(( 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.
((Story for PHG’s writing contest! It’s a doozy. Takes place in Northrend during the Crusade. enjoy!))
Zul'Drak had always been a cold damp hell, for over a year now this had been his home. The infested and ruined husk of a once great troll empire- reduced to a battlefield between the Argent Crusade, The Scourge, and the remnants of the troll savages that killed their own gods, the Drakkari. For too long it seemed Centurion Tarenor Swiftdawn and his small detachment of Shieldbearers had spent fighting for what seemed nonstop, holding off in one of the large ruined temples. Food was low, and morale was even lower. Out of a hundred only sixty-nine remained and the Drakkari never stopped coming.
The orders had come just few days past, when a large warband had been harassing the southern flank of the Argent Stand attacking what supply caravans dared to make the trek from Grizzly Hills. The Stand relied heavily on the supplies, so his detachment and others like it, marched out to hunt them down. But once they entered the ruins, the fighting started and had not stopped since then. After the first night of fighting his phalanx was becoming splintered so he ordered them to fall back into the run-down buildings. From there they were able to hold, but no sign of reinforcements were near.
The occasional arrow twang or spell blast sounded outside as the trolls continued their pseudo-siege of the ruins. Tare checked on some of the wounded, the clerics doing that they can though they themselves were drained from the constant fighting and healing. He patted a dwarf soldier on the leg while another Sin'dorei wrapped his bleeding head in cloth. Tare sighed, running a hand through his blood and dirt matted hair.
Second mission in command, and already we have lost so much. Light guide me through this hell.
He walked up the broken stairs to a small rampart looking out into the thorn infested woods surrounding the ruins. At the top was a large orc, black of hair spiked into a mohawk. He wore brown and black leathers and no Crusade sigil, a Horde Auxiliary, but fastly becoming a friend to the new Centurion and someone Tarenor could rely on. The Orc reloaded his massive crossbow and fired a bolt, a second later a troll yelled in death.
"Sagarrek, how does it look?" Tarenor said hoarsely, his throat dry and bleeding from so much smoke and yelling.
Sagarrek Nighthowl smirked tiredly almost as if he was enjoying it but would enjoy it more after a long nap. "Aye it's goes but they're not letting up. It seems their numbers have begun to increase though. What little order they had is beginning crumble, I think they're beginning to grow impatient." Sagarrek notched another bolt and let loose. another perfect shot.
Tare forced a smile eyeing the various bulwarks and skirmishes along the outskirts, his Shieldbearers despite their losses held the line, their faith, not just in the Light, but in their duty and cause would not let them give ground.
The chance this ruin may become his and his soldier's tomb was high. But he was proud of them and honored to fight and die beside them.
He turned from the scene grabbing his sword and shield off his back. "I need to return to the front, call for me if anything changes." but before he could return down the old stairs, Sagarrek grabbed his shoulder. "Centurion, something's wrong, look!" The Orc pointed to the southern flank where most of the trolls that once held position there were running to the northern flank. At the Northern flank the Trolls started bunching up against the makeshift bulwark. pushing with pure weight of numbers, the trolls seemed crazed, almost... panicked?
Sagarrek asked aloud. "What's gotten into them? Bloodlust?" Tarenor eyed the scene and shook his head. "I don't know and I don't care, but we can use this. Start gathering the wounded I need to make it to the bulwarks."
Moments later the fighting had increased, but in favor the Crusaders. Using the confusion going on in the troll lines and the trolls abandoning the southern flank. Tarenor ordered his detachment to sally out and escape through the gap. the most fresh and uninjured troops forming a spearhead and rearguard with the wounded forming the center. Tare and his shield bearers fought through and broke out marching in defensive column towards the safety of the woods.
