At Any Cost

The following is a compilation of fics, that is a joint endeavor between Suncrown and Aeturnas Trinitas. It covers some of the events leading up to, through and after the deaths of Javian, Vithrial, and Roanna's capture.

In reading it you will see how aptly named the series is as almost every character faces a moment of decision where they must decide how far they are willing to go for their cause.

This is the fourth fic series I've done, the others being Suncrown only. Which makes this not only the first joint series I've coordinated but also the largest both in the number of fics as well as participants. (if I counted correctly it'll be 16 fics by 10 authors)

A lot of time and effort went in to the planning and writing of these fics. I hope that you all enjoy them as much as I have.

As always there are some people I'd like to thank:

Kysara, Lyear, Agho'linn, Aora, Tonatiuh, Ralen and Setarian.

You guys have made this series, and made it incredible at that. You've plotted like no others, been supportive, encouraging and calming. I was very fortunate to get my choices for this series, though some of you were brow beaten or had your arm twisted I hope that you are glad you were involved.

In working with you, though I never questioned what we were doing to Roanna, it often made me more sad to be going, because ultimately it's people like you all that have made WoW enjoyable for me. I feel as though I can count you all as friends, and some closer than just that. Your hard work and dedication in this has meant the world to me. I can't express how glad I am to have worked with each of you.

To my partners in crime:

Sarafias, Thank you for your epically evil plans, I knew you were the right person to task with the downward spiral of Roanna. You never let me down and you stepped up when I needed you most.

Vithrial, There is far too much to say in this tiny post, so I'll leave it at this. It's been one heck of a farewell tour and I'm glad to have shared it with you. Thank you for letting me be a part in the demise of your characters.

I could ramble my thanks to those involved for pages. They've been so wonderful, and as you'll soon read they are all very talented as well.

**Posting will start tomorrow morning (Thur 10/2). There will be two fics posted every from the 2nd through the 9th.

Thank you all and I hope that you enjoy.

Micki

Added thanks to:

Kysara, Tonatiuh & Vithrial for stepping up and taking charge of RP events when Ike kept Avenal from being present

Morkar, Kilarea, Suriah, Terreo, and Velarias for participating in the two RP events covered in these fics, as well as approving the use of your characters when needed.

Sadeena, Brenthall, Vyolence and I feel like I'm missing someone else that I haven't already thanked, for your participation in the most recent RP event involving Roanna. I was pleasantly surprised by it.

Finally, yes I promise, to Ambrithal for first not thinking I was completely insane in my email begging his to do the video, but more so for agreeing to do it. It's going to be amazing.

EDIT:
*(( In the final fic there is a song lyric quoted, the song is "The blower's daughter" by Damien Rice. If you haven't heard it - it's pretty great. ))

The Blood Pact

Mordecaii sauntered into the holding cell of the apothecarium and surveyed the prisoners with a trained eye. They were beaten and sore, hardly fed, and covered in grime and wounds. He motioned the human girl sobbing in the corner to approach the bars but she refused, shaking her head in an emphatic gesture of denial. Mordecaii knelt down, pulling up the hem of his robe, and managed an endearing smile.

"My dear," he began in the human tongue, "doubtless you are a brave woman. What you need to realize here is the nature of our relationship, and the manner with which we must conduct ourselves. You have two options before you. Which you choose makes no difference to me. You may obey me of your own will, or obey me by my will. One is significantly less painful for you."

He again gestured for her to approach. She paused a moment, then slowly dragged herself across the prison floor to the bars of her cage. Upon reaching him, Mordecaii grabbed her chin and turned her face from one side to the other, examining her eyes and teeth.

"Have you ever born children?" he asked with a clinical tone.

"No," she rasped, her voice choking over a parched tongue.

Mordecaii stood and took a step back, cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he gave the woman one final look over.

"Give her half a dose," he said in Gutterspeak to the Forsaken apothecary assistant. "Note the reactions once every thirty minutes as she progresses."

Mordecaii turned again to the woman and flashed a cherubic smile.

"You'll find your release very soon," he said in human common before turning from the cell.

He entered the main laboratory when the Apothecarium headmaster approached him.

"You have a visitor," he said, a tinge of ire in his voice. "This laboratory is not a meet and greet. I allowed you our facilities to conduct your studies for the Dark Lady, not to hold court."

Mordecaii withheld the impromptu scathing retort and smiled serenely.

"I assure you, headmaster," he cooed, "I have sent no invitations."

"Be quick about it," growled the headmaster.

Mordecaii glanced up to the entrance of the apothecary and saw Roanna leaning against the wall, half in shadow.

Interesting…

As she approached, he used his hearthstone to send a missive to Lyear.

"Magus, to what end would Madame Roanna seek an audience with me?"

A moment later, his hearthstone began to vibrate and hum as he heard Lyear's reply.

"I know not. The Madame Roanna did not mention you to me, nor any purposes."

Mordecaii met Roanna midway across the Apothecary. He intercepted her with a scraping bow.

"Welcome," he smiled. "You are far from home, my dear. Refreshment? Some wine perhaps?"

Roanna's face was half covered with a mask, but her eyes betrayed a keen determination that Mordecaii had not expected.

"This is not a social meeting," she said in a cool voice.

"I had thought not," said Mordecaii, all the while keeping his smile. "But that does not preclude me from plying a modicum of social graces. Very well then. To the matter. I trust you have the scroll to which you had been tasked."

Mordecaii held out his hand for receipt of the scroll.

"I do not have the scroll yet," said Roanna.

Mordecaii tisked.

"Well, my regards then to your deceased friend… what was her name again? Tessia?"

Roanna chuckled.

"Do you think your threats to one of my handmaidens is leverage? If you seek to manipulate me, mage, perhaps you should hold something of value to me instead."

Mordecaii arched a brow.

"Impressive," he said as he rapidly tapped his forefinger against the tip of chin. "I suppose I shall have to grant you that. Very well, I assume then you are here to bargain with me. Although, as you've admitted to not having the scroll I fail to see what I have to gain from investing my time into this little game of yours."

"I said I do not have it yet," she replied, as if measuring her words. "But I know where it is, and am capable of getting it."

Mordecaii folded his arms behind his back, waiting for her to begin the parlay.

"I will give you the first half of the scroll," she continued. "In order to receive the second half, I require the death of your Avenal. Unless you are too weak to manage, in which case I'd accept her knight captain as a substitute."

Mordecaii donned a mocking expression of pathos.

“Such a choice!” he exclaimed. "Done."

Roanna failed to hide the surprise at how quickly Mordecaii replied.

"You give me the first half of the scroll, and I will deliver the death of Avenal, upon which, you will relinquish the second half. An equitable exchange. Tonatiuh could still prove useful to me, so lucky you, you get your first choice."

"Then you'll have the first half within a few days."

Roanna turned to leave.

"Wait," interrupted Mordecaii.

Roanna turned back over her shoulder to see Mordecaii approaching a clear table. He looked up to her confused.

"My dear," he said as if surprised she wasn't at the table with him. "Surely you don't expect such a bargain to be made with just words. Come. We will perform the Blood Pact."

Roanna did not move, only eyed Mordecaii with uncertainty.

Mordecaii sighed.

"Surely you're familiar with the ritual taught by Magus Rommath. If you have the courage of your conviction to keep this bargain, then approach. Otherwise, I'm afraid we have no bargain and you have to begin looking for a new handmaiden."

Mordecaii smiled sweetly at Roanna.

She approached slowly, eyeing Mordecaii with suspicion as he drew a sigil into the table. He pulled out a long knife and nicked his forearm, allowing a small pool of blood to form at the center of the sigil. He handed the knife to Roanna, handle first. She eyed it a moment, as if contemplating the option of having a sharp knife so close to him, but soon to the extended blade. She made a surgical incision into her arm and followed as he had done. As their blood pooled together Mordecaii coated the mixed blood onto the knife and began to trace the outline of the sigil with it.

"Now," he said as the sigil began to glow red. "You will deliver to me the first half of the second scroll of the Dalaran prophecies, upon which I will deliver the death of Avenal the Light Bearer.”

He looked expectantly to Roanna who hesitated before speaking.

"You will receive second half of the scroll upon the death of Avenal the Light Bearer."

All too easy…

Mordecaii touched the center of the sigil and it grew hot.

He looked to Roanna who after a moment followed suit.

As her finger touched the sigil it flashed vermillion then burned itself into the table.

"The pact is made," smiled Mordecaii as he rolled down his sleeves. "I'd make haste if I were you. For the pact begins when the first stipulation is met, which will occur when you bring me the first half of the scroll."

Roanna turned to leave.

"You'll have the first half soon."

"Good," said Mordecaii to her back. "It's called a blood pact for a reason."

Roanna glided into the townhouse, shutting the door quietly behind her. "Lessia? Mel? Set?, anyone home?" Only silence answered her. Confirming that she was alone, she made her way to her room. She quickly locked the door. Allowed her back to rest against it, slid to the floor. Finally. At least now I have it. She reached into her bag and pulled out a scroll.

Roanna thought back to earlier in the day, when she and Setarian had spoken. She'd noticed the scroll he had attempted to hide from her. In that moment, fear washed over her, so convinced was she that he had the very thing she'd been searching for for weeks in the Rellen'thas Library. As soon as they had gone their separate ways, she had immediately returned to the Manor to sift through one last possible location. Much to her relief, she had found it, tucked into a small crevice that Velurian had mentioned to her in passing years ago. She had unrolled the scroll just far enough to read the first two lines, ensuring that it was what she'd suspected it to be:





She felt a sense of peace. Not from the words themselves, but in knowing that she'd accomplished that which others had told her was impossible. I'm certain it doesn't exist ...His words rang in her thoughts.

As quickly as she could without raising suspicion, she tucked the scroll into her bag and left the manor. Roanna did her best to relax, running herself through every happy moment in recent days. She forced her mind from the scroll she carried. Fresh memories of her wedding to Javian, news of their unexpected surprise, and images of Ralen's return danced through her thoughts. To any who saw her, she carried herself lightly, carefree.

But her demeanor had changed now that she was alone, in the privacy of her room. Her fingers twitched as they fiddled to untie the ribbon binding the scroll. She took a deep breath as she unraveled it and began to read:





Roanna paused, her eyes scanning the scroll. She reread the last two lines. ...It can't be...this,...this isn't suppose to be real Roanna stood and began to pace her room, her hands tightly grasping the scroll, its words replaying in her thoughts. The memories she used to comfort herself earlier now turned to torment. She shook it all from her mind, settling herself on her bed. With a deep breath, she returned her focus to the scroll.




Roanna remained still for a moment before reading the scroll over again. And again. Trying desperately to find something that disproved her initial reaction. But no matter how many times she read it, she came to the same conclusion. If this is how things are meant to be, I can only continue on the path I've chosen. Roanna reached under her, slipping her fingers in between the mattresses, finding a dagger. She folded the scroll in half and slid the blade down the middle, dividing it in two. Roanna quickly placed the two halves in separate hiding spots in her room, certain neither would be disturbed. .....Aora... she's the only one I can trust with this. The only one I know that can handle it. I have an apology to make.

Aora walked quietly behind Roanna as they entered the inn for a drink. 'what kind of apology is that?' Aora thought. I'll stay a bit longer and see what she wants.

"Aora?" Startled, Aora looked up at Roanna standing in front of her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Her voice cold. "Shall we sit?"

Roanna nodded with a smile. The two sat down and looked around for a few moments.

