#inathia

[ronaestrider]

Stirring the Embers

Ruthar looks around with a smile, removing his helmet as he clinks his way through the upper chambers of the Phoenix Guard's former headquarters on Quel'Danas. His chainmail rings over the gentle sounds of the shore as he breathes in the salted air. He relishes the moment before heading through the curtains.

There's a light flickering in the old Commander's office of the Phoenix Guard's former base. Heavy steps crisscross the office, signaling the clanking of armor and weaponry belonging to one Knight-Lord Dawnblade. Once in the office, she's revealed to be... cleaning? Dusting? She has a dirty rag in her hand, wiping surfaces and fighting back sneezes.

Ruthar watches curiously before softly clearing his throat. "A sight for sore eyes," he says gently, wafting some dust away from his face. "Though I didn't expect your letter to summon me here for manual labour."

Inathia abruptly sneezes when Ruthar addresses her, then turns to regard him with a smile. A sniffly smile. It's just dust, -of course-. "Right? A little homesick, I guess. Turns out, putting fancy rocks back together is harder than I thought." Ina'thia crosses the office to pull open the curtains and open the windows overlooking the harbor.

Ruthar chuckles at that, leaning his bow against the wall near the door so he can pick up some papers from the ground. "I did have my doubts, to be honest," he chides mirthfully. "It was hard to imagine you leading a community of scholars and researchers. No progress to report on that end, then?"

Ina'thia laughs in turn, "Turns out it was, primarily, one scholar and researcher. One and a half if you include Magister Everblaze. But what can you do, when the Magistry tasks you to something? You do it." 

Ruthar nods as he continues to gather old papers. He lifts one off the ground with his own signature on it, an action report from the Broken Shore. "We did a whole lot of things that were required of us," he says as he scans the document. "And we were damn good at it."

Ina'thia leans against the now clean desk, crossing her arms. Her gaze falls to a stack of papers recounting Draenor -- and how Ranger Captain Ronaestrider had almost been lost to the Iron Horde's war machine. Banishing the unpleasant memory with a grin, she looks back over to Ruthar. "You're damn right we were. To the point where I feel so uncertain about everything else I've been up to, as of late. The Magistry project, desk duty with the Blood Knights... dare I say it... quiet domesticity." 

Ruthar nods knowingly. "I know what you mean. Ever since this nonsense on K'aresh, it's been an endless sea of meetings of defensive thoughts and concerns. A lot of talk, very little action. Not that I'm particularly interested in this Void nonsense looking upon Quel'Thalas."

Ina'thia raises a brow, "You went to K'aresh? Or just dealing with the meetings and chaos? That explains why Magistrix Silverspell summoned me..." 

Ruthar shakes his head. "The latter. Farstrider leadership has made a point to circle the proverbial wagons in the aftermath. A responsible move, but you know how bureaucracy can be." He lifts a brow. "Silverspell? I'm not sure I'm familiar."

Ina'thia keeps her arms crossed, "She's the Magistrix who initiated the Runesworn project. Surviving Runewarden from the Third War -- I digress. She seemed worried about something, and asked me about the Phoenix Guard." 

Ruthar halts his paper-gathering at that, standing up straight with his interest quite piqued. "Oh? Does she have interest in starting a militarized unit in tandem with the research initiative?"

Ina'thia seems troubled, evidenced by the furrow of her brow. "She didn't signal any particular interest -- a military venture seems absurd and unnecessary at this time, doesn't it? She just kept saying 'in case' or 'in the event of' and 'would you do it again?'" 

Ruthar 's eyes shimmer at that as the sun dances upon the upper reaches of the spire. "In a heartbeat," he says without so much as a moment's pause.

Ina'thia doesn't respond immediately, but a genuine smile creeps across her lips. "I told her the same, but only if my Lieutenant Commander was interested. It seems we are woefully -bereft- of a military conflict, though. Unless you count what happens when the Lord-Magister can't get his hair to style perfectly." 

Ruthar chuckles at that. "A conflict, to be sure, but hardly a military one. I dare say I'm not qualified for something of -that- scale anyhow. I leave that to your particular realm of expertise," he says with a playful smirk.

Ina'thia smirks, "The key is to just mess it up even more, clearly." Another light chuckle has her fussing with her own hair, mostly out of habit. "I doubt we'll get the Starfrosts on board, though." 

Ruthar nods as his eyes shift over to a piece of parchment with Syrielle in the middle of a field of text. "They have most assuredly continued on, for better or worse. I daresay that we are a bit more...predictable."

Ina'thia finishes fussing with her hair, "They seem well-established. A doctor and a Magistrix, a kid and all of that." There's a strange tone in her voice when she says doctor, in reference to Gattius. A mix of disdain and disappointment. "It's for the best." 

Ruthar watches her curiously for a moment. "This is starting to sound more official than I think you're letting on. Is this a serious inquiry of this Magistrix, then? Seems a hasty departure from the focus of the Runesworn."

Ina'thia shakes her head, "It's fun to think about, but I question the seriousness and necessity of it. Came here and started cleaning to keep my hands busy, lest I beat the absolute shit out of an unsuspecting Initiate." 

Ruthar laughs at that. "I shouldn't laugh because I know that wasn't a joke. Even so, I do miss working with the recruits - too many meetings at hand for that at present." He rustles a few more documents and clicks them in order against the desk. "Did you hear that Ranger Lord Dawnstrider is formally retiring?"

Ina'thia allows herself to reminisce. "I miss being out in the field, holding the line between demons -- orcs -- demonic orcs, even -- and our Spellweavers and menders." She sighs, snapping back to attention. "Ranger Lord Dawnstrider? That's who you've been working under, right?" 

Ruthar glances down to the shoreline, his mind recreating the demonic scenes of what feels like a lifetime ago. "Indeed," he replies. "He promoted me to Ranger Captain in the months prior to the Dark Portals rebirth."

Ina'thia taps her clawed fingertips on the desk's surface. "Will you seek promotion, then? I think it's about time, honestly. You've more than earned it. Promotion now will give you time to adjust, rather than in the middle of a war." 

