The earth rumbled, a low growl that shook the walls and caused dirt to rain down from the ceiling above. The air teemed with crackling magic.. and screams. Blue ball lightning shimmered and screamed through the air, impacting with bodies and objects, forcing holes through walls and people alike. Blood rolled dark and heavy down his cheek, causing his hand to come up to wipe reflexively at the wet. It smeared, thick, and made stains on the wall his hand next came to rest upon, unnoticed. Elune, great Mother, save me, he pleaded. What madness had come upon the world?
His eyes were blurred, heavy. Groaning, he stretched against shackles binding hands and feet and stared at them. What had happened? Green energy glowed from each shackle, resisting attempts at his own use of the arcane arts to free himself. The mere attempt made his head pound and sparks flash from his fingertips. Wincing, he shook his left hand and then rubbed at his temple, trying to force his mind into focus. Slowly, he remembered what had happened, even as he caught his reflection in a pool of moisture next to his foot. His eyes, a purple blue, glowed back at him mournfully, lavender features barely visible in the reflected moonlight.
Invader...
By Elune, he had remained among the folk of Azeroth, hidden, for so long. Why now had the Mother chosen to abandon him? Absently he brushed at moisture above his left eye and winced; the fingers came away stained red, the gash barely clotted beginning anew at his touch.
The sentinels had not been gentle in his capture.
"You came! You're here!" Her smile had been radiant, eyes bright and glowing blue in her joy. His beloved, his intended, although he had been slow to realize his feelings. They had been comrades, partners in the fight against the Scourge for so long, that he had no noticed when comfort had ebbed towards desire. It was impossible; she would never accept his true self and he could not afford to reveal his secrets to the world. Not yet. He had never even allowed himself the luxury of visiting the new tree, Teldrassil, for fear of being found out. And for fear of what being so close to the new font of Elune would do to his control.
But she had asked.. and asked.. and he had finally relented. She had seemed perplexed at his reluctance. "Is it a human thing?" Her eyes had been wide, lips caught between her teeth as if afraid she would offend him by asking. He had laughed weakly and caught himself habitually running a hand through his hair, something he did when nervous.
"N-No.. not at all." He disliked being discomfitted around her; she seemed to be the only one able to cause such a reaction in him. "I just... know how your people feel about the arcane.. about mages."
"Oh!" She'd clasped her hands together, chagrin evident on her features, and for a moment he'd thought himself free of having to put himself into such danger. "But surely...we are allies! Tyrande and the Arch Druid should not mind. They've even allowed Lady Jaina and other mages within our lands!" Her lips had spread then, wide and bright, and his hopes sunk. Her lips had formed an enchanting pucker, a pout and she leaned towards him, pleading. "Please?"
"I... suppose..."
So he had made the journey, taking the long way so he could gather his will, his strength, against the ordeal. The mariners on the ship The Moonspray had been polite, even jovial.
"Eh, human? Is this your first trip into Elven lands?" "Any plans to visit the depths of our Tree? It is quite beautiful..."
He raised his head from his ruminations, the echo of the voices of his past seeming to whisper along the walls of his prison. He was confined in the dungeons of Darnassus. The walls were the hallowed out root systems of a tree, the barred closure made of living vines. That spoke of a druid, a powerful one. Could he have brought the wrath of the Arch Druid down upon him?
Did he not deserve it? He stared at his hands now, long fingered and powerful. They did not look familiar to him. He had been too long under the illusion, the spell which had disguised his features into a Human countenance. Even his voice would be different. It had been a necessity at the time, disguising himself. It took great concentration...something that had shattered that day...
His arrival had been expected; she stood there, radiant, on the docks of Rutheran Village. Her hair had been filled with still living flowers which open and closed as if taking in the scent of her. Despite his misgivings he had been entranced by her beauty. Out of armour, or in, she was a beautiful woman. No human could compare, not in all his centuries of wandering.
"You came! You're here!" She'd cried, spreading her arms in greeting as he stepped from boat to dock.