Behind the Crusaders the trolls broke through the bulwarks and immediately ran inside. A large troll wearing the robes of one of their priests began barking in Zandali, some of the trolls listened, others ran deeper into ruin. Tare lost sight of the priest from the rearguard and ordered the detachment to keep going. After 20 minutes of hard marching they reached a small clearing in the thorn covered woods. Tare barked for them to form a defensive posture, but also to rest. As the Shieldbearers breathed free air for the first time in two days Tare motioned for Sagarrek to bring a map. the Orc laid it across a stump and they both eyed it. Sagarrek pointed to the great stairs leading to Grizzly Hills.
"Scouts reported the warband came from the south, there. They were traveling north apparently at fast speeds when we converged on them at the ruins. My guess is they may try to continue going north to reach the upper tiers. We should head south and wait for them to fall back"
Tare eyed the map frowning slightly. "No, you were right, something's amiss. and I have a feeling whatever was making them move fast wasn't bloodlust. I doubt we won't find safety to the south."
Sagarrek eyed the Sin'dorei for a moment and inclined his head. "They did seem to be running from something." Tarenor nodded in agreement, "We need to march around the trolls and then north, and make for the Stand. We can't fight the trolls in the open so it's a longshot but we got to no other option."
Twenty minutes later the detachment set out, just long enough to put a few of those who perished from their wounds to the torch. Tare said a few words to the Light and gave the orders. From a hundred and two strong to sixty-nine, now down to forty-eight.
Fewer and fewer yet I remain.
For two hours they marched until finally dusk was approaching. Besides the occasional sound of a predator, the spiked woods were silent. The encroaching scourge driving anything natural to flee far, far away. Finally after making a large outer circle from the way they first fled, they turned west now, to attempt to reach the safety of their fellow Crusaders. The silence enveloped the Shieldbearers and clerics and the winter winds blew down from the north. And with the wind came the first sign that something was wrong: the smell of blood.
Sagarrek looked at Tarenor and they both knew what was coming. The warband would be upon them at any moment the blood-crazed berserkers leading from the front, the smell he knew all too well. Surrounded by the dense trees he knew the battle would be a slaughter, but there was one thing that he could perhaps gamble on.
“I want defensive lines around the larges trees! Start getting the wounded up into the branches, and begin to move up into them!” Tarenor barked. The crusaders looked at the Centurion confused for a moment but knew there was no time to ask why, and so they did what they were ordered.
Moments later the first Drakkari began to swarm from the brush surrounding the Argents and charged. Each of there faces a mix of anger and desperation. Tarenor standing beside his shieldbearers locked shields, as other groups protecting those as they climbed up the large spiked trees did the same. Bashing and slicing at any troll that came near.
Sagarrek was the first up, pulling out his crossbow and shooting at any troll that came close. For what seemed ages but was really only moments, the Argents held back the warband as they one by one climbed up. As they reached the top the crusaders pulled out short-bows and copied Sagarrek, putting down supportive shots and bolts to allow those few that remained on the ground to reach the trees. They were trapped, but were safe… for now. They could run out of arrows or that priest from the ruins could show up, either way eventually their luck would run out.
Dusk faded into the pitch black of night.
The Trolls didn’t press their attack, perhaps waiting for more or just for the Argents to accept their fate but they made no move. They formed small camps along the edges just out of range of the crusader’s arrows and waited. Occasionally Tare could hear the guttural speech of the trolls or a laugh, as if waiting for some prey they chased up the tree to come down.
“What now Centurion?” asked a human, seemingly no older than 19 but already hardened by Northrend.
“We wait.” Was all Swiftdawn could say, not wanting to tell them what may save them or damn them to a fate worse than what the trolls could do.
Hours past and the fires in the troll camps died out slowly, but Tare knew they still watched but even the god-killers still needed sleep. Silence ensued. Tare nodded at Sagarrek who grimaced but inclined his head as if reading his thoughts. The Orc started whispered quietly to those in the tree and motioned at the other groups spread out.
All quiet, no one make a noise.
The orders were given and not a moment too soon. The smell hit them like a wall, decay and corruption.
The smell of death walking.