Ruthar drums the desk with his armored fingers. "Humility is the default when it comes to such matters, you know me - if it's meant to be, then it shall be." His eyes dart to his own title under his signature on a nearby document. "Still, the word is getting around and I've placed the bug where it needs to go. The Ranger Lord and I have been quite close over the years."

Ina'thia follows Ruthar's gaze to the page with his signature. "Look at you, boasting humility yet playing the game of whispers. You've clearly spent a long time in Silvermoon..." she teases.

Ruthar chuckles. "You don't get anywhere if you can't play the game, even if you don't like it." He sighs exaggeratedly. "Perhaps I would have been a decent fit for your Runesworn Magistry project after all."

Ina'thia rests a hand over her heart, where her Knight-Lord insignia is pinned to her tabard. "I can think of no one more deserving of such a station and the honor it brings. If you need a recommendation, I will deliver it personally." 

Ruthar smiles softly at that. "Much appreciated, of course. Should such a note be required, you will be the first to know. I'm not sure anyone on Azeroth has seen the best or worst of me as you have."

Ina'thia squints a little bit as she tries to recall something about the worst of Ruthar. "Well, there was that one time, in Draenor..." she laughs. "Your so-called worst is positively angelic compared to mine. You'll be fine." 

Ruthar chuckles. "You literally pulled me out of the jaws of death's door on more than one occasion - I'd say that counts as the worst. Unless, of course, you want to count my relationship missteps, though those are probably best left markedly -off- the record."

Ina'thia smirks, "That -does- remind me of that one time in Draenor, actually. When we all thought we were going to die, and everyone was freezing..." she laughs. "Rest assured, none of that will get mentioned. And I once again reiterate -- your worst compared to mine makes you look like an angel. Don't worry about it." 

Ruthar nods. "There is a lot of uncertainty on the horizon, but with uncertainty comes opportunity. Speaking of, I fear I glossed over your own opinions on the Magistrix and such affairs. Would she close the Runesworn project if some sort of situation would arise, or did she not even mention any of that yet?"

Ina'thia pauses to think on that question for a moment. "You know, I'm not sure. If something severe enough to recommission the Phoenix Guard ever happened, a scholarly project for magic rocks would have to be put on pause. Wouldn't you think?" 

Ruthar nods. "I would assume so, but, then again, magical defenses and artifacts could be a huge benefit depending on the conflict."

Ina'thia shrugs, "At the end of the day, it's not really my decision. It's her project, and I can't very well do both if enough shit hits the fan that I'm a Commander again." 

Ruthar nods. "Quite so." He taps his chin in thought. "Have you heard anything from a Magister Duskfury? He's been helpful to the Farstriders for a while. He's a pro-military Magister, a former Sunreaver, as it were. I wonder if he'd be a great point of contact for your Magistrix should her attention be turned toward military interests."

Ina'thia quirks a brow, "Odd that I've not heard of him. Regardless, I'll pass his name along to Magistrix Silverspell. If things do go south enough to bring back the Guard, it'd be worthwhile for them to know of each other's interests." 

Ruthar smirks again. "Consider it another chess piece in the game - such a meeting might push a hand on the Magistrix's scale and further her interest in such things."

Ina'thia mutters under her breath, "If it keeps my nose out of a dusty old book..." she smiles. "We can put our thumb on the scale just a little bit, too. Not that I'm hoping for a disaster, or anything." 

Ruthar glances to the desk filled with stacked reports of conflict after conflict. "I don't think you need to hope," he says, gesturing to the contents. "I think the word is 'inevitable.'"

Ina'thia glances back to the desk, "...Fair enough. Well, with you and I leading things again, we'll have a fighting chance, won't we? Whether it be vanquishing demons or boredom." 

Ruthar chuckles, looking around the office. "The first thing to vanquish is this forlorn furniture. Let's get this done quick - there is a bottle of Thalassian red waiting for us at the inn below."

Ina'thia finally stands up straight, smoothing the wrinkles from her tabard out of habit. "By the Sunwell, I've -missed- you." She gestures for Ruthar to exit first, so that she can close and lock the door behind her. Maybe next time it won't be years before the office sees its next visitors.

@inathia

[ronaestrider]

A Pleasant Picnic

Ruthar slips through the pavilion, his boots clanking softly against the stonework. He stops as the doorway opens to the sea, breathing deeply as his mind slips into long-held memories. He watches as Analyse salutes beneath a phoenix banner, Rositsa focusing upon a target. The banner snaps in the breeze as a phalanx of Silvermoon's mightiest gather to trade information and plan their next move. With a blink of his tired eyes, the images disappear, revealing the calm scene before him - no guards, no protectors, just quiet. He looks over to the table nearby to find a seated Ina'thia.

"Of the three centuries I've stalked these forests, few places feel like home as much as this pavilion."

Ina'thia 's ears flick as she hears the clanking of Ruthar's boots as he exits the pavilion, out to the little clearing with tables. There's a picnic spread, complete with a red and gold embroidered cloth, and a bottle of wine.

"And that's why I always seem to find myself here, after all this time and everything that's happened."

Ruthar saunters over to the table, his eyebrows raising as he looks at the spread. "You certainly went all out. I didn't expect this when I received your letter..." He shifts over to take a seat on the bench across, noting her relatively unarmored form.

Ina'thia gives Ruthar a bit of a smirk as she pulls the cork from the wine bottle. "Well, we meant to do this how long ago, now? A lot has happened since then and now. My guilt, made manifest in a picnic." 

Ruthar watches her uncork the wine bottle, enjoying the sight of someone else kick off the drinking for a change. He rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, a while ago, for sure. But the tables in Fairbreeze aren't going anywhere and I'm a patient elf." He picks up a crystal glass and slides it in Ina'thia's direction.

Ina'thia is quick to pour into Ruthar's glass, then into her own. "I ran into Li-Mei last night. What's her status, these days? Still a traitor... probationary... questionable...?" 