"I said I would," laughing, he'd held out an arm for her and escorted her from the dock, gazing up at the brilliance of the port village. Fisherman brought in the day's catch, calling to one another of the day's events. Children ran about, laughing. It had seemed normal, beautiful. He had relaxed his guard a bit as she guided him towards Darnassus proper.
A clank of metal on metal pulled him from his reverie, and he raised his head up. Desbelief painted her features; there were no more flowers in her hair.
"Kerath'inalla," he whispered. Her face hardened and she chopped at the air with one hand, dismissive. "Krathia..."
"Shut up." Her lips twisted in a sneer, hands tightening into fists, denying him. "You do not have the right to use my name, any of my names!"
His heart twisted, and he gulped back the pain her words caused him, a pain he had never thought himself able to feel.
"Did you do this?" he gestured feebly at the vine-bars of his prison, glowing with a faintly pulsing green.
"I assisted the Arch Druid in it's inception, yes." Her yes narrowed on his, sharpening to dagger points. "It was my right! And my duty," she added.
"Duty?" he echoed.
"it is my fault that you were able to penetrate the defenses of Darnassus. I do not know what further punishments I will garner...but I will accept any and all. It is my fault." The hardness ebbed from her features, until they were carved with pain. "You are a snake, Venro Master Mage." She spun then, and ran, footsteps echoing through the wet in the corridor, until he could see nor hear her anymore.
He had raised his hands as she'd spun, imploringly, but in futility. He dropped them back on his knees and let his head tilt back against the wall of his prison. "Forgive me," he whispered. "Dark Mother, Elune, forgive me. I meant no harm."
"You are an arcane spell weaver," a voice said, deep as a cave is deep, as the deep blue of the ocean. The prisoner tilted his head back down to behold a tall kaldorei, resplendent in the regalia of a druid, tall enough so that he had to stoop to avoid hitting the ceiling of the prison corridor.
"You are the Arch Druid," the prisoner replied, and eased forward somewhat. The druid stared down a long nose at the prisoner, lips pulled tight in disdain.
"You asked Elune to forgive you," the druid said, conversationally. He glided his palms out to either side of his thick body, and then pressed them outwards, as if pushing the air aside. "You, who broke the world and created it as it is today. Who stole the Well of Eternity with your idiocies, your hubris. You dare ask for forgiveness? She will never give it to you."
The prisoner felt his gaze hardening as he rose to his haunches slowly, fighting against his restraints. He would not remain humble before this blasphemy! "You speak as if you know the heart of the Mother, druid. Do not presume so far!"
"And you do?" the druid retorted. "I am the leader of my people, and know that you will not be long for this world, mage, if I have my way."
"I will accept a just punishment, druid," the prisoner shouted. "Nothing more, nothing less! But do not blaspheme to ME. Run back to your trees, dirt shifter!"
The Arch Druid's eyes narrowed and a wave of pain hit the prisoner, bright green light burned his eyes and he felt himself falling backwards. He cracked his head on the wall and then all was dark and swimming in shadowy emptiness.
Echoes like lightning shattered the sky, branching out in ever expanding miles, and the earth roared in protest, shaking and bouncing and fighting the calamity that seemed to radiate from Azeroth's center. He had made it outside, and now stared disbelieving at sky and tree, at earth and horizon. Animals ran, panicced further west, and people teemed from the core of Eldre'thelas.
"What shakes us? What has caused such travesty," a mother wailed, hugging her infant close as more and more of the populace gathered in the open square outside the city. The only place safe from falling stone and tree. Prince Tortheldrin raised his arms for quiet, but still had to fight with the calls of the earth and sky, with the animals, to be heard. "My people! You were chosen by the Queen, our great mother to guide the studies of the arcane! To make her dreams reality! Disaster has struck -"
A roar filled his ears as a shockwave rocketed through the assembled, and west, toppling trees and shattering listing columns of stone. Screams reverberated through the air and he felt it, felt the desimation of something powerful, as if a center of his energy had had the plug pulled from it and was draining like so much bathwater.
"Oh mother! Elune save us! The Well of Eternity!" voices howled, tinged with despair.