"Congratulations on your marriage. I'm sure it was beautiful." Aora said with a weak smile.

"Thank you Aora. That means a lot from you. And now with expecting…"

Roanna smiled brightly as she touched her stomach.

Aora's eyes widened, "You mean?"

"Yes. Just found out a day ago." Roanna nodded.

"My goodness…congratulations again. I'm happy for you." Aora stared at Roanna, shock evident on her face.

"Thank you again, Aora." Roanna smiled and began looking around the inn.

Turning back to Aora, her face became serious. "Aora may I ask a favor of you?"
Aora looked at Roanna, eyebrow raised. "I suppose…"

"If you were to destroy something with magic, would it still be what it is?"

Blinking, Aora thought a moment before answering. "Is the item itself magic?"

Shaking her head Roanna said "No, it's what it contains that is important."

"Well I suppose if it is done correctly it could still be considered itself, just in another form." Aora spoke her thoughts softly.

"And could you do this?" Roanna watched Aora carefully as she spoke.

"I…could…" Aora stared off in the distance for a few more moments. "I have an idea of where. How soon would you need this done?"

"The sooner the better." Roanna's face grew serious once again. "Tomorrow if you are able."

"That should be fine. I will need to check on a few things first." Aora looked down at Azpad with a nod.

The small imp went running out of the inn and towards Eversong. "Shall we meet at my place…say around 4 bells?"

"That would be great Aora, thank you." Roanna rose from her seat, Aora following suit.

"I should get going I have work to do now. I will see you tomorrow." Aora turned to leave as she spoke. She stopped and looked at the door leading to the Bazaar, hearing a noise. Shaking her head she continued to the other door.

"Good night Aora. See you tomorrow." Said Roanna.
The following afternoon Aora waited for Roanna to show. The bells had just tolled and Roanna was not there yet. She called Azpad to her side and headed off towards Slivermoon.

Entering the gates of the city, Aora saw Roanna heading her way. She titled her head slightly to the side as Roanna approached with a curt nod. This was not the Roanna, Aora was used to seeing. Instead of a lovely dress she wore armor, weapons sheathed. To Aora it seemed Roanna would be expecting trouble.

Knowing this was not the time for words, Aora summoned her dreadsteed and mounted up. Leading Roanna out of the city they rode fast through Eversong. As they approached the bridge to the Ghostlands, Aora slowed. If they rushed by everyone, it would only bring attention to them. At their new pace, the two rode through heading for what seemed to be Goldmist village.

Looking around the village as she rode in, Aora watched the now dead inhabitants. They would not be happy for their trespassing, but this would not take long. Dismounting Aora looked back to Roanna, nodding for her to do the same.

They walked up to the building in the center of town. Aora glanced at Roanna and nodded. They walked up to the top floor where Roanna finally saw why they came here.

A summoning circle lay before them, glowing with a purple hue. Aora walked around it before stopping and calling Azpad to his spot.

"Are you sure about this Roanna?" Aora looked up at her as she moved to the opposite side of Roanna.

"Yes. This needs to be done." Roanna's eyes were darting around the room as she spoke to Aora. "What are you going to do?"

"When you are ready, place the item in the center of the circle. I will then call on three types of magic. This circle itself is demonic in nature. Azpad here, will use fire, and lastly I will use my shadow magic." Aora gave a small smile as she finished.

"You put a lot of thought into this Aora. Thank you." Roanna retuned the smile as she stepped forward. "Shall we then?"

Aora nodded as Roanna placed the item in the center of the circle. Aora raised her eyebrow slightly at the item, but remained focused. Looking to Azpad she gave a short nod, he nodded in reply to show he was ready.

Closing her eyes, Aora began speaking softly. The circle began to glow a bit brighter as a shield formed around the item.

The small imp watched and as the shield closed. he readied a large fireball and shot it straight through the center, burning the item.

Aora opened her eyes just as the fireball hit. She called forth the shadows and sent a bolt through the center as well. A small explosion ensued as she closed her eyes again. Upon doing so the shield faded and the glow of the circle subsided.

"It is done." Aora opened her eyes once more, exhaustion evident. "Thank you Azpad."

"Is it safe to gather it yet?" Roanna said as she stared at the remains.

"Yes, it is fine now. However…" Aora's tiredness getting to her, her vice lowered. "I would keep that away from people for a few days. Until the magic's settle. They can not undo it, but someone well known to magic may be able to sense what was done."

With a nod, Roanna moved forward and scooped the remains into a vial. Once all was safely away she placed the vial in her pouch. "Thank you again Aora."

"It's fine, but why did we just...destroy that scroll? Isn't that the one…?" Aora could not finish her sentence.

"Yes it is, and you just saved my life. I can't thank you enough." Roanna smiled.

Aora turned to the door, "We should get going. Will you be alright getting back to Silvermoon?"

"Yes, you seem tired. Please go get some rest." Roanna smiled again she the two left the building.

"Be safe Roanna." Aora turned as she called her dead steed. "Just be safe.."

Avenal felt some semblance of herself return as the dark stranger left her chamber. The thirst for the elixir had long since subsided, replaced by an even greater hunger. The means with which to sate it eluded her, as did the words to define the need. It was simply a compulsion, one she had not the desire or will to deny.

The doors to her chamber creaked open. She turned to face the unannounced visitor.

“Mordecaii,” she hissed.

The magus gave a sweeping bow and removed his wide brimmed hat.

“My lady,” he answered. “It has been too long.”

Avenal marched toward the mage and grasped the haft of her cudgel. Mordecaii continued to bow, and looked up to her from beneath his thin arched brow.

“Now now,” he cooed, “let’s not abandon all niceties.”

“On the contrary,” she averred, her voice deep with cold rage. “I can think of few things more pleasant then hearing your confession.”

“Do you feel it?” he asked casually. Avenal’s stride paused. “That cold emptiness? So cold it burns? White hot in the center of the husk you call your body?”

Avenal stopped, her hammer tightly clutched.

“What you will soon come to realize,” he continued, “is that there cannot be a release. Would you like to know what it is you so desperately thirst for?”

Avenal’s eyes began to glow of purple light.

“It is your soul you long for,” he said. The weight of it settled on her like a cold fall of water. “And it is the one thing you can never again possess.”

“You did this to me,” she hissed.

Mordecaii looked wounded.

“No my lady,” he averred as if confused. “It was not I that poisoned you so. It was I who saved you. As my lady recalls, it was Vithrial that infected you. Had it not been for my desperate attempts at a cure you would have been lost to the Scourge. A mindless wretch. I simply forestalled the effects, but there were indeed complications. Knowing your devotion to our cause, to our Prince, to our people, I knew it would be better for you to be a leader without a soul, than a wretch without a mind.”

Avenal considered Mordecaii.

“Am I then…”

“Dead?” he stopped bowing and stood upright. “In a manner, yes. But really, now we’re entering into debates and quibbles over the metaphysics of life itself. In a biological sense, you live. Your spirit, as it were, is very much intact. It is your soul, however, that is forfeit.”

Avenal didn’t feel shock, or concern. She found it hard to muster any feeling at all.

“But my lady,” pressed Mordecaii, “We have larger concerns.”

Avenal regarded Mordecaii.

“Explain.”

Mordecaii cleared his throat.

“While you were wrestling with the poison, I continued your crusade for the second scroll. Your initial assumptions, while wildly baseless, proved true. Roanna did indeed possess the second scroll. I managed to secure half of it.”

He produced a small roll of paper. Avenal snatched it from him and began to read.

“This is useless,” she spat. “Where is the rest of it?!”

Mordecaii darkened.

“Burned, my lady,” he remarked in an even tone. “Roanna saw to it to add insult to injury upon our order.”

Mordecaii raised his voice to stave off Avenal’s pending tantrum.

“Thankfully, she read it before burning it. All is not lost my Imperator. There is still a way to divine what we seek.”

“Go on.”

“In my studies in counteracting your affliction, I’ve learned a great deal in the transplantation of the soul. So much so, that I am confident that if you can bring Roanna back to me, I can force her, regardless of the strength of her will, to tell us what it contained.”

“What do you need to make this happen?”

“Her, intact. A Nethershard. And it would help if her soul was already… broken, as it were.”

Avenal wrestled with the news and the option a moment, weighing her desire for the scroll against her trust of Mordecaii.

“I will task Tonatiuh to see this through. Suriah will accompany him, as will Kilarea and Morkar. We will need their brutality.”

Mordecaii bowed as if to make his exit.

“But,” continued Avenal. “As your loyalty is suspect, Mordecaii, I will task Kysara to be at your side throughout this procedure. She will have orders to ensure you do not deviate from our plan, and moreover, ensure that any transgression you make constitutes your death.”

“Of course,” assured Mordecaii.

“True death,” she emphasized.

“I would have no other.”

The horn sounded from the woods in the south, nearer this time, and it was answered immediately by the wolf standing near Tonatiuh. The warhorse he rode fidgeted nervously, and Tonatiuh ran his hand along its neck to soothe it, but his attention was far away. He was watching storm clouds in the east, dark and heavy. They triggered a flash of memory, a fragment of the past all but forgotten; the faint scent of flowers.

Tonatiuh turned to look at the statue of Prince Kael’thas guarding the gates to Silvermoon City. The statue had been shaped by magic and so was a good likeness of the Prince, though Tonatiuh had never layed eyes on him. The face held a stern expression and the eyes seemed to follow him as he moved, almost judging him.

Almost. Not much longer, he thought.

Behind him on the short bridge outside the city, Suriah sat on a bench with her hands clasped lightly in her lap. She stared down at her hands, looking ill at ease. Ideally, she would not be present, but Avenal had hand-picked her along with the rest of the group. Tonatiuh was still unsure of her motivations and intentions, but there was nothing he could have done.

Sitting in the shadow of the city walls, the orc Kilarea sharpened the blades of his weapons. Daggers and knives spread around him, glowing orange, reflecting the failing light of the setting sun. In his hands was a newer toy: an ornate fist weapon with two claws, wickedly curved twin blades. He tested the points against the tough skin of his forearm, drawing blood and continuing to sharpen them until he was satisfied. His dire wolf let out another howl and barked loudly, announcing the newcomer.

The last member of the party, the undead warrior Morkar rode up on his own warhorse, stopping in front of Tonatiuh and saluting brusquely.

“You’re late,” Tonatiuh said, eyes locked on the mercenary.

Morkar gave no answer, returning Tonatiuh’s stare. For a long moment the two stood motionless, but Morkar looked away. To his credit, he did not lower his eyes, and Tonatiuh knew that was all the subservience he could expect from Avenal’s mercenaries. They were all very strong-willed.

“Mount up. We’re moving,” Tonatiuh said to his party.

Kilarea smoothly gathered his blades and in a short moment arranged them all out of sight on his armor with the ease of practice before jumping atop his dire wolf.

Tonatiuh turned to Suriah in time to see the end of her summoning spell. A thin jagged tear floated just above the bridge, a connection to a demon world that Tonatiuh was only very vaguely aware of. A massive head pushed through the tear, matte black skin and cruel horns adorning the crown, a creature of shadow. The demon horse ripped through the portal, snorting and screaming its rage, armored in blood-red plate. Pulling the last hind leg free of the portal and finding itself free, the demon screamed and burst into flame. Burning legs and hooves seared the ground as it pawed, looking around. Its eyes were perfect orbs of flame, but Tonatiuh knew the horse was looking at him and he sensed the attack coming. He saw the hind legs tighten and the demon threw its full weight at him, but Suriah raised her hand a half-second later, almost casually. The horse jerked to a sickening halt by an invisible bond around its neck, its cry choked off. The unyielding chain would have been enough to snap the neck of a normal horse, but the demon only snorted in grudging submission. Suriah took hold of the flaming mane with her bare hand, pulled herself up elegantly and smoothed out her robe as she settled herself. She looked up at Tonatiuh, impassive, and said, “I’m ready.”

