#phoenix highguard

[ahvie-voidsinger]

[RP] Same song, second verse, a little bit darker and little bit worse

The night should have been cold. It usually was cold. It is supposed to be cold this far north, this close to the mountains. Although she probably never felt it for long enough to admit it, she remembered what a midnight breeze felt like. A refreshing caress upon her face in contrast to the near-constant Inner Fire she once drew upon to channel the Light.

She shivered, and not because she was cold. She stopped feeling cold months ago. Years ago. The Light. Sunwell guide her dreams, she thought she could remember what it tasted like to draw on the purified stream of arcane life to help her friends. Only now, amid everything seeming to go wrong around her, that memory was as distant as the nostalgia for a fruity wine she'd shared with... with... her friends. Light, it was a funny thing.

The pale-skinned elf shivered in her shroud of shadows and dimly glowing blue hair, not from discomfort or unease or fear. She knew better than to let those seeds of emotion bloom for long. Lor'danel was still... too painful. The blanket of midnight deeper than a cloudy evening upon the sea had wrapped itself around her as a second nature, a companion, a stray kitten longing for purpose. She might have done more than just dabble in the shadow and the void in her time with the Highguard, but she never claimed to understand it. Iggy warned her about giving into the dark as opposed to the more knowable flame within.

A flame was elemental, primal, but studied and basic. A void, a sentient emptiness, however, was as inscrutable as the reasons why this Light-forsaken war even began. Why it continued. That same conscious quilt of flowing inky violet wreathed around her in a reassuring embrace, warming her in a way that still made her shiver. She knew she should not enjoy it, but a grain in her mind was distictly, begrudgingly aware that she did indeed enjoy her her condition. Or, at least, its silver lining.

Breathing out a sigh, she shook her head slightly, crouched atop a snowladen branch deep in the mountain slope brush, but mere meters from the lonely campfire she'd prepared between both sides. Here, in no-mans-land, only the spies and scouts dared tread. And, maybe, kindred souls who were sleepwalking in a waking dream of days long past when a bouncy, cheerful, short elf in bright crimson silks would ferry food and camaraderie between the commoners of both factions, oblivious to the war.

She had hoped that Vyndoriel would find her missive and maps, and... yet, she also hoped deep down that other souls would dare to shirk the division and distrust that had rent Azeroth asunder worse than any grumpyface dragon aspect could have. Any soul brave enough to risk stepping into the unknown to share soup and break bread under the sky -- the only thing yet untainted by this tragedy of a whirlwind engulfing them all.

Ahvie waited, and watched with unblinking, glowing cerulean eyes that Finryx might once have pointed out as becoming of a voidtouched Ebon; eyes that still caused Vyndoriel and Adriel to instinctively reach for their weapon before hearing her voice marred by the reverb of the void; shimmering azure orbs that once were green to have easily marked her place alongside Iggy, only to now produce anger and disappointment. She didn't blame them for their reactions, their judgment. It was well-founded. She had been reckless, curious, stupid and naive in her hubris, and invoked the attention of the very ethereals that had nearly stolen Alleria and her ren'dorei nutjobs from free will.

Ahvie watched with hope, curiosity and wistful nostalgia as her void-enhanced vision granted her nightsight of the approaching armored blood elf. Unfortunately, or perhaps understandably, the familiar young woman beyond the barren clearing stopped short of exiting the Horde encampment entirely, and the void elf's ears twitched several times.

"a FrIeNd or EnEmY?" the shroud around her asked as it pulsed around her tight black leather catsuit.

Ahvie shook her head, her thoughts forming in her mind's eye as a telepathic bond with the symbiotic and sentient voidcloak the old gods had gifted her with. Was it really alive, or was it her own mind conversing with itself? "Friend. Don't you remember her? That's Fey Fey, one of the first and only Highguard to not immediately see me as an enemy."

The voidcloak around her rippled, her body warmed from the inky mass as suredly as if she were beside that unoccupied campfire beyond. It wafted quietly in the breeze in response. "wOnT yOu SaY hElLo?"

Ahvie risked a smiled and snorted. "That would only put her in danger. We're on a mission tonight."

The needles of the frosted pine jingled lightly to her shadow-enhanced (or corrupted?) ears, but the feminine and childlike drawl of her voidcloak was unmistakably clear in her head. "hMmMmmm... tHe OnE wItH fIrE eYeS. yOu LiKe HiM..."

It was a statement, not a question, and Ahvie huffed, reluctant to admit it. Having a bond with this outcast of the void comforted her at times to know that she and it had something in common, but she could hide nothing from it. The voidcloak rustled again, a childlike giggle in her cognizance, blossoming as though she only just remembered. Even her memory was no longer infallible, and she often worried how much of her unique position in SI:7 was being exploited by N'Zoth.

