Night drew into the long dark, the embers of the fire burned down from a humble glow to naught but blackened ash, the rest of the Skyguard long since retired into the swaythes of their canvas homes. Far on the horizon the ship lurked on the ocean surface, a black smudge upon the mirrored glass of the water, shimmering with the light of the twin moons and a thousand, thousand stars. All was still on the island, save for the breeze rustling through the long grass, and the humming snores of the Skyguard battle-siblings. Rhythmic and restful, punctuated by chirrups and whickers as slumber left them soaring through distant skies. Tethanis paced around the camp, his footsteps measured, counting in his head as he harnessed the movement to stave off sleep, letting the sergeant rest before his watch.
The distant boom of cannonfire rumbled softly, fading until silence reigns once more. He checks the pocket watch attached to his belt. Eleven minutes past the hour, no more than an hour since the last one, barely any less. It hadnât been until the third or fourth firing he had taken note of the time, but there was a definitive sense of regularity to them. Minutes drifted into hours with not much changing, eventually, fighting back against yawns he headed back into the camp, nudging Sergeant Lavelan awake before falling into his own bedroll.
Swaying.
The pitch and roll of the Seas rocked the hammocks below deck, the steady breaths of a hundred soldiers berthed. Itâs the shouting that wakes him, swiftly followed by cannonfire. Tethanis stumbled from his bunk, finding his feet he reaches for his spear. His hand closed around it.
Wait⊠No⊠thisâŠ
In his hand the Blood Knight Ranseur. The shouting continued. Ranks of Knights thunder up the steps onto deck, The crush of those behind forcing those at the front to find spaces where there are none. Ahead lies the island. Pushing his way to the front Tethanis braces himself against the railing, holding fiercely as the carrier strikes a great bow-wave of its sister ship. The fleet sailing en-masse. The waters are inky black, flecked with green. He looks up, the skies aflame, filled with air-ships unlike any seen on Azeroth.
âŠThis isnât rightâŠ
âBRACE!â
The Knight Master roared across the deck, Soldiers staggered and fell as a meteor struck the ocean just off the portside, the ship listing dangerously, laden so so low against the unsteady seas. Ahead of them the shores burned, demons as far as the eye could see arranged in ranks, forming the least welcome âwelcoming partyâ ever assembled.
âŠIâve seen this beforeâŠ
Screams filled the air as their sister ship is struck, a great leviathan of an infernal rising from the waters, tearing the deck asunder, Soldiers, Menders, Crewmen scattered to the waves, hundreds swam for their lives or slipped beneath the waves. The Shore is no more than a hundred yards now. The Light washed over him as blessings were shared, prayers were spoken, but even the light of Quelâthalasâs most stalwart lightweavers did little to dissuade the skin-crawling evil of this place.
âThe Path ahead is darkest when the light is at your back. The Path Ahead is darkest-â
Tethanis repeated the mantra, over and over, every second drawing them closer. Screams rent the air, blasts of horns, warnings hollared, but nothing could stop it now, the blazing ball of fel and rock struck true, tearing through the decks of the ship, he can taste the blood on the air of those obliterated in the impact, poor souls who had nowhere to run. The deck pitched, the ship taking on water, the ocean rose to claim the wood burning in eldritch flame. Knights flung themselves into the water around him, others clung to the injured. Friends. Colleagues. Lovers. Fear rode rampant through the ranks.
âBRING IT DOWN!â
The demonâs order roared deafeningly even from the shorline, Tethanis scrambled, helping those from the sinking vessel to clear the railings, clambering onto the exposed hull as it tilted to face the sky, the ship would grant them only moments now before they were plunged into the frothing sea. With each soldier he lifted, in their eyes he could see the terror he knew lingered in his own, too many he helped Tethanis knew to be barely more than adepts, some heâd trained, others heâd tested. Their first mission. Sun save them. Too Late he heard the screams. Too Late he turned as the Knight Commander bellowed a warning.
Tethanis Vesperidalâs vision filled with felfire as he stared into the maw of the infernal.
And then there was only darkness.
âVesperidalâŠ?â
The voice drifted, soft and distant in the nothing, no urgency, no rush, only the calm welcoming darkness, the swell and pitch of motion.
ââŠSun above⊠VesperidalâŠso help meâŠâ
Cold heaviness sank into his bones, the jolt of something dragging him through the nothingness, a distant rumbling booming trembling his form.
âVESPERIDAL WAKE UP!â
Tethanis jolted awake, spluttering, coughing up water, squnting against the blinding light radiating from his superior, the elf battered and bloodied clung to his shoulder, a bitter, grim smile curving over his features as Tethanis awoke. Teth blinked dazily as the other elf thrust a banner into his hand.
âYouâll have to make this charge without me Blood Knight.â
Reality flooded in like a tide from a burst dam. Before him the shores of the Broken Isles, the sky above sickly green and filled with nightmares. Behind him the fleet of ships burned as they sank.
âSir, I canât⊠you must-â
âI -must- do nothing Vesperidal, except perhaps die on this wretched shore, safe in the knowledge that -our banner- is there to defy those monsters and bolster our brothers and sisters standing with you. Now GO!â
With that the Knight Commander shoved Tethanis forward, falling to his knees as his injuries took hold.
Tethanis waded forward through the bloodied waters, the bodies of the dead stared blindly up at skies they could not see, or hung lifeless face down in the water. So many. So many names he did not know, faces he could not recall, but amongst them, were eyes he had looked into not long before as he had helped them from their ship.
Would it have been kinder to let them drown?
Pushing the thought from his mind as he dragged himself forwards, body already weary from the pull of the water, on the shore soldiers fought for their lives. Horde. Alliance. So many different banners united in their defiance of the Legion. The Blood Knights would not be absent. As he charged for the shore he could give no thought to the other banners sinking beneath the waves, every unit issued one, the honor should not have been his to bear, but it did not matter any longer.
As he reached the shore he was brought up short, his cloak caught. It dragged him backwards towards the waters.
NoâŠNo⊠Not like this⊠ItâŠwasnâtâŠ?
He turned, behind him legions of the dead rose from the water, hands tore at his cloak. His Ranseur ripped from his grasp as they dragged him beneath the surface, around him the picture of nightmare, skin peeling from flesh, armor rotted away, cheeks sunken, empty hollows where eyes should have been were fixed upon him. Soulless wretches.
With his last breath he called for the light.
Nothing answered.
Hundreds of miles, and years away, Tethanis jolted awake. He grasped at his throat, hair stuck to sweat slicked skin, light radiated from him, runes across his form blazed brightly illuminating the tent around him.
Tent.
Outside the sound of the camp already stirring could be heard, not long before dawn as others roused. Swearing under his breath Tethanis sat on the edge of the bedroll and buried his face in his hands.
It was going to be a long trip.
Had the pleasure of meeting them last night. Was great fun, Iâll admit! Theyâre such lovely folk. 
Youâre rather lovely yourself! 
I liked conspiring with Narmë from the Skyguard and yourself. Make the Mage Bake-off happen, Laurenn.
Firelle and Narmë have dibs on jury tasting roles.
Lots of really nice and relaxed roleplayers in this guild, bringing liveliness and personality to the streets of Silvermoon when theyâre not abroad safekeeping the skies. 
Keep it up, boys and girls.
Ash fell from the bleeding sky like bleak colorless snow laying over the heads of the Skyguard and their battle siblings. The air felt thick in his lungs, though upon reflection that could have been just fabricated in his mind. That feeling of inhaling, it felt more like suffocating as his eyes reflected the face of the little girl in his arms. In the background of his hearing the soldiers of the Skyguard began to move at the direction of Sergeant Everstride towards a portal ripped open back to Mistbrook in the Blackened Woods. A picture that should feel like salvation, instead seemed without pigment or hope, sustained by the ever increasingly worried Hawkrider Ashleaf.
Captain Autumnvale felt all of this in slow motion, his deep rolling voice whispering a gentle lilt as he swayed the crying girl in his arms. Her black hair tumbled messily and matted into knots from a lack of upkeep and her clothes were far too large for her nimble frame. Despite the warning signs, and despite the unspoken tale that had transpired in the last month, Laeârulynn held herself against her father and he held her tightly back. âDaddy, I was so scared.â Deâvontae felt his ears pin back harshly to his scalp and a lump began to form in his throat as he croaked a gentle hush. They had given so much to this mission and come so far to save the missing Sinâdorei from the slavers.
Somewhere out there, in the collected hollows of the Burning Steppes seeping veins, a once beautiful Dragonhawk lays in a mess of sinew, bone and carapace. A death that was unjustified of the dignity Sungrass represented. If they had known how frivolous their efforts were, how pointless the excursion was, would she still be eating her apple slices she loved so much? Playing hide and seek with the fliers and frolicking across the grass with her twin-eggs brother Sunkissed? Would it have been easier for them to have not come at all?