Ruthar chuckles dryly, taking up the glass. He lofts it, somewhat dismissively. "Before we slide directly into that sort of business, to fond memories in a fond locale. I do appreciate the invitation, whatever the circumstances may be." He holds the glass aloft for a soft clink.

Ina'thia raises her own glass to toast with Ruthar, "You're right, you're right. My mind and entire life have been going entirely too fast. I planned to slow down, but here I am. Talking business." 

Ruthar clinks it, sipping the Thalassian red softly, cherishing the taste before popping a small fruit into his mouth. "Commander Dawnblade," he quips. "I don't believe you have ever had a reputation for slowing down."

Ina'thia takes a sip of her own wine, following it with a small wedge of cheese. "And that's where I'd say 'Lt. Commander Ronaestrider, I'll slow down when I'm dead!', right?" She laughs into her wine glass. 

Ruthar smirks at that. "Truly, the memories come swirling back on this beach. A lifetime ago, it feels..." He allows the moment to slip, taking another gentle sip before returning to the present. "Interesting that you would mention Li-Mei first and foremost - I only just today received an unprompted missive from her."

Ina'thia 's gaze trails past Ruthar to the beach itself as she relives her own memories. "She's looking for... something. Work? Assignment? Belonging? I'm not sure what to do about her." 

Ruthar nods, his expression somewhat quizzical. "Precisely," he admits. "That was nearly verbatim what was in her note."

Ina'thia lazily plucks a grape off of the picnic spread and pops it into her mouth. She rests her elbow on the table, chin in hand, thoughtfully chewing. "Part of this is an apology for not letting you know of my current assignment sooner. I'm sure you've heard about it, from the Magistry. Runestones. It's... not a strictly military affair. Li-Mei needs structure and I'm not sure if I can provide that." 

Ruthar nods slowly, his eyes shifting down toward the spread a moment. "I heard whispers, certainly. Of course, I don't have the strongest of ties to the Magistry these days, so I know precious little. I would assume, as always, it is a need-to-know situation."

Ina'thia watches Ruthar, "I wanted to tell you, but things moved quickly. I would welcome your involvement, however much you can provide. I know the Farstriders keep you busy." 

Syrielle smiles brightly as she silently approaches the familiar faces.

Ruthar nods. "Busy is certainly one way to..." His eyes shift over to his left and widen as he catches sight of Syrielle. "Goodness, I wasn't aware this would be such an occasion," he leans back, raising his glass toward Syrielle.

Syrielle brings her hand around over Ina's eyes, "Guess who!" She giggles playfully.

Ina'thia 's ears flick as she feels a presence behind her. Before she can turn around, hands cover the top half of her face! Her first reaction is to snarl, but her expression turns into a bright smile when she realizes who it is. "Syrie! I -just- sent that letter before I came out here. Are you that anxious to get out of the big fancy house?" 

Ruthar lifts himself up partially to pour a glass of red, sliding it across the table toward the empty seat next to Ina'thia.

Syrielle wraps her arms around Ina in a hug, "Just got out of a boring meeting actually. It was perfect timing! Oooh! We drinking?”

Ruthar smirks, pushing the glass even further. "Always."

Ina'thia leans in to Syrie's hug, then pats the seat next to her. "Eversong Red, the best and only! Come, come. This is hardly boring." 

Ruthar cants his head to the side at Ina'thia curiously. "You are quite...different than the last we spoke. Dare I say, happy? Content? This must be some project you've got."

Ina'thia raises a brow to Ruthar as she sips at her wine, holding the glass to her lips longer than normal as she measures her response. "Having a new project helps. Settling some personal issues also helps." 

Syrielle takes a seat next to Ina. Her gloved hand reaches for the drink, "That the new project Bey's got his eye on?"

Ruthar narrows his eyes curiously as he takes another sip, listening for the moment though curiosity radiates from his features.

“Must be quite a project!” Syrielle exclaims. “I haven't seen him in this good of a mood ever since…”

Ina'thia sets her glass down, "He's quite involved." She mutters under her breath, forgetting for a moment that she's in the company of elves. "We're quite involved. ANYWAY. This project is to restore some of the runestones that made Ban'dinoriel!"

Syrielle gasps at Ina'thia. “Ohmygoshreally?!” Her ears perk all the way up and her eyes glow with excitement, "You're together again?! AHHHHHHH!" She hugs Ina, again.

“Ban'dinoriel is long gone,” Ruthar states matter-of-factly. “The only restoration of note here is between you and the Magister, it seems.”

Ina'thia lifts an arm so that Syrie can go in for all of the hugs, but also so she can pat the top of Syrie's head. "Shan'dor still functions, and there are other, smaller runestones. If we can piece those back together, imagine what could be done for the others. Plus, I've gained a reputation as actually accomplishing the impossible. It's far from surviving suicide missions through the Dark Portal... but it gives me purpose." 

Ina'thia is, pointedly, not discussing Bey'ron.

Syrielle is focused solely on the Bey’ron and Ina thing, but is content to just keep hugging Ina happily, allowing she and Ruthar to continue their conversation.

Ruthar considers that, taking another sip before sampling a piece of Sunsail Gouda. "Knight-Lord Dawnblade has a new venture surrounded by magic-oriented folks? That seems like an...interesting choice."

Ruthar smirks as he takes another sip. "No offense, of course. Clearly, there is a little magic in you now."

Syrielle grins wickedly at Ina'thia. “Yeah there is!”

Ina'thia playfully messes up Syrie's tiara, "Plenty of other familiar faces in the group. Hawkcrest, Dawnreaer, Ravenscar, Bloodwrath, Tiderunner..." 

Syrielle chuckles, releasing Ina so that she can fix up her tiara.

Ruthar snaps up a little at that. "Ranger Captain Hawkcrest? Goodness, it sounds like you plan to beat the stones back into service."

Ina'thia snickers at Ruthar, "Well, has anyone tried that yet? It just might work."