"bOtH oUtCaSts, BOTH LIKE US," and giggling descended into a chittering that Ahvie was grateful to be masked partially by the whipping winds at this altitude.

"He has a familiar bonded to him, too, yeah. And yet we don't want this war. We're trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum on both sides," Ahvie replied, whether to herself or to her voidcloak was unclear.

The chittering abated, and the cloak settled in around her body, framing it snugly, as though hugging her reassuredly. She got used to that months ago, as it had saved her ass many times in her dawning and growing experience as a double-agent. Or was it a triple-agent? The warmth of the empty void was... was... was it supposed to be comforting? At least it didn't get grabby with her chest or thighs.

"HoW aRe YoU sUrE tHiS iSn'T wHaT N'zzzzzzoth WaNtS?"

She'd considered that, too. And oft wondered if it would be better if she ended her own life rather than not know if she was secretly a pawn or sleeper agent to the great deep. But, she often reached the same conclusion as now -- when Fey Fey turned back to the tents with a sad look in her glowing gold eyes -- that it was better to live and keep trying to do good with the cards she was dealt. She had brokered alliances, trade deals and friendships between factions before. She could be patient, and hoped against hope that her friends had not grown as corrupted as she had during this costly and intensely personal war.

Whatever the cost, however, Vyn and M had to be informed. Ahvie oft weighed the risks of investigating whether the interim head of SI:7 operations really was Maiev, but time and again decided against it. She already was being closely watched by Alliance brass... or, at least, as closely as those clumsy kaldorei could. They trusted her enough to give her a modicum of power and freedom, and those were two gifts she dared not gamble with. Especially now, with the whispers in her head.

Ahvie suddenly grinned and chuckled to herself as Fey Fey disappeared back behind a tent flap.

"dEfInE iRoNy," came the childlike but girlish voice.

"A servant of neither the void nor the alliance nor the horde, exchanging and trading information between what likely once was former jailor and former prisoner."

"wHeN wE tOo ArE uNsUrE oF wHiCh We ArE."

Ahvie gave her cloak a tug, wrapping it around her back and neck as she relaxed... grinning goofily as she once had -- And quickly perked up as a shadowy figure not ten paces behind her roost approached the trunk of the pine tree in utter silence. She could simply *feel* him at the edge of her mind. Unwilling to give the illidari the satisfaction or belief of having 'won' this game of cat and mouse, Ahvie raised her voice only just so, the slight echo in her voice mimicking that of her visitor's warchief.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

A gruff male voice as sharp as a glaive fresh from a wound replied, wry amusement in its edge. "I only just dropped my demon's shroud of concealment. I did not want to alarm you."

Ahvie pursed her lips and sulked, grateful he had not yet rounded the trunk to see her pouty expression. Her voidcloak rustled in her ear: "tHiNk ThAts JuSt A bOaSt?"

She grinned and nodded silently, waiting for Vyndoriel to come into view. Her partner in crime had arrived.

She risked an old saying, "For the night is dark,"

To which a dark, not-quite-sinister chuckle emerged from the demon hunter below her, "And full of terrors... like us. Ready to talk business?"

[kektrain]

My true goal in pushing Nighthold so hard just to see if I could get it lol. (Gear and AP are nice side benefits too tbh lol)

[ahvie-voidsinger]

Freedom or Duty?

Author’s Note: This story was written back in May 2018, at a time when Ahvie’s role as a co-innkeeper at the Moonlit Hearth was drawing to a close. The Moonlit Hearth was an adventurer’s community village in the Darkshore town of Lor’danel, founded by Rondirin Dwarftosser. Rondirin had retired from war, hoping to find a quiet place away from the simmering faction tensions and Argussian front. In doing so, he aimed to create a place where veterans and civilians alike could eke out a living in peace, no matter their background. Ahvie had been one such guest of his.

This is not a story of how she became a void elf. Nor is it a story of how she came to gain the trust of her erstwhile (or unwitting) companions in the Alliance. This is a short story of how those peaceful days came to be overshadowed by the growing azerite conflict, and how Ahvie would not be able to remain removed of it for much longer. It says nothing of her remaining loyalties to Silvermoon or the Highguard, as it is but one brief snapshot into Ahvie being leashed back into war.

Prologue

Even in the deepest reaches of Stormwind Keep, a keen nose could easily pick up on the savory aroma of barbecued meat, exotic seasoning and fizzy ale. Or maybe the biological memory never quite left her mind ever since she and the other cadets filed through the hallways, past the kitchens and dining hall before crowding into the renovated war room.

