again.
It was a simple mask, made for parties, of course. It was light, though make of metal to make it durable. Expertly crafted for both purposes, it was made of leystone. So it glowed a faint glow, both of the metal it was made of, and the magic it was imbued with. It was more than just a mask; it was a mask to conceal identity. Anonimity at parties was a big deal at some parties among the shal'dorei. It encouraged that feeling of meeting someone new, even if you've known someone for thousands of years... perhaps it was a good reason many of the nobles were not going insane under the barrier for so many years.
When Aslyssa met Ilyris, he was wearing this mask. His face was covered up by that of a simple mana saber. Though for a trick, he showed how easily he could use the mask. He spoke a spell that made him look as though he was adorned in decorative armor, helmet and all, still completely concealed.
Cathiir closed his eyes. He felt over the front of the mask. He felt the decorative engravings. There was flowers along it, as well as engravings of the sun and moons of the sky. Something that became simply a myth after the barrier was raised. This mask was a piece of history as much as a memento.
And now, it would be a tool for liberation.
Cathiir raised the mask upwards, and placed it on his head. His eyes were still closed as he focused on the magic within the mask. A quiet roaring came from the mask, and he sensed the magic he had awakened: a mana saber was roaming above his head, clearly.
That was not good enough.
He continued to focus on the mask, and something even more surprising started to happen. He found it harder to focus on the magic itself, and instead, thoughts that were not his own started to drown out every thought in his head. He was forced into a trance. Memories channeled into him.
He saw that first meeting. Quite literally, saw it. It played itself in his head as memories often do. In fragments, though the precision of magic made it ever so slightly clearer.
It was Ilyris who approached Aslyssa. He bowed low, and offered her to dance, and Aslyssa was surprised. The thing about the masks was, well, even though it concealed identity, nobles often gave it away, or could take a guess who was under it.
Ilyris approaching her was strange for her, it caught her off-guard. He knew that, so he said, "Listen, I know I won't compare, but if you humor me, I'll let you make one joke about it later."
Aslyssa could not deny him, then.
From there, the memories continued. He knew Ilyris better than even stories could convey. He felt his feelings. The last party he attended with this mask was a day after the Well of Eternity was in complete anarchy. He stepped outside and looked to the sky, seeing the tainted look it gave off.
He was scared. Though still he clutched Aslyssa's hand and looked to her. Aslyssa looked back, a tear down her eye. She knew what it would lead to. In a way, she knew what could happen, what would happen. And it did.
It ended there. And so, Cathiir opened his eyes.
Encased around his form, was what seemed to be ghostly armor. If it was real, it would be more decorative, and not for use in taking hits. It looked to be form-fitting, for use with the purpose of agility over complete, hindering protection. The shoulders were that of beaked creature, almost as if it was on fire. Around his waist, feathers and straps hung downwards to bladed ends. His knuckles were protected with smooth plates that were pointed in two spots on the ends. Cathiir recognized them as both improvised weapons, and as a source for magic; there were symbols all about each part of the plate on his knuckles, all for illusionary magic.
His face was covered entirely. Even his eyes were not his own. They glowed a white color, and what parts of his lower face that were exposed not of his, but Lord Ilyris'.
Cathiir stood up. He observed this up and down once. Then twice. Then a third time. He could barely believe what he was seeing. The man himself. It was like he glanced into history and tapped into the visage of a man that was long dead. It was like all that luck he saved up culminated to this moment.
Into the perfect message to send to Suramar. That even lost heroes would raise up and fight the injustice. Into the perfect disguise. Many knew Aslyssa, and her husband. Everyone knew of her mask, and Cathiir was not exclusive in that, nor in the magic within it being tapped into, so he thought, at least.
Cathiir removed the mask and placed it in a pouch at his side. He recounted the thoughts he came across and found himself focusing on something strange. He just dived into something that happened so long ago.
He saw Aslyssa thousands of years in the past and saw her as she was falling in love. He saw himself posing as a Lord that perished. But he felt thinking and thinking...
He thought how he could apply what he came across to Elodine.
Cathiir was practically speed-walking his way to the party. He was later than expected, and once he arrived, everyone was even more surprised. They were expecting him to not show up, as per usual.
Though when he entered the main area where others gathered around tables, getting their glasses and finding circles to mingle within, Elodine eyed the entrance and saw Cathiir. He smiled and raised a glass.
Elodine was dressed in a beautiful dress. For certain, Cathiir assumed she had danced in it a few times. Though this dress worked just as well in this casual setting. He saw her curves, and there was skin shown around her abdomen, waist, and shoulders. It was a purple color, and it was all she wore -- no jewelry to match it, and light footwear. He knew even with a fancy dress on she could still climb a fence on a moments notice.
Beside her, speaking to her, was none other than Lord Manabloom, who too saw Cathiir. He raised his glass and opened his mouth to call out. Cathiir could barely hear him, nor did he bother to listen for him.
After all, it would not be long before the man would be spent by his hand.
Cathiir found a glass on a nearby table, it was full of a lavendar liquid that bubbled. It was both of alcohol, and of magic, so the bubbling could have been from either or. He walked to where Lord Manabloom and Elodine were, and once he was near them, they greeted him.
"Lord Starsunder! My, what a pleasure!" Lord Manabloom patted Cathiir's back, and he restrained complete disgust. Elodine sensed his restraint and looked away in a sensing of the awkward tension.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Manabloom," Cathiir said, nodding his head at the loud lord.
Lord Manabloom was just a bit shorter than the average shal'dorei man. He was bald, entirely, though glowing tattoos adorned where he was bald and went down his head, and around his spine downwards -- not that one could see, but they could easily guess. He was often dressed in the finest clothes, drinking the best wine, and seeking the youngest, and most beautiful women. He was among the nobles that could care less about the state of the poor, for frankly, he was having too much damned fun.
His bloodshot eyes gave that away. A lack of sleep? Intoxicated on more than just arcwine? Cathiir noticed his words were slightly slurred.
"Lady Elodine here was worried you would not make it, aha! I told her she had nothin' to worry about, right-right?"
Elodine nodded, sipping from her glass. She was staring at Cathiir, wondering what was up with him. While, ironically, Cathiir was staring at Lord Manabloom, trying to figure his deal.
Cathiir was strung out on anything, but he was sweating a bit, as if he had been exerting himself. Elodine also noticed a hand near his pouch, almost protectively, but a subtle gesture. She could also see his jaw locking here and there, which she knew well enough to be a passive aggressive gesture on his behalf.
Cathiir often started fights that began with his jaw looking locked, and tense.
Elodine instinctively reached out and placed a hand on Cathiir's shoulder, and gently ran it down his arm. She saw him loosen up enough to say, "Of course, Lord Manabloom. I wouldn't miss this for the world. You are having fun?"
"Fun?" Manabloom snorted grossly. "This place is nice, but nothin' compared to what I could do -- phew. Sta-Starsunder, you oughta' come to my place, eh? It's in, uhh... in uhhh... couple days? Ah screw it! Just listen for the fireworks, shouting, and ladies moanin', you'll know where to go and when."
Cathiir nodded his head, but sighed heavily. "I could try, Lord Manabloom, but the rebels have made it quite hard for a man such as myself to enjoy life."
Manabloom straighted up a bit, even seeming to sober. "Yes they have, yes they have! Ahhhh -- damn bastards're gonna ruin it all, aren't they?" Manabloom started to suddenly wrap an arm around Elodine, of which, she clearly was not agreeing to. But what would she do?
"You'll protect us, won't you, Cathiir?"
Cathiir considered simply killing him right here. He was intoxicated and acting like a bastard, who would blame him? Well, the answer was, everyone would blame him. It may have been common knowledge now that Manabloom was seeking information on potential traitors, and so to mistreat him was to oust yourself as a traitor.
Instead, Cathiir down the remainder of his drink and reached for Elodine's wrist. Something came over Cathiir suddenly.
"Lord Manabloom, pardon me, I have to go. It's been nice, but..." He managed to free Elodine, to which she moved to Cathiir's side.
Cathiir closed in on Manabloom's face. He reeked of the fruity smell of alcoholic beverages, and a hint of ash from something burned and likely inhaled. His voice quieted to a dead whisper, and it sounded dire, and serious.
"She is mine. And you would do well to recognize that, my Lord."
Manabloom straightened up again, then shivered. He could offer no words.
Though Cathiir did not wait for any words.
He practically ran out of the party's area with Elodine in tow. She struggled to keep up while downing her drink and laying her glass on the table. She started to laugh quietly, and as they were away from the bustle (and occasional whisper of where Cathiir was exactly taking her), she called out playfully to him.
"Where are you taking me, Cath? What did you say to Lord Manabloom?"
Cathiir did not respond. Instead, he had taken her in an urgent hurry. It had taken ten total minutes for him to move with her in tow from the party, all the way to Starsunder estate.
Then, into his room.
Elodine's heart beat faster the moment she realized where he intended to take her. She was worried all night, and from what bits she heard between Manabloom and Cathiir, she grew more concerned her friend and-- was he a friend? Or were they more? Regardless, she feared where he stood in this conflict.
Though in this moment, her fear started to dissipate and turned into excitement. It was the same for Cathiir, even if at first it was panic to get her away from the man who sought to be the cause of her demise.
They had kissed plenty of times before, even for long periods. Though for hundreds of years... there was nothing offical between them.
Starsunder estate was empty. Cathiir brought Elodine to his room, and immediately once they were here, his lips were on hers. He tasted what little arcwine she actually consumed. The heat he felt was partially from what little he consumed, and the tension that he intended to break between him and her that had built up for so long.
Elodine kissed back, trying to weave past the confusion of this all. Inevitably, she closed her eyes and let it all happen. She only peeked once to look down and glance at Cathiir's pouch that he so protectively wandered to.
Her mind started to get hazier. Though Cathiir had taken the lead.