Ruthar shakes his head with a smirk, reaching to pour another glass. "Fair enough, I suppose, though I was unaware the Knights had such a vested interest in magical defenses. A sign of collectivism that we should all aspire to, certainly."

“You getting the Guard back together?” Syrielle asks.

Ina'thia shakes her head, "No. The Guard is long gone... this is something new. Magistrix Silverspell is calling us the Runesworn." She shrugs a little bit. "The Blood Knights and the Magistry have always had a close relationship..." 

Syrielle grins at Ina, "Yeah, they have."

“Sometimes fraught,” Ina’thia continues, “but one nonetheless. It hearkens back to old times for our Order, but far more pleasant circumstances." 

Syrielle waggles her eyebrows at Ina.

Ina'thia holds the driest possible cracker up to Syrie's mouth, hoping she'll be too occupied with chewing and swallowing a desert than talking about Bey'ron.

Ruthar snorts into the wine glass at Syri before resting it down to sample some Falthrien Fontina. "Doesn't seem to me that there is much need for us old, non-magical defenders."

"There's magic around us everywhere in Quel'Thalas,” Ina’thia offers. “The leylines, the Light, even the land itself. Even if I don't understand it, I can protect those that do." 

Syrielle smirks as she chews the cracker, taking a sip of wine to help with it.

Ruthar nods, taking a long sip. "So, Li-Mei is interested in this as well? I take it that such a desire is the catalyst for her note."

Ina'thia drums her fingers on the edge of the table. She seems a little frustrated, and not quite sure how to articulate it. "I don't know if she's interested in this particularly, or just... -anything-. I don't know if I can trust her to keep the magical secrets we are already discovering." 

Ruthar considers that. "It is that very betrayal of magical secrets that exposed Ban'dinoriel in the first place, but I wouldn't say Li-Mei is the next Drathir..."

Syrielle finally swallows down that cracker, "She would never do it out of malice or on purpose, for sure."

Ina'thia nods slowly, "...I know, but the fact that I wonder about it gives me pause. And as I said; this isn't a military operation. It's not the Guard. There's no rank or role for her to be neatly boxed into." 

“How has she been doing?” Syrielle inquires. “I haven't seen her since the trial.”

Ruthar munches on a grape before replying. "Fairly well, from what I understand. In fact, I worked alongside her and Lord Everblaze in apprehending a traitor to the Kingdom along the southern border recently. Certainly, the Magister would vouch for her given those circumstances in addition to all his other efforts in her favour."

“Oh! You helped bring Sunwhisper in?” Syrielle asks. “That’s great!”

Ina'thia shifts on her half of the bench, quirking a brow. "Traitor? ...Sunwhisper? Why does that sound so familiar..." 

Ruthar nods. "It was mostly a trivial affair, to be honest. One of the betrayers who orchestrated Suncrown near the end of the Guard's tenure."

Syrielle looks up. “Really? No trouble bringing her in?”

Ina'thia nearly chokes on a grape, "That's -not- a mostly trivial affair. I thought those fuckers were D E A D. They should be, after what they did!"

“Not that I doubt you, Rosi and Bey's abilities, but isn't she like... super strong?” Syrielle offers as a follow-up.

Ruthar nods. "Turns out, she is, in fact, dead. She's still in Everblaze's custody, I believe. He had intended to find answers to quite a few questions."

Syrielle nods to Ruthar's words, "Events are recent and it's not very talked about."

Ina'thia exhales sharply into her wine glass and takes a big gulp -- the rest of the contents, in fact. She's stewing about a great many things. "I hate everything about this. But it's out of my hands." 

“The important thing is that she's in custody,” offers Syrielle.

Ruthar looks to Ina'thia curiously. "They are in Thalassian custody, I could think of no better place." He nods to Syri. "I am certain there are many answers to come. Regardless, Li-Mei was part of the collecting party, no questions asked. A good omen about her trustworthiness, perhaps."

Ina'thia lets out a sigh as she consciously wills the tension from her body. "You're right. Maybe I'm being too hard on her. I don't have a whole lot of room to talk." 

“Only you can decide who is best suited for your venture, of course,” Ruthar states plainly. “I only offer that I do believe she can be trusted, despite her momentary slip. She is certainly under the Magister's ever-watchful eye, at the very least.”

Syrielle takes another drink of wine, "She ever let anything slip when she was in the Guard?"

Ina'thia makes a funny face at the mention of the Magister's ever-watchful eye. She decides to take another wedge of cheese. "Not that I'm aware of. I'll... keep it under advisement." 

Ruthar looks over to Syrielle. "And you, Lady Starfrost? Are you also involved in this rune-venture?"

Syrielle shakes her head, picking out a piece of cheese, "Unfortunately not. Since I usually end up with Bey's work when he gets busy with other business. I can probably pitch in and help from time to time, but I don't think it's something I could fully commit to. It does sound interesting, though.”

Ina'thia offers a smile at Syrie, "I'd welcome any help you'd be able to give us. Same for you, Ruthar. I know the project seems far fetched -- impossible, even -- but the Phoenix Guard was successful against far greater odds and dangers." 

Syrielle smiles at Ina, "Definitely call if you need anything. I can usually pop in pretty quickly, as you saw." Syrielle mumbles as she goes to take a sip of wine, "I thought it was a booty call."

Ina'thia nearly chokes on her own spit.

Ruthar polishes off his second glass, clicking it down upon the table. "I swore an oath to the Guard, an oath that cost me dearly on more than one occasion. If you need my help, you need only..." his voice trails off for a moment as he glances between the pair. "I...I, ah. Well, I can certainly leave you to it..."

“Nah, I like being on Bey's good side,” Syrielle replies.

Ina'thia rests her hands on the table as she finishes sputtering. "...and I don't need to have -another- fight with Gattius." 

“Has he apologized to you yet? I told him he needs to apologize.” Syrielle pours herself another glass.

Ruthar shakes his head as other memories slip through his mind. "I commend your collective strength. I'm not sure I have many skills in this personal arena. The last ones...well, best to let those remain unreminded."