The Skyguard begin to move through the portal with their bodies battered and their Battle-siblings chittering in the afterglow of battle rage, washed away to leave only sorrow and pain. Some stop to look back to their Captain, questioning the order for them to go ahead, wondering what was left undone in their mission.
Pulling Laeârulynn back from their embrace, Deâvontae brushes some dirt from her mud caked face, removing a vial from his belt and looks into her large unknowing eyes. He forces a smile. She returns a smaller one. Her eyes, however, dance before him. Looking into them, he felt like his heart was simultaneously stopping and beginning to beat again for the first time, pounding, almost threatening to burst out of his chest. âYouâve been brave my little fire-cracker, so, so brave. Fighting all this time. You must be tired. Are you tired my little adventurer?â He passes the vial under her nose where she inhales and coughs, eventually managing the beginnings of a nod, only to suddenly collapse in his arms, knocked out.
He placed her down upon the ashen ground, his body crumpling as though the strings had been cut that held him aloft, his hands making a cradle about her head so that her face hits the forge-fire light that gathers over the hills of the Burning Steppes. Sergeant Lavellan and Skyguard Solanum approach from behind him and regard the child with cryptic eyes and the desire to find an answer. âWhat do you see?â His voice felt like it didnât belong to him as he regarded the sweet rounded face of the elf and her large flowing black curled hair. To him, she was perfect. To the others, she was tainted. Her skin no longer held the sunkissed hue of the Sinâdorei, instead a sickly pallid hue with black veins protruding across the surface of her otherwise plumped skin. Her eyes were not the beautiful swarm of green the Captain remembered and forced himself to see, but instead a dull purple.
âA lot of shadow.â Deâvontaeâs heart began to tremor in his chest as he remembered his conversation with the Farstrider envoy who had delivered the Skyguard their covert mission. âIf you are too late, and re-education is no longer an option Captain. You must do right by your people and this Kingdom.â He found his head nodding without thinking, the next words barely a whisper âCan it be helped?â Sergeant Lavellanâs eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession, he had not come here this day to deliver his. He had made a promise and after all he had found and uncovered back on the ship, he had hope. Or rather, he had, had hope. Skyguard Solanumâs expression ranged from pain and discomfort at first, just from his sustained injuries and the process of mending, then to the pain blazing across his mind as he tried to summon the lie he wanted to tell. They both did their best to fluff the answer, to give it something they could scramble to hold onto. But in the end, it was received as damning as a simple âNo.â
âYou are both dismissed.â The Sergeant nodded perhaps with an echo of concern, but his loyalty perhaps pushed him on, encouraging the Skyguard to follow him. The pair walked off through the distorting mirage of arcane and out into Mistbrook where its own hell of waking menders and forcing wounded into the building had begun. All that remained was the still and sleeping five year old daughter of the Captain, her father and Hawkrider Ashleaf who maintained the open Portal. âAshleaf⊠turn around.â
He moved without knowing where the energy had come from, where the power to pull himself up and do what had to be done had been born. He placed the child down fully and grabbed a blade from his belt along with a piece of parchment. Hawkrider Ashleaf turned his attention to his Captain, âCaptain I-âŠâ It was then he noticed the blade, the child sleeping, the scene etched like a burning nightmare in his eyes. He fell to the floor, his Battle Sibling thrusting her wing up to shield him from the vision, the trauma of his own lost daughter bubbling like a never ending scream. âNo, no, no.â It was then that he heard the sound of flesh being torn open, arcane rippling across the winds and within seconds it was done.
The Captain laid his cloak across the body of his daughter and turned to Ashleaf, moving like on auto-pilot as his left hand found his pocket and the other raised to guide the Dragonhawk with a soothing nature spell to find the portal. âWeâre done here Ashleaf, letâs go.â
Tears silently roll down the Captains emaciated cheeks. The black ink on the parchment signing the report in which details the death of twenty Sinâdorei elves like a branding on his heart. He had done everything he could to remain an unwavering leader, to not let them see his weaknesses. But now, staring at that parchment in the confines of Mistbrook, he couldnât find the wheel that stopped the water flowing. It was thereâŠunder the table in the officers room, the Captain finally cried. For himself. For Baaen. For Vianea. For his people. But mostly. For his daughter. Rest in peace Laeârulynn Firestar.
At the breaking of the Dawn,
And in the setting of the Sun,
As Skies are painted glimmering reds and golds,
A day will never pass me by,
Where you are not remembered.
Tethanis awoke. Blinking in the darkness, gradually his eyes adjusted to the tumbledown ruin that passed for their base of operations.
Mistbrook.
His body ached. The analgesic of the evening before still mercifully keeping the throat rending screams of agony at bay, but taught bandages over raw and blackened skin still thrummed echos of the melodies of pain that pounded like a drumbeat through the seared flesh they contained.
But, he had slept. A few hours snatched in numb exhaustion, drained and worn after hours of forcing the light to weave over his form, numbing the pain, unable to let it drop without the tide of misery rising to overwhelm him, now at least, he could lay at peace, rest, and heal.
From his bed in the alcove, a small space set aside and passed off as a medical bay, he could see the archway, the decrepit branches of of the corrupted canopy weaving over the night sky. Wisped clouds drifted over violet hued velvet, the pale flickering of pinprick stars, sometimes clear, others faded. No later than the third bell past midnight.
Thirty hours. Thirty hours he had sat or laid in this wretched bed. At first focused on the Light, Lady Reddawnâs company kindly kept through until some time after dawn, he wasnât certain when sheâd left, or if she intended to return, but as hours had crept by his hope for her return faltered, early evening followed and with it Stormsentryâs assistance, numbing the pain, tending his wounds, until time had slipped by wrapped in dreamless sleep, but now? Now all was quiet and still. Those well enough of the Skyguard scattered to homes and lodgings, drowning sorrows in the city or held in the arms of loved ones.
All he had were his own thoughts for company.
Decades he had kept himself distant, finding no need for anything more than the most casual aquaintences. Childhood had trained his independence, then the fall had taught him that no pleasant company was worth the exquisite agony of their loss. Countless hours of counsel within the offices of the spires assessors had lectured him upon the necessity of connection, that he could not, should not distance himself, seal himself away. He had begun to open up. For the first time taking apprentices, serving as mentor to fresh faces that joined the Order, all bright eyes, hope and wonder. Conviction in their belief that Service to the high Kingdom was the noblest cause.
The assault on the Broken Shore had wiped away all illusion of nobility in death. The end came whether faced with bravery or abject terror. That day the light had not cared, as darkness stole young and experienced alike. Death wreathed in eldritch flames, Bloodied waters hiding ten thousand unmarked graves.
Tethanis shook his head, chasing thoughts away. His gaze settled on the slumbering form of Erithur Brightsong in the other bed. Why think on distant horrors when there were so many new and fresh ones waiting to be explored.
He watched the other elf, the slow, steady rise and fall of unconscious breaths. Resting. The broken sobs and howls of pain at long last drawn to silence of sleeps warm embrace.
He had notâŠexpected friendship. He had transferred to the Skyguard to find opportunity, seeking new challenges and a greater stretch of his skills, a smaller unit where he could make a difference. It was a Farstrider unit. He had expected hostility, the long standing rivalry of the Knights Order and the Rangers was as old as the Order itself. He had expected hostility, and received it, called out as a tourist, accused of sight-seeing, a Blood Knight âslumming itâ to see how the poor cousins lived. He had suffered pain inflicted by the Spellbreaker Leyreaver who found amusement in standing too close, the silencing aura around the elf severing the symbols across his form.
Whilst his red tattoos flared harshly before being snuffed out, it was the golden runes, hidden beneath the skinâs surface until he called upon the Light, that seared a vicious pain he struggled to express aloud. Their connection to the Sunwell stolen in the Spellbreakerâs presence they instead tore at his own reserves, ripping at his very essence to sate their need to remain powered. And Leyreaver laughed, asking if he was related to one named Solanum to find such discomfort in his presence.
Hostility he had expected, and recieved, and yet, this reaction was in the minority. On the whole he had been welcomed, talked to, engaged with. Despite his best intentions, what he had mostly found was friendship, companionship, instincts he had locked away since the horrors of the Legionfall Campaign now burst towards the surface, leaving a vulnerability in their wake he did not care for.
They were so young.
Not that he himself was any great age, not even past his first century, and yet one had called him a âGrizzled Veteranâ. To be seen as such only brought home their wide eyed youth, innocence and optimism, conviction of the nobility of service to the High Home. In their faces he saw the eyes of adepts looking back. The lost souls of those he had sent to their deaths, when he should have sent them running the first step they had taken into hallowed halls.