His tunic came off, and soon his bare chest was on display.
Before Elodine was lost in everything, she made a note within her head and committed it to memory. Cathiir had taken his pouch off and placed it on his desk.
After she thought that through, she began unbuttoning her dress, pursing her lips. She stared at Cathiir as she refocused her attention. Cathiir was none the wiser to her plans.
"I am an adult, I have no need to follow that. You are defected from the Duskwatch, so you are not my superior, either."
Saber swallowed hard. "You knew I would request this of you, so why did you come, Cathiir?"
Cathiir considered a moment, then looked over to Saber. "I want a sigil and an assignment, I want to help the rebellion. Consider it all I owe you repaid in full."
Saber closed her eyes, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Risking your life is far beyond payment for a couple of missed lessons, Cathiir."
"Asking me to leave Elodine to suffer is far beyond a couple of missed lessons. Fine, if it's too much, you can do something for me: find Lady Aslyssa and shelter her."
Saber widened her eyes. "They exiled Lady Aslyssa? No, no that can't be right."
"I saw it with my own eyes, Captain," Cathiir said, not bothering to correct himself. In a situation like this, his instinct was to refer to her title as he knew it. It did not faze her all that much, either.
Saber looked quite disturbed, though she stood unwavering. He saw the look before; it meant something went wrong when it was supposed to be right. "It can't be..."
"A giant demon, armored and with a mace covered in bones organized it himself. He threatened all around us, saying that the same fate -- or worse -- could happen if we choose the same path as her. What do you know, Saber?"
She hesitated, sitting quietly for minutes, even. She sat on a rock near to the pillar, and had looked over its design. Cathiir knew well enough to not rush her. Saber was considering whether or not to speak more. If she did, she would involve him in what she originally intended to keep him from.
She turned her head to look to his face. He ended up standing beside her, looking over the pillar himself. He was pretending to be patient; she knew it was one of his illusions, though. Patience was never the virtue he embodied, it was always cunning. She wondered if it was futile to try to keep him from all the fighting. If instead, it was wise to set him up for success.
"We have a leak," she said, finally. "Aslyssa was quite active among the festivities after the demons had taken control, for all the celebration was ran by some of the fiercest supporters of the invaders."
"Had it not been for her help," Saber continued as she rubbed her hands nervously, "for sure, those men may have had the proper voice to make the demons appear as saviors rather than murdering conquerors. There was only one within that was aware of her purpose: to expose them, and through conspiracy, ensure their exile."
"And that person is responsible for Aslyssa's exile?"
"Correct," Saber replied, she then looked down. "Aslyssa knew the risks, though."
"So what are we to do?" Cathiir turned towards Saber, as if he was to receive orders.
Saber wanted at first correct him, that 'they' would do nothing, but she would. Though she locked in her choice the moment she revealed such affairs to Cathiir. In times like this, one was either friend or foe. She hoped, and expected the former out of him.
"We handle the leak," she said. "He walks around with a dusk lily as a farce. He can use it to expose more of those who resist."
"And where do I tie into all of this?"
Saber paused for a far shorter time. She was firm in her tone as she said, "For now, nothing. Soon I will have something for you, though." The firmness to her tone suggested there was no attempt to keep him from it all. Cathiir had not read that entirely at first, his arms crossing in doubt.
"Saber..."
"Cathiir, I will hear no more of this. You know too much already. If I had wanted to keep you from it all, then the only thing I'd have to do is withhold all I've just said. Had it not been for you I may have not heard about the leak until weeks, maybe even months later."
"Aslyssa was always one to keep a secret."
"It was both the best and worst advantage."
"Why did this one know, and only him?"
Saber hesitated again, mainly because she thought in hindsight. "Because he seemed trustworthy, and Aslyssa felt wrong being the judge alone on who deserved their fate."
"Then he will be removed from hindering the rebellion."
Saber grabbed his arm and held him there. "You will wait for my word. I may have a better plan than you going crazy over it all. Meet me here in two days, and I will tell you your part."
Cathiir had shaken her grip from him. With a hint of defiance to his tone he said, "Fine, but please Saber, don't keep me from this. I'm not going to hide in a fight that determines whether or not Suramar has a future."
He left her there with those thoughts. All the while, intending to craft his excuse for stepping out of the city's bounds. And imaging ways he would help the growing rebellion.
Sildor leaned onto his staff, doing as he usually had at this point in the day: supervise the transport of goods through the canal. Of course, morally ambiguous work as far as the Duskwatch was concerned. After all, they were transporting arcwine to a safe stashing point. All to transport it to those who needed it, naturally.
Though today was far different. A child once under his protection had come to visit him, and for what purpose, he could not pinpoint. She had approached and stood beside him, watching the activities that, if she were anyone else, Sildor would have had to engage in diversion or charismatic measures to get her away. Though he did not have to worry, so he instead continued to look over the three young shal'dorei as they loaded a gondola with crates of arcwine.
"Elodine," was all he said.
"Sildor, it is good to see you're still doing... this." Elodine had a hood on, though there was little effort to keep the baggy cloth over her head. She pulled it down, and looked over the three individuals loading up the gondola. She knew each of them. Melris, Kearia, and Cynyssea, all were once children Sildor had sheltered, they were among Cathiir and Elodine.
They often worked in a trio in numerous petty crimes. Often it was pickpocketing and spying, though as they came of age, Sildor put an emphasis on teaching them how to fight. Before all of that, only Kearia knew how to fight; she was considered the defender of the trio. Melris plotted, and Cynyssea often executed the plans. With the newly arrived demons, though, they applied what they learned to something different, and gained a bit of a reputation.
Elodine had even heard it. Three masked figures were spotted in many different locations: the vineyard, various parties and noble manors, and even at stands. If they were spotted, it was certain that arcwine went missing, and those who were withering on the streets would have a way to sate their hunger, even if for a short time.
At first, their work satisfied all those who needed it. Though recently they have had to work full time to even possibly satiate half of those who were in need. Both because of how difficult it was becoming to gathering the arcwine needed, and also because of the rising population of those at risk of being exiled simply for being near insane from withering. Their operations even were rumored to extend beyond the city itself.
Rumors of arcwine cargo being seized off runners who transported it from the city to hideouts for the rebellion were strong. Those who knew Sildor had suspected him, but the past couple of years, all that could be truly proven was that Sildor was a man who cared about the future of Suramar: its youth, and imparting valuable skills to them.
A lie, for sure, though not entirely. He was not exactly teaching them a trade skill, but how to be defiant.
It was why Elodine was here. She wanted to confirm his connections and offer her aid. And hopefully hear word on further help with Aslyssa's exile.
"I am simply having my workers move some... hm, water to those who have not had the chance to gather it themselves."
"Water, huh?" Elodine said teasingly. "Noble work, the moving of water."
Sildor scoffed. "Ever try to catch water with just your hands? So much slips through your fingers. This is anything but noble." He finally looked firmly at Elodine. "You do not come to me for idle chat, ever, child. And so I ask finally: why have to come to me in the middle of delicate business, and further, how have you found me?"
"You always had a bad habit of not switching up your places of business." She started, looking around.
This part of the canal was rather advantageous, on either side, there was no vantage for spying. Likewise, the actual dock was severely underused. It offered the least aesthetic of arguably any portion of the canal on this side of the city. It was quite close to the vineyard, too, needing only a walk of no longer than twenty minutes to reach. The vineyard, however, was not their main target. It was often houses near the vineyard. They were the ones who would partake the most.
Elodine stared at them loading up crates and counted each one as it was hidden. She counted only a dozen and a half. She was not certain of how far it would go, but judging by how the trio handled some of the crates, everything was not even filled up entirely. The gondola still had plenty of room for another two dozen or so crates to be hidden.
They had a bad catch, she concluded.
"And so you're here to criticize?"
"I'm here to offer help."
"We aren't looking for dancers." Sildor shifted holding steady with both his hands on his cane. He seemed a bit pained, his right leg seeming to lose strength by the second. It made him sound more agitated, and far less patient.
Elodine tried to understand as he inhaled sharply. "I can do more than dance, Sildor, you know that."
"Aslyssa might have something for you to do, have you tried asking her?"
Elodine swallowed and hesitated. Though she inevitably said, weakly, "Aslyssa was exiled."
Sildor tried, then, to conceal his shock. His eyes widened, then returned to a neutral form. He though quickly, then barked out, "Alright, alright, get the hell out of here and move the goods! I want you back here within an hour, no longer."
The trio nodded their understanding, Cynyssea waved at Elodine and pipped up with, "Tell Cathiir I said hi, oh, and Melris would say it to you but he's too busy-- hey!" Melris had yanked her off the dock and onto the gondola, then started bicker. He kept it short, and glanced back Elodine, shrugging nervously. Kearia, the better of the three, simply untied the gondola and worked on getting it moving.
"We will be back in fourty minutes tops, boss." She bowed in respect at Sildor, and nodded a farewell to Elodine.
Sildor was emotionless as he watched them float along the canal, trying their damnedest not to draw attention to themselves. Sildor was not worried. Stealing arcwine was the hard part. Transporting it was the easy part, not many among the Duskwatch had thought to check the gondola's, expecting a far more intricate part with a rebellion led by the First Arcanist. Those who caught on turned a blind eye.
"I was not aware."
"Why?" Elodine asked.
Sildor turned and started to step away from the dock, taking little time to consider his words. "She was deeply involved in a conspiracy, I suspect."
"To?" Elodine was getting rather impatient by her tone, wanting Sildor to come out with it all at once.
Sildor kept his patience intact, though. He figured she deserved answers. Aslyssa was a mother to her, after all. "Some of the richest of Suramar support the rebellion. Though most, they support the Legion. Not all are clear on which is which. Thing is, inevitably, the Legion-supporting ones, they celebrate their new leadership quite..."