Several heads of Alliance brass were waiting for them on the dais and around both the familiar war table and the massive representation of Azeroth pinned to wall boards, cobbled together from several parchments and maps. This was no mere policy discussion, or even a debriefing like many of the smaller talks the recruits had become used to. Something big was up.

Well, duh. Of course something big was up. The Alliance and Horde had already broken into open hostilities just short of a declaration of war. She knew this much, as she suspected many of the operatives in the room did from their own cells’ missions. Despite the seriousness of the prospect of another world war looming on the horizon not long after Argus vacated it, the pale-skinned void elf yawned aloud, drawing the stares and scowls of several agents, veteran and recruit alike.

She grinned at them and shrugged, not particularly worried about what the others thought. As it was, she was very well aware that very few of her fellow collaborators trusted her. A handful actually did remember her service record for Silvermoon not more than a few months ago, and fewer still recognized her from back when she smuggled herself into the docks and taverns in equally dark times. Almost none understood why top brass were willing to let a blood elf into the delicate and inner workings of Stormwind’s famed intelligence network.

She figured it was a the loss of so many officers and leadership in the Broken Shore mixed with the gamble that she had secrets of Horde intelligence and tactics that could be exploited in the coming war.

As the void elf sought to distance herself from the rest of the recruits taking a seat in one of the hundreds of chairs lined up in front of the dais, she spotted many recruits leaning against the outer walls and choosing to stand rather than vie for a chair. Indeed, her group was one of the last to enter, and almost all of the sitting room was occupied.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in uniform, Ahvie?” came a whisper from beside her.

Her fellow cadet, Agent Gerund, a suspiciously short worgen man both in form and uniform was giving her one of his looks.

As the others finished filing into the room and bypassing them, Ahvie shrugged with her trademark grin. She didn’t mind Gerund’s almost brotherly admonishments. She liked him mostly because she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“What’s the point of getting all fancy if we’re just going to get changed again after?” she whispered back, almost chuckling.

Again, a deadpan stare, as the doors loudly closed behind the last of the operatives entered.

"You're supposed to be showing respect and subordinance to the top dogs. I don't know what you got away with in panty-land, but here -"

"I'm not showing any skin, I'm not wearing any bright colors. I don't see a problem."

“You think you’re special because brass likes you. You’re shouldn’t push your luck with them.”

“Oh, Gerry, they don’t like me. Even you don’t like me, you just don’t want me dragging you down.”

“Then why -“ he growled.

“Shhh. Looks like they’re about to start. I’m gonna get a seat.”

“WHAT? Where?”

Ahvie didn’t fashion a reply, as even their whispering was becoming noticeably loud in the quieting auditorium. Gerund watched her for a few moments as the navy-haired elf turned and walked right up to one of the empty desks at the back that had no chairs nearby. Topped with a few textbooks and quills, it was mostly unoccupied.

Perfect.

Just as the only sounds that could be heard in the room where the 'click, clack' of measured bootsteps on the stone floor, Ahvie sidled up to the edge of the desk and half-hopped her butt on top of it, dangling her legs over the edge of it as a bored child would. Ignoring the stares of a handful of cadets in the back row, she nodded at the officers on the dais.

Several of them were old codgers, veterans of the first and second wars, somehow lucky enough to miss out on a deployment to the Broken Isles. One stood at attention, and a younger man with black hair and a barely perceptible greyline eyed all the recruits with what she gathered was a mix of scruting and pride. As the keynote speaker made her way up the steps of the dais, the instructor's gaze met with Ahvie's, and his eyes narrowed with disapproval.

"Good evening, recruits. No doubt many of you know why you are here tonight and what we're going to talk about," said the stern but silk-voiced woman who'd entered not so long ago. A towering, sleek, athletic kaldorei in the familiar SI:7 uniform eyed the gathering with confidence as she spoke.

Ahvie couldn't help but notice that the women's SI:7 uniform everyone wanted her to wear provided her with a very good view of the kaldorei's ample chest. She almost didn't hear what followed.

"As many of you are aware, Sylvanas is launching several operations throughout Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. Some are undoubtedly distractions, others are pretexts to larger goals and targets that all of us have been successful in countering. I am very proud of each and every one of you." Ahvie also noted that the elf pointedly didn't look her away for most of the speech. In fact, Ahvie spent most of the debriefing pretending to be enchanted with the woman's cleavage while actually wondering how much longer covert operations would be able to remain, well, covert. Or her own, at least.

