He had heard they were reassigned. He was excited to get out of Stormwind, the constant politics and would-be assassins starting to wear his patience. But when he found out where they were going his heart sank.
He hadn’t been back in years. He couldn’t even go back for the funerals. His home was in ruins and he was too afraid to set his gaze upon it. He couldn’t help them, he couldn’t face them, he was a failure.
He ran as a child. He ran as an adult. That’s what he always seemed to do. His brother would tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That he was doing great works when it all happened. He always felt different. He felt that since he hadn’t helped that it was his fault. He could have saved them. He should have.
He chewed the end of his pipe nervously as he stepped through the portal. Apprehensive and tense. The nether swarmed around him. His gut felt like it was stretched then twisted as he was spirited away to this place that felt strange yet should not have.
He stepped out of the portal and walked out of the courtyard and onto the island the keep was housed on. Highbank, they called it. He snorted at the name as he thought it. It was neither high up, nor an embankment. He looked out across the water in the direction of his former home and sighed.
“Time ta face me demons…” he mumbled to himself. His pipe still clenched tightly between his teeth. His journey home had begun. The next great adventure with the Conclave along with it. It was time, time for him to stop running, and to face the past.