Sildor cleared his throat. "Open. Parties dedicated to the future of Suramar. Showing off what the Legion is capable of, often in disturbing ways. Some petty independent rebels are captured and slain by the likes of demons at these parties. Though sometimes they just come out with political support and the donating of bodies to the Legion's cause."
"Skilled mercenaries, experts in magic... we don't know what the demons intend to do with them, but in essence, they are traded off in return for favor from the Legion." Sildor stopped, then sighed. "Aslyssa worked to become well-respected in those communities, even hiring herself out to dance for them-- you know she had not been a actual performer in years. All to confirm what was suspected, and expose them to the rebels. Who then organized their assassination, or conspired to have them exiled."
"How do you know this? And how did she get exiled?"
"I don't know it, it's a theory if anything." Sildor nodded his head. "Though it makes sense. I had managed to hear some bearing loyalty to the dusk lily talking of a Lady supporting them. Who, though, I could not be sure. Until I heard what she was doing."
Sildor moved a hand to rub the shadow of hair that grew on his face. He looked a mess, as if he had not slept in days. After hearing all this, he suspected he would get no more. He looked as shaken as he could be, which seemed to be very little. Everything Sildor truly expressed was lackluster at best, it made him hard to read.
"If I had to guess," Sildor said, "she was betrayed." He had shaken his head shamefully. "Hell if I know, Elodine. Any bastard over there is perfectly capable of selling out their own people and working with the Legion. Even Cathiir."
Elodine lowered her head and rubbed her forehead with both hands. She was feeling a rather sharp pain. Both at what she was believing to be a futility in aiding Aslyssa, and at Sildor's comment concerning Cathiir. He had to be wrong. All she could say was, "I want in."
"To find Aslyssa?"
"Yes," Elodine replied, looking to Sildor, now. "And also to avenge what they've put her through."
Sildor considered a moment. What could she do, he wondered? Thieving was certainly helpful, but it became work that Sildor only entrusted to those who have been doing it since the beginning of his plot. However, something more ideal dawned on him.
He met Elodine's gaze and asked, "How fast can you run?"
Cathiir had waited and waited. Time could not pass fast enough. He sat idle in his room, writing up agendas for him to engage in. Often reminders of doing his various responsibilities; even with invaders in the city, he still had work to do. It was all, now, an act to assure that he was undoubtedly not involved in activity concerning the rebels, however.
He sat, writing reports on paper, all concerning the situation with Nelaris. It had been near two weeks since then, but some among the Duskwatch were hoping to find a lead on Saber. As if on cue, a presence entered the doorway of Cathiir's room, calling to him with a firm, somber voice.
"Son."
Cathiir shook in a bout of surprise, getting too engulfed in writing. Perhaps rather the crafting of lies. His father stood at the door, posture only slightly wilted from an injury sustained from the aforementioned; an attack from Saber as she left the city. It still had not fully healed, and every time Cathiir was reminded of that injury, it left him wondering what precisely had happened. Saber seemed unwilling to talk about it, and his father even less.
"Father, I am working on the report that was requested of me, to find Saber."
"You may as well throw it out, son. I've made it easier altogether, a representative from the Duskwatch who is now newly dedicated to tracking Saber will hear your report in person."
It should have fazed Cathiir, but it did not. "And then?"
His father laughed quietly. "Then you enjoy yourself, be at ease. You seem like you need it, son."
"What happened was quite... well, surprising, I suppose it has not fully left my mind." Cathiir lied, but only in a half lie. He was not talking about Nelaris' death, but rather what came after. He wondered what purpose he would serve in Suramar's salvation.
"Which is why I expect you to find a way to distract yourself. You can't be expected to get anything done if only work is on your mind."
"Could say the same for you, father." Cathiir smirked while standing from his seat.
Lord Starsunder crossed his arms, and inhaled heavily. "You could, but then I would retort with that fact that I'm at the point of my life where there's little time for rest." He then exhaled a wary sigh. "So to you, I say enjoy it all while you can. Consider it an order."
Cathiir gave a salute, and while it was for a not-so-serious situation, it seemed genuine enough. "Of course, sir. I'll get on it."
He started to walk away, calling out as he left.
"I heard Lady Elodine is going to a gathering tonight. Not sure of the reason, but... I'm sure you can make an excuse."
Cathiir heard that, and absorbed it. He sat at his desk again, and thought on his father's suggestion.
A party did not sound so bad.
It always surprised Cathiir to see how deeply rooted the demons were in the city. Their numbers seemed endless, and their forces were far more powerful than the average shal'dorei, even some of the most proficient in combat would find themselves in a tricky situation with even one demon. They were capable of rooting out treason with ease.
What surprised him even more was how rooted the rebellion itself was. They managed to slip past the most expert hunters of the weak-willed. So it came as a surprise when Cathiir met in private with a Captain Earion, in a building at the front of Suramar, and the man presented himself so bluntly.
Cathiir offered his hand, and it was shaken. Earion looked at Cathiir up and down, then sighed. "By the Goddess, Saber is trying to get you killed, isn't she?"
"P-Pardon?" Cathiir swallowed.
"Listen, you don't have to pretend in here. You think I would give a shit whether you wrote a report or came straight to me? No, I merely had something to deliver to you." Earion sat at a desk littered with numerous papers. There was a ashtray with a lit smoke; wrapped tightly, and it looked hastily made. It smelled sweet, rather pleasant, though.
Cathiir reluctantly sat down. He was unsure of what to say, and his first instinct made him think that Captain Earion was trying to root out his treason, as the demons might. He was tense. Earion, however, was shuffling through his disorganized bunch of papers. He grabbed his smoke and had taken a drag, then decided to simply hold it between his lips.
"You are quiet as could be, that's good," Earion said, now gathering a batch of papers.
"Sir, I would never do any--"
"Oh shit," He looked up at Cathiir. "Oh you think... you think I'm messing with you, don't you?"
Cathiir was silent, he did not offer an answer.
"No, look kid," He put out his smoke, and gestured his open hands as he spoke. "You met with Saber a day ago, discussed some stuff, blah blah, I know all about that, you see me pulling out arcane chains and such? No, no, I'm a friend."
"You..." Cathiir was in utter disbelief. "And you're... you're dedicated to hunting down Saber?"
"You think I'm making good on promises? If not for Nelaris' death I would be out wrangling beasts for the wrong side. Then they come to me saying they've got a better idea." He tapped his head, and leaned back in his chair. "See, I'm of the right mind to agree with them. It's a good deal for the rebellion and all."
"You're so... nonchalant about all of this." Cathiir swallowed hard again.
"Huh. Oh, I am?" He shrugged, then gestured around. "They gave me a goddamn office, no prying eyes or suspicious ears, said my mission's of the 'utmost importance,' no one else can be involved."
"Does my father--"
"Let me stop you there -- no, he doesn't know. And you're to not say a word to him about it." Earion's gaze express a cold seriousness.
"My mission is of the utmost importance, but not for the reasons they mentioned. Actually, it's because with me running this, those who go in and out of the city are far more safe. Call me the blind man, because I am not seeing a thing, and I'll be playing fake swordplay with Saber for the next couple of months."
"Furthermore," Earion continued, laying papers out before Cathiir, "I'm to deliver this to you. Details some locations and such on what you're to be doing, and uhhh..."
He dug around the pile of papers, then snapped his fingers. "Right, I've got it right here." He reached into a pouch at his side, then as Cathiir was reading over the documents presented to him, he was interrupted by Earion throwing a sigil onto the paper.
A dusk lily. Cathiir leaned back, and a bout of paranoia struck him as he looked back to see if anyone had seen this. No one was there, and the door was shut. It was dead silent, just these two.
Earion leaned over glancing at the papers, refreshing his own memory on the contents, as well as ensuring he had the right one. "Some outlanders will be your aid. Figure a way to use them properly. Discretion is necessary. His name's Lord Manabloom -- pompous twat, it sounds like."
Cathiir looked over the papers himself, skimming, only stopping here and there to take in some things to his memory. Earion worked at a pace where he suspected Cathiir to glance over what he was talking about.
"Two days is his next party. He intends on exposing more people, and this time, the demons seem hellbent on killing over exiling. As far as we know, the next people his grubby little fingers have been investigating are not even actively rebelling."
Cathiir held a hand out to stop Earion, his eyes closing.
"Elodine is listed here."
"Saber said that'd interest you. Lord Manabloom suspects the daughter's like her mother. Thinks she's a loose end. Hasn't expressed it yet, but if given a week to ruminate, he most certainly will put her on the chopping block."
Cathiir rotated his jaw, then folded up the papers, four in all, and placed it into a pouch at his side. The sigil went in the same pouch, hidden between the folded papers, as if under a tent.
"Woah, woah -- aren't you going to read the last page? It's all strategy, what you're supposed to be doing."
"I already know what I'm doing, Captain."
Earion stared at him expectantly, and Cathiir met his gaze. They were silent, until finally Earion, with as much poise as he had shown the entire time spouted, "Well, spit it out?"
"Just tell Saber it'll be done."
Cathiir left, and the moment he had, he breathed out. He gripped the hilt of his blade, and made his way out. He knew what had to be done.
And simply exiling the man was not enough. He had to die.
It all went by in such a blur. He had crafted his story as they had asked it. One lie after the other, stacked upon one another. He approached the guards at the edge of city with calmness, all the calm of a hunter that lost one of his partners, and his prey eluded him.
Lies, all simple lies. He was surprised to find that he was quite good at this.
At first, they asked him where Nelaris was. He responded, all after spitting to the ground to display disrespect for the culprit. "Saber stabbed him in the back, the withered came so I had to evade them. The traitor escaped."
It hurt him to call Saber a traitor, but he masked that pain, too. The guards looked amongst one another, talking, though the main emotion they conveyed in response was utter shock. Disbelief -- they believed Cathiir, how could they not? He was the son of Lord Starsunder, bravery was expected of him. His blade held dried blood, too, which he said was a strike that wounded Saber greatly.