Tonatiuh frowned but nodded curtly and spoke to the group. “Knights, you know the mission. You know where we’re headed now. Follow my lead, keep close and keep quiet. We will not stop until we reach our destination. Do not get side-tracked. Move out!”

Horseshoes rang out on the bridge as the horses turned to the city gates, the dire wolf followed silently. They rode past the gates, around the statue of Kael’thas standing sentry. Inside the city, activity was almost non-existent. The arcane golems continued their patrols, oblivious to the riders. They got a few vaguely curious glances from merchants headed home, but otherwise were able to make their way through the city inconspicuously. Through back alleys and side streets Tonatiuh led his companions, purposefully avoiding the residential areas.

Before long, the riders slowed their pace and stopped a fair distance from the house they were trying to reach. They dismounted and tied up the horses and wolf hidden in the shadow of another building. Tonatiuh led the party on foot silently up to the Duskwatcher townhouse, and raised a hand to signal a halt. He turned to his companions and raised his eyebrows in question. Kilarea’s hands flashed and evil-looking blades appeared in either palm, an eager look on his face. Tonatiuh shook his head slowly, mouthing not yet. Kilarea scowled, but put his weapons away. Morkar unslung his shield, and nodded his readiness. Suriah stood at the rear, almost out of sight behind the orcs. Tonatiuh repeated his wordless question and after brief hesitation, she nodded too.

Tonatiuh turned back to the townhouse and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths to steady himself. He had been having second thoughts about tonight’s plan for several days, but he had been unable to find a more discreet way to acquire what they now sought. It has to be done, he thought. They have left me no recourse. He lowered his shoulder, and threw the entire weight of his fully armored body to break open the front door with a resounding crack. He stormed in with the warriors half a step behind, Suriah slipping in after them to close the door before any curious neighbors discovered the source of the noise.

Inside the house, Tonatiuh found himself facing three individuals frozen in place with expressions of shock. He recognized only one of them. The Lady Roanna stood between two men that Tonatiuh had never seen before. One of them was a lord, judging by the way he was dressed. The second man was masked, dressed in dark leather; clearly a rogue. Tonatiuh stood before them, and spoke directly at Roanna.

“The time for games is over. Give us what we want, Lady.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied hastily.

“– the hell?” the masked man exclaimed, indignant.

Tonatiuh turned slowly to face him. “Leave now, friend. This doesn’t concern you.”

The rogue’s brow furrowed and his eyes slitted. He said nothing else, but unsheathed his daggers and took his stance.

“Stand down, boy,” Morkar growled. “We’re not here for you. You don’t need to die today.”

“We’ve come under order of the Imperator for the scroll you carry,” said Tonatiuh, ignoring the rogue and turning back to Roanna.

For a moment it seemed Roanna wouldn’t answer, but she admitted, “I don’t have it, one of your own magisters has it now. Mordecaii, his name is.”

“A denial will not be enough this time, Lady. You will give us the scroll or we will take it,” Tonatiuh said dangerously.

The second man moved quickly, then, to stand between Roanna and Tonatiuh. His face was dark with anger, and he spoke furiously. “I am Lord Javian An'shindanu, and as a representative of the Council of Silvermoon and the Farstriders, you all are guilty of treason by your allegiance to Aeturnas Trinitas and are wanted felons on these grounds. Be gone now before I have you in shackles.”

Tonatiuh let out a bark of incredulous laughter. He studied Javian’s face and his half smile slowly faded when he realized Javian was completely serious. Poor fool, he thought. The nobles still believe they can hide behind their self-given authority. It was in that moment that Tonatiuh understood that this night would have only one possible outcome.

“She’s coming with us,” Tonatiuh said.

“You think I’ll just let you take my wife??”

Gazing calmly into Javian’s eyes, Tonatiuh spoke out to his companions.

“Take Lady Roanna into custody.”

The rogue immediately sprang at Morkar, but the warrior reacted with speed to match. Morkar jerked his shield up, smashing the edge into the rogue’s chin, and then used the full force of his body to slam the rogue into the wall where he slid to the floor.

Javian had drawn weapons and stood facing Tonatiuh and Kilarea. Both the lord and the orc seemed to be waiting for Tonatiuh to move, but he stood with his arms crossed, just gazing at Javian. Beside him, Kilarea grew more and more restless. His eyes darted from Tonatiuh to Javian, waiting for an order or for an attack to parry and intercept. His breathing became erratic and his hands twitched, clenching and unclenching.

With the rogue out of the way and Javian occupied, Morkar and Suriah moved around the lord on either side and approached Roanna. Tonatiuh still stood immobile, and Javian turned to lunge at Morkar. Kilarea’s hand shot out and caught Javian’s shoulder, unable to contain himself any longer. He yanked Javian off his feet and threw him into the opposite wall, grinning as he closed in on him.

Across the room, the rogue had recovered enough to throw one of his daggers at Morkar.

“Run, you idiot!” the rogue yelled at Roanna. Tonatiuh had begun walking toward her, his path cleared when Kilarea removed Javian.

The dagger caught Morkar in the back of the thigh, slicing through an exposed tendon. He fell forward onto his hands, unable to stand. The air above Morkar shimmered intensely as Suriah channeled a spell directed at the rogue, bringing him to his knees screaming in terror and clutching his head.

Tonatiuh stood before Roanna and reached a hand over his shoulder to draw out his two-handed sword from its harness. The moment his fingers made contact, the voices in his head began; voices he had not heard in months, voices he had not expected to hear again.

You don’t want to do this.

No, I don’t, Tonatiuh agreed.

You don’t have to do this.

I have my orders.

Time slowed, sound faded, and the world around him blurred slightly.

Kilarea had drawn his toy, the razor-sharp claws, and he had backed Javian into a corner. Kilarea deflected the hail of blows from Javian’s blades with his thick forearms and struck at Javian with his claws at every opportunity, making shallow stabs and cuts. He was playing with Javian, taunting him.

Roanna panicked at seeing her husband covered in his own blood and she lashed out at Suriah. Suriah dodged a fraction of a second too late and Roanna caught her in the face. It was less than a scratch but enough to break Suriah’s concentration and her spell on the rogue ended.

Off to the side, Tonatiuh watched Morkar fumble at his leg and sift through torn skin and rotted flesh to find his severed tendon. He saw the warrior overcome undeniable pain to pull the tendon tight and tie the ends together for a temporary solution.

Look at them. They fight for life, for love. Who are you to take it from them?

They chose to resist. There is no alternative.

What would you do in their place?

A bright yellow flare of light in the corner of his eye drew Tonatiuh’s attention to back to where Javian and Kilarea fought. The rogue, free of Suriah’s spell, had snuck up behind Kilarea in an attempt to aid Javian but Suriah had not forgotten him. Her face was the picture of regret, but one wave of her hand and a soundless murmur set the rogue on fire. His face contorted in a silent scream.

Kilarea turned, surprised, and slammed his clawed fist into the rogue’s throat but the blades made almost no contact. The elf fell on his face, unconscious as the flames died down. All occurred in less than a second but it was all the time Javian needed. Kilarea had exposed himself to deal with the rogue and Javian took advantage of the opening to slash at the orc’s face. Kilarea threw his arm up to block the strike but Javian had been feinting. He ducked under Kilarea’s arm and with a quick spin built up momentum to slam the pommels of his swords into the orc’s kidney.

Are you going to kill them?

Tonatiuh could not answer. He had sworn to himself long ago never to be anyone’s executioner, but he understood the path he had set himself on when he had broken down the door this night.

I need that scroll and they will not cooperate. There is no alternative.

Do you understand the price you will pay for this?

Yes.

No. You don’t.

Javian slipped past Kilarea’s scrabbling hands, leaving the orc breathless on the floor as he rushed to his wife’s side. Tonatiuh moved to block Javian’s way, standing between husband and wife with his sword angled down away from him, point to the floor. Behind him, Morkar got to his feet and limped over to Suriah and Roanna. Suriah had taken Roanna by the shoulder, digging in her nails in her rush to drag her away from Tonatiuh and Javian.

Kilarea appeared behind Javian with a manic snarl on his face and his arms dark red from the bleeding tattoos Javian had given him. Light reflected off the orc’s clawed hand as he prepared for a killing blow.

“Enough!” Tonatiuh shouted. Silence gripped the room as everyone froze, only the sounds of heavy breathing marking their presence. “The Imperator has commanded, and so it must be done. We are taking the Lady Roanna.”

"You trespass in my home, perpetrate assault, and seek to abscond with my wife, and expect me to stand aside idly? I will see every last one of you treasonous dogs that bear the seal of your order exiled, your charter disbanded. Your imperator will be brought before the council in shackles, and this time, the judgement of the council will be final."

Looking at Javian, Tonatiuh spoke softly. “There will be no other opportunity,” he said.

Roanna struggled to free herself of Morkar and Suriah, but the knights held tight. “Javian ...” she called out to her husband, pleading, reaching out to him.

Javian looked past Tonatiuh at his wife, an expression of sorrow on his face as their eyes met; a conversation that they would never have, a final goodbye. The lord turned back to Tonatiuh, steeling himself and taking his stance.

“So be it,” said Tonatiuh grimly. He took a step forward, bringing up his sword with both hands in a vicious hack as Roanna yelled behind him. Javian brought up a sword to parry Tonatiuh’s attack but had underestimated the brute force of the swing. Javian’s blade took the brunt of the strike but it was knocked out of his hand and into his chest, bent into the ribcage with a sickening crunch by Tonatiuh’s sword.

Javian’s eyes widened in shock, and he fell to his knees, wheezing and beginning to cough up blood. “Roanna,” he called out weakly. He raised his head to look at her, but his eyes clenched in a grimace as spasms of pain racked his body.

Tonatiuh knelt in front of Javian, lowering his head until they were level, and whispered to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Tonatiuh stood up and walked to Javian’s side, raised his greatsword above his head, closed his eyes and hesitated.

What are you willing to sacrifice to accomplish your goal?

Everything.

You will regret this.

Tonatiuh opened his eyes to find the warriors staring at him and Roanna screaming. Suriah still held on to her captive, but she looked noticeably greener and she did not meet Tonatiuh’s eyes. Morkar looked surprised but kept his mouth clamped shut and Kilarea looked … disappointed. Looking at his feet, he saw Javian’s body lying in the spreading pool of his own blood, the head a good distance away.

Still screaming, Roanna tore away from Suriah and Morkar and scrambled toward her husband’s body. Tonatiuh sheathed his sword and approached her. She lunged for Javian’s second sword but Kilarea kicked it away from her reach. Helpless and alone, she began to cry, screaming at Tonatiuh, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done!?”

“Only what you have forced me to do,” he replied with as much conviction as he could summon, though he felt none of it. He turned from her and walked out of the townhouse without another word. The warriors looked at each other, slightly confused. Morkar shrugged and pulled Roanna to her feet. He and Suriah took hold of either of Roanna’s arms and began to lead her outside.

