World's End Edit
Njósnavélin stood by the mailbox, sifting through letters. It had been days since he had checked up on his correspondence, the postmaster was more than a little disgruntled. Several letters from his trading contact in SIlvermoon and a multitude from Nirenya demanding to know his whereabouts. Guilt nagged at him, standing here in his ruffian's garb reading his daughter's careful hand, he suddenly felt self conscious as if being watched.
Slowly looking up he noticed the dark skinned elf standing near to him, watching. Njósnavélin raised an eyebrow in question at him.
'Sagaris D'silva' He nodded, 'World's End Tavern, thirty minutes.' The elf casually walked off. It had not been a question, but not quite a command. Without thinking Njósnavélin folded his letters in to his rucksack and headed towards the lower section of the city, as the tavern came in to sight he stopped in his tracks. It bothered him that he had been so suggestible, the indecisiveness paralysed him. How easily he had responded to someone else's instruction.
"Kelu..." he whispered to himself. Straightening his shoulder's and raising his chin, he strode towards the World's End.
The Hilt Edit
The Hilt is a small dark room hidden a building somewhere in Orgrimmar. A troll stands watch distracting anyone who wanders by with his wares and his stories.
At first glance it is nothing more than a poor lit empty room, somewhere for the dust to gather. Once your eyes adjust to the gloom however, the room seems to become a little more sinister.
The floorboards are badly trodden. Deep grooves from plated heels, dimpled with a multitude of tiny depressions from narrow stiletto heels and the blood stains. Some of the blood stains are old and faded soaked deep into the grain of the wood. Feint brown patches on the floor where the blood has pooled and splashes of colour running up the wood panels. There is a stain streaking down one of rear panels, it looks like a mark of a hand sliding down the wall.
There are random scorch marks on the floor and walls from various fires and bursts of magic. The most recent is at the front of the room near to the balcony. Deep burns on the floor around some heavy depression, as if a burning rock has been rolled from the wall and heaved over the balcony. There are a few distinct scorch marks in the rear of the room. Each consists of a pattern of three arrow-head shaped marks arranged in a triangle.
On the interior wall is a hidden panel. When opened it reveals what seems to be a bar stocked with various unmarked bottles. Some of these contain poison.
In the back wall there is another hidden panel. Pushed the correct way the panel slowly and silently slides to the left revealing a small space. Inside there is a small pile of fire wood, a leather bound trunk and a miniature three legged brazier.
The trunk is mainly full of books. Some are blood stained, only one of them is pristine as if new and is wrapped in a piece of silk cloth. There are a couple of blankets and a set of clothing and a small set of cooking tins with a small tin cup. There is a leather knife roll containing several daggers. The daggers have purple hilts and their blades are stained with blood.
Haunted by the Wretched Edit
The wretched elf knelt before him. It's yellow lanky hair draped over it's face. Fear gripped him. He couldn't move. Panic swelled through him but he could not look away. It was muttering to itself, he couldn't quite catch the words streaming from it's lips.
"......Hungry....... Blade....... Blood.........Make.It..Sssstop................Kelu........"
Slowly the elf raised it's head. He wanted to scream for help but his body refused to obey him. It's hair fell away from it's face. He recognised it. He recognised Him. His mentor, his master, his guide. The wretched elf's eyes pleaded with him.
Njósnavélin sat bolt upright. His blade drawn. Held to the throat of some invisible foe. Cold sweat trickled down his back.
He allowed himself a small breath and took in his surroundings. The wooden panels, the dark alcove, the warm breeze wafting in through the open window. He relaxed and sheathed his blade. He was safe. Safe in the city he considered to be his home, though he had no place to live here. He paced to the window of the empty attic room. The orc guard below acknowledged him. A familiar face. The remnants of the nightmare fading.
It had been different this time. The dream was usually more violent, the face was usually Furin's. That the dream had changed disturbed him more than the dream itself.
The purple bracelet around his wrist discretely came to life. Quel'Serrar required a meeting with him and Quel'Voiduris. Dutifully he agreed, and headed down in to the shady street to put the dream swiftly behind him.
He walked up to the stables and collected Moro. She was glad to see him and jerked her nose in the air telling him to hurry up.
"Just a quick run old girl, I have business to take care of."
If she understood, she didn't care. He threw his blanket over her back and lead her to the roadway. They rode around the city then down to the gate. Passing through they rode out to the zeppelin tower and back again. She was disappointent when he lead her back to the stable and harrumphed at him as he left.
Amused he strolled back to The Hilt, the dream forgotten. Almost.
Blood Blade Edit
Quel'Voiduris was waiting for him. He greeted her formally, she declined the comfort of a fire. She stood near the hidden panel in the back wall. Behind it his small trunk of belongings, which mostly consisted of stolen books.
She was watching him, speaking some courtesy he had missed. He smiled at her with genuine warmth. In the short time he had known her she had always given him her full help and support, even if it had cost him a broken toe or two. He wondered about the book. Did she know?
Aware of the silence he dared to ask her. Awkwardly he mentioned his studies, he asked her of history books she might loan him. She agreed. It would do for now.
Quel'Serrar appeared out of the shadows. He had not heard him approach. Salutes and formal greetings exchanged and niceties for the lady. He awaited his instructions.