Truth be told, they were impressed Cathiir was the one to wound to her. They all expected Nelaris to be a match for her, a withering foe. How she overcame him was a product of some suspicion. Though then they recounted the body count from other powerful arcanists to be exiled. Sure, the hunters tasked with their demise were favored in fighting them, but with the roaming shal'dorei withered out of their mind, the occasional outlanders, and even the growing organized rebellion, they started to become unfavored outside of the city.
Another captain barked some orders that Cathiir barely heard, his mind was elsewhere. He saluted Cathiir, and went about his business keeping his part of the border of the city secure.
Cathiir saluted back, and stepped away, taking no time to feel proud of his deception. It made him all but proud. As horrible as it all was, he felt sick to his stomach. He had to resist retching, and the arcwine he consumed before making it back to the city only made him feel more nauseous. It did little to calm his nerves as he had hoped it would.
He needed rest, but when he made it to his home -- which was empty, his father and sister likely busy tending to the defense of the city considering rebellion growing more and more -- he could not sleep. He tossed and turned and kept wondering if Saber was alright out there. If what he left her would keep her stable.
He worried the fate that befell her would happen to Elodine, or even his father and sister. He could not even be certain if the his family was rebelling or loyal to Elisande. It scared him to not know.
He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, trying to make himself dream of a time when such questions did not need to be asked. Where his only worries were not missing training, making time for Elodine, and adapting to life among the most noble of Suramar.
It was all not in his favor.
Cathiir could barely remember waking up, getting dressed, noting his empty manor, or even leaving. All he could remember was the sound of stomping feet, demons marching. There was a small gathering of armored demons with massive weapons, two with green axes glowing with demonic magic, and one with a black mace adorned with the bones of indecipherable origin. Likely bones from conquered races, felled by the servant to the Legion.
He stood at the door to his manor and stared, his mind not registering right away precisely why there were here. Until finally, it hit him. The surrounding area was dead silent, and the moment many other nobles -- some wandering, some living nearby -- had seen the demons intended to do something in this area, they scattered. The two axe-wielding demons stood beside the entrance to another manor, looking as centurions, and the mace-wielder bellowed out orders.
"Get the damn elf and get it done. She can't hide from us."
It finally registered, it was Lady Aslyssa's home. His stomach sank -- his first thought went to Elodine, but an equal shock knotted his gut when he saw two shal'dorei, tainted by fel, pulling Lady Aslyssa herself out of her manor. She was limp with defeat, and bruised.
"Aslyssa, I would kill you here," the demon said, "but you'll make a better example if your people find your shriveled corpse, robbed of mana, outside of the city." He slammed the pommel of his mace on the ground, cracking the intricate, decorative stone.
"Get her out of here, feed the withered!"
Cathiir had a sudden urge to retrieve his weapon, instinctively stepping forward, and intending to draw his blade. Though perhaps fate corrected his fatal mistake for him: he had forgotten his weapon. He reached and reached and ended up standing in the open, right in the path of the corrupted shal'dorei and demons. They pushed him to the side, knocking him to his rear, and moved along , as if he had never existed.
The air was knocked from his lungs. He sat up and stared, helpless, as he saw the unresponsive Aslyssa carried, hanging by her arms, by two of their once-people. Once they left the few manors in the area, the bone-adorned demon turned and faced where some of the panicked shal'dorei had been, and Cathiir.
"If you defy the Legion, we will not hesitate to exile you! If you continue to resist, we will kill you instead, and take your soul. Know your place, elves, this pitiful world will fall! Decide whether you want Suramar to fall with it!"
He then had taken his leave, mace hefted over his shoulder, ground shivering with his every heavy step -- he must have been at least fifteen feet tall. Though that massive marvel did not keep Cathiir's gaze at all. Instead, it was the busted door of Aslyssa's manor.
He rubbed his eyes to be sure it was all not a dream. When he looked around, he heard nothing but that unsettling silence. The surrounding people witnessed a sanctioned kidnapping, they had nothing to say.
All he could hear was the heavy footsteps of instrument of tyranny. And now, all he could think was vindication. Revenge boiled in him.
"Will we sit and do nothing, Cath? Is that what you want from me?" Elodine was practically yelling at this point, underneath a bridge. She felt no need to keep quiet -- the marching of demons actually became quiet on this side of the city.
"Silence, dammit! Someone might hear us!" Cathiir tried to move a hand over her mouth, and she slapped it harshly.
"Get your hand off me. Where the hell is the real Cathiir, instead of this forsaken coward? We need to leave the city now and find Lady Aslyssa, she could die out there Cathiir."
"If we leave, we brand ourselves as traitors. At this point, unless you're conscripted to leave, it'll be obvious you're conspiring."
Elodine swallowed loud, held her chin high, and stared at Cathiir. "You can leave, can't you."
He waved his hands towards her in denial of her idea before it even formulated. "Not happening. If anyone else leaves and comes back, they'll be exiled out of suspicion. But I often leave with dedicated Duskwatch who hunt for the powerful exiles--"
"And do you actually kill them? Dammit, Cathiir, what happened to Nelaris?" Her stare grew more suspicious.
What did he expect her to say? Cathiir was not certain, though he could tell she wanted him to admit he slaughtered him, that he actively resisted what he was expected to do in support of the tyranny. Though for some reason, he found it safer to keep that a secret.
"He died, Elo." As Cathiir said this, Elodine's mouth was agape with the anticipation of more."
"No shit," she said, her gaze lowering, as well as her ears.
There was silence between them, Cathiir had looked down the pathway that lead east. The canals were nearby, and the quiet flow of water was always here. It made their spot under the bridge one of the more serene, he always thought. It pained him to admit that the silence between them was far louder than the water. He could not enjoy the sounds.
"Damn you, Cathiir Starsunder," she said finally, "what aren't you telling me? You don't think I'm good enough, do you?"
"Elo, what--"
"No, stop, I'm tired of this, damn you!" Her voice raised again, and so Cathiir tensed, raising a hand but thinking against it. She continued on, as if a fighter in brawl, a lucky set of timed punches. They all hit his gut.
"You're so damn high and mighty, we overcame our situation, gained guardians who could see our potential -- both of us! Not just you, not just me, and to hell with you if you think I gained any less. I'm grateful for all you've done, because throughout all of that I knew I was not alone."
"But you," she said, stepping away from him and turning her back, "I never recall one damn 'thank you', not even you noting what part I had in your future. You have not taken me seriously for a long time. Now, a woman who I consider my mother, she's been taken by invaders, and you want me to sit on my hands."
She started to walk away, stopping for a second to finish her words.
"To hell with your new masters. I'll find my own way."
Cathiir was anxious. Still he was not used to being outside of the city -- it was only the second time, after all. He waited in a most peculiar location, it was over five hours away from the city. There was a large stone pillar sticking from the ground. It was designed with decorative flowers, and the occasional elven figure; a beautiful woman, locking in a dance that changed poses all about the pillar. It was ancient, far older than Cathiir, and probably even most denizens of Suramar.
He shuffled through his pouch and retrieved a small piece of paper. On the side that he saw, it had an illustration on it. He compared it to the pillar once again, and found it matched -- he had done this three total times. Beside the illustration the name of a Duskwatch checkpoint and a direction. A way to relate where the pillar was located.
He flipped the paper over and quietly laughed, it was his own handwriting on the other side.
From behind a tree, a voice rang out.
"It's about time I use up one of those stupid things."
Cathiir looked towards where the voice came from. "Sure it's a proper use, to meet me?"
Saber revealed herself, looking far more stronger but no less withered than before. She seemed displeased, but to be fair, Cathiir rarely ever saw a genuine smile or pleased look when dealing with Cathiir's antics.
"It means you owe me, and now I'm calling it."
Cathiir sighed heavily, and turned to Saber, he bowed to her politely, eager, though hesitant what she may ask of him.
Saber considered, long, her fists clenched at her side. She knew she would try to make him go with her, away from the city, away from his father who remained loyal to Elisande.
It was quiet in Lord Starsunder's estate. Besides the crackling of fire in the study as he sat by it, reading from a tome. He had conversed with his daughter, Milaes, on various topics, though it mostly related to her training. She held a blade and practiced stances, a safe distance from her father.
Suddenly, however, the entrance to their house opened, and immediately, a woman adorned in robes that reflected her role in the Duskwatch stepped in, looking about the estate. She grunted loudly. Milaes turned her head mid-stance, and called out.
"Saber! What brings you here in the evening? I figured you would be--"
"Training Cathiir? That's why I'm here, he has not showed up yet. Even after half a decade, the boy still misses training."
Milaes scoffed, returned to a neutral position, then thrusted forward with her blade. "He's not cut out for it."
"Milaes, that's enough," Cadsrai stated, glancing up at her. He kept his look for a moment longer before glancing behind him to look over Saber. "Try his room, he may still be asleep."
"I swear if he is..." Saber trailed off and sighed, leaving her Lord to his reading, and his daughter to her training.
She made her way up the stairs at the center of the estate and walked towards the right end of the estate. It was where the more fanciful quarters were. The ones of the family itself; the first room was Milaes', the second Lord Starsunder's, then finally, Cathiir's. On the very end was a furnished, but unused guest room.
She opened up the door to Cathiir's room, and looked about. She saw nothing besides the clutter of papers and stacked tomes on a desk. One was open to a page, which Saber approached and looked over. Spells, specifically, one relating to the enhancing of weapons through arcane means. Fiery enchantments, ice, and arcane.
She perked a brow. Part of her wished he had taken his physical training as seriously as his magical training -- after all, he was not expected to continue these studies at all. He was already quite far ahead, entering more advanced training in the span of years. Though his ability to hold a blade and properly swing it was vastly lacking.