He pressed hands to the reopneed gash on his cheek and stared down at an image of himself reflected in broken glass, a shattered window pane, or mirror, he did not know. He was young, only an 8th year, still a youngling and fresh apprenticed to Eldre'thelas. But he knew fear.
The echo of water drip-dripping woke him, mostly because it's drops cascaded partially along one side of his face. The prisoner groaned and levered himself up. His muscles clenched spasmodically in his restraints, reverberating through the bruises that littered his body. Gasping against the pain he leaned back against the wall once again, and pulled at the remains of his robe. He stank from his confinement, and the smell was becoming overly rank and stale in the small confines of his cell. Would he be allowed to starve to death? Die in his own filth, food for the tree to grow upon? The roots above his head would enjoy his corpse as it decomposed. He grimaced at such macabre thoughts and brushed at the grime his sweat and dirt made on his face.
"Why did you do it?"
The voice was small, puckish and high. The prisoner peered through the vine-bars of his prison and saw a small form there, purple-toned skin nearly blending into the darkness beyond his cell. The child's wide eyes glowed bluey in the dark and she eased foward to peer at him through the confines of the vines.
"Why did I do what?"
"Cast magic. The," and her voice dropped to a faint whisper, wide eyes widening even further, "forbidden magic."
The prisoner sighed and gazed up at the ceiling of his cell. How to explain such a decision to a child? "I was chosen a very long time ago to learn the ways of it. And I suppose as time went on I felt like it was natural, that it brought me closer to the Mother."
"But you could've done that through the good magics!" the child protested. "You could've been a druid or a priest! Or any number of things!"
"I suppose," the prisoner mused, easing the weals formed by his shackles as best he could as he gathered his words. "But I feel as if Elune chose this for me... we all have our place, child."
"Oh," she said, and narrowed her eyes, chewing at a lower lip worridly. "I don't know what mine is."
"You will," he said, forcing his lips to spread in a smile. "One day you will know. The Mother will speak to you, without words, and you will know your calling."
"Serella!" a voice called out, echoing down the corridor. The child jumped up with a start and frowned guiltily.
"Thats my auntie.. I shouldn't be here." She plucked at the skirt that hung around her waist and then eyed the prisoner worridly. "You'll be ok! I will tell Auntie that you're nice!" She smiled then, wide and stunningly gap-toothed, and rushed away. "I'm cooooominnnngggg, Auntie!"
"Kids," the prisoner murmured, and coughed dryly. Even so, the visit had cheered him. Why couldn't more people view the world through a child's innocence?
He dozed then, trying to ignore the hunger that gnawed his belly, head drooping to rest on his crossed forearms, knees drawn up to his chest.
The walls were shaking, shaking, shaking. He felt as though he were tipping back and then forth, left and right, with no rhyme or reason to the direction he could be going at any moment. The world is ending, he thought, terrified, and tried to fall to the ground as he had been tought to do during an earthshake. Tuck yourself low, he mused, nearly hysterical.
No no no no no, his voice seemed to scream, and he fought his way out of the dream, the nightmare. The memory.
The images shifted and he jerked in his sleep before falling back into dreams.
She was smiling at him, lips parted in a half laugh as she dragged him deeper into the heart of Darnassus. He allowed himself to smile easily back at her, even as he focused on concentrating on holding his illusion steady. Touch made it even more difficult; it could ripple the image where he was being handled, and his true form would shift in and out of perspective.
"Come this way!" she said, drawing him towards a long ramp, a brocaded purple rug running along its length. It led from the small islands to a large temple structure. Something within.. beckoned to him.
"Sure," he replied, distracted, and allowed himself to be drawn in.
He whimpered in dreams, and twitched against the prison floor as the walls shook, knocking dirt onto his limp form.
"This," she breathed, voice low in a dramatic whisper "is our temple to the Mother, the Temple of the Moon."
"Elune's temple?" he replied absently, his eyes shooting directly to the moonwell in the center. It's water's sparkled, tempting, soothing. The drip of the fountain, water cascading out of the hands of a statue devoted to the Mother, seemed to be a balm to his spirit, his soul. A mere echo of the Well, but far from nothing.