Quel'Serrar turned to him. He slowly removed his mask. Njósnavélin could only recall seeing the elf's face twice, both times their lives had been in danger. Sagaris was looking right at him his piercing eyes, they seemed full of intent. He had done something wrong. His thoughts raced, recounting his actions of the last few days. Nothing came to mind. He could withstand the stare no longer. Quickly he looked away, eyes to the ground.
His Quel'Serrar moved in to his line of sight. He knelt before him.
'Quel'Serrar?' He was kneeling, looking up at Njósnavélin. The nightmare flashed in to his mind. Sagaris was speaking but he could not focus on his words. Panic gripped him.
"....Blood Blade.." Was all that he heard.
"Sir, please!" He wanted to grab Sagaris by the shoulders and drag him to his feet. Sagaris continued speaking. He was congratulating him for something, Quel'Voiduris was agreeing. '
Quickly he composed himself. Blood Blade? It dawned on him what had just happened. Promotion and praise. He felt his cheeks flush red. Promptly he saluted both of them and rapidly spoke words of gratitude, briefly renewing his oath of duty. Held himself steady. His heart racing.
Quel'Serrar was speaking again. Requesting Quel'Voiduris summon a recruit. She opened a portal and the three of them focused to bring the new Blood Agent through. His lady requested a warm fire.
Welcoming the time this gave him, he turned his back and tended the dwindled fire that had kept him warm earlier. As he knelt he calmed himself. When he stood and turned back to the small group his mind registered that Sagaris had replaced his mask. He was grateful.
Defenders of the HordeEdit
Kelu stood on the steps of Light's Hope Chapel watching his good friend delivering his messages. Both of them were on edge and irritated. They had just returned from The Barrens having arrived too late to fend off the raiders. They had not been needed, the holding at The Crossroads had been well defended. Kanaiichi returned to his side listing off his duties, Kelu nodded but wasn't really listening.
The ruby gem affixed to his purple bracelet came to life.
"..rogue in Orgrimmar tunnel..."
He cursed, his hearthstone was depleted from the futile run to The Barrens. It would take far too long to get there.
"....Tarren Mill calls for aid...."
Though he knew the route well he still looked at his map. It was a long flight. He glanced to his companion who had become as close as a brother to him and headed to the bat handler. "See you later Kanaiichi, duty calls."
Swooping low over the battered town Kelu took note of the combatants. A handful of skirmishers still attacked, but the defenders of the Horde valiantly held them off. They were to be commended, many of them appeared to be young and inexperienced but they defended their hearth like proud lions. He reported his findings.
"Confirmed. Tarren Mill is under attack"
Before he had landed the raiders had fled. More defenders had arrived, the raiders out numbered. He updated his report. The communications became full of calls for retaliation. Quietly Kelu slipped in to the shadows and tailed the last of the raiders towards Southshore. They were regrouping.
Resisting the temptation to slay the lone patrolling guard he carefully crept closer to the centre of the town. They were preparing themselves, forming ranks ready to leave. Quickly he reported in.
" ...they are leaving Southshore, they are coming..."
He had no idea how well Tarren Mill was now defended. Agitated he tracked along side the raiding party. Out of nowhere an Orc drew the fire of the raiders. Flashes of light and magic filled the field, the Orc fought back bravely but alone his chances were hopeless. Kelu swiftly appeared behind the Human who was beating down on the Orc and sunk his blades in to his back, vainly hoping the Orc would be able to run free. No, the Orc was down. Kelu vanished in to the shadows again and carefully backed away.
His various communication devices were singing with the voices of defenders announcing their arrival. The raiders reorganised their lines and took to the main thoroughfare towards Tarren Mill.
Helpless to stop them alone he reported again.
"..they are coming.."
Swiftly he trailed them, his heart pounding hoping that they would meet prepared defenders when they got to the Horde town. He left the embankment to cross to the opposite side of the road way. His Quel'Serrar's voice boomed a command.
The vengeance filled Horde defenders swooped from nowhere obliterating the raiders. Briefly they stood looking at one another, still unsatisfied. More calls for retribution. The defenders became the raiders and amassed on the town of Southshore.
"Kelu, on me" instinctively he responded to his Quel'Serrars command. Cloaked in the shadows he followed him to the town's inn. Condor was there taking on the defending guards flooding the inn's main room. Together the three of them cleared the inn then rejoined the main fight in the town.
Kelu paused in the doorway of the inn. Pride filled him. This was a good day for the Horde. The new communications devices and proved their worth. United they had dealt swift retribution upon the Alliance. The town was taken.
"We are done here." Quel'Serrar called for his riding wolf and slowly paced towards the roadway leading out of the town. Kelu follow suit and took position slightly behind him. He noted with pride that the Horde raiders respectfully followed Quel' Serrar's lead. Accepting his command without question. Together they rode back to Tarren Mill.
"For the Horde!" Quel'Serrar's victory cry filled the air.
Bloodlust satiated, vengeance fulfilled the defenders of Horde gathered together waiting patiently for the inevitable response. They waited. Finally it seemed the Alliance had conceded their defeat. The defenders slowly began to leave.
"ATTACK!" Quel'Serrar's order echoed through the town. As one the defenders turned on the small raiding party. They stood little chance. It had been their last desperate attempt to reclaim their honour, The Defenders of the Horde denied them that.
Together the defenders sat waiting upon their mounts on the Tarren Mill access road looking towards Southshore. Under their feet lay the bodies of Humans and Night Elves. They cared not.
These towns were their homes and they would defend them with pride and honour.