His friend, Elodine, was far better matched. It occurred to Saber quickly that this magic was also right in her range of training under Lady Aslyssa.
Her eyes widened, and she immediately moved to Cathiir's bed, shuffling with the bunched up covers.
"Cathiir, wake up. Come on, you're late again, and I w--"
She finally realized there was no one in the bed. His pillows were bunched under the covers to make it appear he had been in a warm cocoon, but instead, no one was in the mass. She swore under her breath, dropping the covers. Though something caught her eye -- something that did not belong.
Under it all, a piece of paper shuffled off to the side, barely the size of her palm, ripped seemingly from a blank page.
Written on it in ink, was simply, "IOU."
Saber crumpled the paper without hesitation. "Oh, dammit." She could have sworn by now she had enough of these things to make the boy show up to each session of physical training he had scheduled from here to next century.
Even though she had no intent of using it, she still placed it in her pocket, and left his room. As she left the estate, she could not help two things. Firstly, rubbing her temples in agitation and a growing headache. Though oddly, second, she could not help but grin to herself.
"Maybe she'll do better helping him get a hang of it."
She then sighed, and made her way back to where she came, waiting for the moment Cathiir would return. And the lecture she may have to construct.
Cathiir's understanding of animals was limited. He, as many Suramar citizens had most of their knowledge of the wilds from accounts documented either in theory, or as recorded before the barrier's placement.
That being noted, Cathiir was a bit weary whenever an animal wandered nearby. He recognized the various antler-having creatures as being prey, but mana sabers were prowling about, and some of them had gotten bold enough to start circling Nelaris and Cathiir as they followed their trail.
One in particular, a purple one, which seemed to be glowing, clearly was attracted to their pair due to potency of magic they possessed. Nelaris paid no mind to it, however, and simply dispelled another beacon placed by Saber, which seemed to startle the mana saber.
Cathiir looked around, mind still reeling at what he would do. He couldn't attack Saber if she presented herself, could he? Certainly, if she was already withered, he would reluctantly put her out of her suffering. Though what if she was not withering? He figured even if she was withdrawing, he would not stand a chance against her.
He wandered, his weapon drawn, and did not dare lower his weapon in his distraction. A bout of paranoia hit him that Nelaris would sense his mental struggle on this whole ordeal. It was definitely nothing more than paranoia; Nelaris was too focused on getting the jump on the traitor over checking his 'superior's' status. He kept an eye on tracks, and ensured his mind was intent on sensing magical presence.
Suddenly, he stopped, and gestured for Cathiir to stop, too. Nelaris hid behind a tree, and Cathiir behind one on the opposite end. Cathiir peeked upon Nelaris gesturing him to do so.
What he saw made his stomach sink. A woman, looking as though she had been weeks without a proper meal, kneeling down, seeming to shuffle through something stuck in the ground. Her robes were adorned with stars and two moons. Her staff was dimmed, though still dawning a light glow.
She appeared to be scavenging for crystals in ground. Ancient mana, Cathiir concluded quickly. Her body seemed to be jittery, and her strength would not allow her to pull it out. She had ended up stumbling, staff falling to the ground. Cathiir could barely hear her due to the shock, though he heard enough of her voice to confirm -- it was Saber.
Nelaris wasted no time. He dashed out from behind his cover and immediately intended to strike her. Starved of mana or not, Saber's reflexes were still honed. She rolled out of the way, barely managing to stick herself to the ground, and trying to adjust her eyes to the attacker.
"Caught you feeding, hm, traitor?" Nelaris pointed his thin, long blade at Saber, and held his shield high, enough to show he was prepared in case she managed to sling a spell at him.
Meanwhile, Cathiir stayed behind the tree, delaying what he may do. His sword hung low at his side, and he had clutched it tighter and tighter. So many thoughts crossed his head. Of what his father might think, his sister, or even Elodine. It all went through his head so fast he had no way to reflect on any one thing.
Until he considered his talk with Lady Aslyssa. He glanced from behind the tree, and saw Nelaris preparing to strike at Saber. She was attempting to find a way to retrieve her staff and retaliate. Nelaris came in for a harsh strike, though he overcompensated, ending up behind Saber who had rolled past him, and gathered her staff.
She was outmatched. There was no way she could cast more than two or three spells. Even then, after the third spell, it seemed likely she would faint. Cathiir closed his eyes, and whispered a spell under his breath.
He became invisible to the world.
"Oh come on, you can do better than that, Cath!"
Elodine was practically dancing around him. As a matter of fact, Cathiir was convinced she actually was. Her footwork was swift, prancing about with no more than two inches between them. She never even made contact with him or bumped into his form. She was laughing, and her slender blade glowed, and occasionally dimmed with bits of flame -- a conjured magic.
"Ha, ha," Cathiir dryly had rolled on with fake laughter, eyeing her weapon. "What is that? Your focus is dropping." Cathiir was stiff with his movements, but however, his blade was blazing with fire. Crackling, and it seemed to threaten an eruption at any moment. Though it did not.
It was the stark contrast between the two. Elodine had her focus on footwork, and Cathiir on spells. Elodine darted backwards, and stared at her blade a moment. It started to crackle to life with a roaring fire, then poof into a dull glow. Inevitably, the fire seemed to sizzle. She looked disappointedly at this.
Cathiir intended to use this as a superior distraction, dashing forward with his roaring sword, looking fearsome. Though he tripped over his own feet, stumbled, and Elodine caught his motion. She moved to the side, parrying his strike with her cool blade, causing sparks to gathering where their blades met. Cathiir used this to keep himself steady, but was unprepared when Elodine ended up behind him.
She held him to her, her light and short blade poking at his back. One arm ended up around his neck, and she poked just a bit harder. Cathiir dropped his blade, and its fire went out.
"Alright, alright," she said, getting closer to his ear. "You've been doing all the lessons today. Now I have one for you."
He tilted his head with a smirk. Sure she could take proof of her swordsmanship, but he would show he was still smug -- one spell could give him an advantage. But he had done plenty of that lately.
Though it was as if she read into his mind. Her arm that went around his back repositioned, her hand ended up covering his mouth. A muffled response came out of him, as if he was affirming her to continue her 'lesson.' It was all to prevent him from getting a clear set of words charged with a spell in mind out of his mouth.
"Magic's nice and all, but sometimes wit is far more necessary. I know you're smart, Cath. So use those brains for something besides magic."
She poked his back gently with her blade once again.
"Get them from behind, they won't see it coming, even if you're right in front of them. People who rely on magic a bit too much hate that, trust me."
She kissed his cheek, giggling quietly. "Covering their mouth also helps." He squirmed, trying now to find a way away from her without hurting himself. She ended up simply letting go of his mouth and moving the blade away, putting some distance between them.
Immediately, he shouted a spell, and turned invisible. Elodine swore, and looked about. "Okay, in hindsight, I should have had you teach me a good counter to invisibility."
Silence in response. She rotated and looked about, attempting to detect even the most subtle sign of positioning. She was given no break.
"Cathiir? Are you even still-- ahh!" Something grabbed her from behind. Her arms were caught, too. At first, she was shocked, but she ended up laughing loudly.
"Stop it! You made your point, okay, you'd be better at all that than me!"
Finally, he seemed to materialize behind her. An arm was wrapped around her form, and once it seemed as though she actually could have slipped out of his grasp, he wrapped another arm.
"No, no, I don't think you get it, yet!" Cathiir tried to hold her, but he was doing an awful job.
She was quite flexible, managing to easily hold her body up so that he was forced to hold her entirely. Her legs were up, and she was held above the ground. Cathiir was, notably, not the strongest. It had only take a couple of seconds until she decided he was thoroughly sapped of strength before she planted her feet on the ground, and dipped down, breaking his hold on her.
She immediately faced him, a large grin on her face. Cathiir had gasped in surprise, but could not help smiling in return to her own large grin.
Their eyes met, locking for a moment. Though in almost unison, their throats cleared, they looked away, and spoke over each other. They both insisted the other one speak, until finally Elodine got it out first.
"We should get back. I wouldn't want you to get in more trouble than you're already in."
"Why won't you die!"
It echoed through the bulk of the woods. It seemed to bounce off the trees and startle the wildlife for miles away. If one followed the sound, they would have seen a shining crystal, a shield decorated with a symbol representative of the Suramar Duskwatch.
They would see an athletic shal'dorei man, armored, and the edge of his blade over the staff of a withering shal'dorei woman. He pressed and pressed into her staff, starting to break it. It was his intent, for he was already pinning her -- she was flat on the ground, and he was on top other -- afterwards, he would drive the blade into her malnourished body.
"Give up, you're embarrassing yourself, Saber."
She was quiet, likely due to exhaustion. Her arms wavered, and her eyes closed as she accepted her fate. There was no escape, and if she uttered another spell, she would certainly end up fainting. She refused to die unconscious, without putting up a fight.
After accepting it all, she pushed back with her staff, surrendering the last of her strength to give Nelaris a fight.
"Come now," she taunted, "serve your demonic masters and finish me, bastard!"
"So defiant, let's see if you're still thinking that wh--"
In an instant, Nelaris choked, and his words seemed to clog his throat. Fluid gathered in his lungs it seemed, as his very breath stopped. Blood came up, and he choke it up onto Saber's robes. She found he offered less resistance. It stained some of the decorative stars on her garb, making them look crimson. Out of his chest between his ribs, the point of a blade poked out, seeming to be colored only by the blood it shed. It twisted, and exited his body, just as fast as it entered.
Nelaris started to fall onto Saber, held up only by the resistance Saber gave in futility. She pushed him to the side, and had hoped to see her savior behind him.
They were not there. Her eyes widened, and she darted upwards, looking about. She heard the crushing of leaves, and the rustling of bushes in the direction of where Nelaris had come from.