"Yes," she pressed closer against his arm and he twitched, recalling himself to his location, abruptly realizing that omeone was staring at him. A Highborne, he wondered, and with a start recognized him, if faintly. The name refused to come. The Highborne seemed to be in the middle of an arguement with a sentinel, and after a moment of staring, turned back to the woman, his face the picture of calm reasoning.
Had he rippled? Uncertain, he reasserted his control, his image of what he should look like, as a human male mage. She was looking up at him as she drew him closer to the moonwell. It's waters sang to him and he fought their temptation; it was a distraction. And then she...
He screamed in his dreams, fighting the memories, clawing his way towards a different phantom...
He was thrown like a child's doll against the wall, sliding bonelessly to the ground, only to be drawn up and thrown again. He groaned dully as he was held there, midwall, feet dangling, by invisible bonds. The human mage walked forwards, and stroked a hand down a long beard in silent contemplation as he gazed up at his prisoner.
"An Intruder, eh? An elf? You don't look much like the high elves around here, boy. So that means you're one of the misbegotten Highborne. Yes, you're rather purple like they are. I'm sure the Night Elves would have a grand time with you."
The mage chuckled, malevolently, and the prisoner thrashed helpless within his bonds, before pleading. "Please, I only came to further my studies. I heard this place, this Dalaran, was a center for study. I simply want to learn."
"Can't do that, can't let you come in and start up chaos with the elves, nope. Although..." the mage stepped forward and pressed one gnarled finger to the center of the prisoner's forehead, having to ease up on tip toe to reach," you have a spark in you. Powerful. I am not strong in that talent; I can barely sense it. But its there. And you have a goodness to the eye. You aren't corrupt.. yet. I tell you what... I'll make you look like a human, and show you how to keep it, if you help me."
"Help you do what.. exactly?" Fearful of being a guinea pig in some kind of experiment, the prisoner was loathe to accept immediately.
The mage laughed heartily and clapped his hands as if he was being finely entertained. "Oh, boy. I like to know things, lad. And you've given me a fine puzzle. Don't see many Highborne out nowabouts her aren't crazy as bats. So your story. Tell me your story."
He was shaking; he was falling! The prisoner coughed and thrashed, and was promptly punched in the stomach. He groaned and vomited in dry heaves as he was forced up and onto his feet.
"Stand, Prisoner!" a female voice shouted. The shout reverberated through his aching skull, from wall to wall of his prison, and back. He fought to comply with knees week from capture, and forced his eyes open. He was surrounded by a ring of sentinels, two holding him upright, three more with swords drawn to his throat, and another doing the shouting. They all glared, tight lipped, some with eyes rolling in fear, others with hate.
"What do you-" he gasped as a sword point found its way hard against his throat and raised up on tiptoes to avoid it slicing his neck vein.
"Silence, Prisoner. You will come with us, now. Fight us, and you will die," the same sentinel who had spoken before said, sheathing her blade and motioning the other women to bring him along.
The vines of his prison were gone now, allowing them an easy exit from the room. The prisoner looked to either side as he was half carried, half dragged along the corridor, and then up a long, winding ramp out of the dungeons. A barrowden, he wondered, remember his explorations and readings of the druidic living structures. Places for the bodies to reside while in the Dream.
Up and up they climbed, and then out. The light of the moon greeted him, and he winced his eyes shut slightly for a moment, unused to such direct brightness; even the little bit that had found its way into his cell had not been so bright.
"No rest!" the sentinal snapped, flicking a gauntleded hand against the side of his cheek. He groaned, and would've fallen had he not been supported by the two women. They steadied him and, satisfied, the leader resumed the march.
Weak from his treatment, he let his head hang, merely noting the ground that he tread. Their steps squeaked and rustled through the wet grass, and he had to step carefully over slick rocks. Eventually the ground changed from dirt and grass to the beautiful stone that made up the walkways of Darnassus, finally becoming the rug lined bridge that led up to the Temple of the Moon. I can feel it, he thought, and shook with silent humor. The moonwell. Even now it tempts me. He closed his eyes then, and fought only to not allow himself to go limp in the arms of his guards.