Kilarea began to follow but froze as his ears picked up a new sound. A low moan escaped from the maimed body of the rogue again and Kilarea turned slowly, smiling. He walked over to the burned form, taking a handful of hair and pulling to get a good look at the face, but the singed hair turned to ash in his hands. He took the back of the rogue’s head in his hand and lifted, turning the head towards him. Half-lidded eyes delirious with pain looked back. Kilarea grinned as he pulled back the rogue’s head, exposing the neck. The orc raised the stained blades of his claw to the rogue’s neck and slowly drew him a wide red smile, letting the fresh blood run down his arm, mixing with his own, and brought his hand to his mouth to taste it. Satisfied, he released the rogue’s head, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. Kilarea walked casually out of the house, arms at his side, blood dripping down his fingers to the floor; a trail of crimson tears to match those streaming down Roanna’s face as she looked back at her friend.

Tonatiuh was already mounted on his warhorse, waiting. Morkar appeared from behind the townhouse with Roanna’s hawkstrider, leading it to where Suriah stood, still holding onto Roanna. When the knights and their captive were mounted, Tonatiuh turned west and rode away at a brisk pace. Morkar and Suriah rode on either side of Roanna and Kilarea covered the rear. They rode in silence under cover of darkness for the Undercity where the Imperator waited.

With a smile on her face as she walked back to the townhouse, Lessia thought, I hope these shoes match the dress okay. Roanna is too nice to me sometimes. As she approached the townhouse she heard a scream.

"That was Roanna!" She said as she rushed forward. Lessia stopped herself and decided that sneaking would be better then just running in. She quietly crept to the door which flew open as she neared it. Lessia could see Roanna being lead out of the house by a group of people. She knew the tabbard of a few of them…Aeturnas Trinitas.

Lessia realized there was nothing she could do as she watched them leave. As the last of them left she entered and saw a bloody body on the floor. Not wasting time she left and followed Roanna. Lessia watched them force her onto a mount and ride off towards the Court of the Sun. Lessia panicked as she watched Roanna leave her sight.

She called forth her own mount and rushed to find Setarian. As she turned the corner, entering Murder Row, she saw him walking towards her.

"Hi Less!" He said as he walked up with a smile, drinking down the last of his bourbon.

"Set!" Less jumped off her mount and ran up to him. "They took Roanna!"

Setarian stared at her, confusion evident. "What? Who?"

"Aeturnas Trinitas! They have taken Roanna." Lessia tried to calm herself as she spoke.

Fuming, Setarian yelled, "What!"

"They also killed Lord Javian." Lessia's words were softer, she knew not everyone needed to know this yet.

"That…That can't be…" without another word Setarian called for his wolf and took off for the townhouse, Lessia closely behind him.

As they entered the townhouse the two looked around. Setarian stared at Javian's body, his head a few feet away. Setarian kneeled down and began looked through Javian's person. Lessia turned around an noticed another body.

"Set…look.." Lessia ran over to the body of Llucas, the young man Roanna had recently befriended. Checking to see if he was dead, she noticed him hardly breathing. Lessia called out "Set, he's alive, but needs help now!." She pulled out a few bandages from her bag and began trying to stop the bleeding from his throat.

Setarian looked at his hand as he turned and walked over to the two. "So he's alive?"

"He is, but needs help fast." Lessia knelt down checking on him again.

"Do you know where Roanna keeps her potions?" Setarian knelt down as well.

"Of course." Lessia ran from the room, returning a moment later with an arm full of potions. As she placed them on the floor she handed one to Setarian. "This is the strongest she has."

"It will have to do." Setarian opened Llucas' mouth and poured the potion down his cut throat. Llucas began coughing slightly, but fell silent again.

"Company?" Came a voice from behind them. Lessia and Setarian stood, and faced the orc that had entered the townhouse. "Awww. So you saved him?" the orc said as he noticed Llucas.

"Who are you? Where is Roanna?" Set demanded as he moved in front of Lessia.

"I do not know where Roanna is. I was sent to protect her, but got here too late." The orc said with a slight grin about him.

"Do not lie! What are you doing here?" Setarian advanced on the orc.

Lessia returned her attention to Llucas. "You need to wake up." she slowly poured another potion down his throat. "Please wake up."

Coughing, he tried to raise himself . "Go easy." Lessia said as he sat up.

"Set, will you get rid of that orc. We don't have time for his games." Lessia had turned her head to the two. Their conversation lost to her.

Setarian nodded and forced the orc out of the townhouse. "We need to get going."

Llucas waved his hands in a shooing motion., unable to speak. "Be safe Llucas."

Lessia and Setarian ran from the townhouse. "We need to find Vithrial."

Setarian said as they called for their mounts and headed off to Andilian Manor.

(Written by Setarian)

Panic. Loss. Hopelessness. Setarian felt each of these as he had never felt them before as he rushed through the streets of Silvermoon toward the Andilien Manor. With every fiber of his being he blamed himself for not being there when they needed him. Now Lord Duskwatcher was dead, Roanna was gone, and he had to turn to the one person who he loathed to be seen with; Vithrial.

With Lessia by his side, his only source of sanity, they approached the Manor and dismounted. Formality be damned, Setarian flew into the home, letting the door slam against the wall as he entered.

"VITH!" he shouted.

The Seneschal, not so much surprised by his presence as by his manners, rose to greet the two visitors.

"Something has happened! Roanna is gone!" Setarian nearly screamed.

Vithrial raised an eyebrow, the only sign that his stoic mind had realized what was said.

After several moments of reflection Vithrial questioned him.

"How long?"

At this Setarian turned to Lessia, the one who had actually seen the Trinitas murderers leaving.

"How long ago was it Less?" he asked her.

"Not long, just before I found you." she responded.

A look of the slightest hope came across Set's face as he turned back to the mysterious Seneschal.

"They can't have gone far. We need to work together on this, we need to act now!"

Vithrial, still in a state of calm that Setarian could not understand, continued to think things over. The seneschal moved to a table in the corner and began gathering his gear, preparing for what was to come.

"Where is Lord An'Shindanu? We will need his assistance in mobilizing Silvermoon's Council and his Farstriders may be of assistance as fodder." Vithrial asked in his monotone voice, almost as an afterthought.

Beside him, Lessia turned to Set with a frown, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Setarian steadied himself to speak.

"He's dead. Lord Duskwatcher is dead."

"They killed him…" Lessia added, allowing not more than a single tear to fall. At this Vithrial turned to them both with a start.

"They struck down a Lord of Silvermoon in his own home?" Vithrial asked. Setarian, relieved that they had finally gotten a reaction, nodded, the excitement returning to his voice.

"They killed him, and took Ro to God knows where! We don't have time for the Council, or the Farstriders! We've got to move now!"

Vithrial nodded grimly, taking his daggers and a small vial from the table.

Setarian continued, "You know Avenal better than we, where would she have them take Roanna?"

Vithrial considered the question for a moment before answering.

"Whether permanently or as a stop en route to Orgrimmar, they would seek refuge among the Forsaken." Vithrial informed the young rogues.

Setarian gave a nod.

"Then we've got to go there." Set responded. "Now!"

He headed for the door looking back to make sure Less and Vithrial were right behind. Vithrial stood, looking hard at Setarian.

"Keep your head in this, or you do her no service." he advised. Setarian scowled at the Seneschal but accepted his words and forced himself to relax.

"I'll try…"

"Shouldn't there be a plan?" Lessia questioned, never one to rush into things as Setarian was, "I want her to be safe, but being stupid will get her killed."

Vithrial nodded his approval at her.

"We are observing at the moment. Ensuring that she is safe." He looked at Setarian. "If the opportunity presents itself, we shall free her. If she is in danger, we will intervene. If however, she is safe for the time being, we shall need to regroup."

Setarian's eyes narrowed.

"She is not safe with them, not for a minute."

Vithrial frowned a small bit at Set's words.

"Avenal," lectured Vithrial, "in Undercity with her full army behind her is more than we three can bring low Setarian. If you wish Roanna to mourn your cold body as well as her lord husband's, then pursue brash action. Otherwise, keep your wits. Lets move."

The three left the Manor and mounted up. One, calm and calculating. One, hopeful to the point of innocence. And one, with a fury inside that was hard to control. They rode swiftly to the orb that would take them to the Undercity, to what fate they knew not. The only thing Setarian knew for certain; tonight someone would die.

Lyear emptied the last dregs of Bloodthistle from his snuffbox onto the inn table, sifting through the stems and seeds to find one last pipe-pack. After several minutes, he had managed to fill his pipe halfway. “Guess this will have to do until Blayke gets here,” he muttered to no one in particular, as he tamped down the dregs of his now depleted supply. Lyear lit the Bloodthistle pipe and, taking the first satisfying drag, walked out to the inn balcony, overlooking Ratchet harbor. He sat down, and closed his eyes, listing to the soft roar of the surf below him.

Somewhere behind him, he heard laughter – mocking him. Lyear didn’t bother to turn. He knew no one was there. “I hear goblin cuisine is simply to die for,” the voice said sarcastically. “Sure puts the banquets hosted by the Grand Magister to shame, huh?”

“Can’t be helped,” Lyear responded, coolly. “Given all that’s happened these few nights, my master thought it best to avoid town for a spell.”

“Ha! Kicked out of your own city; one you gave so much to protect – and create. And what? Ever the obedient servant, you left without an argument.” The voice paused, dramatically. “You know what I think? The Farstrider is getting to you. Before long, you’ll be her little nurse maid. ‘Yes dear. Anything you say, dear.’ Pathetic! What would The Prince say to this nonsense?”

Lyear snickered, sardonically. “What would he say to my having conversations with the voices in my head?” Before the voice could retort, he heard a slight shuffling behind him. Quickly focusing again on his surroundings, he flatly said, “You’re late,” to his new visitor.

Without bothering to wait for an invitation, Blayke took the empty chair next to the magus and set a small parcel on the table between them. Lyear smiled slightly, smelling the sweet aroma of the Bloodthistle emanating from the parcel. “There’s an added surprise for you in there, too - something that may be of some interest.”

Intrigued, Lyear carefully opened up the wrapping, spying a small note atop the dried leaves. He unfolded the note and read it, scrawled in handwriting illegible to those not accustomed to reading it.

Suncrown plans a rescue. Soon.

Blake stared off into the distance as Lyear held the small scrap of paper in his hand, summoning a flame to engulf the parchment. The cool sea breeze carried the ashes towards the savannah. “How’d you find this out?” the mage inquired, casually.

“It’s reliable,” Blayke responded, answering the magus’ real question.
“What do I owe you?”

“The usual. You can pay me with your next delivery.” Blayke paused, slightly. “So, same time and place next week?”

Lyear nodded while producing a small coin purse from his robes, handing it to the smuggler.

“Always a pleasure doing business,” Blayke responded, politely if not a bit automatically, as he rose to take his leave. Lyear paid the smuggler no mind, his thoughts occupied with the new revelation.

Could be interesting. Will vex Mordecaii to no end to have his newest project interrupted. May as well let them try... Lyear leaned forward, emptying his pipe of the scraps of Bloodthistle and refilling it with a fresher batch. Although… if Avenal was alerted, we could cast a bit of light to some of their shadows. Lyear pondered a moment on the two decisions and, finally unable to decide which would yield the more interesting results, the former Blood Mage reached into his robes for a small coin. He fiddled with the gold piece, noting the gates to Undercity on the tail-side. “Heads I tell Avenal” he muttered as he tossed the coin into the air. The gold made a soft thud as it hit the balcony deck. Lyear glanced down to see the face of Sylvanas staring back at him.