She quickly moved to look over where the fatal blow had been dealt to Nelaris, out of a panic, she forgot the seemingly invisible blade that entered his body, and instead wondered if it was an arrow that did him in. All she found was a stab wound that was dealt from behind. Where Nelaris had been knelt over her, there was footprints.
Someone stabbed him from behind. And they did it while remaining completely unseen. She swallowed hard, and started to walk in the direction Nelaris came from. She was careful, though certain. She attempted to call out, speak to someone.
"Hello? Cathiir, I know you're here. Come out, damn you. You can't go back, how are you going to explain... what happened?"
She seemed in a panic, but she received no response. More leaves were crushed ahead, and at this point, she was convinced he was luring her. She trusted that Cathiir was not one of them, however. She trusted he was luring her for a different purpose, no matter how frantic she seemed.
She saw foliage part as if a ghost swept past them. She started to pick up the pace.
"I can give you shelter, Cathiir, get you away from it all! The rebels... they're..."
She was saying too much in the open. She slowed only when starting to think that maybe her starvation was weighing on her sanity. Perhaps he was not luring her.
When she heard rustling to her right side, she was hesitant to investigate, believing now that she was abandoned, and left only with the feeling of failure. Failure to protect her charge.
Until finally she looked. There was a tree with a low branch, and on it, curiously, was a bottle of arcwine. It was mostly full, obviously some drinks being taken out of it, but it was enough to last her a month, or longer, even. Propped on it was a note, with the message on it as clear as could be.
He was still deep asleep. To be fair, Saber's steps were quiet, and Sildor had simply pointed him out and moved on with his business, looking back only once with a bit of regret to his eyes. Though Saber gave him no reason to be worried. She simply looked down at the boy and studied him sleeping.
Notably, he was the only one there. It did not ring suspicious, as she really had only expected this boy. There was no other place for sleeping in sight, though enough space for maybe one, or two other children. The main thing that stopped her in her tracks and made her study the boy was the passing curiosity.
How did he manage to slip passed her? How could he manage to truly turn invisible?
The boy turned and revealed a shining ring on his hand. Saber's eyes widened. She knew the ring. It was Lord Cadsrai's, an Arcanist under the Grand Magistrix herself. She could not be entirely certain, but she had a feeling if she were to look for an engraving, she would find his initials.
She figured she suspiciously stared at the boy long enough. At least two or three other denizens of this locations had wandered near, saw her garb and weapon that dictated authority, and turned in the other direction, looking back as Sildor had with a tinge of regret.
They were mostly children, or nearing adulthood. One, a girl with short white hair and a small dagger at her side, turned and her ears lowered. She muttered, "Oh man... I told them so." She made her way in the opposite direction, her excited prancing to visit friends sullied by the presence of Saber, clearly.
Saber could barely hear them, though. She had to snap out of her inquisitive trance, and instead, kneel and reach a hand down to shake the boy awake, wordless. He stirred and stirred, grumbling lazily.
"Come on... come on! I think I earned another couple minutes, Elo, give me a break..." He turned his back to Saber, and laid over his hands.
"Elo?" Saber questioned. "So there was a second."
Cathiir's eyes widened. In a second he was awake, as if cold water had been dumped on his sleeping mat. "Uhhhhh..." He trailed off, and in his youthful ignorance, closed his eyes to feign sleep. Or death. Saber waited, not quite feigning ignorance as much as not noticing he was faking anything; she waited his answer.
"Cathiir, is it?" She said after it had became clear he was not going to answer. "I have to say, I'm impressed, Cathiir."
He still did not answer, playing possum as best he could. He knew Elodine was away, though he expected her to return with her own plan. Magic was not going to get him out of this. He still had to shake sleep from his mind and body, and his laying was not benefiting this.
Saber sighed. She knew she was not dealing with just some criminal. Whether he intended to or not, he was actually a hero. He stole, sure, but he stole stolen goods, and near everything the shopkeeper had pawned off in his shop was given back to their rightful owners...
For a far fairer price than what he was offering.
She had reached a hand out and gently grabbed the boy's shoulder. She spoke gently.
"Listen, Cathiir, I am not here to get you in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. We got a tip at who broke into the store, but the only reason we wanted the tip was to, well, reward the burglar."
Cathiir turned and sat up, using his arms as support, and stared back at Saber with a look of childish confusion. "I... I didn't do it." He admitted. Though he was no professional liar. His right ear twitched, and he chewed on the inside of his lip.
Saber perked a brow, and with a bit of firmness to her tone, as if she had bought this lie, she said, "Oh, so I've got the wrong boy? Shame, there was one more thing still unaccounted for. It had the biggest reward, a ring. The ring of Arcanist Cadsrai Starsunder. You wouldn't happen to know where that is?"
Cathiir immediately became aware that the ring was out in the open. He leaned forward and placed his hands under the covers to hide it. Saber pretended not to notice. He simply tilted her head, and waited.
There was some shuffling under the covers, until finally Cathiir sighed, and removed his hands. He started to take the ring off in front of Saber. She held a hand out, stopping him.
"No, no, keep it. I didn't find it, you did, Cathiir. My Lord, he wishes to speak with you."
"M-Me?" Cathiir seemed a bit frightened. Not just a lord, but an esteemed Arcanist wished to see him over a stolen ring? He clearly still did not buy that he was to be rewarded. He shook, not of the cold that was not there, even if uncovered, but out of fear.
Saber estimated him to barely be a decade old -- he did not have the thousands of years of experience she had. Sure, there were bad men in Suramar, but Lord Starsunder was not one of them. Many knew this; he viewed magic as a beautiful and powerful thing, and that the masses should all have the opportunity to show their prowess with it. It would be the future of Suramar, should the barriers ever fall, or if they hold for all eternity. Though his words on the former made his colleagues look at him blankly. They considered that to be his one accepted lapse in sanity.
And so, a mastery in magic remained exclusive to those who proved to not only be gifted, but also those who could afford to practice it. It always disappointed Cadsrai, despite his dedication, and claims the Duskwatch could benefit from taking in all who were worthy. Here, a young boy stood, capable of outwitting a trained guardian of Suramar. Perhaps she underestimated him, but that alone showed that she even held views that her Lord fought against.
She felt pain in her chest seeing the boy's fear.
"Cathiir..." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "You aren't in trouble." She looked to his face, but he looked to the ground. "You... You have my word. My Lord simply wants to see the boy who outsmarted me -- I've trained for years. Many, many years, so many magic has become a reflex for me."
She laughed lightheartedly. Cathiir looked up, seeming to calm. "He wants to see it for himself. And, well... take his property back. It won't be right if the finder doesn't return it. I heard he was offering fortune."
Cathiir's eyes lit up, and he swallowed, rolling all of her words around in his head. He had looked away, lost in thought. Though suddenly, Saber had stood up, and began to walk towards her destination after allowing the boy a minute to think.
Cathiir threw his covers to the side and sprung up. "H-Hey!" He bolted towards Saber, whose stride allowed her a good couple dozen feet between them. "Wait up! I'm going!"
Saber chuckled, and gestured for him to hurry.
"If you turn invisible again, I won't make the same mistake twice. This time, I'll let you slip away."
Cathiir frowned, and said, "Yeah, right," with all the confidence of youth to his tone.
It smelled of nature everywhere. Dirt, trees, animals, even the stream nearby. Cathiir was, at first, lightheaded. He was outside of the city. He only had five-hundred years under the barrier, though Captain Nelaris had thousands of years under that same barrier. He seemed unaffected being outside of it, however. He held an adorned blade and shield in his grasp, decorated with Duskwatch symbols. His shield covered most of his body, though he was not in fighting stance. He was simply preparing for possible ambush.
"It's been hell out here, Lord Starsunder."
Cathiir was still not used to bearing his father's name at times. It became a formality for him to correct, "Cathiir is fine, Captain Nelaris. What's the status? I've heard word of deserters, but also the whisperings of aliens to the Isles."
"Correct," Nelaris said, stepping over a root that came out of the ground. Some stags shuffled and bound away in panic in hearing the ruffling of the duo walking through the woods. "Our ancestral brethren of all people are among them. Kal'dorei, sin'dorei. Some have said that they have infiltrated our city under disguises."
He glanced behind him, looking at Cathiir. "Trust no one, they could be an outlander who killed your loved one and assumed their form. Damn body-snatchers."
Cathiir shivered, but a part of him figured that to be an exaggeration. Perhaps not the outlanders' senseless killing, but the fact that they could steal the bodies of their people. It was far more likely it was all illusionary. After all, that was his specialty. He made no attempt to correct Nelaris, though. It was a waste trying to appeal to baseless fears in a time like this.
If the shock of being outside of the barrier was not enough, Cathiir's thoughts also became addled with thoughts of revolution. Sure, the presence of outsiders was a sickening idea. He had no idea what to think of these new people... would they look at all of his people as responsible for this invasion and put them to the blade in trials? He was curious, sure, but certainly other societies could not have advanced as effectively as the shal'dorei. Cathiir heard the stories of the first invasion, and how it was expected Azeroth would never be the same. Many were convinced the only real society from here, until the end, would be the shal'dorei.
That if the barriers were to go down, they would be all Azeroth had left. Though Cathiir could not help but wonder, perhaps they were wrong? Perhaps these outsiders were not so savage? They helped the rebellion. Infiltrated their society and brought with them words of revolt. To dethrone the tyrant Elisande, and destroy her demonic masters.
Demons...
Before Cathiir left for the wilderness, Nelaris was knelt before a felguard. He wielded a massive green-glowing axe adorned with bones of various sizes. Of various races he had played a part in conquering, no doubt. Cathiir was informed that felguard was responsible for the subjugation and intimidation of rebelling civilians. To break their morale. Considering the fact that he stood at at least fifteen feet tall, and seemed to hold more than enough muscle to tear anyone in half, it must have been an easy post for him.