He had failed them.
And now, as he watched Erithur sleep, all he could do was fight down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him.
He had failed Brightsong too.
The fact that his own flesh was seared to bone, was a price he had been willing to pay. Placing himself between the elf and the molten rager summoned from realms of flame had been almost instinct, a split second decision where time had slowed, trusting he would heal, his own suffering a willing trade to ensure another did not have to bear that fate.
But as the building crumbled, Erithur had stayed to help him to his feet, Sundust lending her aid also to see the Blood Knight escape.
Tethanis had thought Erithur right behind him⊠But he was not. The time Brightsong had used to help the Knight had stolen from him the opportunity to flee unscathed. Tethanis knew, his weakness, his need for aid had damned the other elf. That Erithur suffered, because he had failed him.
The light had borne him from that place, found strength to carry his weight, stifle his agony, as he had fled to Silah. Sundustâs Hawk.
Tethanis rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Outside silence was broken by a long and mournful cry.
Sunkissed.
The pain of the Dragonhawk was palpable, calling for his sibling, born from the same egg. But she would never return home. Although not bonded as the Hawkriders were, Sungrass had been -his-. Red and Gold, quick and clever she had carried Tethanis through hostile skies. Her wings strong, unfaltering. Even injured she had battled on, letting him tend her both in flight and afterwards upon the ground. There had been a Gentleness to her. Knowing she bore fresh recruits, she was patient when he had been slow with his harness, chittered encouragement when she sensed his fear, and unfailingly brave when he had needed her to be.
And he had left her.
The shadow assault had torn through his own mind, but for hers, it had been an attack too far. Together they had fallen from the sky, the air roaring as the ground rushed up to meet them. Sundust, Vianea Sundust had saved him, cutting him free of the harness, she and Silah had speared down from the night sky to snatch him from inevitability. But nothing could save Sungrass. She had crashed down onto ashen earth, body shattered, wings bent and broken, dead before she hit the ground. Her joyful call silenced.
And they had left her there.
Tethanis rose from the bed, walking staggered paces barefoot over stone floors he went out onto the balcony alone.
In the Night Sky a lone hawk hovered, keeping watch for the sister that could not come home.
Thirty hours.
Thirty hours since he had returned to Mistbrook.
Thirty hours where pain and company, exhaustion and worry had driven the weight of horror from his mind.
But now, all distractions were gone. He staggered back against the wall, legs buckling as he slid down. Sorrow. Guilt. The pit of despair opened up before him, sobs wracked his form as the depths of his misery swallowed him whole.
To the east, dawn began to break, painting skies hues the of red and gold of wings that would not soar again. A broken howl tore from Tethanisâ lips, and the ululating cry of Sunkissed answered.
As the sun rose, Elf and Hawk mourned as one.
The following is a Winters Veil story that features unknown heroes of the Skyguard.
The Barbarian - The Slayer of stupid, incompetent and disappointing minion
The Bard - The seducer of Cows & Worgen
The Cleric - The Intolerable Weapon
The Druid - âwearing a capeâ carpet of Quelâthalas
The Fighter - Flat nose the unready
The Monk - The Bane of Pygmies
The Paladin - The most high, most mighty, and illustrious Paladin
The Ranger - They who was lost, found and then lost again
The Rogue - The row of Murder row
The Warlock - The Greatest Debauchee Of The Age Weapons
The Wizard The wisest fool in the Eastern Kingdoms
The Swashbuckler - Capân Dappers, Scourge of about Half a Sea
The Elementalist - The psuedo-intellectual
The Blademaster - The most honored honorable king of swingers
The Herald - The Gatherer of Champions
Narrator Captain Autumnvale:
'Twas two weeks before Winterâs Veil, when all through Mist Brook,
Not a Sinâdorei was stirring, not even the division with their precious law book,Nine old socks were hung by what was once a chimney chute,
In hopes that their poor pay will rise so Erivana can afford to look cute.The Dragonhawks were nestled all snug in their nests,
While visions of ribbons were given for the best in contest,Vianea, Leynwa, Narme, Ichi and Talis rejoice,
Because the Skyguard are ready to play DND, not being given a choice.Weapons at the ready they stood before a tower,
An all mighty construction of Lord Trumpet Flower.Keen eared Iâlen and Ranthos said that they knew the way,
But Tyrenas thought they were lost and cried in dismay,The confused heroes began to grow frustrated,
Especially as Galeholts responses needed to be translated,But then from away up the stairs there arose such a clatter,
Out from the wood works, to disrupt their chatter, sprung an oozling made of toe jam matter!Weapons spring forth and spells charge with a flash,
Leaving the toe jam monster a pungent mess on the floor with a splash,Gaxxius and Verthanis stood fighting over who got the last hit,
Whilst Lortheas flirted with the cleric using all of his wit,The other heroes did search the pool of flesh on the floor,
Only for The most honored honorable king of swingers to find a Funny Bone to add to their storeNow with a femur in the most honored honorable king of swingers hand,
The Skyguard continue in their merry Winters Veil band,Vaelath was tooting and Erithur was blushing,
Whilst the pressure of social talks with Tyrenas made Sylestra start running,Tethanis dragged his feet behind,
Observing Narme closely in case she stumbled into a bind,They climb up a ramp and turn round the bend,
When what to their wondering eyes did from the ceiling suspend?But a miniature spider and eight tiny eyes,
And a taste for elves to become flies!With a rapid charge the heroes continue on their way,
Some annoying characters whistle and shout and cause poor Yasmyr dismay,âShut up Cadet! Now Hawkrider! Now Skyguard and Serg!â
âFethâs sake Tethanis, Talis, Erithur and that one with the mouth of a barge!ââTo the top of the platform, to the top of the wall!â
âYou best get there quickly or there will be no fingers for all!âAs quickly as comets the Skyguard do fly,
When they come to another enemy! A cow named Bill with one i!So up to the tower top they went with a sack full of toys,
With presents a plenty for Flower trump and his boys,And then, in a twinkling, they come across a rune!
If they step on it quickly theyâll get transported to another room.As the heroes pick themselves up, and turn around,
There is Sir Flower Trumpet, descending the stairs inbound.He was dressed all in scales, from his head to his hoof,
And his reputation was tarnished with fake news of no proof,A bundle of immigrant workers he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.His eyes were all sunken - how they consumed the hopes of many!
His cheeks were orange, his nose like a tarnished penny!His droll little mouth was open to the shape of an O,
And the hair on his head was coloured like yellow snow!The lit stump of a human he held tight in his beak,
And the smoke, it encircled his head with a bubble and squeak,He had a broad face and a giant round belly,
That shook when he quaked, like an eruption of Kaâjaro and twice as smelly!He was chubby and plump, and a right dour old elf,
And the heroes did challenge his right to a present and for him to prove oneself!Flower Trumpet was defeated and from atop his chrome head,
A Tauren emerges, small and atop of a Dragonhawk drawn sled,She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
And filled up all the heroes pockets, then turned with a jerk,And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up to the sky she rose.She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.But the Skyguard heard her exclaim, as she drove out of sight
âMerry Winters Veil Skyguard! And to all a good flight!â
âWinters Veil mornâ when the skies turned grey, when all the birds were singing, I saw a lovely Dragonhawk coming this way. Across the fields at the break of day, and softly I sing her my roundelayâŠâ Rowynwynâs voice rung out across the cozy singular round room that was her home with the gentle cawing of Pipper to accompany her lilt. She stood upon the top of a precarious foot stool, reaching up from her small stature to the top part of her wall with a string of lights trailing behind her. âJust a little moreâŠhnng!â
The newly promoted Hawkrider reached further still, trying to gain that touch more height that she needed to pin the lights to the wall, her bubblegum pink tongue tucked between her cherry red lips and her large eyes scrunched up to create a rather comical face. Pipper lay below in her nest of sparkling material and collected shiny things watching the ginger haired elf and occasionally offering a sound piece of advice in the form of a squawk.
The large open field surrounding the small building remained in full pastel bloom; the flowers enhanced by one of the many grounds keepers that sustained the magic of Eversong. A gentle wind blew in from the North Sea sending the abandoned swing creaking too and froe in a melancholy echo from a time it was being used. A clothes line ran from the top of the strongest branch of the nearest tree and down to the roof of the house where several green shaded sets of leathers and cloth hung up to dry.
âThe winds flow in, the winds flow out, forever ebbing and returning, a fliers life at home must bide, for without a Dragonhawk by our side, we are but elves with our eyes on the skyâŠ!â Suddenly a crash of furniture and elf smack against the floor causing Pipper to release a haughty cry as though in laughter at the ruckus of her owner laying sprawled on her back in a star fish position with the stool upturned and rolling off to the side.