"... Several Horde informants have claimed to offer us intel on enemy movements and supply caches. Although all of us would jump at the opportunity to exploit a weakness in the enemy, you must be equally aware and cautious of the Banshee Queen's cunning. You can bet your asses that any intel the Horde wants to provide to us is likely a ploy, distraction or a trap. File a report, but do not act without authorization from your C.O."

Ahvie bobbed her head from side to side as she recalled a song she'd heard a bard playing outside the Slaughtered Lamb earlier in the week, wishing that she'd tipped the musician. Precious few songstresses left in this scarred world, might as well keep them around.

A hand rose into the air from the crowd, which the speaker responded to curtly with a thin smile and a nod, pointing at the individual.

"You there, speak."

The cadet remained seated, but his voice was surly and rounded with an accent that likely betrayed him as either a dwarf or a backwater human.

"Pardon, Mum, but what about our... ah... defectors? The -"

"Ren'dorei, cadet?"

"Ah, yes, Mum."

The kaldorei clicked her tongue alongside a dissatisfied sniff, but responded quickly as she stiffened her expression.

"You have been ordered to work alongside them, yes?"

A silence, accompanied by which Ahvie presumed was a quiet nod.

"And you don't entirely trust our newfound allies, yes?"

Another silence, to which more cadets around the room exchanged looks with their peers, some of them turning to the handful of void elves sitting in the room. Their pointy ears were unmistakably sliding down into their chairs under the scrutiny. Ahvie sighed, oblivious to the ones cast her way.

"You already know that King Anduin has ordered the inclusion of the exiles as members of the Alliance. Rest-assured that your superior officers have screened and ensured that the ex-pats of Silvermoon are both trustworthy and loyal. That is why so few of their lot sit among you today. You would do well to remember that we have picked them to start at the bottom, as all of us once did."

"Yes, Mum."

"If you have a complaint or suspicions about ANY agent's conduct, regardless of their past or birth, you should treat them the same way you would unknown information: File a report, and don't act without authorization."

"Of course, Mum."

A light murmur of approval rippled through the gathering, and the night elf continued the briefing, using her thin baton to point to several areas of the map to indicate where some agents were being assigned. Apparently the concept of making individual cells of operatives independently unaware of the others' objectives was foreign to the Alliance. Or perhaps...

Ahvie sighed, a little too audibly, and although M kept speaking, she locked her gaze onto the void elf in the back momentarily... as did every other officer. She often forgot how good the hearing of night elves were. She'd had to practice controlling herself more.

Ahvie tried not to respond emotionally or visibly, and simply kept up the appearance of listening patiently, although she didn't keep her leatherclad legs from swinging over the edge of the desk.

* * * * *

Ahvie wasn't sure how long she'd daydreamed, but before she knew it, everyone was already standing up and getting out of their chairs and filing out en masse. Some of the operatives were giving her amused and conflicted looks, while others were whispering to each other about their upcoming missions. Apparently individual assignments were going to be handed out later, with this being an overall operational briefing for the next few months.

Nothing new, basically.

Ahvie hopped down to the floor, dusting off the back of her violet-black leather catsuit as she landed quietly. She was just about to go join Gerund in the tail end of the departing agents, when one of the officers not speaking with the other brass called out to her.

"Brightsinger. A word."

She stopped in her tracks and looked up, distinctly aware of Gerund's sympathetic but 'I told you so' glance directed her way. She hoped that her ears weren't drooping. She turned on her heels and nonchalantly sauntered down the aisle between both sections of empty chairs. The other officers were still talking amongst each other in a half-circle, although M was casting a single skeptical eye her way. Ahvie turned to the instructor whose voice she knew quite well by now.

"Yes, sir?"

He didn't immediately respond, expecting and waiting for her to approach closer to the edge of the dais. As it was, she was a dainty 5 foot tall, and already the human instructor towered over here on even footing. Now he literally was almost twice as tall as she was. Although she was used to being shorter than everyone, she didn't like how they had to rub it in here.

"Sir?"

"You displayed a deplorable level of disrespect at the meeting tonight."

"I did, sir. Sorry, sir."

A bit of a pause, which extended into what she suspected what a dissatisfied silence. She looked up at Arthur Huwe and his amazingly bald head. He didn't have an expression of much of anything. He appeared to be trying to read her mind, or if he was capable of it, that's probably what he would look like if he was trying. Ahvie squinted up at him as though that would keep him out of her thoughts.

"You haven't filed a report in a month."

"I have no assignments outstanding, sir."

"None that we've given you, no. Your privateer's license does not count." She cocked an eyebrow up at him, daring to plant a hand on one of her hips. It was no secret to brass what she used to do to fill the time.

"Anduin seems to think it does. He signed it."

"KING Anduin, Brightsinger. Do not forget your place here."

