In the aftermath of the third knock and another triggered "fit" that leaves her weak and reeling under the suspicions of an anguished mob, Rhoelyn must turn to her daring rescuer, Elishtar Fangblade, to help her get back to the safety of her home. The two discuss what's happened as they walk and eventually discover that they have more in common than they'd realized.Read More
Filtering by Category: Storylines
Rhoelyn returns to Erikson Hall to deliver her answer to Ardell's invitation to officially join the AESOP organization. There, she meets Aris for the first time.Read More
Rhese and Nysse investigate the "Horde" dig site in an island in Tiragarde Sound. What they find there is as unsettling as it is deadly, and they fight to save themselves as well as an unexpected ally.Read More
Rhese Silverwing is summoned to Erikson Hall to meet Ardell as part of his effort to more fully incorporate the Kalimdor branch of AESOP. The druid gets a chance to meet Grave and Watchdog as well as his first assignment from the Kul'Tiran operations.Read More
Veldrinas encounters a familiar face during a routine patrol in Stormsong Valley.Read More
Nyssera Whispersong and Rhoelyn Silverwing are summoned to Erikson Hall to meet Ardell as part of his effort to more fully incorporate the Kalimdor branch of AESOP. The two rather subdued night elves get their first taste of King Grave and his organization.Read More
Veldrinas talks with Tharion to better understand his purpose after defeating the Burning Legion and in the greater scheme of the war between the Alliance and Horde.Read More
Veldrinas stood on the outer grassy edge of the city of Dalaran with his hands clasped behind his back, and though he stood stock straight, his posture was relaxed.
He gazed south with a stony expression towards the wide open ocean as the sun began to set. It was a beautiful vista. But he did not smile and take pleasure in the rare moment. His thoughts were preoccupied with the recent happenings. Sraath, the Burning Legion, the rekindled faction war, the burning of Teldrassil, and the subsequent siege and Alliance pyrrhic victory over the Horde in Lordaeron.
Unbidden, an old memory came to the surface. One from so long ago, it could have been from a different person.
Then again, I was. Veldrinas thought wryly.
* * *
The sun was nearing the horizon and Veldrinas had awoken early. He stood outside his abode in Ashenvale, watching the sun give way to the coming of night. Standing next to him, leaning on his shoulder, was his wife, Faelivren. His arm was around her, and they were both smiling, blissful even.
* * *
The memory faded and Veldrinas was brought back to the present. At last, the demon hunter indulged in a little smile. After a few more moments, he spoke softly.
"We succeeded, my love. The Burning Legion has been defeated. At long last, your spirit may find peace."
As the hunter continued to watch the day fade to the onset of night, he could have sworn that someone was standing next to him, leaning on his shoulder, her silver hair flowing in the gentle breeze.
Ary looks at the full, heavy boots and wrinkles her nose. "Isn't there something... lighter?"
"Ary, if you buy sandals, you may as well just go barefoot, again. Boots." Sedra sighs.
"They make my feet hot and my toes feel constricted." She reluctantly takes one boot from Sedra's grasp looking at it. "What about a normal shoe or slipper?"
Now it's Sedra's turn to wrinkle her nose, the expression a little more hidden under her cowl. Making an exasperated sound in the back of her throat, she looks around the shop's wares once more and wanders a few steps away to look at a shelf of shoes.
"No slippers. Useless things, those fabric footwraps..." She sighs and picks up a pair of sturdy shoes, really low ankle boots in a light leather save hardened and shined toes. Though she gives them a bit of a dirty look, she holds them up to Ary. "These might still save your fleshy bits."
Far to the west of Blackrook Hold, hidden in the dark and fog, the little island that has been all but swallowed by a large, truncated section of the wreckage of a Legion warship hunkers atop the churning ocean, helpless victim of yet another demon invasion. Once a teardrop of near-barren rock nearly half a league long and wide, now it is only a little hill of Azerothian stone left strewn with Argussian rubble, dirt and rock and plants, and the massive bulk of the wrecked Soul Cleaver from mid-bow to near-aft. The last quarter of the vessel falls off with the land and submerges, shimmering with fel-green light just under the water's edge and evoking the thought of a beached, dying Leviathan. Here and there around its perimeter, shadow power still wafts free of the perfect, void-stained cuts through its bulkheads and through bits and pieces of the foreign rubble that snuggles against it, wisps of dark that whisper and writhe.