Groaning Rowynwyn pushed herself up and rubbed her lower back with a frown, her cheeks slowly growing hot red at Pippers relentless amusement. âYes, yes! Get it in whilst you can Pipper! But just you remember that Great Dragonhawk Wintersâ is watching you and she will have no trouble about striking you off her list of gifts!â Pipper in response raised her golden head and looked out to the door as though anticipating the sight of this âGreat Dragonhawk Wintersâ only to see nothing but the open expanse of the field staring back at her. And so she returned to her flittering chitters with more fervor than before.
Rolling her eyes Rowynwyn pushes herself up and turns to regard the humble decorations about her home. Freshly bought holly hung from the ceiling in carefully placed groves with crimson berries dotted across the green expanse. Swung over and under the green lays the carefully fought for lights that she managed to obtain at a surprising discount from last weeks market at the royal exchange. Her house wasnât big enough for a tree and so she instead had brought in a branch and potted it atop of her desk, decorating the thing in the time honored tradition of papier-mĂąchĂ© ears, candy canes, little swords and daggers and of course a tiny wooden carved Pipper at the top painted gold.
âCome on Pipper, weâre done here, now we should go and bring CS his present and leave our gifts under the Mistbrook tree for the Skyguard!â Pipperâs previous languid behavior made way quite quickly for an indignant huff at the mention of Rowynwynâs bonded Battle sibling. Her sharp claws dug into the cobbled rivets in the floor and dragged herself onto her belly so she could slither alongside Rowyn, her bright green ribbon with the Skyguardâs emblem on it proudly sewn so that none may forget the small Dragonhawk that serves with them. âCome on, he isnât so bad. I think you secretly get along with him very well.â She smiles encouragingly âAnd besides, he needs a lady to show him how to behave, doesnât he? And who better than the hero of the skies Pipper!â
A haughty huff comes from the beak of the small sized Dragonhawk as if to say but of course, taking the lead in the exit of their homestead. Rowyn picked up her shawl from her night stand and then gathered her whicker basket with which held the various gifts the two of them had prepared and selected for the Skyguard. With a last look back at her home she headed out after Pipper and along the flower grown path towards Mistbrook. âIts beginning to feel a lot like Winters Veil Pipper.â
Beneath the tree in Mistbrook, a small collection of twig woven boxes lay with a label for each of the Skyguard, where inside each, on a blanket of dried grass and flowers lay a little carved crystal of a Dragonhawk with a note saying Merry winter veil â Hawkwing.
With Winters Veil upon us and the Skyguard hanging up their drinks bottles in hopes of the Winters barman filling them with festive brew. It is appropriate for us to kick up our feet and wish the server a Merry Winters Veil and Happy New Year! Itâs been a blast having the guild get into its full swing and we canât wait to get more opportunities to roleplay with other people in the future. As GM I want to thank my officer team for constantly being a great group thatâs helped build us up into what we are today. And to all of my guild members past and present who have helped create and share some amazing memories. Hereâs to many more!
'Twas the night before the Veil and rather than settling into bed and dreaming sweet dreams, a restless little elf came by with a bag bursting at the seams. Back and forth he went, with gifts for his friends; something for each of them which got there in the end.
For the Starglows some good wine and cigarettes, he couldnât deny their pleasure,
For Vaelath some books - history, poetry and literature - along with some blank scrolls to add to his siblingâs treasure,
For Ranthos a new quiver, freshly made with designs of dragonhawks taking flight,
For Sylestra some cat toys, hoping he was right,
For Tyrenas a new eyepatch, practical yet stylish,
For Erivana and Galeholt, he thought, some strong aged port was their wish,
For Vianea a new shawl, to save her from the cold,
For Deâvontae some new goggles, for he was often too bold,
For Iâlen a dagger, elegant but sharp,
For Narme a cloak, hooded and dark,
For Tethanis some brushes, sketchbooks and paint,
For Talis a wood carving kit and a book on the arcane - for he knew he was smart but he sure ainât!And so to those not listed, do not feel left out; for your gift was simple but still thought about. Some wine, a card and well wishes too.
To all of the Skyguard; Happy Winterâs Veil to you!
I hope you enjoyed my attempt at some nice poetry! Happy Winterâs Veil everyone and all the best for the New Year!
Captain Autumnvale sits himself down with a creak and groan of leathers straining at the movement of the males contorting body. With a sigh of partial exhaustion he leans forwards and grabs one of the top letters from his pile of papers, un-tethering it from the small package beneath it and peels back the envelope top. From there his tired eyes turn to the cursive writing with his spare hand fumbling about for his bottle of firewater.
Captain Autumnvale,
I am writing to you, though I am not entirely sure it will make it all the way from Orgrimmar in regards to your unit. Recently, I interacted with two of your company in Azshara, they were exceedingly friendly and welcoming and spoke highly of your group itself.
Recently I interacted with two of your company in Azshara, they were exceedingly friendly and welcoming, and spoke highly of your group itself. It was delightful to hear such.
And after doing some research within the records, through mere curiosity, I came across your own. In truth, I find in our community it is not often those whom lead a company are given the praise they are due.
I have searched far and wide⊠since I left Silvermoon to aid those I could, to find that it is harder out here than I thought. Iâm not entirely sure what I hoped to achieve by sending this. But I wanted to offer my own consideration.
You have done so much in such a short time from the little I could garner, so thank you. From myself on behalf of all those who do not know how hard it can be to do what you do, to have brought a unit up as you have.
Well done. Not that my word will carry much weight. I do not have a political sway nor do I have a wealth that could donate.
Perhaps you will respond, or perhaps not, in any case. If you do receive this. I hope it brings you a smile.
Kind regards,
Priestess Erilaya Sunthistle.Looking over the letter the Captain hums and looks to the package, opening it up to regard what is inside, surprised to find a home made soap inside of a tin with the scent of wild jasmine and berries along with a pressed flower bookmark, consisting of green leaves and white and red flora. His fingers trace over the gold tassel hanging from the top and he smiles.
I wanted to share this lovely letter I got In Character! What a beautiful way to open up RP!
Very much a lovely guild to roleplay with and around <3 Your members have been very welcoming in the city and ooc!
I look forward to spending more time with you all!
Damp, dirty, white stained walls held the cold inside the room as if it were collecting it. A single dancing light, projected from the last dying candle flickered across the walls, moving to an unseen rhythm. The lone window, high on the outside wall, allowed only one tiny gleam of moonlight in to pronounce the time of day. Scratches in the stone and rusty chains hung with eerie decoration as a reminder of the past. Thick white spider webs flowed across the room, shimmering in the candle light, and a lone live victim struggled against the intricate design that swung gently in the wind. Wrapped tightly in silk threads its will faded as the owner of the beautiful, but deadly, creation approached carrying hunger in its many eyes. Rats squealed and padded across the hard floor, their nails scraping the ground as they scattered away from the crystal webs as if in fear they would be caught too.
A tray of bread and water sat untouched beside the looming door frame. A rough, worn leather mat, still warm, with a balled-up blanket thrown carelessly on top, as if forgotten, sprawled out beneath the window. Beside the make-shift bed a broken chunk of brick left a chalky residue, that formed drawings of a small stick-figure wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by tiny stick forms with wings, in the thick dust on the floor. The only indication of life, bare footprints, those small enough to be from a child, imprinted in the dirt next to the mat, glowed with tiny sparkles that lead to the window and disappeared into the night.
A month beforeâŠ
âCome on Deâvontae!â The sun basked the world in a warm light that drowned out the nightmares of a land torn asunder by a cruel vicious attack. The sound of padded feet could be heard hitting the cobblestones that pathed the way out of the eastern village in Eversong accompanied with the innocent trill of children laughing. âWait for me Lorelae!â
Two elven children dressed in clothes that had seen better days, raced down a hill and banked off into the over growing grass into a world only children could see. One of the children, a young girl with hair like ink turned on her heel, white linen dress billowing in the wind with her eyes large and wild sparkling in delight. âI thought you were supposed to be the fastest elf in the whole of the north!â Her voice carried a lilt of a bell ringing in the morning of a summer day, never more so than when she turned again releasing flows of laughter. Behind her scraping across the dirt and grass followed a boy with hair like amber oozing over the embers of a fire, expression firmly set into that of disapproval in spite of his own laughter. âIâm just going easy on you! Besides whatâs the rush? I thought you said no one had been this way in weeks!â The couple could be barely older than seven though they each held a hardness to them that could be seen in any elven child from the recently attacked Quelâthalas⊠If there were that many to find.