"Being a crown-sanctioned pirate and Horde defector?"

"Defector..."

She sighed, assuming a more straightened stance.

"Sir."

"We've seen you working with the locals and garrisons in Northrend."

"Yes, sir."

He paused, his gaze studiously examining her as though her glowing locks of hair could provide more answers. Or better answers.

"You have not been assigned a commanding officer."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you think this looks to Shaw and M?"

She blinked, trying to appear confused enough to hide her internal gut feelings of apprehension.

"Sir?"

"Other ren'dorei have accepted regular commissions as cadets in cells across Azeroth. You are among the handful who have ... opted not to."

Ahvie was pretty sure where this was going, but wasn't sure how to answer.

"Yes, sir."

Huwe inhaled and exhaled slowly, and she cast her eyes straight forward. Which oddly kept her at eye level with his shins. She tried to imagine what it would look like if one of his highboots had its laces untied.

"At ease, Brightsinger."

She looked up with relief and surprise as she relaxed. Only a little, though. He stared down at her with mostly exasperation. Both waited for a bit longer. Ahvie then became distinctly aware that the other officers had stopped talking amongst each other and turned to look down at her. Somehow, at some point, M had sat down on the edge of the dais mirroring the way Ahvie sat on the table earlier. Her expression was as thoughtful as it was stern disapproval.

Ahvie looked at M for a moment before looking back up at Huwe.

"Sir?"

"How do you think your unique status as a privateer operating outside the regulations of SI:7, yet being permitted operative access to Alliance channels, makes us feel in this very volatile conflict?"

Ahvie grimaced, and looked down. She shouldn't have to answer to these textbooks, but she knew what M was capable of. She'd rubbed shoulders with enough seedy blackguards and uncrowned to know who to avoid the attention of. And now the legend herself was sizing her up like she was her next mark.

"... You may speak freely."

Ahvie frowned, her eyebrows narrowing. Her temper unexpectedly flared up at the chance to speak her mind.

"Why don't you ask her, then?"

M was quick and ready to respond, her silky void laced with almost motherly levels of scorn and disapproval. "You're an unknown variable. A dangerous and unreliable agent. Your loyalties have never been made clear, despite your so-called pledge of allegiance to the crown. You have no official commission in SI:7 because you are committed to no known theaters."

"No approved theaters of war, you mean," Ahvie countered tersely.

"We have many former pirates among our ranks, Brightsinger. It's not your line of work that we disapprove of. It's your lack of accountability. You're a loose cannon we can't afford to arm with anything more than our silent disavowal," the kaldorei intoned.

Ahvie just shrugged at her, and looked back up to Huwe, the other officers murmuring with grimaces on their faces. Huwe was not one to display much disdain for ignoring chain of command. In fact, it was rumored he was completely taken off guard when SI:7 had not long ago been infiltrated by a dreadlord.

"This a lot of stuff you lot already knew when you brought me into the fold. I don't understand what the big deal is, bringing it up right now," Ahvie said.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, Brightsinger," Huwe continued. "Privateers have had increasingly less and less room to maneuver and operate after Sylvanas has expanded her navy's reach to much of Kalimdor. How has business been for you at the Moonlit Hearth?"

Ahvie shot him a sharp glance, squinting, but not saying anything to that. Huwe continued.

"Embershield has been reining in its maritime operations and closed much of its borders and trading routes. Northrend outposts have all been ordered to cease trading in contraband and black market channels. I imagine the King's commission has not been profitable of late."

She folded her arms under her small chest and sniffed, glaring at him, whereupon M took over for Huwe.

"Escalation is drying up the breathing room for your operations, and yet you're still working in Northrend."

Ahvie remained tight-lipped, but nodded slightly at her, glancing between M and Huwe. The other officers began descending the stairs and making their way out of the auditorium. Ahvie barely managed to keep her gaze on Huwe.

"We're willing to discuss the terms of a trade, Ahvie," M said gently.

Ahvie turned to M, still crossing her arms under her chest, brow furrowed. M continued slowly, with Huwe turning to her with complete understanding and a lack of surprise. They'd thought about this proposal for a while, then.

"We know you're hunting zealots, and this aligns with some of the Alliance's dirty laundry we'd prefer didn't air out at this particular time."

Ahvie cut in, smirking slightly. "You mean with admitting two polar opposites to the Alliance forces."

M scowled at her, but even nodded. "We'll help you and give you access to the Alliance channels and support you've undoubtedly been lacking in Northrend. We'll even give you a proper commission within SI:7, rank and number."

Ahvie took a step back and returned her arms to her sides in momentary surprise. She looked at Huwe, we appeared somewhat resigned and silent.