He was roused from his slumber-walk by being tossed into a hard wooden chair, his head cracking it's backside against the high back of it. In the midst of reaching up a hand to rub away the ache, hands came down on his, and he felt himself being tied to the chair, the vines of his shackles winding around and through the wood supports, binding him there inexorably.
He blinked eyes heavy with exhaustion at his guards, just as one of them threw a bucketful of water over his body. He shivered with the coldness of it, felt it drip down his tattered clothes and dirty hair.
"He is filthy," a voice said, disgusted. "Is this how the sentinels treat prisoners?"
"It is no concern of yours, druid," the leader of his guards replied, and he winced as yet another bucketful of water was tossed onto him. He welcomed it though; it managed to ease some of the caked on grime from his face, some of the salt from his eyes.
"I have the permission of Tyrande to speak with him. Leave us." The voice was commanding, authoritative, with only a sliver of uncertainty to it's tone. The prisoner blinked, and opened his eyes further, trying to focus on the blurry outline of a person in the doorway to his new 'cell', or wherever he was. Krath?
"Then you can toss the water on him. It is of no concequence to me. See that you don't let him run amok.. this time." The bucket made a hollow clang as it fell to the floor and rolled slowly in a circle near the prisoner's feet. The guards made a line as they exited the room, the leader being the last to leave, and the one to slowly close the door, glaring as she did so.
He simply stared, for long moments, at the vision before him. She had flowers in her hair, but was still in leather armour; tough and impenetrable, as if she were ready to do battle. Her face was blank, carefully schooled.
"You are here," he said dumbly, and shook his head to clear his vision of wet hair.
She came to him then, and with gentle touches pushed the hair back out of his face, tucking it behind his ears. She seemed to examine him, eyes moving from hair to eyes to face, to chest and down. After a moment she backed away, crossing her arms over her chest, her lips pulling to one side in distaste.
"You smell," she announced quietly. "And your clothes are in tatters."
He laughed roughly. "Not exactly my idea of a fine inn." Too late, he worried if his words would offend her, and stared in concern into her eyes.
She said nothing for a long moment, and then knelt to pick up the empty bucket. She took it to one side of the room, where he now noticed a long basin where water slowly filled and emptied from a fixture in the wall. Slowly, she filled the bucket, and then gathered up several long strips of cloth from a pile in the corner. She came to him and, kneeling, wet the cloth and began to slowly wipe at the gunk on his face.
He stared at her, confused. Why was she doing this? She had damned him, named him betrayer. Now she cleaned him. He did not understand.
"He is fighting for you, you know," she said conversationally, folding the cloth to a clean side, dunking it, and then resuming her ministrations.
"Who is?"
"That Highborne. Evenshade. Tyrande granted him his audiance and I heard him speaking of you. Do you know him."
She paused then, and gazed deep into his eyes. He could not lie, but then, he had already resolved himself to be utterly truthful from thereon out.
"I did at one time. Never well. Acquaintances, at best."
"How did you meet?"
"At Eldre'thelas."
He watched her brows nit together in confusion, and, found himself smiling despite his predicament.
"Dire Maul"
"Oh! Oh, yes. I remember now. You.. you lived there?"
"A long.. long time ago. When i was a youngling. And for briefly afterward."
"But.. you are not old. So many have gotten so old and age..."
"I was... imprisoned for a time. By the Prince there. Younglings were deemed much as snacks for the older, 'wiser' Highborne. I was freed...but not for a very long time."
Silently, she settled back onto her knees, hands in her lap, seeming to question what to ask next.
"Why...you were a human...I don't understand."
He had a flash of it, of the breaking of his illusion, of when his world fell apart.