âThey havenât, but if we take too long then weâll miss his arrival!â Breaking through the overgrowth of bushes and trees they finally came out on top of a hill where the white walls of Silvermoonâs crushed western quarters met. Once upon a time Spellbreakers and city guards would watch from their floating sentry towers, but now the only life to be seen was that of a gathering crowd in Falcon Wing Square. âOh not -him- again. I donât know what your fascination is! Itâs just some poncy tart in a robe.â Deâvontae caught up to Lorelae, her hand reaching out to snatch his sleeve and yanked him down onto the wall where they sat, legs dangling over the edge. âPoncy ta- Heâs our future King! Not to mention one of the most powerful mages -ever-! In my studies we learned about his bloodline and they said he has been away learning in a floating city! Imagine a floating city Deâvontae!â Lorelaeâs eyes shone brightly with excitement scoring her face so that her dimples rose to her cheeks.
Deâvontae took notice of how the sun seemed to radiate across his old academy friend, and for the first time felt a strange lurch to his chest that made his cheeks take on a soft pink hue. Turning his attention back to the square below the crowd had just begun to part to show a royal messenger come running down through the gate and start taking out a scroll from his bag. âThat doesnât seem like a good sign.â Lorelaeâs body sagged in disappointment âOh that means he wonât be coming out! Murloc brains! I wonder what the notice says thoughâŠâ
The crowd in the square chorused in out cry of various remarks hurled at the messenger, silenced only when several robed figures moved to the front of square. Deâvontaeâs eyes narrowed into an expression of mistrust âI bet thatâs the people that silence the speakers. They say that if you are too outspoken they will take away your free will and cut off your tongue.â Lorelae gasped in shock before her eyes creased into confusion âWait⊠whatâs a will?â âI donât know but they say without one you become a puppet!â
Silence followed on, rays of warm sunlight trickling across the backs of the children. âCome on! Letâs go have a look then!â Lorelae grinned as she stood up, her kneecaps red and covered in the dust and dirt from the wall. A groan of displeasure followed from her friend as he pushed himself up and fixed her with one of his best attempts of an expression adults use when they find you with their favourite cup smashed at your feet. âAlright, but we get in and out as quickly as possible. Iâve no intention of being caught by your mum.â Lorelaeâs lips parted to show a gappy grin âDeal!â
Clambering down from the wall, using the climbing vines and chipped mortar the pair made landing not far from the gathering in the square. Without wasting time the pair set off again, skirting into the crowd and making use of the gaps between legs and the cover of woolen robes to hide between. Down at this level, the crowds concerns could be heard more clearly than the uproar of before. âWhen will the Prince come out!â âWhat is to be done with the Sun Well?!â âHow will he cure our hunger!â âWhat of the city! Who will rebuild?!â âWhat about our children!â Moving through the throng of bodies the children finally hurled themselves far enough to the front that they could make out the letter that had been placed upon a gilded stand for the crowd to read. Deâvontaeâs reading had come so far but he wasnât used to the cursive filigree and poncery that came from academics. âWhat does it say Lorelae?â
Lorelae tilted her head and frowned whispering back to Deâvontae âIt says they are wanting volunteers to go to the north to end the threat.â Her voice carried a wave of uncertainty and a lack of understanding. âNorth? But we are north!â Deâvontae responded, though he too didnât sound so sure.
Suddenly a hand clamped down onto either childâs shoulders forcing them to look up. There standing with intimidating height stood Lorelaeâs father, his black hair a stark contrast to his pale skin that seemed pulled back into a tight mould against his sharp features. âLorelae, what are you doing out here? What have I told you about following this vagabond into trouble, you should be studying.â Lorelaeâs face flushed and Deâvontae felt his blood run cold. âBut fathe-â âDo not but me child, you may be in mourning but that doesnât excuse you from slacking on your basic conjuration lessons. As for you, Master Firecloud. I would suggest you head home post haste. Baesh is looking for you and I wager time is of the essence.â Lorelaeâs fatherâs voice strangely took on a softer and more pitying tone when he referred to Deâvontae, something that was not normal.
No stranger to the voice of pity Deâvontae could feel a hard stone form in his stomach of concern. He glanced back over to Lorelae who in turn shook her head before he started his run back home.
Three hours later, Deâvontae came across the beginnings of the homestead and already he felt that something was not right. The gates to the garden had been left wide open and there were no signs of Stargrazer in his stables. A skipping tremor overtook the beating of Deâvontaeâs heart as he raced up the path to the front door calling out for Baesh with no answer. Slapping his hand to the pillar of the wall, the youth turned and charged up the ramp towards Baeshâs room, only to see his entire wardrobe empty and his things gone. A letter had been left upon the made up bed, but the boy didnât notice it as fear forced him to turn and vault for the back door. That was when he saw himâŠ
Baesh stood in the weeded garden with one hand holding a duffle bag and the other holding the reins to Stargrazer who reared his head to fix Deâvontae with wide and disapproving eyes. Baesh turned his head and finally faced the boy, his hood falling back from his travel cape to reveal his face. His eyes are like seashells; they seemed as if there was something alive in them before, only now they were hollow. âB-âŠBaesh? W-âŠwhere are we going? Let me go get my things!â Baesh stepped forward and pulled the child close to his chest, hugging him fiercely. Words didnât need to be exchanged for him to understand. âYouâre leaving me? But why?â Stargrazer slithered onto his stomach and observed the pair with a silent and judging gaze. âMy little Firecloud⊠Youâre going to be just fine and it wonât be for long⊠Iâve been asked to help survey a new land for us where we can find a cure for peoples hunger. It isnât a place for you.â
Deâvontaeâs eyes welled with shocked tears, his hands balling into fists. âYou are going to have to take care of things while Iâm gone. A Skymasters job is never finished and there are many lives that depend on you here.â Baesh pulled aside and stood straight, turning his head to look at Stargrazer. Deâvontaeâs head felt light and nothing felt real, the next thing he knew he was screaming and punching Baeshâs stomach over and over and over. Baesh simply looked down with a sad smile âHere⊠Stargrazer will look after you while Iâm gone.â Stargrazerâs head reared up and his scales about his carapace flared but the two shared an unspoken word which seemed to force the Dragonhawk to calm. âIâll write to you. And remember Deâvontae⊠You may have been a son of a spineless father and a human loving egg dispenser but to me you-âŠâ Deâvontaeâs voice screamed over Baeshâs âYou want to abandon me as well?! Then go! Goodbye! Good luck! And good riddance!â
Baeshâs house now stands skeletal upon the southern hill of Eversong, a crumbled beauty of an era long past. Even her walls no longer keep her safe, no longer repelling the wild creatures of the woods or the forlorn souls of the ambling dead. Stripped of her splendour, she lumps under gravity, dying slowly, creaking in the gusting wings. Inside the walls would be streaked with grey and black mold from the damp nights and the corpses of unfortunate creatures. The disused wooden furniture rots; stained with lichen while the curtains hang limp and moth eaten. The place feels heavy with expectation and foreboding waiting for one more life form to creak across the worn wooden floorboards.
Deâvontae fled the night that Baesh was in-scripted into the Thalassian Military and to this day, no one has returned.
The following is the fourth chapter of Deâvontaeâs backstory. If youâd like to see other chapters they are on his AA page! More to come including the founding of the Skyguard. Ontop of that train of thought, we have had some great successes for the guild as of recent with many promotions and now look forward to the start of some more multi-guild events!
The Skyguard recently went out on a⊠Perhaps less than successful training simulation exercise for a fortnight. Soon, theyâll be facing another one, though for round two, the threats are much more dÌžÌÌÌÌ©aÌ”ÍÌżÌÌÌÍ̧nÌ”ÍÌÌĄÌŒÌšÌŠgÌžÍÌœÍÌÌȘÌȘÌÌeÌ”ÍÍÌÌÍÌŻrÌ·ÌżÍÌÌÌ»oÌ”ÌÌÍÍÌłÍ Ì«ÌșuÌžÌÍÍÌȘÌŻÌ€s̶ÍÌČÍÍ. And⊠Whatâs that in Mistbrook? Letâs hope their grades are higher this time!
Confessions of a Firecloud: Lately, I have been avoiding the unit during down time, engaged as they are in their drinks and petty matters of lust over the new Cadet - the Silver inked Priestess. I tell myself it is because I am busy, like a mantra of a fanatic light worshipper, I repeat it in my head âGot to keep busy. Got to hide the cracks. Remember what Bandit said, only let them see the Captain they want you to be.â Some nights I avoid coming home and stay up late in either office at the Lodge or Mistbrook, re-reading the same reports just to whittle more time away. When I am home, the light that comes from Talon only abates the inevitable confrontation of my thoughts for so long. Iâve never slept for many hours, but even I can admit that now ever since Uldum I have not been resting how I should. I put the lack of sleep down as a reason to blame my short temper and quick to leave social gatherings, though I know deeply that is all just a mask. Sunthistle continues to pry into my personal life and push my boundaries in a way that forces me to resent her and her continuous peppy attitude. My only respite is the evenings I spend making wood carvings with Wolvar or the early mornings I run the woods with Gallant.