"What? Are you serious? You know I --"

"Could care less about rank and care more about your freedom, yes. We're acutely aware of your disability," M interrupted smoothly.

Ahvie just glared at her, her glacial blue eyes glowing in the dimming torchlight.

"We also are aware of your unique talents and connections, and would be remiss not to want to sharpen the blade you've forged yourself into, Ahvie," M continued. "With proper training, official commisions, the best supplies and gear, you have potential to grow out of your former shell of being a disheveled pirate pawnbroker. The Alliance could benefit greatly from your commitment to its people and its future."

Ahvie continued to glare at her, narrowing her eyes further.

"Our people were members of the Alliance long before they even admitted yours, Mum. And they were unceremoniously shoved out by arrogant, unappreciative officers in its aging ranks. And then when Lordaeron, Silvermoon and Dalaran were sacked, we were forgotten. You're asking us to --"

M cut in, her voice growing more heated. "We're. Asking. You. To join your countrymen and women in putting more than words into your commitment to the crown, if not for global peace than to give your life meaning in the Grand Alliance once more."

Ahvie blinked, and then blinked again. "Quite a lot of benefits to lasso one pirate captain, Mum."

M then further infuriated Ahvie with a sly grin as she leaned back on the ledge, her arms balancing her on either side.

"In return, you would be required to formally join the ranks of one of the Alliance batallions active in the field. You would report to one of their officers, and send reports back to Huwe directly," the kaldorei's eyes almost gleamed with smiling daggers. "Your access to Alliance support, of our discretion, would last only so long as your batallion officers confirmed your loyalty and support to one of the great companies."

Ahvie's head swirled — but in the center of that maelstrom was the chilling core of undeniable knowledge that a bigger storm was coming, and that she'd applied to SI:7 to do more good than merely pillage supplies from mustache-twirling kingpins. It wasn't much different than when she was stranded in Silvermoon without her crew, but this time... this time she'd be giving up that life by choice. Giving up her crew again, joining a military company, taking orders, not being able to go where and do what she pleased...

She loved her freedom, but she also wasn't as heartless as her sister. Fyrevia would box her ears and maybe cook them for lunch if she found out that Ahvie of all people was trading the horizon for a duty to the greater good.

Ahvie wasn't sure how she was thinking about this, but she was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and trembling. She'd balled her leatherclad hands into fists, staring at the floor in indecision.

Freedom or duty?

In moments, Ahvie was aware of someone in front of her who was taller than anyone had a right to be. She looked up in the shadow of the older woman. M's own uniform was stretched tight against her own muscled frame, but her eyes were hard and skeptical, much like that of wardens Ahvie had met in the field. Probably was a warden, still, for all she knew.

M planted a hand on each hip and leaned down to speak to Ahvie as though addressing a child still playing with her dolls.

"Well? How about it, Brightsinger? Think maybe it's time you stopped playing at shadows and started learning and growing again?"

Ahvie squinted at her, scrunching up her face in a reluctant resentment.

"Do I get to choose which one to join?"

M grinned devilishly, which made Ahvie shrink back slightly. "Yep."

Ahvie wasn't sure why that made M pleased as punch, but perhaps she had underestimated until now just how much she'd annoyed and tried the patience of Alliance brass by operating without their approval until now.

Drawing herself up as she swelled with courage to fight down the urge to run and throw it all away, Ahvie planed a hand on each hip and scowled as fiercely as she could at the kaldorei gazing down at her the way a viper might to a mouse. M straightened, looking just as smug as earlier, but expectant.

"You got yourself a deal, grandma. I'll get you that officer's signature and then we'll talk shop."

Ahvie then spun on her heels without saluting and stormed out of the auditorium, much to the almost mirthful and haunting laughter of the kaldorei in the meeting room and echoing after her in the Stormwind Keep halls. Ahvie knew full well why Mum would find this turn of events so funny. Ahvie had finally signed away her freedom for something that the elder elf knew she could manipulate.

The only freedom Ahvie had in this mess was her choice of Alliance batallions who would accept her.

She was pretty sure she knew just who to look up first.

[tarenor]

A New Dawn

(( I’ve literally haven’t used Tumblr in y e a r s. But I decided to post here as well as our old website Since I don’t care about ED Forums. 

This is a story to sort of explain the dissolution of the Phoenix Highguard and the rise of a new order in it’s ashes from the perspective of Tare.

Special thanks to Liralys/Evylence for editing and proofreading it for me.))

A shower of blue and white crystalline ore fell from the clear desert sky. The goblin with a look of knowing glee stood on the wall above his and the Highguard’s position watching the spectacle. What remained of the Alliance operatives and mechanics were fleeing to the coast and to the relative safety of their crafts. The large Azerite-rigged M.A.C Diver were in flames, made into metal ruins.