Ina'thia holds out her wine glass as Syrie pours herself more. "I don't think there will ever be apologies. But... it is what it is." 

Syrielle refills Ina's glass, her ears lowering some.

Ina'thia falls into silence as she nurses her wine. "Well, happier topics. The three of us are here, now, which hasn't happened in years! New projects... new things... it'll all be okay." 

Ruthar dusts off his tabard, standing from the table. "Sadly, I should retire back to the City before the night falls fully, as much as I'd love to watch the darkness kiss the shoreline once more." He sighs, looking out over the water as he shifts around. "It is truly good to see you both. New things, new projects - all indeed worth celebrating. A happy Ina'thia, too - a rare sight, indeed," he offers, turning around as he looks upon the pair with perhaps a hint of quashed underlying sadness. "But, a sight truly worth celebrating." He smiles at the pair. "As always, Sunwell guide. Send my best to both Sir Starfrost and Magister Everblaze."

Syrielle quickly gets up and walks over to Ruthar, pulling him into a hug, "It's always so good to see you, Ruthar."

Ruthar chuckles as he accepts the hug, holding tightly. "You as well, Syrie, should I still be permitted to call you that. A lovely surprise this evening, to be sure."

Ina'thia stands up as well. She doesn't rush in for a hug like Syrie does, but instead, stands awkwardly with her rigid postures and hands at her sides. "It was good to see you. And I hope to see you more. Remember... defying the impossible is what we used to do every day, and we did it well. Come help us build a runestone or four." 

Syrielle smiles. “You can always call me Syrie. In fact, I prefer it.” She reaches over and pulls Ina into the hug.

Ruthar smiles at that, accepting the hug that Syrie continues, holding his dear friends close for a prolonged moment. After pulling back, his fingers instinctively brush upon his marred eye scars.

"Some were better at defying said impossibilities than others, to be sure. Though, perhaps this old soul still has something to offer to this Runesworn." He flashes a small grin. "Just as with Li-Mei, I suppose I will take it under advisement."

Syrielle smiles, finally releasing the two, "We need to meet like this more often."

Ruthar smiles and nods. "Indeed! Ina'thia still owes me a dinner in Fairbreeze - certainly another chair wouldn't hurt."

Ina'thia allows a much wider smile to cross her lips, and she finds herself in the middle of this group hug somehow. For once, she doesn't freeze up or complain. Instead, she pulls her two friends in closer. "Dinner in Fairbreeze it is. With more wine!"

“Yay!” Syrielle cheers.

Ruthar smiles at that, offering one final squeeze before slipping away. "I have some special selections from my vintner to share, I very much look forward to that. But, Sunwell guide and all that for real this time." He begins to walk toward the pavilion before turning to offer one final smile to the pair before trekking back to the City.

“Sunwell Guide, Ruthar,” Syrelle replies with a smile.

Ina'thia gives Ruthar a little wave, "Sunwell guide, my friend. Rest well." 

Ruthar chuckles at that, always having wondered what it felt like to be sunwell guide-d. He takes another glimpse from his now helmet-adorned head before truly departing, his mind moving far faster than his feet.

He sighed as he slipped through the woodlands southward, returning to the walls of Silvermoon. He had truly received much more than he bargained for, for good or ill. Upon receiving a letter of invitation from In'athia for this evening, he had expected some basic updates about goings-on in regards to the Knights or movements in Quel'Thalas - standard points of their regular discussions. The focus on personal matters was not something he had anticipated.

There was never an opportunity, don't dwell on it, his mind whispered the reminder to himself as he walked along. The Knights and Magistry have always had a special sort of relationship - you chose your path long ago when you first lifted a bow.

He instinctively reached for Ana'dal upon his back, running his fingers along the ornate golden wood. No sense focusing on what could have been, he reminded himself.

Focus on what is.

--------------------

@inathia @syrielle

[ronaestrider]

Before the Gates

Part I

“Bring it down - now!”

Hundreds of drawstrings snapped as arrows slipped through the thick, dark air, their sharpened points tearing through leathery skin with deadly accuracy. An otherworldly scream tore through the Rangers’ ears, a deafening roar of defeat as the creature plummeted to the surface for a final shudder.

Ranger-Captain Ronaestrider smirked as he strode over the lifeless corpse, the wings crushed beneath a sea of Elven boots, but the aura of success was fleeting at best. The roar of a hundred enemies before the contingent assaulted him, a grotesque reminder that this was just the beginning. He gripped Ana’dal with renewed vigor and stood tall among his cohorts as the clash of metal resonated in the distance.

“At the ready,” he called as the leather gloves of his Rangers pulled taut the strings of their weaponry. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the front lines before him, waiting for the best moment to provide the necessary cover fire. A handful of seconds that seemed like an eternity slipped as the Rangers held.

“Fire!”

The barrage of arrows peppered the advancing Legion ranks as dozens of the vile beasts fell in the front only to be trampled by their relentless kin. The snap of bones was muted only by the cries of death, but none of that could be heard by the trained Rangers - such sounds of battle were white noise beneath their impeccable concentration.

And so it went, on and on for what felt like an endless amount of time. The front lines would advance, cover fire would be offered, aerial targets would be dealt with. The fatigue of the Rangers was beginning to show - a sign of weakness not commonly seen amongst the Farstriders.

“Ranger-Captain,” one of Ruthar’s Lieutenants proclaimed after loosening yet another projectile. “We can’t continue on like this for….”

“Well aware, Lieutenant,” Ruthar returned, firing his own weapon with practised haste. “We’ll have to hang on for a little further - they are nearly to the ridge.”

Sure enough, the front line had shifted forward a noticeable amount from the start of their advance. It was much slower going than any of them had predicted, sure, but it was progress all the same. They were well aware that approaching Antorus itself would be no simple task - but no one expected it to be quite this difficult.

Suddenly, the rocks providing cover at the Rangers’ rear burst apart, showering them with small rocks. As the haze only just began to clear, the Legion was upon them. Ruthar snapped his head around as he tried to piece it all together. One of the Legion ships had blown a hole clear through the back of the rocky wall. Probably one of the ships, he thought silently to himself. But there was no time to think further on the how - the rearmost ranks were already being cleaved and crushed by the advancing Legion forces.