She'd lunged at him, as he was distracted by the moonwell, eyes full of joy, a laugh on her lips, as she pressed those laughing lips to his own. It was a soft kiss, full of promise and wonder, and slightly hesitant, as if she were afraid he would deny her. It caused a shock to rush through him, so that he lost all concentration and could only focus on the feeling of her mouth on his. His eyes had been closed. Hers had not. And her shriek, her full armed shove against his chest, knocking him to the ground, had brought the realization to him full bore. She knew, her eyes told him she could see his true self. A Highborne, in Human clothing. The sentinels came down on him like a hammer to a rock. The last sound he had heard had been her shout.
“BETRAYER!”
And then there had been blackness.
"A.. spell. An old friend taught me, once I was free. It was the only way I could further my studies."
Her lips twisted a little then. "Arcane studies."
"...yes. And history, and all sorts of others thing. i enjoy knowledge but... you.. you know that."
"Do I?" Her eyes were filled with resolve now, her lips pressed hard in a firm line. But tears shimmered in her gaze, and her question echoed with fear as to what his response might be.
He worded it carefully. "You do. I am the same as I always was, excepting a few...eh... exaggerations. And the illusion."
After a moment she rose up again, and finished cleaning his face. He watched her carefully, as she put aside the bucket and cloths and turned to face him. "Your name?"
He shook his head. "No.. Venro is not my name.. my real name. It was.. given to me."
Tears trickled down her cheeks and she dashed them aside, angrily. "I do not know what to think. We have been through so much. You were my most trusted, my best friend. My.. my beloved."
"And you are mine," he whispered, anguished.
"But I don't know your name," she breathed, and, turning, rushed from the room. The door echoed as it was slammed behind her by a sentinel.
The prisoner stared at the empty space most recently occupied, and felt his mouth move in response.
". I am ."
Hours passed. The confines of this room, at least, were better than the dirt walls of the barrow den he had recently occupied. There were tapestries and pantings on the walls, books lining a shelf in the corner. His hands itched to turn the pages of one, and he stared hungrily at their spines, wishing he could tell what the letters lining the outsides said, but the distance was too great.
A youngling came in shortly after his 'bath' and mopped up the spillage of the floor. He avoided looking at the prisoner, simply cleaning up the water and then departing. It sunk spirits further.
A sentinel arrived with food at one point. Hardly a pleasant expireience, still enjoyed the filling of his stomach. The guard tilted back head and forced broth down his throat until he was nearly choking, sputtering violently on the liquid. He still managed to swallow more than he spat out, and was glad for it. idly wiping the spillage as best he could on the still damp shoulder of his robe.
Then he waited. He waited and waited, and hope wained. What was to become of him? Was he to be tried as an enemy of the people, exiled, executed? Put on display for younglings to know what not to do?
I was not involved in the Sundering! He wanted to shout, jerking against his shackles enough to cause his chair to bounce against the stone floor. Frustration, anger and anguish rocked him. I was only a child! I was only a child...
He had been confined as a lad in Eldre'thelas, taught only the simple things after the Sundering. Preserve power for the elders, the Prince commanded. When the power was shown to be wavering fitfully, the Prince summoned a great Demon dog, Immol'thar, and imprisoned it. The people fed off of it using a complicated device of crystals and columns. But that too did not last long, as the prison weakened and the power waned. The Prince began to sacrifice the younglings to feed the prison system, to feed the elders. turn had come, and he had fought as he was forced inside the crystal spire. He could see, he could hear, in a way, but he could not move. He knew what would happen; he would be siphoned clean of his energy.
It did not happen. He watched as an age spanned, and he contemplated. Eventually, he fled into deep dreams, the dreams of meditation and contemplation that his youngling friends who would be druids had spoken to him about. There he had imagined himself among the great leaders of the Sundering. Of the vision of the Queen he had seen only once before her madness had shattered his world. Of Malfurion Stormrage, and Tyrande, the people spoken of with such derision by the Prince.
He slept away millenia before the sound of crystal cracking had awoken him. He had been on the ground staring numbly at an odd aperture. A port hole? Water sloshed against it's closure. A ship? The sea-salt smell of the air confirmed it and he tried to ease himself up on shakey limbs. Shouts rang out around and above him, and he was surrounded by short green folk.. Goblins. Apparently.. he had been stolen from Eldre'thelas by a collector.