“That’s going to be the future of war right there, Light Boy.”

The goblin’s words haunted him since the incidents in SiIithus and Uldum, constantly reminding him of what was to come if open conflict returned once more to Azeroth. Machines and weapons created and powered from the substance that seemed to consume all of the Horde and Alliance’s attention: Azerite.

The goblin who said the words now though, was long dead. The ‘Bilgewater’ mining foreman’s head was removed by Allei when the goblin was finally tracked down. For good reason however, as his mining was never sanctioned by the Horde to excavate where he had discovered the vein. He was a traitor to his people and had planned to sell it on the black market. The Azerite he had acquired… oh that was another question. A small hill of Azerite, ripe for the taking, but what to do with it?

The question had entered his mind when he first saw it. A vain man would hoard it to retire from the troubles of this world and never lift his finger again. A duty-bound man would blindly turn it over to his superiors. But a smart man would see it buried, never to be used or tapped.

“That’s the going to be the future of war.”

Tarenor Swiftdawn, however, had another plan entirely. The paladin sat waiting in a dark room in the bowels of the Undercity, irritated slightly by the delay but he attempted to remind himself to be patient. Everything needed to work out smoothly and with complete intention.

The paladin looked around the room at the small chamber to pass the time. It looked more like a prison cell than a High Executor’s office. No furnishings or items to make it more welcoming, but that in itself would be ironic considering the nature of the Forsaken. All that occupied the room was a large oak desk, a high backed seat behind it, and a small wooden chair in front for guests. The only real decoration was a banner behind the desk on the stone wall: the banner of the Forsaken, the sigil’s white and purple eyes boring a hole into Tarenor’s forehead in judgement.

He sighed and muttered a small prayer, pleading to the Light that this was the right course of action, and that it would succeed. Finally the door to the office behind him opened and Tarenor stood with his fist over his heart in salute as the three figures walked in. One was a large male orc, his armor adorned with the usual spikes and trophies that would accompany a High Warlord. Another was a sin’dorei woman, robed in deep crimson of wealthy make, but one would expect as much from a high ranking Magistrix of Silvermoon. And the one remaining was an undead male, his features shrouded beneath a black mail coif, High Executor Mordecai.

Since the rise of the Banshee Queen’s position to Warchief, it was obvious that many of her Majesty’s generals and leaders would rise as well when it came to leading the Horde’s war efforts, and Executor Mordecai was ever her faithful servant. It was him who Tarenor came to meet with today. The others he did not know, but was not wholly surprised by their attendance. High Executor Mordecai moved to his desk and sat down, waving for Tarenor to do the same. The other two in attendance merely stood to one side of the Executor, eyeing him searchingly.

“You may sit, Tarenor. Excuse our tardiness, we had much to discuss.” Mordecai informed him, his voice deep and heavily accented with that of an Alteraci man. Tarenor did as he was bade and sat back down.

“Thank you High Executor, you and your colleagues do me a great honor by considering my offers.” Mordecai placed a scroll on his desk with a sigh.

“I do not think that it is honor you are looking for coming here, High Commander. Within the Horde you still retain that rank, but tell me, what is a Commander without his soldiers?” With a small smile, the paladin chuckled.

”Nothing, sir.”

The Magistrix with sharp harsh eyes nodded in agreement and took a step forward. “Indeed, Swiftdawn, and I wonder why this is hmm? Why did you disband the Phoenix Highguard? Why not and wait to see if this charade of yours worked? I hope your intentions weren’t originally selfish in mind?” The woman almost spit the words in his direction as Tarenor’s face returned to that of neutral expression.

“No ma’am. The Phoenix Highguard has always been loyal, including myself, since its inception. Even when Silvermoon threatened my own head and the heads of everyone in the battalion due to false accusations of treason. We remained loyal,” he replied calmly. He turned and looked at the High Executor. “For almost seven years, across countless battlefields and campaigns, from the lowest of missions to the most epic of conflicts, we have fought, bled, and some of us died for our Horde.” His gaze went to each of the officials, eyeing them seriously. “They deserve some peace after all that time, but for those who wish to continue to serve home, they should do so with amenity.” The orc warlord grunted as if agreeing with his own thoughts.

“So, this is a ransom then? You hold what you have as a bribing chip so your and rabble can run around un-collared!” With furrowed eyebrows, Tarenor turned to him and shook his head. He despised having to plead his case, after all he had done. After all the Highguard had sacrificed, it baffled him how they still did not see they could be trusted.