It was not that that stuck in his mind, what stuck in his mind was an absence among leadership. Cathiir had not seen Saber anywhere among the Duskwatch. He thought his reports would be done alongside her, as usual, though instead it was with Nelaris. He felt sick at the very thought that she could have been exiled.
"What of the exiled?" Cathiir asked.
Nelaris thought a moment, then said with all the poise of a heartless man, "Probably mindlessly wandering, looking for their next batch of mana. Most of them had to have withered, which is pretty much a death sentence for the if they run into us and try to treat us like a meal."
"Withered?" Cathiir had asked.
"Being away from the Nightwell that long destroys your mind. People become insane and lash out at anything with an ounce of magic in their system. It's why we decided throwing out some of the most 'respected' was a better option than killing them on the spot for disobeying. We're no longer responsible for their fate."
Cathiir wanted to insult this, truly. It was cowardice is what it was. Cowardice and cruelty. The First Arcanist and her comrades, researchers of prominence, respected political figures. It was the poor who died by the demon's hands, but instead, the rich died eaten alive by mindless abominations or becoming one of the mindless abominations themselves.
"Smart," he said instead.
"Brutal work, but it had to be done. Now, Lor-- Cathiir, 'scuse me. We need to be quiet, our target's last known location is nearby."
Cathiir did not bother questioning. He followed, silent, and drew his own blade. It was a discrete, but sharp weapon. He stayed low, and readied his hands to cast a spell if need be. He knew little of what or who Nelaris was hunting, only that it was a deserter, or what remained of them. To confirm their removal from being a threat; apparently they had conspired within the city itself, through outlanders, even.
He tried to be ready for combat, but instead he tried his hand at blending in with a different enemy: Nelaris himself. He tried to emulate his apathy, his brutality. He tried to seperate his mind from the emotions he would surely experience seeing his own people dying from withdrawal. From the fury that would boil at their suffering. He felt he was doing a good job at it -- it was his father's wish that he did so. He was out here for him, not Nelaris, not the bone-decorated felguard, nor Elodine or Madame Aslyssa. Strange how in such trying times he felt the need to cater to any and everyone he loved. Perhaps it was because that was all he could think of?
He forgot his stirring stomach at the stench of nature he was robbed of his whole life. The wonder of mana sabers, stags, turtles wandering around the city left his thoughts. The fear of who may be on the other end of all of this foliage dissipated.
Though not the disgust at what he may become as a result of this disassociation. He had to bury that concern. No matter what, he would not forget who he was.
Nelaris turned, and looked at Cathiir, weapons readied. He gestured beyond, as if this was it. Cathiir stood behind him, and nodded silently, face full of dedication to the task at hand.
Nelaris gave a wait, then bolted through the foliage, to which Cathiir followed in after. His heart pounded fiercely, and could not slow when he came to a strange realization.
"Dammit!" Nelaris said. "She isn't here!" His weapons lowered.
Cathiir looked around in a bit of confusion, and saw a collection of blue crystals, as well as an empty bottle of arcwine. Certainly someone was here. And if anything Nelaris said was accurate, all of this indicated they were withering.
Nelaris scanned around as if searching for something more. His eyes caught something, and he knelt down beside the edge of the foliage further beyond. As if he was tracking a beast and found tracks.
He stood, and shouted a spell, and with an eruption of magic, an eruption of magic spouted upwards and entered the sky. It was no more.
"Crafty little traitor, she planted beacons along our trail. She knew we were coming long before we arrived." Nelaris muttered.
"Who?" Cathiir finally asked, knelt down beside the campsite, looking over the crystals. It was mana, for sure.
"A old superior to me," he said, "you have familiarity with her, Cathiir."
His stomach sank, but he forced himself to look up at Nelaris, his expression neutral.
"The former Captain, named Saber. She left and made an attempt to kill your father before she did so. Such an atrocity should be met with death; a promise I made to Arcanist Starsunder before I accepted my post to replace her."
He gestured to Cathiir, then his head bowed, humble. Though it seemed such a nonchalant gesture when paired with his words. "I insisted to your father I take you with me so you could be his fist of vengeance."
Cathiir looked away. His mind went wild with thoughts. She tried to kill his father? He remembered the injury he fostered, he said it was from the aftermath of battling the demons, but instead, Saber had caused it? The way Nelaris spoke was as if he had ordered her execution?
He could not accept this. His own father had accepted their fate, it seemed to him. He sought to execute his most loyal captain. All of his report started to reword itself in his head. He put himself in his father's train of thought, believing him to need to say that Nelaris was effective -- a lie. Nelaris was a brute, a bastard, a stain among the shal'dorei's peace. He was no better than the demons, hunting innocents who struggled to survive outside of the safety of their city.
Cathiir did not know how to respond.
He stood, right ear twitching, and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "You were right to bring me, Captain. I take it you have a reworked strategy to deal with this traitor?"
Captain Nelaris gave a toothy grin. "You're damn straight I do. You in?"
Cathiir, a fist clenched at his side, had quickly loosened up, right ear twitching again.
"Let us do away with this traitor," he responded.
"You're a terrible liar, kid." Saber said, stifling a laugh with her hand.
"Wh-- no I'm not! I fooled you!" Cathiir huffed and looked away from Saber, horribly insulted.
"Oh please, you deceived me -- and as impressive as that is -- it has no bearing on your ability to speak a lie."
Cathiir gave a shrug. "You believed I wasn't stealing, didn't you?"
"You were wearing my Lord's ring, Cathiir."
Cathiir stared at the ring in question, and scoffed. "Oh come on, that could have been anyone's ring!"
"With that sigil and craftsmanship? Yeah, right." She nudged Cathiir.
"Hey!" He said in playful irritation. He then tried, and failed to push her back. Saber simply laughed in response.
It was like this a bulk of the trip. It was a long walk to Starsunder's estate, so they had to pass the time to not make it seem as though Saber was in the business of cracking down on children.
They ended up passing a line of cultivated plants, to which Cathiir decided to show off like a child might amongst an adult they look up to. He attempted to balance himself along the edge of the stone of the planter and he did it quite poorly.
"Careful," Saber said, keeping an eye on her young companion. "Can't cast that spell of yours if your head's bumped."
"Pft," Cathiir found his steadiness. "I won't fall, Elodine gave me some pointers on--"
He stopped himself, and got quiet.
Saber seemed a bit confused, and questioned, "Elodine?"
Cathiir offered no words on the subject. Until finally he did. "Uh-huh."
"Friend of yours over there?"
Cathiir nodded, choosing not to divulge her association with their little heist. Say what you will about Sildor, but rule number one among his band of thieves was simple: no snitches, or you get kicked out. Not that he needed Sildor's advice -- he still worried about exactly where he was going.
Saber seemed so very nice, though. When the stone of the planter's path ended, Cathiir jumped off, stumbled, but ended up on his feet firmly. He barely stuck the landing, with all the poise of a not-so-agile sort.
"There was another unaccounted for piece, you know." Saber said, looking over at Cathiir.
He looked up at her, and swallowed hard. "O-Oh? I don't know anything, okay?"
Saber ruffled his hair, then said, "Well, I guess I should say, it was unaccounted for. Belonged to a Lady Aslyssa. A young girl returned it to her under two conditions."
"You're saying you do know something, then, right?"
His right ear twitched. "No."
"Then why do you care?" Saber asked with a smirk.
Cathiir stopped, looked to the ground, then in irritation said, "Fine! Elodine had the red necklace, okay? What'd she ask for?" He got it out in a jumbled mess, but it satisfied Saber nonetheless.
"Two conditions," then Saber paused, devious in her cruelty to teach the child a bit of patience. To her surprise, he did not interrupt her, instead, he stared in anticipation. "First, to be taken in by Lady Aslyssa and receive her renowned lessons in dance. And second, to meet with someone. A very specific person."
"Who, who, who?"
"I quote, 'a lady with stars on her robes who was trying to catch a burglar at the jewelry shop.' Vague, but specific enough that I ended up at her doorstep, and met the girl. She told me to come to your little shelter, and bring you to Cadsrai, claimed you knew magic better than all us, and I quote again, 'fancy richies.'"
"I told her I would think about it." She said. "And I did. Well, here you are, I think you can fill in the rest."
Cathiir grinned widely. He knew Elodine had became well acquainted with the nobles. So much so she gushed to Cathiir on multiple occasions about the beautiful Lady Aslyssa -- an expert in dance. It was all Elodine did in her off-time. Her movements were so often full of grace; it was mostly in part to her ability to find a discrete pathing in any alley, around any building, and even the most unclimbable surfaces. She was the real escape artist, and Cathiir could turn invisible. And now, she negotiated with them. Though a twinge of sadness hit him.
He looked down. Had he lost her? She would not break her promise, would she? Perhaps she did all this to keep even with him, but get out of their promise. He sniffled, gathered his strength, then looked forward, deciding it best to bury that thought. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew him better than anyone. They had an understanding that she may do things with out telling Cathiir, and sure he always complained, but in the end, he knew it was for the best. She was the older of the duo, it was only wise.
His thinking was interrupted by another ruffle from Saber. She looked at him empathetically, and stopped walking a moment. Cathiir, too stopped, and to his shock, Saber suddenly hugged him.
"You'll see her again," she said. "I wasn't supposed to give it away, but... well, you're not the only bad liar," she admitted after scratching the back of her head.
"My Lord has every intent of taking you in, Cathiir. He wants you to be trained, possibly even be inducted into the Duskwatch when you're far older."
Cathiir's eyes widened. He was speechless. He staggered backwards, as if the revelation was hitting him.
"Why me?" Was all he asked, still having that healthy bout of surprisingly mature skepticism. It pained Saber ever so slightly -- he was not entirely that boy whose ear twitched when he lied, or eyes lit up when talking about his friend. Who evaded her by sheer luck, or accidentally did a good deed.