With a slight sigh, Lyear rose from his chair. Fingering one of the portal stones, the magus unconsciously incanted one of his more commonly used spells, thinking only of the subterranean citadel.

(Written by Ralen)

Ralen wove through the crowds of people who didn't see him, who didn't see each other, who only saw their destination and three feet in front of them. It wasn't this bad in Thunderbluff, he recalled. Ralen had spent four years in the Tauren capital as the Sin'dorei ambassador, defending his people against the interests of Cairne Bloodhoof's nomads. Against what interests? Ralen mused. Of course, there had been plenty of bureaucratic stunts to see through, but most of them had sprung from the Sin'dorei's inadvertent breech of Tauren traditions. The Tauren were a peaceful people, content as shamans, hunters, and warriors in their communion with nature. Perhaps it was the ease of their existence, the lack of pressure so often married to the impositions of an urban society, that facilitated the Tauren's attractive attention to detail, simple hospitality, and universal respect. At least there, I didn't feel judged, Ralen reflected. Although he had hated wearing the politician's smile and pushing paperwork - thank gods for Roanna's tireless support - he had at least felt welcomed. But here, in the Sin'dorei capital, citizens went about their day without so much as flashing a smile in another's direction.

Ralen thought back to an evening on a rise in Thunder Bluff, hundreds of miles above the Golden Plains below. The sun was sinking, pulling long shadows across the warm grasslands. A moth fluttered past him, struggling down, its translucent wings catching the waning light like dyed gauze. It was then - two years into his assignment - that something clicked inside of him; a deep understanding of the towering inhabitants of this rustic city took root. The wind brought him close to their reverence for nature, carrying with it the ginger-sweet scent of summer. Time froze, and the world fell away. Such transcendent moments had captured Ralen rarely, but when they did, he felt closer to himself, to others, and to the gods.

He had felt that more frequently in recent months. Ralen imagined standing on the prow of Denya's ship, his eyes narrowed against the briny wind, sea-spray ghosting the canvas sails. The vessel's movement, the rhythmic rolling and rocking and hopping from crest-to-crest like a gull in-hunt, was subject to any number of nautical catastrophes. Which was, of course, the appeal! He smiled as he climbed the stairs to the townhouse, reflecting on his recent correspondence with Death at sea. Snare me!, he would threaten, day after day. Drag me into the deep if you can! His head swelled with the rush of his challenge to that indifferent force, that beautiful, indifferent force that eclipsed the political quibbles of his universally insignificant species. There was comfort in feeling inconsequential: the struggles of Man were as singular and aimless as the moth's focused flight into the heart of the sun.

A flash in the pan, Ralen thought. A flash in the pan and then it's done. No guarantee tomorrow will bring breath, or for that matter, my next step.

"Ralen."

Ralen froze before the entrance to Roanna's home. His face darkened, flooding with recognition. Racing, his mind jumped back to the day this man had cornered him in the Western Plaguelands, demanding his immediate return to Silvermoon. He faced Setarian, noting the woman by his side. "I've missed you. As I recall, last we met I had the pleasure of besting your insults."

"And I took you home under my arm, kicking and screaming." Bastard.

"So sorry, but I've business with Ro." Ralen turned his back to the couple, making to ascend the stairs.

"She's not here."

Gods give me strength to deal with this clown and his monkey, Ralen thought. A deep breath. "That's unfortunate. Do you know where - "

" - Roanna was kidnapped," the woman broke in, clipping Ralen's question. "Last night. She disappeared."

Setarian stepped forward, presenting his companion. "This is Lessia. Lessia, Ralen." But Ralen could not reciprocate Setarian's strained politeness. He was trying to digest Lessia's very simple statement, but it was like fumbling at a locked door without the key. "Ralen?"

He forced himself to focus on Setarian's and Lessia's presence. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," Lessia offered.

Ralen considered her apology. Is that thinly veiled satisfaction I sense, he asked himself, or is she being sincere? "Where is she?" The gravity of his voice surprised even him.

"We don't know," Setarian soothed. "We're doing everything we can to..."

The space between Ralen and Setarian vanished as Ralen strode forward, bringing the men face-to-face. I am not the man I was a year ago, Ralen's subconscious flashed. "Drop your political games, Setarian, and speak true for once." His head was swimming and all he wanted was to act where the Rellen'thas House would not.

"We're doing everything possible."

"You're not doing enough."

"We'll look for her as soon as we can."

Ralen blinked.

When they can...?

Was Roanna's life so invaluable as to be dismissed according to convenience? "Of course." Ralen checked his rage, channeling it into the sarcasm he had picked up from Denya, and which, he suspected, had been in him all along. I am not my father, he confirmed, denying memories of Damian's empty promises the acknowledgement they demanded. "Doubtless, you've other pressing matters to debate. We wouldn't want to stain your reputation in the council, especially when Roanna's life is on the line. I'm sure they approve of your lethargy."

"Careful, Ralen."

" - No." His voice was ice. "You are the one who must be cautioned." He let his threat sink in. "Since you are unwilling to act, I will act alone. You're spineless bastards and I don't give a damn about your council. You can at least tell me what you know." Ralen registered the shock on Lessia's face. "Please..."

A long silence. Then, Lessia: "We...Can't."

Ralen let his fingers curl into fists. "I would have liked to expect more from one who claims to be Roanna's friend."

Setarian shook his head. "There are things you do not understa - "

" - All I need to understand is that my sister is in danger. Do you understand that?" He paused, his words ringing in the silence. "I think you do. But I think the two of you have your heads up the council's ass so far you can't see to do anything about it." He turned to go. "I'll find her myself."

"Ralen - " Lessia's voice quivered with genuine concern, but Ralen wanted none of it. Thought without action is dust. How the hell I weathered the periphery of their circle for years, I'll never know. But something ate at his already substantial consternation, something Roanna had said over dinner, someone who had found her in the basement of a Silvermoon building to inform her about the latest threat against some politician's life...What was his name...? And can Denya help me? Would she?

Later. Ralen drew from the wells of his political experience at Thunderbluff, compartmentalizing the questions at hand. Get out first, then regroup.

"Setarian, Lessia: go to hell."

With that, he swept out of the building and into the day.

Where… is this? The words echoed in his mind as he slowly came to. The cold stone beneath him was unfamiliar. The sounds and smells, all foreign. The answer became quickly apparent as he lifted a chained wrist. Oh… right… he grunted as he sat up, rubbing his eyes trying to clear the haze of sleep. His hand moved lower, resting at the crude bandage around his throat. For a moment he saw the orc again, moving towards him with a blood soaked claw. His blood. “Tell them everything.”

“Finally awake are we? Good. I was getting impatient” came a voice from across the room, snapping the man from his thoughts. “How's the neck? Still hurt?” he asked, almost mockingly. The rogue looked over and, with the biggest tooth-filled grin he could muster, flipped the guard off. Metal footsteps sounded followed by a loud crack as a gauntleted fist met the rogue's jaw. Llucas glared up at the man through loose red hair, a half-growl half-smirk on his face as fresh blood ran down his chin. The guard sneered and raised his arm for another strike.

“Enough!” called a second voice. “Clean him up. He has a visitor.”

The guard begrudgingly obeyed, backing away from the captive towards a nearby table. He picked up a rag, stained red in various places from the past two nights, and dropped it unceremoniously at the rogue's feet. “Much as I've come to love our little moments, let's hope, for your sake, that you give us exactly what we want tonight.”

Llucas watched the man leave before reaching down and snatching the cloth. He mouthed a seemingly endless string of obscenities, angrily wiping the blood from his face before throwing the rag to the ground. This is insane, he thought, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes. The memory of Roanna's scream reached his ears. The sensation of jagged blades tearing through his throat. His vision turning crimson, then black. “I trust you'll perform your duties with more diligence than the current guard.” DAMMIT, he growled, looking down at his shackled wrists and pulling at the chains. You failed her. And they think you did it. Think you were part of it.

He barely noticed the shadowed figure that stood before him. It took a soft clearing of the throat to finally gain his attention. He looked up, eyeing the newcomer and tensing at the sight of pen and parchment in their hand. Another one… Llucas muttered silently to himself, turning his gaze to some far corner as he waited. The investigators and their little writing game had made him weary. For a moment he debated drawing a crude picture for his guard “friend”.

“Do you recognize me?” the figure asked as she lowered her hood. He raised his eyes, surprised to see the dark-haired woman. The name eluded him, but the face he knew. They met once at the townhouse during a dinner party. He nodded and looked at her intently, mouthing the name “Roanna”. Though the woman understood his question, her answer was full of uncertainty. He looked down at his wrists again, the frustration building as she set the pen and parchment down and slid them towards him. She needed information, and despite Ro's warnings, she was the only one who could help her right now. He had already told the Captain who was responsible, but they would do nothing. They wouldn't charge into Orgrimmar and demand Aeturnas Trinitas be brought to justice. Even if by chance they did, Avenal wouldn't return her. This... noble… may be her best hope right now. And that thought unnerved him.

He lifted the pen and scrawled what he remembered. Those who attacked. Their numbers. The tabard they wore. The orc. Their Blood Knight leader… “Leave now friend, this doesn't concern you.” The woman looked over the parchment, seemingly displeased by the lack of details, before rolling it up and tucking it away. She carefully pulled the hood up over her head as she kneeled down before him. Her hands began to float in what seemed a random pattern of movements and twitches, drawing his curiosity. “Do you understand?” she asked. He nodded slowly, surprised that a Lady like her would know one of the old thieves 'tongues'.

- Don't worry… I'll take care of it. Roanna and Javian won't be wasted -

Wasted… the word hung in his mind, playing over and over again long after the woman had gone.

“Now. Where were we?” the guard grinned, returning with a small stack of papers and books. “Heard rumors you were looking for someone around the city a few weeks ago. Care to tell me about it?” Llucas leaned back on the makeshift stone bench, lacing his fingers together before giving his knuckles a deliberate and dramatic crack. “Like that is it? Excellent…”

It is time to rectify this most recent transgression. The deep set scowl belied the occupied mind of one unaccustomed to having his plans go awry. Three days had passed since Setarian and Lessia arrived to announce the abrupt passing of Lord An’shindanu and the abduction of his bride. Keeping the brash Elrendar rogue from a headlong charge had occupied much of Vithrial’s time, tending to the whims of the Andillien widow took what was left, but in the moments he could steel to himself, Vithrial had managed to use every contact, informant, and opportunistic guttersnipe to keep tabs on Lady Roanna’s whereabouts. The news that their window of opportunity was both small and closing left him with unspoken doubts as to the prudence of this mission, but little in the way of options.

He entered Andillien manor through the main doors to find the Lady Regent occupying herself in the main hall. She met him with the same welcoming smile she always had, though he knew his countenance bore less warmth to her today than was customary as he brusquely nodded in her direction and moved towards the armory.

“Vithrial?” the widow’s voice was heavy with concern as she followed close on his heels. “Vithrial, what are you doing?”

“I had hoped your time spent in the house of a huntsman would have given you more familiarity with the practice of donning one’s armor.” Without turning to face her, he knew her eyes to be daggers even as he continued to strap on the hardened leathers that made up his gear.

“I can see that, but why.”