If I was to be honest with myself, I miss her. I know it is irrational. I am aware this is psychosis, dragging me away from the ground beneath my feet into a world formed by her time spent with me. But it is there, she is there. Every night I lay awake staring at the white paved ceiling of my room, observing the little white dots that decorate each tile, morphing them into her face. Finding even in the smallest cracks her unwavering form looking back at me, her lips turned at the edges with innocent thought. I know she isnât there, but when I close my eyes, I only find sleep when I pretend she is. Casting my mind back to those painful nights when we were a family, I find sleep welcoming, because she was there. Who would have thought I wished I was still there, captive of my own performance as a âmonogamous father.â
Today was the hardest day Iâve had since coming back to Silvermoon and had me reaching for the small leather bound book in my office that contained the thistle sellers address I used to frequent. It started ordinarily enough with a gathering of the unit outside the lodge - not a mission, but a following of our feet where we found each otherâs company. I had just wrestled with a package that had arrived at my desk with a letter from the Silver Inked Priestess once again, heart sinking as I realised it was another gift. Bile raised in my throat and adrenaline pumped through my veins as flashes of images of them danced through the synapsis of my brain. The taunting screams of battle dully thudding in my ears reminding me of the guilt I carry like a kodo hitting me head on. âCaptain.â
The dreary and dull voice of Firefury knocked me to attention as she sauntered past the front of the lodge to head inside to her antisocial crate. I managed a cracked hello though I am sure it had gone unnoticed and too late. Looking about I moved across the path and shoved the packageâs contents into the bush and headed back to the front of the lodge with a cold sweat trickling down my spine. It was then that the unit slowly collected as I previously said and so came the usual questions. âHow are you?â âWhat you been up to?â âAre we up to anything tonight?â I had found myself clutching more and more at the life raft that was my humour to deflect any real meaningful conversations, although this wasnât exactly new for me, my new title of Captain made it more of an open topic for the unit and others to ridicule me on. Often Iâd hear the jab saying I had lost it and was going the same way as Summerisle - insane.
They donât seem to remember or there had become a collective decision to not talk about it. It had been one month. One month since⊠I remember Ashleafs face before the wing of his Dragonhawk hid him, the abject horror as he saw the blood pool down my hand. Judgement. Resentment. Horror. Disgust. Despair. They all think they know what I went through. Poor Captain, lost his daughter - oh well, back to discussing whoâs on the next dating radar. Itâs bad, I know - the curdling resentment thatâs seeded itself in my chest. They are just living their lives and Iâm at the end of it all, just a guy that got made to be Captain.
âAre you alright Equinox?â Her light constantly chipper voice cut into my like a knife. âI am fine.â âYou donât look alright, are you sure? Are you hurt? Are you okay? Do you want some food? Do you want to talk?â If this was what the alternative was to having a mother whoâs only desire is to pop you out so she can go off with a human, I donât want any part in it. She was a pleasure to talk to to start with, but then somewhere along the line she got this idea in her head that she was the fixer of things. I wanted so much to yell and shake her âWhat do you fething think? I lost my daughter a month ago! She was taken from me and forced into a corrupted creature before my very eyes. She was an orphan, I was all she had and I had to cast her aside like a rag!â But before the cork of the bottle that was my vocal chords could open up I had already excused myself and walked directly to the gates of the city.
I ran as soon as I turned the corner of the cityâs front gates and I didnât stop until I had reached Mistbrook where I collapsed and crawled beneath my desk. I pressed my hands to my ears and felt the salted beads of tears fall from my eyes again and slowly the hunger for the hazy bliss of thistle clawed its way into my consciousness again. I hadnât smoked it since before I signed up to the Hawks. I hadnât wanted to. Even when I had killed the Erithurâs Wyvern⊠Even when the mad Commander had almost led us to our deaths and to the title of traitors. Smothering the balls of my hands to my eyes I pushed back the tears and ducked back out from under my desk, looking for my cigarette tin. It was then I saw it⊠A report on my desk from Talanas. Threading my hair back I opened it with a feeling of dread, scanning its details.
ââŠSightings of a girl with a Blood Knight insignia being marched from the Burning Steppes to Stormwind. A blood elf girl.â
Slowly I moved over to the brazier and set the letter to its cold blue flames and as I watched the words burn I felt the attachment of despair slowly smother by the mask of the perfect Captain again. âLet them see what they want to see. They must never know.â
Good luck and Godspeed my dude
The thoughts of Dreadstar
Even though I spend a lot of time with the unit, I feel disconnected from them, our conversations are usually about matters of little importance, I know that it might make us feel closer to each other, but I sometimes wonder if it even matters. Getting too close to someone is dangerous, when we are placed in situations where we have to choose between the mission and the person next to you, Iâm fairly certain most of us would choose the latter without a second thought⊠I always hear people talk about their eagerness to die for the kingdom and for our people, but when the time comes, someone always steps in to prevent that from happening. Risking their own life and those around to save just one. I think that every person that makes such a decision should be allowed to do what they feel is right, I know itâs easy to say when it is about a person I have no connection to.
Take Mathanir for example, he was better than all of us, he understood that we could have tried to run from a faceless one, and some of us would have died or he would have to make a decision to do the right thing.The right thing is in most senses and you could call an ethical system, is to bring wellness to something, a community or yourself. And sometimes making the right choice will lead to unethical or unwanted actions, youâre putting aside what is ethical or what is technically good to do, in hope for something greater. It still hurts me, but now I know that he did it for the rest of us. Times are changing once again, I think some of us are hindered with so much attachment to others, I hope that it doesnât get us killedâŠ
I have also noticed that Deâvontae have been avoiding us during down time, I can see that he hates the attention heâs getting, and the barrage of well wishes and questions about his personal life. I like to think that weâre a lot like each other, suffering alone is nothing new, and when people bring it up we get defensive or angry. When we spend time together, there is not much talking at all, itâs very few that feel comfortable in the silence, but I think we both enjoy each otherâs company, words are not always needed.
The past two days have been taxing, the whole thing with the priestess and the spellbreaker runt, I feel drained, even more so when others joined in on the discussion. I have no quarrel with any of them, but I no longer have the desire to seek Lorâtheasâ forgiveness, he can sulk all he wants⊠I have to admit that it was foolish of me to throw things around and break things in my wrath, I just feel so done with it all. Right now I just want some peace and quiet, Iâll have to figure out what to do nextâŠ
Filigrees of dancing butter yellow light from the morning sun brushed across the floral field marking the beginning of a new day. Flowers coloured from dusty purples and powdered blues to pigments of orange and yellow turned their sleeping heads up to its warm glow, basking in the fine promise of another eternal spring day. A gentle breeze feathered the heads of the flowers and tickled the dew from the blades of verdant grass, disturbing the azure ethereal fabric that covered the door frame to the humble one bedroom house of Hawkrider Rowynwen Hawkwing. On a normal day the only noise to accompany the gush of the wind would come from the creaking of the wooden swing suspended from the tallest lone tree in the field, but this was an unordinary day in the life of the smallest rider of the Skyguard. Battered sounds of pots and pans clanked and rattled from inside the homestead followed by a sudden plumage of black smoke erupting from the door frame. In a woosh of movement a Dragonhawk whoâs body gleamed like golden coins darted out of the building with a hiss sent in the direction of the door way, turning with the indignation of a regal lord or lady who just suffered the debacle of dining with the lesser circles of society.
Inside of the building the tiny fox haired elf danced about with a cloth in the air trying to guide the smoke back out of the doorway, produced by the smouldering remains of some much over cooked biscuits. âNo, no, no! Come on- this is the fourth time since last night!â Rowynwen gushed with flushed cheeks as she grabbed the tray of spoilt biscuits and threw them into the closest bucket of water groaning to herself in defeat and resting her forehead against the closest wall. âOh Pipper what am I going to do? I keep ruining them! And weâve only got-⊠â She turned her head to peer through the curtain of ginger hairs that formed her floppy fringe, eyeing the sundial on her wall, gasping at the time. âSix hours left to finish making our outfits! M-maybe we should cancelâŠâ Her teeth grazed her lower lip at the thought, her heart sinking right down to her feet. Pipper responded from outside with another indignant warble that summoned a hefty sigh from the elf. âI donât want to cancel⊠I-Itâs taken this long for me to ask him⊠I think I was being over ambitious when I thought about making the biscuits.â Turning to the counter at the far of the circular wall, Rowyn placed down the tray and smoothed her hands over her blue overalls. She had been stuck in the same outfit since coming back from work last evening, blue overalls and dungarees with her hair pulled up with a chequered blue hair band, one leg rolled up to allow her latest addition to her tattoos to air out into the open. A chain of Dragonhawks with their breaks nipping the tails of one another in a looped circle, each a different colour of the variants known about, gold, red, eclipsion, phoenix, Armani, black, white, blue, silver.