But he was free. And he was alive.
A hand shook his shoulder roughly, and came abruptly awake, staring up into the blue blue eyes of a sentinel.
"Who--?"
A hand clapped hard on the side of his face, jerking his body hard to one side in his chair so that it rocked on it's legs before resettling.
"Speak when spoken to, Highborne-cur!"
"Enough," a voice fromt he doorway said, and bodily pressed the sentinel back a pace, away from . "There shall be no inquisition here. Only questioning."
The sentinel seethed at being called down. "You reside in Night Elf lands. You make no law here." The voice belonged to a broad shouldered, cloaked human male. His face was obscurred by his hood, causing the prisoner to tilt his head to one side, attempting to peer past the barrier of shadow.
"I was summoned, Commander. I was asked to question. Mage to mage. I will determine how the questioning proceeds.. unless you wish me to leave..."
"No," the commander said quickly. "The Lady wished you here. Do as you have been asked. I.. will not interfere."
"Good." The figurenodded briefly. "Now take yourself and your guards to one side. Or, if you cannot contain yourselves, leave this room. Do not disturb me."
The commander nodded jerkily, cheeks red, and motioned for her guards to line the walls. watched silently, resisting the urge to rub at his cheek with his shoulder. It still stung, mightily.
The figure gathered a chair from a line near a table, to one side of the room, and drew it in front of , reversed it, and sat down,tossing his hood back before lining his arms along chair back. His eyes met squarely. He was silent for a long moment, simply staring. was in a state of silent shock; he knew this man.
"I know you," the man said finally, tapping his left index finger against his chin. "I have heard great things of you, among the Kirin Tor. It was said you were there when Arthas fell."
"You helped fight back the scourge in Naxxramas. You helped to kill Kel'thuzad."
Rhonin Redhair. That same hear gleamed bright in the light as the leader of the Kirin Tor, ruler of Dalaran stroked a thumb across the length of his equally red beard. Why had Tyrande sent for such a man to question him? Was he worthy of such restraint? A tap to his cheek by Rhonin's finger startled , causing his head to jerk up, back to attention on the high mage's face.
"I remember you clearly now. I spoke with you, briefly, during the siege of Ulduar! Venro...but that is not your true name.. is it?" Rhonin peered, intent, and .
"It was.. a given name. An old friend.. in Dalaran.. the old Dalaran.. gave it to me. He said my name was too Elvish to be used as a human's."
"And he taught you this trick.. this illusion spell? It must've been a private spell; I am amazed. But then again.. there are many secrets among the Kirin Tor. Many things held sacred and special and not shared among the masses." Rhonin straightened then and stared hard at .
"Tell me it all."
Rhonin simply nodded at each new revelation, at each new truth revealed. The guards around the room seemed entranced, several dropping to their haunches, wide eyed, as they listened to the story of one older even than the Arch Druid himself.
"And yet you are not so old," Rhonin interjected at one point. "You say you did not age in the crystal?"
"I do not think I did. At least I went in as a hundred year.. and came out as a hundred year. Perhaps a year or two, or a decade or two."
"You elves and your longevity," Rhonin murmured, lips lifted lightly in a smile.
"You make light of this, of my transgression," .
"Not at all. I don't see it as being as terrible as it is being made out to be. Nowhere deserving of the conditions you have been subjected to. I think I understand your need for secrecy, your desire to learn. You do not seem to be one tainted with the hunger for magic... and I have seen such hunger enough to understand it well."
Rhonin stood then and clapped his hands together before pressing at the small of his back. The sentinels that had not been standing stood as well, faces lined with embarrassment as they pretended to merely be stretching.
"I will report to Tyrande now, lad- err...," he laughed then, long and hard. "I have been calling you lad for a long time now, haven't I? I apologize then. You may call -me- lad."
Here was the Mother embodied, he thought. He barely notcied the Arch Druid enter behind her, face twisted in disgust and superiority.
His eyes tore away from Tyrande's to the third person entering, drawn much as he had been to the moonwell. Kerath'inalla. His eyes ate up her image hungrily, hopefully, before he forced himself to return his gaze to Tyrande. He knew his judgement would be now.