“I believe it may be needed this day.” As he adjusted his gauntlets and sheathed his twin blades that had wrought so much death in days past, he finally turned to face her and her scowling. He smirked in spite of himself and the two stood locked for a moment.
“There are things I must do, of which you mustn’t know.”

After a moment’s further hesitation, Agho’linn nodded slowly, her mouth a terse line as she knew the tone in the rogue’s voice when it would brook no disagreement or accommodation. He nodded to her once as he donned his helm and made for the door. “Vithrial!” she called after him, stopping him a moment. “Be careful.”

In his full battle garb, his smirk looked all the more out of place, and his cold eyes locked on Agho’linn. “I shall return to you. As I always have.” She only could nod, the faintest smile crossing her lips, as Vithrial moved swiftly to his mount and made for the teleportation orb.

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“We should kill every one of them! We have greater skill.” The passion of youth burned hot in Setarian’s words, but the icy stare of his mentor tempered the flame.
“The mission is of a singular objective, Setarian. We rescue Roanna. I want no misunderstanding on this point. Are we clear?”
Lessia nodded immediately, but Setarian clenched his jaw firmly before nodding curtly in begrudging agreement. “If they try to stop us?”
Vithrial paused a moment, his eyes set hard on his unflinching student. “Then we kill them. Lay them low. Every one.” The twisted grin on Setarian’s face acknowledged the words and Vithrial surveyed his two accomplices. “We strike on my mark. No sooner. Stick to the shadows and stay with me. Ready?”

As blades were drawn, the three melted into the shadows and moved through the antechambers of the Undercity, down into the sick belly of Lordaeron and through its winding darkened halls towards the chambers occupied by Aeturnas Trinitas and their incapacitated guest, the Lady Roanna.

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Vithrial gestured silently for the two to take up positions flanking him, maintaining visibility in case of attack as he moved towards Roanna. As he crept ever closer, the sound of mailed footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty room. Vithrial’s head slowly turned towards the noise to witness the raven haired Avenal pacing the room. She knows already. It is time to see how this game plays. Quickly gesturing Setarian towards Roanna’s still form, Vithrial stepped out of the inky shadows and stood to his full height before his once imperator, blades drawn.

“Avenal….”
“Vithrial…how good of you to come.”
“I am here for one purpose. I will be leaving with the lady Roanna.”
“Such fear in you, Vithrial. You could have been great, were it not for your fear. Fear is for the faithless.”
“I fear nothing.”
“But you do. You are rife with fear. You are a traitor to the true cause. You betrayed me.”
“You betrayed an entire people.”
“I brought them the truth of his word.”
He adjusted his stance. “I tire of this. Let us end this now, as I should have long ago.”
Avenal only grinned her sick grin. “Come then.”
In an instant, Vithrial charged Avenal, prepared to strike her down. As he drew close, a cold realization swept over him. She does not move to receive the blow…
The dull thump broke his charge as a single arrow struck through his chestplate into the soft flesh beneath. At once he felt the searing heat in his breast and saw the smug satisfaction on his would-be victim’s face. I am the deathbringer…he pulled the shaft from his chest, and immediately knew the ichor that coated the point. Already he felt the fire coursing through his veins and felt his breath begin to grow more labored. …I made this…to bring her to her knees. Vithrial fell to a knee before reaching Avenal, the dulled sound of Setarian calling his name behind him miles in the distance as his mind raced… even the deathbringer must atone. Avenal drew near.
“You brought this on yourself. You could have been my champion…”
“I…am not…yours.” Setarian moved to Vithrial’s side, blades drawn, as the faithful of Aeturnas Trinitas began to emerge from the shadows and side chambers.
“Get back! All of you!” he brandished his daggers before him, and Vithrial knew in that moment he would, in fact, face the entire force of Aeturnas Trinitas if need be.
“Setarian…….run.” The words fell on deaf ears.
“Vithrial, get up! Come on!” Setarian pleaded but Vithrial was unable to oblige, his steel falling to the floor as his grip failed and the forces loyal to Avenal closed in on them.
“Let them go.” Avenal’s voice was sure and strong above it all, even through the haze that now filled Vithrial’s head. “He is already dead.” Setarian’s eyes filled with rage as he turned his attention to Avenal but Vithrial beckoned him closer. Setarian stooped only to help Vithrial to his feet, a coughing fit wracking the formers body as he stood.
“She speaks the truth…….I am……undone. Get word….to Agho’linn…..” Setarian nodded even as he helped Vithrial from the chamber, the eyes of the order watching as they limped from their mission in failure.
“You have not seen me for the last time!” Setarian shouted to the assembled in a final showing of bravado.
“I am sure of it.” Replied Avenal.
As they rounded the corner, Setarian grabbed Lessia. “Quickly, find Agho’linn. Tell her we are coming. Vithrial’s hurt.”

The pounding on the door at the Andilien Manor echoed through the halls, announcing its urgency. Agho’Linn had been busily pacing the length of the front foyer, and she rushed to the doors, hauling them open. As the oaken doors parted, they revealed a young, dark haired girl dressed in black leathers.

“Lessia?” Agho’Linn questioned, placing the face across from her own as Roanna’s maid.

“It is Vithrial, milady, he’s… he’s been poisoned,” Lessia stuttered out between breaths, “I was sent to warn you.”

Agho’Linn swayed on her feet, trying to maintain control over herself. Questions whirled in her head, “Who? Why? Where?” There wasn’t time to ask. If Vithrial had sent Lessia ahead to warn her, the situation was already dire.

“Get him here,” Agho’Linn demanded flatly, not bothering to watch as Lessia sprinted out of the manor.

She whirled to face the few maids and the butler that had come at the sound of the pounding at the door. Each had a question written all over the face, and in her quasi-panic, Agho’Linn wasn’t in a position to answer any one of them. Instead, she eyed each one individually.

“Out!” she bellowed, and the flock of them scattered like doves.

“Bess!,” she shouted, calling back one of the maids, “Bring me the entire trunk of filled vials from my workroom. Now!”

Bess nodded and disappeared into the Andilien Manor in the direction of the room Agho’Linn had filled with herbs, compounds, and recipe books. Agho’Linn moved in a different direction and threw open the doors to the closet that held the Manor’s guest linens. Ripping them with a channeled fury, Agho’Linn began to wind bandages.

She ought to have stopped him and argued with him more when he had come to the Manor and began donning his armor. The tone in his voice, though, called her off her arguments. His words rounded in her head again, “There are things I must do, of which you mustn’t know,” causing her to shudder. She should have pressed him, delayed him, fought with him… anything to have kept him from this.

The clinking sound of her potion trunk brought Agho’Linn flying from the linen closet back to the front foyer. Bess made herself inconspicuous as Agho’Linn dove on the latch of the trunk, ripping the lid back and rifling through the vials and jars, cradling a select few against her chest. The contents of the trunk pillaged, Agho’Linn stood anxiously at the front doors.

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, and Agho’Linn quailed where she stood, feeling dizzy for all of the thoughts and emotions rushing through her. She could not lose Vithrial, not so very close to losing her Theradiel, she couldn’t recover from such a dreadful, two-pronged blow to her heart. More time passed, each “tick” of the foyer timepiece bringing Agho’Linn closer to screaming out of anxiety. Just as she was about to rush out of the Manor in a frantic search, the doors to the manor creaked open to reveal Setarian and Lessia practically dragging Vithrial into the manor.

One look at the palor of his skin and his sunken, red-rimmed eyes told Agho’Linn that it was already too late, and that it had likely been too late the moment the poison had been administered. Her heart sank, but she made a show of bravery and strode to where Lessia and Setarian were setting Vithrial down. He looked up at her and her breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t stand seeing him like this. Covering her dismay, she made a show of looking through the cradled pile of potions and picking one.

“Av… Avenal…” Vithrial began before a cough cut him off, the hacking sound and motion producing a puddle of dark-colored blood on the floor.

“Shush,” Agho’Linn responded, pointedly ignoring the blood, “You can tell me about it later when you are better.”

Choosing a single vial containing a sickly yellow liquid, Agho’Linn set aside the other vials and jars, using her free hand to lift Vithrial’s chin. She refused to meet his gaze, and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the vial down his throat. He sputtered with the effort of choking down the vile tasting potion.

“She used my own poison, though improved… I’m through,” Vithrial breathed out.

“Get his armor off, Setarian,” Agho’Linn ordered, seeming un-phased by Vithrial’s words even though they shook her to the core, “Vithrial, be quiet… you are wasting yourself on words. I will fix this.”

His armor removed and piled to the side, Agho’Linn put her hand to the neckline of Vithrial’s undershirt and tore downwards, ripping the cloth and revealing Vithrial’s chest. Leaning over to look at the wound, Agho’Linn nearly lost control of her stomach. The wound itself was black, causing the veins in the surrounding area to become black and raised. Her eyes unfocused for the tears springing up in them, Agho’Linn turned and grasped a jar of salve, opening it and smearing a handful of the paste across Vithrial’s chest.

“Help me to a chair,” Vithrial grumbled.

Even as Agho’Linn looped one of Vithrial’s arms around her shoulders, Setarian took up the other arm and the sullen trio made its way to an available chair in the Andilien foyer. Once he was sitting, Agho’Linn dropped to her knees at his side, and bringing the light and healing magic to her hands, she probed at Vithrial’s chest, trying to stem the spread of the poison. Desperation made her breath ragged and her eyes misty with tears. Vithrial had returned to her, as he always promised her he would, but this would be the last time, her potion had done nothing, the salve was similarly ineffective, and her healing magics inadequate. She silenced a sob as it rose, forcing it to die on her lips.

“Setarian, there is a chest over there,” Vithrial said, pointing to a chest in the foyer, “Open it and bring me the small lockbox inside.”

Setarian did has he was told, rising and walking towards the chest. Vithrial’s words brought about another fit of coughing, and Agho’Linn sat up, grasping his shoulders in an embrace and steadying him through the fit. She ignored the blood as it spattered on the floor, on her skin, and on her gown. Her face turned towards a wall, she allowed silent tears to roll down her cheeks. She had held Theradiel in the same way in his last days.

Returning with the lockbox, Setarian followed Vithrial’s instructions in opening the lockbox and handing it to Vithrial. Though he was no longer coughing, Agho’Linn kept herself posed in the one-sided embrace until Vithrial put some distance between them, handing her a small, single pearl and a leather-bound journal. She weeped openly, and made no effort to hide her tears.

“You cannot leave me like this, Vithrial,” she murmured through sobs, her desperate hope that the poison would disappear and Vithrial would be well again making her eyes wild.

Another coughing fit took hold of Vithrial, and Agho’Linn resumed her embrace, trying her best to be a rock for the man, the silent protector, that had been in the shadows watching her for longer than she ever would have suspected. She ran her fingers through his hair in a comforting motion, murmuring soft words to him through her tears. But Vithrial wouldn’t be comforted into silence.

“I have failed,” he muttered between coughing fits.

Agho’Linn shushed him and disagreed, holding him through his next fit. At the end of it, he took her hand in his and she turned her head to look at him. She erased the imperfections the poison had imposed upon him; the redness of his eyes, the ashen-gray tone of his skin, and to her eyes she had Vithrial again. The Vithrial she wanted to remember.

“Apologies… my… friend,” he wheezed, his breath becoming dangerously short.

Shuddering with a sob, Agho’Linn resisted the urge to berate him. Even now, in his final moments, he infuriated her. He would leave her, leave her alone without anyone to watch over her, without ever calling her “Linn”.