Raising a hand to her forehead she rubbed at her skin, her freckled face covered in powdered flour and biscuit mixture in little splotches. âNo, I canât let my own insecurities defeat me!â Her mind swam to consider the elf that she would be meeting later that evening, cheeks turning into sparks of fire in response. âPerhaps⊠I need to make themâŠmore for him.â She sniffed and looked down to the last of her biscuit mixture and furrowed her brow in determination, fingers grabbing the dough and beginning to pull it out so she could start using a knife to cut into shapes. âHeâŠlikes his spear⊠the way he wields it is always so impressive, have you seen how his kill score flies up every time they head out on a mission? I-âŠI heard he had a Panther as a companion⊠a-and thereâs his battle sibling. They are a wonderful pair, itâs like they are always of the same mind.â Pipper at this interrupts with an insulted sound âOh- yes, well like us Pipper of course.â She smiled in answer, a little more driven as she starts to fashion the dough into the shapes of the things she could remember about the mystery elf she was meeting later. âI-⊠I remember the first time I went on my flight mission with them, I saw the look on their faces â all of them-âŠthe Skyguard that is. The expression of utter joy as they took to the skies and when I finally landed, he came up to me to congratulate me on opening my book. And he had that face too. It was like he had just grown wings upon his ankles and flown the sky himself.â She caught herself in her tangent and let out a cry of embarrassment, her hands shooting up to clutch her flaming cheeks. âW-what am I saying?!â
Pipper caught the frazzled expression of her companion and whickered with a rare and sudden feeling of wanting to help the elf, slithering on her stomach to enter the building and clamber up the back of the petite elf, hooking her beak on her shoulder. âOh itâs no use Pipper, look at me. I canât do this. I should stick to having tea with you and Alpha.â It was then that Pipper opened her maw exhaling a warm cooking breath in which she held back her flames, instead cooking them until they shone a lovely golden colour. âOh Pipper! I could kiss you!â Rowyn exclaimed as she threw her arms about the Dragonhawk whoâs scales and feathers ruffled, wriggling free to go settle on her mound of coloured bottles where her beautifully groomed body canât be ruined by excited elves.
Rowynwen smiled brightly and ran out to the front of the building where she grabbed her different swatches of cloth that she had hung upon her clothes line to dry. The browns and golds reflecting the colours of late autumn had been selected with care in the open markets of Silvermoons bazaar, her humble salary made buying her own clothes more costly and she had found a delight in learning to make them herself. Though they didnât always turn out right, she was confident in her chosen design of trousers and a low cut top with a laced under-shirt. Her hair swam about her like an orange halo, having a life of its own that often covered her face catching her attention very briefly to the rose bush that lay to the side of her home, just beyond her flailing hair. With a merry smile she knew and realised in that moment it was the perfect addition to her outfit âI think⊠I shall wear my hair down this evening.â
And with that in mind, Rowyn continued to labour intensively over her sewing for the rest of the evening, her heart skipping every so often as her mind wondered to the kind pale face that had smiled at her the other night âI would very much like that.â His words at her question to play cards and drink tea played like gospel in her head and often caused her to prick her fingers on the sewing needle. When the evening came her fingers were all in numerous swatches of makeshift thin bandages to stem the hundreds of pin pricks from her needle, but her outfit had come together and snugly fit her boyish frame and her hair for the moment that she looked in the mirror lay flat and tame. With a bright mile Rowyn applied her cherry paint to her lips and adjusted Pipperâs bejewelled crown she had insisted on wearing to the date. Her cheeks flushed at the word. Date.
âC-come on Pipper! Letâs go!â With a last minute brave smile at herself she grabbed her little satchel of the cookies she had made and headed out the door, the wind turning her hair into an animated creature of its own will once more. It was going to be, for once, for two people in a world wracked with horror and the whisperings of madness, a pleasant evening of respite and company. If only for that one, night. For there wouldnât another like this for the Skyguard, for a long time.
A path meanders through the golden dappled light of the woods, dust kicked up in a flurry as a pair of worn, leather boots make their way towards the butterfly garden nestled amongst the trees at the trails end. They were not just boots of course, an Elf was attached to the footwear otherwise that would be distinctly odd to behold. This Elf is shorter than most of her race, a few extra pounds happily sitting in all the right places to create the curved form of Darcy Sweetlace, her chestnut and honey locks swept up into a rather haphazard bun today, the usual tangle of wildflowers adoring the tresses. The flowers do not seem to be artfully arranged, instead they seem to be home for the half a dozen or so vibrant butterflies that perch and hover around the blooms, fluttering to land upon her shoulder or the bunch of honeysuckle tied in twine at her rounded hip, even occasionally upon the Elfs nose. In fact that is just what a particularly splendid blue and gold butterfly does at this very moment, causing Darcyâs large doe like eyes to cross as she peers down at the little creature, nose twitching as his tiny feet tickle the end.
âBrain.â She coos, dainty ears wilting into a soppy droop. âLooking marvellous today.â Long lashes ghost spidery shadows upon the softly glowing cheeks of the little Butterfly keeper, her fingertips stained with traces of ink and paint both old and new as she reaches up to gently shoo the azure flurry away from her nose and back towards the blooms interwoven throughout her softly curling hair. Continuing on, Darcy comes to a halt beneath the cascade of peach roses that wind their fragrant way overhead, a floral archway which forms the entrance to her garden. Flowers, hundreds of them in all the colours and varieties that a botanically inclined Elf could wish for, sweet scents lacing the softly blowing breeze upon which clouds of Butterflies drift and dance.
Here and there, nestled amongst the florets and clusters of honeysuckle and roses, violets and irises rest cocoons silken and glittering in the golden light. Darcy makes her way over to one such clutch making sure that her feet disturb none of her winged companions, the honey of her eyes glimmering with delight as she takes out her sketch pad and scribbles down a few notes and etchings, recording the cocoons progress and growth. With a happy sigh she wonders towards the gardens edge, a swing seat scattered with worn yet comfortable cushions awaiting her, a huff of purest content escaping her lips the smaller Firescar wriggles into a comfortable position and spends the rest of the day lost in a world of fauna and butterflies, humming happily if not quite tunefully. Only when the sun slips below the treetops, taking with it the warmth, does the Elf rise and with only one of two trips and wobbles make her way back towards Watchers Refuge.
The lipstick is cracked and old, a bright and vivid red flash housed in a cheap plastic tube, the faux golden paint flaking from its edges. The little Pyromancer closes her eyes, small hand tightening around the object until her knuckles turn white, the soft sweep of her long lashes fluttering shut to kiss the freckled glow of her cheeks as she loses herself in memory.
An Elf sits before a cracked mirror, the glass mottled and tarnished with age and lack of proper care, the female is thin, almost painfully so, the bones at her wrists jutting as she lifts a brush and pulls it through the inky flurry of her ebony curls. Makeup is carefully applied, the tubes and tubs almost empty and dry with age, the finishing touch is the lipstick, her Mothers hand working with a skill born from years of practice to paint the full pout of her lips a sharp crimson.
Elodie sits curled upon a stained mattress, her large eyes watching her Mother as her small hands curl into the corse fabric of the blanket draped across her tiny form. âWill you be gone long tonight?â She peeps, the delicate curves of her young ears rising in a hope not yet crushed by her Mothers circumstances. The Elf turns to look at the child, the sputtering wick of the candle upon the table casting wavering shadows over her thin face. âYou know not to ask me that.â She chides, her voice thick with the effects of the thistle she pays homage to each night. Elodie nods, large eyes never leaving her Mother as she rises from her chair and, without a backwards glance, disappears into the night to find the men who will feed her habit for one more day.
The lipstick sits upon the table, cracked and old.
The following is an extract from Captain Autumnvales medical records detailing the Captain or âpatient FCâsâ understanding of his first night back in Silvermoon, those many years agoâŠ
The glow of green roiled across the cracks of my wooden pen, searching for gaps large enough to corrupt their way through. I could hear those damned wails of hunger droning out in long unending bleats, with the darkness suffocating around me, the stench of rotting eggs and the putrid glow of fel, it was all I could do not to lose my mind. And the loneliness, only accompanied by those pathetic shells of echoed guesses in which I tried to understand where they had taken him. My Alaris. The door to my pen opened with a creak of leather straps groaning in protest, there standing in the spirals of gaseous fel clouds, an elf with a gaping black hole for a mouth. Eyes, dark and green watched me with a feral hunger, black saliva dripped to the floor like the sound of tar slapping the floor. I backed away, hand stretched across my face, it couldnât be- it couldnât be himâŠ
âŠâALARIS!â I jolted up into a sitting position, cold sweat dripping down my spine and across my face. I felt pain throbbing and ebbing, but it was little distraction to the hammering of my aching heart. It was a nightmare, a terrible terrible nightmare. My eyes darted about me, searching for signs to confirm anything I could remember. The room was a small one, with bright golden rays of light that shone through azure curtains, singeing my eyes - just how long had I been out for? I was upon a hay covered bed surrounded in plain white blankets with a generous feather fluffed pillow at my back, though now it was far more generously drenched in my sweat. Next to the bed, a small wooden cabinet sat, carved from white birch it held some familiar etchings along the surface, curled vines with leaves stretching outwards in sprigs and phoenix birds scattered across the sides. Atop the cabinet bright strange flowers had been placed inside a gilded vase, surrounded by silverleaf and tied together in a light string.