From the shadows surrounding the troll camps came the ghouls, the zombies, and damned of the scourge. A mix of human and troll corpses shuffling towards their prey, towards whom they been chasing north this whole time: the Drakkari Warband. The reason they rushed for the defenses of the ruins the Argents defended and why this splinter group was running north.
It seems the trolls at the ruins already fill their ranks if they’re here.
Tarenor couldn’t see what was happening and he thanked the Light that he couldn’t. He could hear though, the sound of alarm and panic as the trolls began to fight or flee the oncoming wave of death. But their focus was on the argents and left their rears only lightly guarded. The sounds of fighting climaxed then started to transform into cries of anguish, fear, and dying.
The Scourge attack only lasted a few minutes, then all was silent, silent as the grave. No more Zandali speaking or cries of resistance, just unnatural void of sound. Tare dared a glance down and saw shuffling around the trees but none glanced up at him or the tree they just shuffled around looking for more prey.
Panic tried to grab hold of his heart as images of the Third War flashed before him, cruel visions of his friends dying and raising, of his home’s destruction… of his fiance being butchered. He wanted to cry out in anguish and anger but he bit his tongue, knowing that if he did that. Those with him, and himself were doomed to a fate worse than death.
Hours passed as the crusaders clung to the tall branches and trees. A restless night occasionally interrupted by a crescendo of undead howls and moans when they found a tree occupied by the Argents, followed by cries of pain and help, then nothing. No help came for those caught or made noise, to do so would warrant your own death and those with you. All they could do was wait.
Dawn was near and sunlight peaked through the trees but-
That’s not sunlight
The smell of smoke and burning washed through the leaves and thorns as he realized it was fire, someone had set the forest alight. The zombies and ghouls started to run amok as those caught by the flames ran through their ranks setting both more scourge and trees on fire. The scourge started to frenzy and lose control as they ran amok.
Tare knew this was their only chance, because if they didn’t they would suffocate and burn like the corpses below them.
Now or never then…
“SHIELDBEARERS, BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN THE LIGHT. NOW IS THE TIME! JUMP AND REGROUP WEST OF HERE!”
And with that he jumped down swinging his sword at a scourge who looked up and snarled in anger, but losing his head in the process. Around him the Crusade did the same of those who survived. Leaping from the trees and killing at scourge near them. The hysteria caused by the fire was enough of a distraction to allow the crusaders to fight their way through the blazing woods and to the clearings of an old crop field.
As Tarenor fled he passed a old wall that stood near the outskirts of the forest, he glanced up and saw the Drakkari Priest from before, calling down infernos into the heart of the scourge and trees. Their eyes met for a brief moment and tare saw the anger and retribution in the troll. Though he himself may diie in his own flames. He would avenge those who died by the undead’s hands.
Tare was curious if the troll meant to save him and his soldiers, after all he had killed many of the Drakkari himself, but that didn’t matter anymore all that mattered was he and his soldiers made it out, so he continued.
The sun finally did rise this time as he and the survivors reached the field. They waited for any others as long as they could, but soon the whole wood was a pillar of fire. The crusaders knew no one else was coming out alive. Tare looked around at those few who remained.
From the forty-eight who went up only twenty-one survived. From the scourge picking them off one by one the whole night, or from the inferno. Which meant out of his fresh Century, his hundred, seventy-nine gave their lives to the crusade under his command. The realization hit him in the stomach and forced him to a knee, but he fought it down, they were out of the woods yes, but they weren’t home yet.
The crusaders trudged on and eventually made it back to the Argent Stand near noon. Those who were wounded got treatment and Tare gave a briefing to his commander, a bald human most likely a veteran from the Argent Dawn.
“Seems you all been through hell and back.” the Commander muttered quietly eyeing the soot covered elf.
“Not all of us made it out.” Tarenor glanced down, guilt racking his soul.
“Indeed, they are with the Light now, but remember Swiftdawn, the others are alive because of you. They all knew the risks and you and your shieldbearers did your best. Mourn them, honor them, never forget them. But do not lay the blame on you, because i would be sending groups to kill your reanimated corpses rather than welcoming your detachment without your leadership Centurion.”