“No, sir. What you think I am conspiring to do is wrong. And I will not hold the Azerite on a string in front of you. No matter what your decisions are tonight, the Azerite caches we obtained will be turned over to the Horde.” Tarenor said swiftly before any of them could interject another accusation. The Warlord blinked in surprise and remained silent while Mordecai simply raised an eyebrow. A smirk traveled across his face to reveal yellow jagged teeth. The Magistrix appeared to remain unconvinced.

“How altruistic of you Swiftdawn, but there is always a price. And your veiled words reveal them. It also doesn’t explain these emissaries of yours throughout the different branches of the military and governments,” she remarked with barely concealed hostility. Despite himself, Tarenor couldn’t help but smile, the Magistrix’s words had him built up as if he was trying to plan a coup or defect to the Alliance. No nothing of that sort. He sighed softly to himself. Politicians.

“My lady, you hold me in too high regard if you think I can coordinate secret machinations of the magnitude you suggest. Those people who have met with your subordinates and colleagues are my comrades. People I trust to handle things more... “ Tarenor feigned a pause. “Complicated and delicate when it comes to the nuances of politics. They are aiding me in reassuring you that, despite finding this unexpected boon, we do what duty requires of us and offer it to you freely. All we ask is the trust we deserve.” After having remained silent these past few minutes Mordecai finally spoke.

“Trust in you and your cadre with almost free reign, without the auspices of Horde Command to give you orders, or in certain circumstances keep you in check.” Mordecai reiterated to him. Tarenor bowed his head in consent.

“To put it bluntly, yes High Executor. Since our first missions we have always worked in unorthodox ways and strategies. We strive to make allies and friends, but our core has always been self-reliant. When the person next to you is your dear friend or even someone you don’t like but would rather die than see them killed, you will fight all the stronger.” He scratched at his beard in thought for a moment, snorting a brief chuckle. “It is not the best way, it’s not the most disciplined either. But our victories do not lie. Give us the freedom to work how we work best. And you will have our courage in the wars to come.”

The orc let out a deep rumble of a chuckle as he crossed his arms. “I like him.” he said with amusement. “I’d say it’s orcish spirit if not for his pointy ears and eyebrows. The High Warlord turned to Mordecai and nodded his head.

“Very well. Magistrix?” the forsaken inquired as he turned to the woman. The slender noblewoman frowned, eyeing the seated paladin. “I have my doubts. You speak with zeal but such free reign is dangerous. But I will approve this… for now. My eyes will be watching you High Commander.”

Without testing his luck, Tarenor simply nodded and looked back at Mordecai, who leaned forward on the desk, his fingers tented in thought. After a few long seconds he finally broke the silence.

“War is coming elf, do not mistake it. The wolves howl behind their rubble of a wall. The Boy King seeks any reason to unleash them. And your cousins in Northern Kalimdor encroach ever closer to Durotar and our territories, knowing that with the Legion gone, now may be the time to push us out of their woods. We will need all weapons at our disposal and I’m not referring to the Azerite you claimed from the traitors in Silithus. By the powers given to us by our Warchief we will accept your plans for this new… coalition of yours, after we have received the Azerite.  Though.. I will be keeping close contact with you.” The forsaken smiled once more, showing his shark-like teeth. “To remind you and yours of where your loyalties lie.”

Tarenor stood up from his chair and saluted once more. “I will make arrangements tomorrow to transport it to your custody, High Executor. Thank you.” Mordecai returned the salute with a half nod.

“For the Horde, Swiftdawn. I look forward to seeing your full plans soon.”

“For the Horde,” Tarenor replied. He left briskly, leaving the three officials to their own duties.

Tarenor’s haste was to return to the dark corridor to where Nossavyara was waiting for him, obviously bored out of her mind. “What did they say?” she asked with no attempt to hide her excitement.

“They agreed,” he said with a grin. “Your sister and the others must of done good work, I thought I was going to have to fight them more then I had to.”

Noss snickered. “Leave the politics to the nobles. With this we won’t have to worry about answering to the Magister’s every whim anymore!”

Tarenor nodded in agreement as they walked towards the stables on the outskirts of the sewers. “Start sending word to those who will come, new or old. We’ve got a job to do, and afterwards--”

“A new dawn?” Noss interjected, looking at him slyly.

“Aye.” Tarenor chuckled. “We’re just too relentless too give up.”

War may be changing, Tarenor thought to himself. Growing more deadly and more destructive. But we will evolve along with it. We will survive. For our people, for ourselves, we must.

[kektrain]

Found this thing on Argus today.

[kektrain]

This mount has to be a favorite of mine tbh

[kektrain]

DEATHLORD OF METAL NOW!