Ruthar returned his bow to his back and removed a pair of daggers from beneath the lower fabric of his Shattered Sun tabard. He crouched low for a moment before slipping forward with a burst of speed.

“For Quel’Thalas!”

The recognizable expression was returned by hundreds of other Rangers in an Elven roar as they took heed of the Ranger-Captain’s intent. The waves of bow-wielding Rangers turned clean around to assault the Legion in close-quarters combat.

It was only a moment before Ruthar’s daggers plunged deep into the chest of an advancing Eredar. His pair of small, ornate blades tore up from the chest through the neck before the vile worshipper could mutter even a sentence of incantation. Purple-black blood sprayed upon the red and gold of his Thalassian armour, but he did not slow, did not hesitate. Memories of Quel’Danas assaulted him with every kill, with every spray of demonic blood - it supported his thirst for victory, his wish to prove, once more, that the Legion has no hope at the hands of the Sin’dorei.

“Ranger-Captain!” his Lieutenant called, just quickly enough for Ruthar to slide beneath the legs of an approaching infernal. The great creature’s massive hands slammed into the darkened earth to leave a small crater where the Farstrider only just stood. He wasted not a moment, springing back upon his feet to leap to the side of the monstrous beast. He dug his pair of daggers deep behind the knee of the creature as it howled in massive pain, lilting to the side as bright green liquid dribbled upon its leg. Other Farstiders snapped to the attention of the Infernal’s scream, peppering the weakened creature with an assault of arrows that finally ended the thing completely.

Ruthar smeared the blood across his chest, cleaning his blades as he hunted for his next quarry. A massive cheer in the distance caught his ears as he twisted his head toward the gate of the Burning Throne. His jaw loosened slightly as he saw it with his own two eyes.

“Sir, they are upon the Gate!”

The Lieutenant had saw it as well - the very best of Azeroth’s forces had successfully pushed to the goal, right up to the heart of the Legion itself.

“Fools!”

The single word was uttered with such power, such confidence that it seemed to visibly tear through the air itself. Ruthar snapped his head around, returning his daggers to their resting place and slipping his bow into his grasp all in one quick, effortless motion. He unleashed a single arrow right at the head of the speaker, the projectile leaving a glowing gold trail in its wake. Dozens of other Rangers followed immediately as a small wave of arrows sailed toward the bold Eredar.

With a scowl and a toss of his hand, the air around him shimmered. The arrows that once were present had simply vanished, disintegrated by the powers at word. Without another moment to gloat, the Eredar raised his hands to the sky as a new wave of Legion denizens flowed forth from the sides, pinning the Rangers in the middle.

The sky opened atop them as liquid felfire rained down upon them. The screams of singed Rangers were met only with the sounds of renewed battle as the outer edges of the contingent were tore into. Glinting armour burned and melted beneath the Eredar’s assault as centuries of training was halted by the ceaseless blows of the Legion.

“Fall back!”

The words fell heavily out of Ruthar’s mouth, a burden of a phrase that he used in only the most desperate of times. In mere seconds, the remainder of the leadership was desperately spewing the words as well, trying with all their might to get their force to move away from the Eredar toward the Gate in the distance.

More cries and screams assaulted the Ranger-Captain as armour melted and weaponry exploded. The sickening crunch of skull beneath plated appendage haunted his thoughts as they fell back. Quickening their pace, they made their way down the sloped ground. All the while, the Eredar cackled from his vantage point behind them, hands still lifted toward the swirling sky as his felfire eyes surveyed the carnage. As stole a backward glance, all Ruthar could see was the smouldering remains of his unit that had only just tasted a hint of victory.

He stumbled as his feet caught the mass of something in his path, his helmet slamming against the charred earth. As he pushed himself up, his eyes caught the object behind him - the glinting armour of his trusted Lieutenant, the brightness of the chestpiece a stark contrast to the charred helmet that encased his now lifeless head.

“Arturian…”

There was no time to grieve, no time to stop. The Ranger-Captain and the few that remained continued in their flight from the Eredar and his minions. A spark of hope approached in the distance as green blasts of felfire illuminate the plated armour. Certainly they have seen our retreat, Ruthar thought to himself as he continued along down the slope, blocking the terrors behind him from his mind.

He continued to press on in an attempt to close the gap between himself and the forces approaching from the other direction. The air began to shake, a haze falling between himself and those in the distance as he came to the realization nearly too late.

The ground before him exploded in a torrent of bright green.

Ruthar was blown off his feet and thrown backward, crashing hard against the ground as the blast from one of the Legion’s ships decimated the area. The debris clouded the air rendering his eyes useless while his ears rang with the intensity of the explosion. He reached, blind and deaf by the suddenness of the situation, searching for something - anything.

He found only pain as something slammed into his side, his consciousness fading as the surrounding darkness consumed all.

“Dawnblade,” he muttered slowly as he felt his energies slip away.

“Better me than the lot of you.”

@inathia @phoenixguard

[calthossunkeeper]

Aranda - We Are The Enemy [Lyric Video]

New Album Not The Same available now! Download 'Not The Same' - bit.ly/1fJDveR Stream - bit.ly/1LQKRaI Aranda On Tour - bit.ly/1NjKpSI Merch - bit.ly/1GxBCs9

This song truly reminds me of Phoenix Guard and our fighting spirit. Enjoy.

[regalgorgon]

Inathia smirks, "You will not have the respect of any men that choose to follow you, and I guarantee you will get none in the Order with your conduct this evening. I have two words for you, baby D'lanastion..."

Inathia blows a mocking sort of kiss, "Good luck."

@pariker :D I gave her the “what she actually wants to do right now” face after the good luck kiss.

(Context, no, the D’lanastion is not Forte but someone with his last name)

[thefugitivemango]

What if Bey'ron's involvement in the Lt. General's murder had been discovered?