He had worked at a very young age to survive, robbed of his chance to simply be a child. She wondered, but could come to no conclusions who his parents were. And now, within a day, Cadsrai seemed to go through another bout of what his colleagues called his 'accepted lapses.' He planned on taking in a poor orphan trained in thievery. Maybe to send a message to the aforementioned skeptics. Or maybe because he was sick of being apathetic to the city's judgement.
Saber placed a hand behind his head, caressing the back of his head a moment. "Because we all deserve a chance, Cathiir. You haven't gotten yours, yet. And my Lor-- no, we. We want to give that to you."
Cathiir's eyes watered, and his head bowed. He stayed stiff as Saber wrapped her arms around him and hugged again. In truth, mainly to conceal her own little bout of emotions. Cathiir returned the hug.
She broke it, and stood immediately.
"Right... now from here on out, you listen to any and everything I say considering you're in on the whole plot. Got it, recruit?"
Cathiir stood, confused on how one might show affirmation in this situation. He figured he should salute, but he had no idea how to go about that.
"A nod for understanding will do," she said firmly.
And so, he nodded.
She smiled, and started to move. "Then onward to my Lord's estate."
It was always said by the elders among Suramar, “If the night skies vary, mark the end of times.” It was not the end, at least not yet. The barrier stood, and as far as everyone was concerned, the world did not exist beyond the walls and magical barrier. All that truly existed was Suramar City. This was no less true for Cathiir, a child with his shelter under the bridges of Suramar. He seemed to be debating something, shaking his head frantically, and to passerbys it may look as though one child was pressuring another to do something he did not want to do.
They would have been right.
“Come on, Cathiir, drink it! We need to get a little extra food – oo, oo! And something pretty like last time!” Elodine, a young girl, was hopping about, holding a bottle of arcwine with merely a single drink left in it. “It took me a long time to find it, Cathiir, come on!”
“No, Elodine, no! That stuff makes me feel woozy, I can barely focus and I– I–”
“And you do that cool thing? Come on Cathiir, please?” She pouted at him. Cathiir crossed his arms and turned his back to her.
“What happened to the ring I got you, huh?” He turned his head slightly, a prominent, childish frown on his face. The sort that adults would warn them would stick if they kept it that way.
“I told you, Sildor wanted it so we could be here longer.” Her pouting somewhat ceased. She knew well enough it would have disappointed Cathiir, he never liked giving in to Sildor’s demands – though he was the unofficial landlord of the homeless around their parts of Suramar. All had to pay their piece, or else they would have to find their own space.
And he did not hold that back. “I’m sick of Sildor taking our stuff! I’m going to get caught at some point, Elodine! Those guys will catch on!”
There was a silence between the pair for a while, Cathiir with his back turned and arms crossed looking as a rock, and Elodine with her arms to her side trying to think of the right things to say. It was not selfishness that motivated her, but the right words to say to make Cathiir realize their situation.
Homeless and hungry. Perhaps what Elodine did not quite realize was how reliant Cathiir would be to the arcwine with each use. She heard adults talk, though. Some of the nobles had fallen from grace and ended up looking malnourished and akin to walking skeletons – what remained of their flesh and skin sagged. They grew paler, and hair more brittle. For a moment, she observed Cathiir, but was not convinced from the view she had from behind. So she laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to swing him around. He turned to her, arms losing their unending knot and frown dissipating to that of shock as he was face-to-face with her.
The purplish tint to his skin was still there, except with a slight tint of red to his cheeks, as well as his dark locks that he had directed to go down his back. A couple of stray strands wandered to his face. Elodine stared at him with what she believed was the finesse of an experienced medical professional. In truth, her eyes were just squinted and her tongue left her mouth in a sort of comtemplation.
“What?” Cathiir was getting worried. “Elo, what?! What’s wrong?” She did not answer, and it clearly only frustrated him more. After a final exclamation of her name, she twitched her pointed ears and looked him right in the eyes.
“Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing. I just– I wanted,” she looked away, turned, and sat on her bedroll. “It’s nothing Cath. Just… you’re right, it isn’t a good idea. We’ll find some other way, right? I can just… figure something. Something safe, right?” She laid on her back, and had stopped dwelling on the subject. Except for one bit.
“I’m sorry, Cathiir.”
He kept saying it was all nothing to be concerned about. That was, until the barrier fell. Thousands of years it had held – Cathiir was not even alive for one-thousand of those years. He was barely five-hundred years old.
His father (who had adopted him) had been alive before the barrier even existed. As Cathiir stood on the balcony to the large manor his family owned, he stared up as the sky slowly became exposed.
Daytime. There was a sun, and clouds. Birds flew about, confused at the opening of new land. Animals scattered far in the distance where the border of the barrier had been, terrified by the display of magic. It hit him all at once why his father had been so busy.
The advisors and the Grand Magistrix herself had to have been aware. Though they could do nothing. Some days had passed after Cathiir witnessed this most wonderful and fearsome display and he was told by the other young shal'dorei that ‘demons’ were about, patrolling, and executing dissenters.
Public execution.
Cathiir was not entirely ignorant on what a demon was. Stories were often told by others, his father included, of the horrors invoked by the War of the Ancients. Destructive aliens bent on the submission of the world, the recruiting of malicious like-minds, and encouraging desperation among the masses.
It had only been a week when Cathiir felt the desperation sink into his stomach. He was sitting in his family’s manor, and a thought rolled through his head. The advisors to the leadership of Suramar who disagreed with the Legion’s siege and wanted to revolt were executed just the same as commoners. Though here his father was, sitting, eating among them.
He was a sympathizer, and all had known. Cathiir felt the desperation, but he wondered if his adoptive father felt it even more. He had not spoken much to Cathiir or Milaes, his sister. Cathiir felt as though his training into lordship and to be a protector of the family was placed on pause – all to surrender to the end of the world.
He had nothing to distract himself with, and so that panic set in more and more. It was night – which notably, was a harder time for him. There were real stars in the sky, put onto a grand display. Moons shining along with them, and a darkness that could not be replicated by magic, even. He had suddenly left the house, his father and sister asleep, and wandered through the streets. His feet held all of his thoughts, and he guided himself nowhere – it was all as if he was being piloted by memories.
He left the sprawling manors, went over bridges with intricate gardens and statues, away from the pens of exotic animals, as well as the vineyards were arcwine was made. He wandered until he went were the dark was familiar to him. A large bridge connecting two parts of the city, he had gone underneath and lingered. There was a small nook that was empty; he had known it was empty for some time.
He sat down, legs crossed, and leaned his head on the stonework. There was scattered litter here and there; papers, some bottles, and even a rotting shadefruit in a nook parallel to him. His head lowered and lowered until he looked into his own lap. The gravity of the situation seemed to, at first, hit him so hard he felt the wind leave his lungs. He slammed his fists into the hard ground, leaving scuffed marks on his knuckles.
Then, just like that, it left him. It all faded when he convinced himself of the reason why he had arrived here. He was in such a daze he had forgotten.
He was waiting for someone to arrive. He was waiting for someone so he would know the best course of action. Though for a while, all he was left with was memories.
And for now, it would do.
It was the dead of night. The bustle of homeless shal'dorei quieted, and Elodine had been asleep.
Cathiir laid in his bedroll, eyes up at the bridge above them. He stared at it and tried to count as many discrepencies as he could. It… was not a long process, truthfully. Almost no cracks or even points, it was entirely smooth. Though he started to become good at noticing them nonetheless. He was not about deluding his time-wasting distraction, but rather, give practice to what he was about to do.
If he could notice the problems with even a perfect structure, he could notice the problems with a horribly flawed plan.
He could not sleep because it ran through his mind again and again. Feeling too confident was always a concern of his, but not of his companion’s. Or at least so she seemed. He sat up and stared at the bottle of arcwine that was beside him. His hands reached for it and grabbed it by the neck. He struggled to get the cork loose, but it inevitably came off.
Instinctively, he sniffed into the bottle, and immediately darted backwards. It was pungent for sure. A strong beverage. Though Cathiir could smell it had exactly what he needed in it. With a hand pinching his nose, he downed the remaining drink it, and immediately felt the surge of power.
Though he also felt the nausea. He quickly laid the bottle down and stood up, taking breaths as he had practiced time and time again. He muttered words in shalassian, gestured his hands, and his form started to disappear, completely. The moment he disappeared, he felt the strain in his mind. He had to focus to keep the spell intact. He walked around a bit, and observed his hands to ensure he stayed invisible. It did not break, not even slightly.
He recalled a point where he looked as a floating display of rippling water. He came to learn it was the lack of focus that caused his spell to distort him instead of entirely conceal him. As he stepped around, and felt as though he was ready, he stopped, and sighed out.
That was when a voice came out of seemingly nowhere. A girlish voice, “You know, if you keep breathing that loud they’ll find you for certain!”
It was Elodine, who, well, was as awake as he was. The surprise of this caused Cathiir to twitch, then lose his focus on the spell entirely. “Elo!” He quietly said.
She simply giggled, and stood up. “Whoops – oh come on, you weren’t going to walk there all sneaky.” She placed both her hands on Cathiir’s shoulders, and with a big smile, she said, “Now then, let’s go, I’ll keep watch. And this time, I promise: Sildor won’t get anything! I’ll hide everything well!”
Cathiir nodded at her. “Good, because if you keep giving up all our best stuff, he’ll start wondering how I do it.”
Elodine nodded in response, then suddenly leaned in to peck his lips. She let go of his shoulders, and stepped passed him. “ For good luck. Let’s go, while you were staring at the bridge the owners got a couple of hours of rest – hurry!”
Cathiir was a bit red in the face, and of course, sporting a tipsy demeanor to himself. Though he followed Elodine nonetheless. While she was thinking of all the wonderful things they could manage… he chose to concern himself with alternate plans if it all fell apart. Potential escapes, and especially how he could get her away if anything went sour.
Though for once… although it may have been the alcohol speaking… he felt as if it would all be fine.