“Courage,” he uttered in a loud whisper, “with great endurance.”

Lacing her fingers between his, she squeezed his hand and held his gaze. His faint Andilien heritage was unknown and unrecognized, but he still saw fit to speak the Andilien motto in his last breaths. She calmed her face and lifted her chin in proud fashion, nodding her understanding as if finally letting him go.

“All ends… thusly.”

His final breath spent, Vithrial went still in the chair that he sat in. Agho’Linn cried out and tightened her arms around his body, crying like a child. She heard Setarian approach her, and saw, rather than felt, him place a hand on her shoulder. She felt numb, body and soul. Still, she batted his hand away from her.

“Leave me be,” she murmured pitifully to him, burying her head in Vithrial’s shoulder and resuming her crying.

Uncomfortable moments passed and finally Agho’Linn’s tears stopped. She pulled back from Vithrial’s body, wiping her eyes and getting to her feet. Leaning down, she pressed her lips against Vithrial’s forehead in a kiss, lingering only a moment.

“Your memory endures with me,” she swore with a solemn lilt to her tone.

She stood fully and straightened herself, then, smoothing her skirts and pointedly ignoring Vithrial’s blood staining her skin, hair, and dress. Setarian and Lessia regarded Agho’Linn carefully, tears rolling down Lessia’s cheeks and Setarian’s eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. She nodded regally to each one as she delicately folded her hands in front of her.

“Thank you for your efforts,” Agho’Linn intoned in a detached voice, “Perhaps tomorrow we will be able to sit and you will be able to tell me what events preceded this tragedy.”

Non-committal answers were given and parting words were exchanged as Setarian and Lessia left, leaving Agho’Linn alone with Vithrial’s body. Bess, her most trusted maid, came from the shadows and silently took in the scene. Prudently, she made no comment.

“The Andilien Seneschal has passed, see to it that the announcement is made tomorrow morning. We will arrange for his burial tomorrow, until then have a pair of rangers remove him from this room,” Agho’Linn requested in a cold tone.

“Milady, should I see to the cleaning,” Bess asked meekly.

“No,” Agho’Linn responded as she gathered up the pearl and journal, “I will take care of that.”

"Hey kiddo, wake up."

Llucas barely heard the voice as he stirred, opening one eye sleepily. His vision slowly adjusted to the darkness of the cell as a masked face came into view mere feet before him. He startled and jerked away, raising an arm instinctively causing the chains to rattle.

"You’re alright," the man said with a grin. "Time to go."

Llucas eyed him a moment, a look of confusion on his face that quickly gave way to recognition as he returned the grin. Setarian… He lifted his arms towards the elder rogue, pulling the chain between his shackled wrists taut. The masked man removed a pair of picks and set to work on the locks, hands moving with quickness and ease. Within moments he was free, the chains falling quietly to the floor as he rubbed his wrists. The skin was raw from struggling against the metal bindings for so long.

Setarian tossed a dagger to Llucas before making his way back towards the long hall. Llucas gave the blade a twirl before sliding it under his belt and moving to catch up. As he rounded the corner a guard collapsed at his feet with a thud, papers scattering as a red knot began to form on his head. You… the rogue thought, hand on the dagger as he looked down at the familiar face. Set was already far ahead, crouched low and glancing around the corner. Lucky for you, I don’t have time right now... he growled, delivering a swift kick to the guard’s ribs before stepping over the unconscious form and making his way to the other rogue’s side.

Slowly but surely they maneuvered their way out to the Silvermoon streets. They remained in the shadows for a time, waiting for a patrol to pass before heading towards a nearby alley. Llucas looked back towards the Guard House as Setarian ran ahead. The outer guards went about their usual business, greeting some man before leading him inside. If they hadn’t noticed him gone by now, he just might make it out of the city in time. He might be able to finally take some action himself.

The rogue grinned and sprinted to catch up yet again. Setarian simply shook his head as the two melted back into the shadows and made their way towards the front gate.

Everything has changed.

Javian Duskwatcher and Vithrial are dead. Roanna is gone, her fate unknown. I feel so lost. Yet there is still hope in my heart.

Lord Duskwatcher and Vithrial. Two sides of the same coin. In both of them I saw the man I could become.

Lord Duskwatcher; Noble not just in title, but in deed. He came and took my Roanna from me. I would never forgive him for that. I still find it hard to. Yet even though I held a not-so-secret hatered for the man, I envied him. In Duskwatcher I saw the person that I wanted to be. Someone that Roanna would be proud of. A noble birth, a valiant history, a bright future. He was everything that I was not, but still I would try.

Vithrial; Cold and calculating. Every move was planned, every word had been well thought out. Pros and cons were weighed. He manipulated his environment to suit his purpose. He was wise, no doubt. Yet for all the respect and fear he had garnered, he was still alone. No family, no friends to speak of. Oh he had a lover, no doubt, but secrecy surrounded him, even in love. For all the disdain I pretended to have for him, the only things I felt were respect… and pity. Pity for the seneschal, and for myself. I saw in Vithrial my future.

Roanna… Roanna. Just saying her name brings tears to my eyes. My heart breaks every day that I wake up and she is not here. My memories are the only things I have to comfort me. Memories of our first meeting, our first kiss, our first night together. Memories of the last words she would ever say to me.

It was her… it was Roanna, that changed me forever.

I returned to this city with a single-mindedness that verged on obsession. In my heart I harbored a hatred for the family that abandoned me; that turned their backs on me and left me alone.

Then I saw her… she stood there in the Bazaar. Her radiant smile lit the place like the noon-day sun. I already felt it, thought I didn't know what it was. She would play some grand part in my story. My love for her would guide me, mold me into who I am today.

Even through the worst of times Roanna was by my side. She praised me, she encouraged me, and she forgave me when I did the unthinkable. Roanna stood with me when no one else would. She was my first love, the one who taught me what true love was.

She was always there when I needed her. I will never forgive myself for not being there when she needed me the most.

Now she is gone. My world seems a little darker. No longer will her smile brighten my day. No longer will her mere presence chase away the shadows that threaten to envelope me. No longer will I love anyone the way I loved her.

Yet all is not lost. Through these trials I have learned so much about myself. From Vithrial I have learned patience and planning. From Lord Duskwatcher I have learned to put others before myself. Roanna taught me who I am, who I really am, and all that I can be if I set my mind to it.

Through all this, new alliances have been made. Llucas, friend of Roanna; he was there when she was taken. Llucas stood up for her when I could not. He nearly lost his life for it. I will stand now with him. I owe him more than I can ever pay, yet I will try.

I am engaged to be married now. Lessia, my bride-to-be… she was there to help me through this. After all the loss and heartbreak I decided that I can no longer sit back and take everything for granted. Lessia and I will be happy together. Roanna would have been glad for that.

So I will continue on. Not as I always have, but in a new direction, a new path. The ones who did this… Avenal and her Aeturnas Trinitas, they will not forget the mistake they have made. I will make them suffer, as we all have suffered because of them. Those brave men who gave their lives will not have died in vain. I will make them proud.

Yes, everything has changed. I could never have guessed that it would all turn out the way it has. The world is darker now, true, but there is always a light. Roanna is that light and as long as her flame still burns I will see it and remain strong.

As long as Roanna yet lives, I will fight for her.

Avenal sat alone in her study, pressed tight against the high backed chair. Papers, unordered and unsigned littered her desk, their edges fluttering in the stray breezes that snuck in from the unlatched window. The sun hung low, its purple edged hues casting the room in the cold empty shadow of another failed day. Her face was stoic and hard, set in a mold that one might confuse with the vacancy of death. Something tumbled inside her, neither joy nor despair. It confused her. It taunted her. It had a name.

“Vithrial,” she sighed, her voice cracking as if it had not mustered chords in weeks.

She stood, the snapping of her joints and the clang of her armor sounding their protest. The remaining rays of the sun struck her eyes, but she did not feel its warmth.

“You could have been my dark harbinger,” she whispered to the growing shadows. “You had so much potential. But you were weak. So, very weak.”

She picked up a bronze badge emblazoned with her symbol and caressed the edges, tracing the disfiguring cut that run its length.

“You were filled with fear,” she said to the ornament. “So, much fear. It is my fault, really. I should have heard your confessions. I should have intervened when I first sensed your doubt. I failed you in a sense. For if you had but an ounce of faith, you would have avoided your end.”

She cast the medallion on to the still red logs in the fireplace. They sputtered in surprise.

“So much fear,” she said as she walked with halting steps to the windowsill. She gazed out on to the mist coated fields of Tristfal.

“I can feel it,” she continued. “I can taste it. So much fear. For how can any of you know a life beyond your fears? All of you who cannot know what it means to be chosen? Lost.”

“We must restore their faith,” came the now familiar voice from the shadows of the room behind her. “And now that you have Roanna and the means to divine the second scroll, the path to that restoration will be made clear.”

“Why do you haunt me?” said Avenal, although she knew the answer.

The heavy footfalls of the mysterious oppressor approached her. She didn’t turn to face him.

“This world,” he said, his voice resonant and alluring. “These people… For generations have known only war, loss, and death. We shall bring them hope. And your church… Our religion… will be made to guide them. To shepherd them. For too long has this world slept. It is time to wipe the sleep from their eyes and embrace a new dawn.”

His strong hands gripped her arms and turned her to face him. She peered up into the piercing blue lights that were his eyes.
“And what of my Prince?” she asked.

He smiled with deep affection.

“He too,” he said. “Requires you to save him. Have you not, all this time, sought to save your Prince?”

Avenal felt something crack, though she knew she had not been harmed.

“No, I have sought to bring him home, to his people, to lead…”

“Tell me,” he pressed, his smile fading into a frown of concern. “Tell me you did not know, from the beginning, that to make your new religion, that you needed a god to be made.”

Avenal felt the crack grow.

“Tell me,” he continued. “That you never once realized, in the bitter solitude of the night, that for true Apotheosis, that for true ascension of the godhead, that your Prince would have to die?”

The crack fractured and splintered as it grew. She could hear it now.

“That’s not…”

“Tell me,” his voice had grown alien to her, echoing in and out of itself like a choir of death. “That you did not know it would come to this. Your church stands ready, my lady. There, on the horizon of your destiny. The fearful and the lost are crying for it. Begging for it. Praying for it. Will you now, at the cusp of glory, deny them? All it needs is its prophet, and its God.”

Avenal’s eyes grew wide. Something had just disappeared from inside her. Something important. Something she needed.

“You,” he said. “You, shall be that prophet. As you have always been.”

He caressed her ebony hair and ran the back of his forefinger along her porcelain cheek.

“And I… the God.”

“Yes,” she said in a calm and even tone, “my master.”

“Roanna....” Her name echoed in her thoughts, spoke by his voice, barely above a whisper and drenched in desperation. Roanna stirred, his voice called to her again. “It's time to wake up.” There was something different in his tone, curious and worried Roanna opened her eyes. For a brief moment she was startled to see Javian leaning over her, a blissful grin covering his face. Instinctively her mouth turned upwards, her face brightened in response to his. Javian gently touched Roanna's face, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Ouch. Her hand found the spot on her forehead that had screamed in pain with Javian's touch. Something isn't right here. Think, what happened?

She reached her hand out toward Javian, as her fingers barely met their mark, he changed. His skin lightened, almost turning gray, the life in his eyes gone, bloodied clothes draped his frame. A large open gash in his chest and one wrapped its way around his neck. Roanna gasped. The memories came flooding back to her. Aeturnas Trinitas, the townhouse, the blood. She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself away from the memory, from the thought of her dead husband.