It all seemed so familiar to me, but it did not bring me any comfort, rather it set me on edge further. Looking further afield, there at the back of the room marble stoned tables sat, littered from left to right with bandages, herbs and other medical looking items. Turning my head, I could just make out there were two doorways draped with azure curtains that let in the light of the sun. Last I could recall, I had been captured with my allies⊠we had been taken and matters became foggy from there on out. My mind raced to make sense of it all, surely I could only be in a prison and through those doors I would see what monster had decided to keep me alive and be so cruel as to tend to my wounds.
My mind swam back groggily to the horror I had awoken from. Alaris⊠where had they taken him? Pushing myself into action, I tried to stand, noticing only then that I was completely naked with only bandages covering my torso. âThe-âŠfeth?â Arching a brow I looked around the room and noticed some fresh clothes had been placed upon a chair⊠strangely my size⊠âWhat sort of mad realm have I escaped the confines of hell to? By the Titans, let there be a sign that my rump remains the temple of virtue it was when I went to sleep.â After changing I made a sweep across the room in attempts to find some form of weapon I could use to protect myself. I had no clue where in Draenor I was, but I was determined to find Alaris and get out.
Across the marble tables my hand glided over the sharper objects, scalpels - too small for my large hands, needles but no dart in which to shoot them⊠Curling my fingers around the cylinder capsules of two syringes, I brought the items up to the blue flickering light. It was drenched in some foreign green liquid still slick and plentiful within the plastic container. Alaris⊠The figure swayed in the thicket of green mist, itâs hair once so bright and alive like the richest of honey, now fell to the floor in unconstrained clumpsâŠ. No. I leaned heavily against the table, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm, trying to route myself to the here and now. I was noticeably paler and the room had begun to spin, whatever these monsters had fed me in my slumber, it had turned my body into jelly.
âWho am I? I am Deâvontae Firecloud⊠Why am I? To bring safety to the future of the High Kingdom and the New Horde⊠When am I? Irrelevant. Time canât fight us anymore.â I nodded to my own words, finally feeling my head emerge from the thick swell of panic. At the corner of my eyes I noted some herbs and spices, none that I recognised, but they would do as a substitute. Now, armed with two syringes and pockets filled with various odd looking herbs and spices, I pushed past the azure curtains, following the dynamics of the building further inwards, rather than make a leave for the outside. I had heard voices coming from within, and voices often come with answers.
Over my young years I had become well developed in making myself blend in and be forgotten, it wasnât magic, just a knack that comes from a life of not being the popular kid. In any case, such skills as sad as they may sound, helped me to move along the back of the familiar textured walls and out into an open room. The room itself was not well lit other than some blue floating lamps of arcane that had been dotted about the place.
Directly before me sat two Sinâdorei, a male clad in crimson and black with a tabard of the Blood Knight order, and another, a female with curls of thick blonde hair wearing what could only be described as a skimpy dress that hugged her figure. I had forgotten the curves of our females, the way they seem to be carved out of the dreams of every races fantasies - well perhaps not the Draenei. The two seemed to be engaged in light conversation, the kind youâd expect from your capture and his consort, neither had any idea of my where about⊠The male seemed armoured, far better built, a fighter - of course he was. A Blood Knight working for the Iron Horde, what kind of nonsense had befallen my Lord Theron and our people in my absence? I shanât lie, the following conversation may entirely be concocted by my imagination, I wasnât fully enthralled into the duoâs talking at the time, but I find it easiest to believe it went something like thisâŠ.
âSo, I was like, oh my goodness, those are my shoes you retch! You best like, totally give them up before I go all Liadrin on you!â At this point there might have been a shift in how close the two were sitting. âOh my, mister Embersire, you are oh so very smart and strong to have survived the January sales! I would have totally cheered you on.â âPlease, not so loud Claire, and not so close, you are ruining my hair! I say this for your own safety, my smouldering looks will burn you if you arenât careful.â âOh mister master gentlest of manliest men Ember Sire, I would be burnt a thousand times o-â
And that was when I chose to strike, for the betterment of any and all who might or might not have heard that conversation. I pride myself in my execution of my attacks, bringing my left arm around the femaleâs neck without upsetting a single hair on her head and pressing the tip of the gunk covered needle to her fragile throat. My other hand moved across her right shoulder, pointing the tip of the second needle to the male, placing my body to the far left of the female as far from the male as possible whilst not giving the female a chance to look at my face. âWhere are my things you uneducated swine? You best answer quickly, before I press this needle of mass destruction into your consorts neck and place a deadly amount of air into her veins that will cause her to die instantly!â At this point I am sure the female said something though itâs not important, sheâs a side character in this tale.
âBlast, how did you escape your cell? I should have known that a simple cell would hold the might of the great and powerful Deâvontae Firecloud!â The male remained seated, he knew of me, a wise matter to be educated of. âYour things were so last year so I disposed of them to the bosses chambers where he shall decide on what fate they shall befall!â
âAHAH! Firstly those clothes were top of the line fresh from the run way national treasures, learn your fashion! Secondly, I do not know how you managed to build an exact replica of the city of Silvermoon nor do I know who your boss is but I shall find out! Where are you hiding him you lust infected convulsing bag of defiled pus!â My words cut deeply and although I had to commend the elf for trying to remain quiet, I saw his eyes flicker to the back room. Twatting the incompetent woman across the head I made a dash for the back room where I saw him.
Tall, he cast a long sinewy shadow across the room in which jewels from every culture imaginable sat upon velvet cushions. His hair braided down his spine like the tale of a horse, pampered and cared for. I could not place him, but I knew he was my ticket out of here. Again, I shall repeat, Iâm not entirely certain on the accuracy of my recollection of words exchanged, but I believe it went something like this. âMwahaha, I see youâve found my lair Firecloud. No matter, it is only a matter of time before I release your friends into my giant tankard of terrible Turnips. And you shanât escape with your life⊠EMBERSIRE!â
Something hard collided into my back, toppling me to the floor where a lavish and well cared for purple rug stopped my fall. Tumbling around, I noted it was the elf from before and I was right in my assumption, he was a fighter despite his questionable nature. But I am better. I managed with little struggle to get back to my feet and swipe the carpet from beneath the male causing him to fall down. His curly haired maiden watched in awe as I swept across the table in a glorious slide and grabbed her petite waist in my arms. âS-sir?â Looking back to the awe struck enemies of whom would no longer aid me in my questions to the whereabouts of my allies, I mocked a salute. âYou shall remember this as the day, that you almost caught Deâvontae Firecloud!â Stooping down I graced the clearly fair maiden of whom definitely was never considered a âlady of the nightâ prior in my story, with a caress of my lips upon her own virginial crimson pout. I deny the use of tongues. Who ever claims this is a harlot.
It was at this point that I twirled the female out from my arms and spun her around to the arms of the scrambling Embersire and his master and made for my great escape. Things get a little blurry from here on outâŠ
The glow of green roiled across the cracks of my wooden pen, searching for gaps large enough to corrupt their way through. I could hear those damned wails of hunger droning out in long unending bleats, with the darkness suffocating around me, the stench of rotting eggs and the putrid glow of fel, it was all I could do not to lose my mind. And the loneliness, only accompanied by those pathetic shells of echoed guesses in which I tried to understand where they had taken him. My Alaris. The door to my pen opened with a creak of leather straps groaning in protest, there standing in the spirals of gaseous fel clouds, an elf with a gaping black hole for a mouth. Eyes, dark and green watched me with a feral hunger, black saliva dripped to the floor like the sound of tar slapping the floor. I backed away, hand stretched across my face, it couldnât be- it couldnât be himâŠ
âŠâALARIS!â I jolted up into a sitting position, cold sweat dripping down my spine and across my face. My eyes searched around the foreign room to find the face of someone I felt I had met in a bad dream, his hair black and long with a worn expression and the tabard of the Blood Knight order. âWelcome back, Deâvontae.â