Days passed as Tarenor and the survivors recovered. Fresh troops were reinforced into his detachment and wondered why so many new faces were needed. When they heard they were shocked but surprisingly placed their trust in the Centurion. Tare couldn’t understand why but didn’t ask. The weight of death and life had been measured, and he came out stronger. Eventually the Force Commanders awarded Tare with a large two-head axe in the shape of an eagle, naming it the Hand of Absolution as a reward for his sacrifice. He continued on leading in the crusade, but never forgetting those he lost, using them to keep him strong for those who lived.
The Highguard takes the fight to the Demons across Azeroth as the Legion’s invasion continues with our Demon Hunter allies. (D20 event) Do you have what it takes?
(( First wanna say thank you for the turn out tonight to PHG's and PoL's rp-pvp campaign, it was a blast despite blizzards zoning making it lag. and look forward to this IC War of Atrrition Those mentioned ICly were there ICly, !)) The sound of gunshots and the occasion explosion could still be heard outside, as well as the constant string taunts and yells from both sides. The battles were short in succession but much had developed, both good or ill. Tarenor Swiftdawn in the Second Floor of their battlescarred "base" with the various other leaders of his make-shift coalition stood eyeing a detailed map of Dawnstar Village on the Isle of Quel'danas. Borgrar, leader of resolve, the large tauren leaning far down to the small elven table to look at it better. Solathius from the Ironwolf Company, sharpening his blade in the corner but close enough to view it. Nazjag of the Stormfist to report to his chieftain, and Stagrunner of the Gor'watha there on behalf of the General, shouting near the precipice at a nearby alliance scout. He called them all closer pointing at the various smaller buildings in the village. "We need to hold every building in the village to keep them from breaking through our lines and reaching the main complex, if they break through, the small garrison inside won't be able to hold them." After a moment Tarenor pointed to the Largest building in the village. "The Pride is hold up there, cut off from their supplies and reinforcements, except what little they can through portals." Borgrar stood up straight arching his large back to pop it. "So all we need to do is hold them off until the humans are forced to retreat." Stagrunner grinned slyly as he shot another arrow towards the alliance base. "Or dey do something stupid." Nodding grimly Solathius continued to work on his blade. "we'll need to keep from engaging where we are at a disadvantage, fighting from cover and building to building. Make them pay for every inch they attempt to gain." Tare nodded for a moment as he eyed the map more. "then let's make sure they pay with their all" Down below, those who weren't injured and volunteered to stay behind while the others recuperate at Bar Night, the coalition forces began hunkering down and setting up defenses for a long siege. The battle that had happened earlier that night still fresh on each soldier's minds. The Pride had hired bloodsail pirates to land them along the northern coast, away from the garrison at Sun's Reach, but the Horde knew they were coming. Spikes, banners, and Arcane Golems from Silvermoon awaited the would-be invaders, they landed troops in two waves each attempting to push through, but the Horde's defenses would not break. After the second attack, groups were sent to keep eyes for flank landings, and one was discovered to the south. what soldiers could be spared were sent from the beach to the village to make sure it was not lost. At the same moment the Pride attacked both flanks and hell soon followed. Coalition forces held the beach, but try as they could the Highguard was pushed into the village and lost the largest, and most defensible building. The Pride had their foothold. Both sides now dug in for this new war of attrition. But the Alliance are low on supplies and cut off. The Horde's supply lines remain open, and fresh troops arrive every day, all the Horde has to do is outlast them. or like the troll suggested, see if they do something stupid. Tare glanced up from the table and looked over at the Pride's base, he caught a glance at their leader and for a moment they locked eyes. Tare grinned, he knows his adversary, there's no if, it's just a matter of when they do something stupid. And the Horde will be ready to meet them.