DENIAL! ABSOLUTE DENIAL! 

Bey’ron’s no slouch. He’s careful and calculating when it comes to things like that. But if by some oversight on his part (or extreme vigilance on another’s) he’s found to be connected to the Lt. General’s explosive demise, he’d cover it as best he could. First, trying the denial tactic. Staunch alibi, scapegoat, the works. 

If THAT weren’t plausible, he’d tarnish the Lt General’s reputation. Claim he was a Legion advocate, or Alliance sympathizer, with as much planted evidence to support the claim as he could. Then yes, exploding a person would still be bad. But exploding a traitor to the kingdom? Heroic.

IF THAT FAILED, and he was absolutely pinned as a malicious murderer, he’d disappear. Bey’ron has numerous escape plans, and fallback escape plans for each of those plans. His political career would end, yes. His acceptance into Sin’dorei society would be grievously hindered, yes. But an Elf like Bey’ron has many doors open to him…

[lordbeyron]

Champion Dawnblade, Words alone are deficient in expressing my gratitude for your hospitality in this foreign world. Please relay my kind regards to your officers, staff, and soldiers. The Phoenix Guard always have a friend in the Council and the Magistry. With respect, Magister Everblaze

It was a short note, but Bey'ron estimated the Champion would prefer it to a long, drawn-out fluff piece. His two-day stay at the Phoenix Guard's outpost expanded into months quickly, but each day was without event. He was escorted into the main encampment on a handful of occasions, but otherwise kept to himself in the lodging set aside for him outside. Champion Dawnblade made it clear she didn't trust him already. And Bey'ron felt it best not to draw more attention to his expedition - or the intent behind it - anymore than his presence already had. Not for this trip. He folded the note neatly, slipping it into a small decorative envelope before giving it to one of the sentries. Then, he simply left; no pomp, no theatrics. Simply, he handed a note to one of the Guards, and went on his way.

Getting to Talador happened one of three ways; by land, by air, or by sea. Bey'ron chose the latter, hiring the services of a Frostwolf ferry to get him across the Zangar Sea. The trip was spent in silence, save the waves breaking against the hull of the vessel. Bey'ron sat in quiet contemplation, preparing for the task at hand.

"Where can I drop you, elf?" the Frostwolf finally asked.

"Just outside of Shattrath will suffice." The Magister replied.

"--Unwise, elf. Shattrath is overrun. Demons."

Bey'ron's lips curved to a grin.

"I know."

[lordbeyron]

Arrival

It was colder than he anticipated in Frostfire Ridge. Icy winds swept across the snowdrifts, breaking against the Magister’s robes. The sensation was oddly satisfying; it had been some time since Bey’ron had felt his body temperature dip so low. It reminded him of Northrend, and the time he spent there incinerating wave after wave of Scourge. His eyes reacted to the recollection, as he scanned the landscape for movement. The Ridge, however, was still. He exhaled a sigh, his breath condensing before him before being swept off by the winds. His gaze reaffixed to his destination - the Phoenix Guard’s garrison - as it stood before him. His lips curved to a smirk, as he began to close the distance between him and the fortress’ front gate.

“Wait here, Galathion.”

‘An orc wearing Sin’dorei robes.’

Such was the impression the fortress gave him. The craftsmanship of the buildings bore a familiar Horde feel; stone, wood, and plain unembellished metals. And yet, each structure was dressed in red and golden drapery to offer an overall Thalassian aesthetic. 

“Quaint.”

He walked passed a number of guards, each either standing stoically, or moving with intent from one place to another. A few glanced the Magister’s direction, but most of them appeared to busy to even acknowledge his existence. It was well enough; he hadn’t come to speak to them.

His attention was drawn to a portal sitting at the heart of the garrison - a portal, crackling with Arcane power. Around it sat a manufactured cradle of crystals, each hanging suspended equidistant from one another in a radial patter about the portal itself. Stabilizers, no doubt. Had he known there was a portal directly here, he would have inquired about using it. But the journey from Warspear was of little impedance nonetheless. Bey’ron nodded, giving the portal a sufficient gaze of admiration before moving on.

The command building towered over the others. Familiar Silvermoon banners hung proudly against the stone wall of the structure, as well as the crests of the Phoenix Guard itself. It had been some time since Bey’ron interacted with the Phoenix Guard; they had served their purpose for him once before in Dalaran. And he expected they would again...

Parting the curtain, Bey’ron stepped inside the command building. A small stairway let him out into a large, open room. Torches lit the room up sufficiently, while also doing their part in staving off the outside’s cold. He stood in the center of the room, and looked around - eyes catching the familiar face of Champion Dawnblade, sitting at a table off to the side. She spoke with another, unfamiliar to Bey’ron. He smirked, approaching.

“...I am still a Sunreaver to the bone.” the unfamiliar man continued conversing, before noticing Bey’ron’s approach.

"I'd recommend another color at least, but that whole getup is ridiculous--” Champion Dawnblade replied, before also turning her attention to Bey’ron.

“I think it's fine, myself. Purple's a regal color, factional tendencies notwithstanding.” the Magister added, inserting himself into the conversation.

Champion Dawnblade’s face solidified, all but frowning at the Magister as he approached. She clutched her teacup tensely, causing it to shake slightly.

“Magister Everblaze.” she greeted him, simply.

“Bal’a dash, Champion Dawnblade.” he responded, dipping his head in respect.

She made no effort to rise, much less return the gesture. Instead, she kept her single eye warily affixed on Bey’ron; breaking away after a moment to look to the violet-dressed man. He wore garb akin to the Kirin Tor, including a mask which hid his face from view. Nonetheless, Bey’ron could feel this stranger’s gaze upon him, and returned it. Noticeably, the man lacked an arm.

“Magister Sunkeeper, this is Magister Everblaze. We are...” The Champion heistated, as if searching her mind for the proper term. “... acquaintances.”

“Magister Sunkeeper.” Bey’ron repeated, green eyes trained on the man. “Well met.”