“It's okay Ro, we're going to get you out of here.” The voice coated in hope was familiar, Roanna knew it instantly. It was Setarian's. Roanna tried to speak, tried to tell him to leave her and to save himself, but she couldn't find her voice, all she could do was listen. None of this makes any sense. Is that Vithrial? Why is *He* here? Where *is* here anyways? There were various things happening all at once, voices on top of voices, metal clashing against metal, growls. She struggled, trying to force herself to focus, to figure out what was going on.

For a moment all went silent as if everything had stopped. Roanna heard the twang of a single arrow finding its way to its mark.

“Fear is for the faithless, Vithrial.” Roanna had never actually heard this voice before, but the words confirmed her fear. Avenal. Undercity. This has gone too far, they have to get out.

Roanna tried to speak, to open her eyes, to stand, move, anything. Each attempt warranted the same results, nothing. “A paladin comes to champion false visions She shall pave the way for his new dominion”

Avenal spoke again, her voice sent chills through Roanna's body. "Let them go. He is already dead. And they may live on knowing they failed to save not one, not two, but three of their own." No, not Him.

Silence. The nothingness engulfed Roanna, she tried to scream again in response. Her mouth opened and a soft moan escaped before it was muffled. She felt a gloved hand press across her face, and shook trying to free herself. This time her body moved with her thoughts, but she couldn't break the grasp. She opened her eyes and before her was Avenal's Knight-Captain. Fear washed over her as she glanced at the sword he wore, memories of it cutting down Javian flashed in her mind. She quickly steeled herself against the images and stared at him, her fear transforming into rage. “And all who come to serve her banner Must first cast off their mortal fetters ”

Tonatiuh locked eyes with her as he moved his other hand, pressing his index finger to his lips. Roanna thoughtlessly nodded in reply. He took a step back from her, his body reverting to it's usual stiff military stance. He spoke, his words cold and hard. “It's time to wake up.”

Roanna blinked and when her eyes opened again she knew immediately that she was alone and in her cell in Undercity. She'd been there since the failed rescue attempt. She hadn't been aware of it, but had been told some snippets about it. Mordecaii, her interrogator, had thrown it at her in hopes of getting a reaction. Roanna knew there was too much to protect, she was too stubborn to let him win so easily, so his attempts had failed.

Roanna lay curled on the cold damp stones, her thoughts drifted to the dream she'd just woken from. She couldn't separate what was real from what was imagined, but Avenal's words echoed in her. “..they failed to save not one, not two, but three of their own.” Javian, now Vithrial, did she mean to include me in her count, or Llucas? Does she not consider him one of us? What have I dragged him into? The image of Llucas' body slouched on the floor in the townhouse, blood pouring from his open neck wound flashed in her mind.

The clank of the cell door opening startled Roanna out of her thoughts. She sat up in response, fearing what she thought was to come. The figure by the door stepped back. Roanna peered closer at it, trying to determine the situation, a mix of detachment and expectancy on her face. She looked the figure up and down before recognizing it. Kysara, but where's Mordecaii?

Kysara took a small step towards her. “R...Roanna?...”

Roanna forced herself to focus on Kysara, the task a bit more difficult than she'd expected. With a small smirk she spoke. “Kysara..... he's not with you?” Her body trembled with the memory of the last time she'd seen him. She wasn't sure what he'd done to her but she was confident the dreams were his doing.

Kysara's head tilted for a moment before shaking in reply. “No... he's gone right now. Are you... " Her words trailed off, obviously unsure what to say.

“Am I...alright?” A small laugh escaped Roanna's lips before she continued. “I...I don't know...” Her voice soften. “Is this even real?” The question meant more for herself than to her visitor.

The blond ranger took a step closer and knelt down in front of Roanna. There was a hint of something in her face but Roanna couldn't name it. "You need to rest..."

"I don't remember rest..... I sleep but... it's always there..." Roanna trailed off, lost for the moment in her thoughts. She could hear Kysara speak but the words didn't make sense to her. They were just out of her reach. I can't escape... “..the truth.” “A lord and lady, two legacies dead.” Roanna muttered but her words were unintelligible.

"Sleep then. You need to sleep..." Kysara said as she reached forward, brushing a bit of Roanna's hair out of her eyes.

Roanna shook her head as if shaking herself out of a fog. She began to speak, it was evident that it took great effort to clearly form her words. “I... Kysara,...I... need your .... help.” Kysara shushed her in reply, making an attempt at calming her. Roanna forced herself to focus. Her voice was still soft but it held more strength than before. “Please.”

“What is it?” Kysara inched closer, concern on her face.

Her words were solid but emotionless. "I am going to die.... I know that, I've known it all along. but....I need you to...." Roanna's hand moved to her stomach and her eyes began to wet with tears. "Please...." She leaned forward, lowering her voice to finish her request in a whisper.

“I...” was all Kysara could manage to say. Her eyes lowering from Roanna.

Roanna collected herself and continued, her voice barely above the previous whisper. “I know it's not fair to ask you....and I'm sorry, if there was someone else I could trust... I would,...but...you aren't like the others, you know duty, and honor.” Roanna's thoughts turned to Javian, she had no control over it. The minute his smiling face appeared in her mind it shifted to the memory from the townhouse.

Her eyes still on the ground, Kysara shook her head. “I... I'll do whatever I can... just... you need to rest... I don't think they know... “

"Her Knight-Captain knows." Roanna thought back to her first night here. Tonatiuh had lead her into a room to await Avenal's arrival. He had told her that Javian's death was a mercy. In that moment her anger betrayed her, and her child. She replied to his remark giving away far more information than she would have chosen. She had tried since then to do everything she could to protect all of her secrets.

Kysara replied but all Roanna heard was “...there are worse people.”

Mordecaii. The thought of the crazed Mage getting his hands on her child terrified Roanna. She nodded in reply to Kysara's observation. “When he hears the scroll, he'll know,.... if not before than,....just promise me you'll do what you can, please." “A child unborn, to mother just wed”

With calm and purpose coating her words, Kysara spoke. “I promise. I won't let them.” She held Roanna's hand in both of hers.

For the first time in longer than she could remember Roanna felt peace. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. “Thank you.”

Roanna's eyes opened and meet Kysara gaze. "There's something that belong to him" Her eyes dropped to her stomach for a moment before returning to Kysara. "Something that you'd have to retrieve, but it's important." She took a slow deep breath to gain focus "There's a jeweler in Silvermoon, a necklace.... our crests...."Her words soften as they trail off. "I...I had it commissioned....” after......Set's ring....was completed... ..the jeweler will give it to a farstrider...." ...he'll assume Javian's staff arranged it. She struggled to keep her eyes open as she tried desperately to relay all of the important facts.

Kysara placed an arm at Roanna's back and helped her lie back down. “I'll take care of it...”

Roanna's allowed her eyes to close, and before drifting back to sleep she manage to say "Thank you Kysara....it means so much."

Roanna stood alone, surrounded by nothingness. His voice broke the silence. It was a bit hoarse at first before it found its confidence. “I will always be here to catch you.”

Roanna smiled as she opened her eyes. She was shocked and overwhelmed. Lights hung in the trees around them. Cordovan. This was so long ago.

He continued. “You are more bright than the sun, more magical than the stars, more elegant than the moon. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I have dreamed of the day that I could tell you this, and I would do anything you asked in order to please you, in hopes that you would one day return my affection.”

“Anything?” The words were spoke before Roanna could have stopped them.

“Yes, anything.”

“Dance with me.”

The man who stood before her changed. His hair darkened, his face shifted. Roanna blinked, uncertain now as to what would come next. Setarian spoke. The voice was his, but the words had once been Cordovan's. “We have no music”

Roanna bit her tongue, refusing to continue this memory of Cordovan with another in his place. Instead she instinctively started to hum. It was a moment before her mind recognized the tune, it was the one Setarian had sung to her in this very spot. The shorter story, No love, no glory, No hero in her sky I can't take my eyes off of you. She closed her eyes, swaying in Setarian's arms in time with the song he now sang. His skin grew cold and his arms seemed to weaken. Roanna ran her hand gently across his face, his skin felt fragile against her touch. “He comes with scores of undead minions”

"I can give you whatever you want; I can provide your heart's desire, anything in the city will be yours." With his words Roanna opened her eyes. She and Setarian were no longer in the forest where she'd married Cordovan, they were in the main hall of the Rellen'thas Manor. Fear and worry washed over her as the memory came rushing back. She forced her eyes closed, trying to shake the memory. Not now, I can't...not again. The image of Setarian walking away from her floated to the forefront of her thoughts.

She clenched her jaw and tried to think of anything else.

She saw her brother before her. A bright smile lit her face, though it quickly turned to a frown as the familiarity of the situation hit her. This isn't the Ralen that returned to me.

“I'll tell you what the hell's wrong.” He waved his application in her face. “Rejected. See it? Headaches. Fucking psychological stability. They bought it, Ro.”

She tried franticly to force herself to another memory before Ralen's words could continue. She failed. “D'it cost you much?” There had never been another set of words that had cut Roanna as deeply as those. Ralen...what will happen now? “Death to all from the North Land's peaks” She doubled over in pain, tears steaming down her face.

The ground beneath her grew cold and the stench of the forsaken assaulted her. "You do not fear the shadows. That is to your credit, but you should have someone to watch you when next you venture into them." Vithrial's voice was not one that Roanna knew well but right now she couldn't have been happier to hear it.

Roanna stood, with her movement their surroundings altered again. She stood before the seneschal in the Andilien Manor. A slight smirk crossed his face as he spoke. “You're intrepid.” Perhaps too much so. “For only her defiance can save the misled” ...or maybe not nearly enough.

The now familiar nothingness washed over the scene, wiping it clean for the next images to play. Roars of rushing water greeted Roanna first, the warmth of the sun came next. Roanna smiled, knowing exactly where she was. People started to fill in, only a small group. When Javian appeared Roanna knew it was complete. His hands clasped hers tightly, her favorite blissful grin of his answering hers own.

She leaned over and gave him a small kiss on his cheek. "I can deny you nothing." Her words were just a whisper, intended for Javian only. “Two houses join only to darken and wither”

His breath tickled her ear as he spoke in return. His voice no louder than hers. “You denied me the truth, you lead us to this.” Roanna shook her head in response. This isn't real. He would never...

Everything around them halted. Trees became walls, grass changed to carpeting. The townhouse. The Javian before her was different as well, grayed skin and sunken eyes. Roanna tried to step away from the undead thing that was a shell of her husband, but she was unable. There was something in his eyes, a final spark of life that beaconed her to him. Javian pulled her into his embrace. “Roanna....I will always love you.” His words washed over her, filling her with a quiet peace.

The clank of the cell door woke Roanna. “My dear...I do believe you have a pact to fulfill.” Mordecaii's voice sickened Roanna, it always had. She thought back to their first meeting when he'd come to her home and demanded the now destroyed scroll. Never would I have imagined that this is how it would end, though apparently someone did... “A lord and lady, two legacies dead”

Roanna took a deep breath, mustering all of her strength to stand. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her now filthy robe. Her form rigid, her expression stoic as she spoke. “It appears that I do.” She stepped forward and through the opening in the cell, giving a small reassuring nod to Kysara as she fell in behind Mordecaii.