((Wrote this at 4a.m. sorry for typos and if grammar is bad. It’s a reply basically to Pent and Lini’s Story though I been meaning to write it for a while now. Enjoy! The Flashback is part of Elksy’s story from forever ago! here’s a link.http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13272427196#1 ))
The smell of arcane dust, garbage, and the most overbearing of all, crap, was all Tarenor could smell. The Sewers beneath Dalaran was the same as he had left it when he was in the Crusade. Except this time no respectful sparring in the rings, no unity against a common enemy. Just a few Horde that were "Tolerated" and the ever watchful gaze of the Silver Covenant. For a few weeks now his battalion has been stationed in the viper's den on orders from the Spire to aid against these monstrosities plaguing the continent.
But it wasn't the monsters that kept him up this night and or any night since it happened. It was the monster that use to be his High Commander. The Monster who use to be his friend and partner.
He walked down an empty pipe that didn't smell as bad as the others, looking for one of the openings. finally he was at the end of the line.
He stood on the precipice looking out into the sky above Crystalsong Forest, thousands of feet in the air yet he stood on the very edge without a hint of fear and took in a big intake of crapless air.
The Cure wasn't just what we gathered. there was more. It required the one thing I still held sacred. The one thing I would rather DIE then harm.
Tare's eyebrows furrowed. As Liniadel's words went over in his head. he had tried again and again, to think of any way of justifying it, What options there might have been. What her mindset was. But to no avail, She went farther then any person should go. Even her. And there's no brushing this aside, no way to justify it. Lives were on the line but to go that far it was Evil.
Then why are you still alive?
His own words this time.
When they talked together she didn't know, she almost began to cry, he could see her eyes beginning to fill. Part of him wanted to hug her, make this woman who has been iron all the years they have work together, begin to rust, to make it go away. But he could not.
And so he turned his back on her and that night she disappeared.
The wind blew up from the south caressing his face as though to say It will all work out. It would not though. But other things he did hear in his mind.
And don’t forget how far we’ll go.
His own words again, he couldn't place it yet, but what he felt was pride, then overwhelming guilt and saddness. He looked north towards the Argent Tourney grounds and finally remembered.
------------------------
The snows fell inside the Tournament Arena on the Battalion's anniveresy. Sha'Qelas was in chains, Ahri'nu Felo'dal and her Bloodknights taking her away.
"You’re in charge, Tarenor." She finally said. "Take care of them."
"We’ll get this fixed." Tarenor quickly nodded, stepping forward. "I swear it-"
"Don’t worry about fixing this." Liniadel quickly interjected. "Worry about keeping the Highguard alive. That’s what a leader does..."
-----------------------
She was right. Except this time, there was no fixing this. There was no going back. She would pay for what she did, whether by his hand or not.
Tarenor Swiftdawn pulled out Sha'Qelas' greatsword that rested on his back and eyed it. he touched the tip with his thumb and immediately pulled it back, a tiny drop of crimson blood formed. He sneered silently to himself and ran the blade gently over his palm, the steel slicing his hand's skin, then placed his bloody hand on the flat of the blade.
Never again, This I vow. There will be no Redemption.
((a little RP thing i cooked up that goes to all highguard members. their new orders during this plot.))
[A memo is posted and sent to all members of the battalion. At the bottom is the emblem of the phoenix highguard.]
Attention all soldiers of the Highguard. After careful consideration for your own safety. after tonight clinic I have implemented new rules to help slow the affect of this "silver sickness." They are to be enforced immediately.
Your new orders stand as so:
-Any and all arcane magic, which includes drawing from the Sunwell and the Ley Lines, even fel-arcane, are hear by prohibited. EXCEPT during combat operations.
-The use of Portals are prohibited except dire circumstances. Use Zeppelin's or fly.
-Conjured foods and mana gems are prohibited. no exceptions.
-Cleansing of this sickness must be asked permission first due to the risk of our menders who risk their lives during this crisis. Speak to an officer or Pandraya.
-No use of any magically controlled items such as self cleaning brooms or lights.
-Any and all magical items must remain unactive.
Many may complain but these measures will be upheld until this disease has been abated. If you have any questions please feel free to come to me or an officer.