“A pleasure,” came his response, “though I left my Magister title behind me quite some time ago. I am merely Doctor Sunkeeper.”

‘Amusing,’ Bey’ron thought. ‘Another former Magister seeking to differentiate themselves from the Magistry.’

“--Doctor, then. Apologies.” he replied.

“None needed.” the Doctor returned immediately.

The two regarded one another a moment, formalities and politeness only thinly veiling one another’s appraisal of the other. Champion Dawnblade spoke up.

“--Have you come to aid the war effort on your own accord? Or were you sent here?” she inquired, succinctly.

“Neither.” Bey’ron replied, returning his attention to the Blood Knight. “I’ve my own agenda. But I’m grateful you’re willing to house me for a day or two.”

Once more, he dipped his head respectfully. And once more, the Champion made no move in response. 

“Did I have much of a choice in the matter?” she chuckled, dryly.

“... That being the case, I’m more than willing to help you and your merry band out in any way I can. Return the favor, and such.”

Champion Dawnblade retained her watchful eye on the Magister, as if he were a coiled snake preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. She reached out, flipping one of the many maps and missives over onto another, concealing both.

“In any case, I think we can find work for you to do. The stables need shoveled, after all.”

“Simple enough,” Bey’ron nodded. “I’ll get a couple of my servants right on it. But pray tell, how have your efforts here fared? I’ve heard many success stories.”

The Blood Knight shifted in her seat. “Our efforts have been going well, as I’m sure you can see by our small fortress. Tell me, what brought you out to Draenor?”

“--An impressive fortress, indeed!” the Magister deflected. “A venerable slice of Azeroth, carved out of the ice. You and your people should be proud.”

“Oh, I am sure this is only meant to be some routine inspection on behalf of the Magistry. They must keep an eye on those they govern.” Doctor Sunkeeper spoke up, rekindling the Champion’s question.

Bey’ron only smiled. “My business here is mine, not the Magistry’s.” he stated. “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.”

“Of course...” Sunkeeper replied, tone betraying his skepticism.

“It seemed as much.” Champion Dawnblade said, tapping her chin in thought. “I’ve seen little, if any of the Magistry in Draenor. I hear they are still squabbling over scraps in Silvermoon.” 

The disdain dripped from her words; she wasn’t shy about her feelings towards the Magistry.

“Hence why I left.” the Doctor added - also very candid of his feelings.

“Oh, yes.” Bey’ron replied. “Incessantly. Sad to say, but few among them seem all too interested in Draenor. Now, the methods of our trans-dimensional arrival here? Quite a topic of discussion.”

The Champion sipped once more from her teacup, shifting to a stance indicating more disinterested in the Magister at this point. “We’ve worked it out well enough. Any portal is dangerous; this one just happens to be moreso.”

“So I’ve seen; another impressive aspect of your grand fortress, Champion.” the Magister nodded.

“Our personal portal is quite easy to maintain, however. the combination of magic, machinery, and artifice makes it quite stable.” the Doctor boasted.

“Restricted use, I assume? Can’t let just anyone walts to and fro through such a rift...”

“Of course.” the Doctor nodded. 

He conjured a teapot with the wave of his hand, accompanied by two teacups.

“Tea, Magister?”

“Ah, I’ll abstain. But thank you.” Bey’ron declined.

Sunkeeper nodded, waving his hand again. The teapot poured its contents into one of the floating cups magically, and without any physical exertion. The cup levitated about the Doctor’s face who, with use of a conjured straw, took a sip of the tea through his mask.

“The Guard boasts many skilled arcanists, theorists, runemasters, and machinists. It has been a collaborative effort - and yes, access is highly restricted.” Champion Dawnblade added - nigh warned - as she set her teacup down.

“For the best, assuredly.” Bey’ron replied. “What of your campaign? I’ve heard fantastic tales of triumph from every corner of this world. You and your band, too, share in such glory?”

“--You understand that much of our operations are classified. But I can say with total honesty that they have been successful.” Champion Dawnblade returned, irritated - by Bey’ron’s questioning, the floating teapot beside her, or both.

“Of course. No need to go into specifics. It’s enough to hear you’re doing well. Fighting the good fight, in defense of our world as a whole.” Bey’ron smirked.

“--My, my! You sound like a true politician, don’t you?” the Doctor sneered.

“Old habits, I suppose.” the Magister replied. “Proof enough there can be truth in even a politician’s words.”

“And my old habit of not trusting a word of it will die hard.” Champion Dawnblade rose, resting her palms on the tables surface.

She offered Bey’ron a smile, for the first time since his arrival; Bey’ron could almost taste the insincerity, but returned the gesture nonetheless.

“You’ll have lodging for two days, outside the garrison walls; there are cabins under our protection where you and your servants can rest safely. You are welcome to enter the Phoenix Guard’s garrison, but you will be escorted by myself, Lieutentant-Commander Ronaestrider, or a designee at all times. Am I clear?” she instructed, tone firm and commanding.

“Crystal, Champion. And you’ve my sincere thanks for accommodating this little excursion of mine.” Bey’ron replied, still smirking. “I won’t be any trouble. And in two days, you’ll be rid of me once more.”

The two stared at one another for a moment, before the Blood Knight nodded. 

“But of course. Let me know what supplies you or your servants may need, and we can requisition accordingly. For myself, I’ve a great deal of work to do before I turn in for the night.” she informed him, dismissively.

“Of course.” Bey’ron dipped his head respectfully. “Pleasant evening, Champion. Doctor.”

The three traded nods, before Bey’ron turned to depart the way he came. 

‘Untrusting... that’s wise’ The Magister thought to himself. Not only was she suspicious he was there to discern what she and her precious Phoenix Guard were up to, but she sought to gain insight into Bey’ron’s agenda, as well. Was she just distrusting of Magisters? Or perhaps she was smart enough to see the hand he played in the death of their Lieutenant-General last year. Either way, she was wary of him. He knew he had to be careful not to show his cards this time - if she knew what he was doing on Draenor, she wouldn’t be so hospitable...