The woman in white folded her hands calmly at her waist and nodded lightly at Rhonin Redhair. "I have heard everything, Rhonin."
"Everything? Were you standing at the door with your ear against it?" The mage grinned faintly, dragging his chair to one side to give Tyrande an unblocked view of the prisoner.
There was a gasp at such insolence from among the guards, but Tyrande merely laughed, a merry sound, and shook her head. "Much more sophisticated means are at hand, my friend. I thank you for coming. You have already told me everything I need to know about this man," and she turned to face then, her eyes piercing, "this Highborne."
The word seemed to echo around the room, much like a curse, despite the curious lilt the Lady gave to it. gulped, feeling a youngling again under the bright eyed vissage of this lady. She reminded him much of Azshara; charismatic, beautiful, powerful. Frightening. But kind. He had never seen kindness in the Queen's eyes. Only calculating plans within plans.
"Many have spoken on your behalf, Mage. Rhonin, the Evenshade, this druid. Even a young child came to me, the little rascal. So I have only one question to ask you, Mage. Why do you practice the arcane?"
"When i was young, I was chosen for this task by my mentor. He saw a spark in me, felt it, he said, pulse much as the Well does...did. I suppose, much as the moonwells do.” Tyrande nodded at him in understanding of his words, and he continued.
“ I was interested in my father's path. He was a priest of Elune. I know," and he smiled wryly then, " it was considered a woman's profession, a woman's calling, but I felt like I could feel the Mother. When I was taught my first lessons in the arcane I felt her calling even more. Not to draw more magic, not to destroy with magic. But the simple act of using it wisely, and always with a thought for Her. I do not know how better to explain it than that, my Lady. It is simply my calling from the Goddess."
"The presumption," the sentinel commander hissed softly, taking a step forward with fist outstretched as if to strike the Highborne down.
"Nonsense," Tyrande answered, gesturing for the commander to silence herself. "One cannot presume to govern the hearts and minds that the Goddess has touched. It is Her decision.”
Abashed, the sentinel returned to the wall, making herself small from the reproving eyes of her Lady.
Tyrande turned to face and moved towards him, hands coming forward to take his own. He tingled at the touch, like feeling electricity, and forced himself to look up into her kind gaze.
“Mage,” the Lady began, ”your actions have been exemplory, despite the tain on your kind. On.. our kind. I have heard of your great deeds. i do not like that you hid yourself from my eye, but I can understand it. I must see with the Mother's eyes; the Highborne are her children as much as we all are. I will pardon this---"
"You will WHAT! Tyrande I refuse to accept-" The Arch Druid's shout shook the room. Dust from stone trickled from the ceiling and felt the ground tremble beneath his bare feet.
"He has envoked the Goddess, Fandral,” Tyrande spun to face the Arch Druid, finger pointing in accusation and warning. “Do not forget that it is MY authority that is absolute there! If She disagrees with such a desire, she may take me now as punishment for my presumption!"
Tyrande's voice thundered through the room, her eyes narrowed to pinpoints as she glared at Fandral. The sentinel's glared as well. Krath was staring at the leader of her, of all druid's, oddly, and took several steps away from him.
Fandral glare took in everyone in the room. "Be it on your head then, fool woman!" He stormed from the room, slamming the door hard enough that felt the floor rumble yet again.
"Foolish man," Rhonin murmured, a hand coming up to smooth back his hair.
“You are no Shan'do,” Krath murmured, staring at the space so recently occupied by Fandral, her words so faint that barely heard it. Tyrande did, however, and shot the druid a sharp glance before nodding faintly.
"Indeed," Tyrande agreed. "But of no matter to you, Rhonin. And perhaps of none to you as well, Kerath'inalla. As I have said, , i will pardon your disguising your true nature within Teldrassil. Do so no further, and no harm shall come to you. Or to the other Highborne wishing to rejoin.. our people. Free him, Kerath'inalla."
Her hands were gentle as she knelt before him, fingers working along the vines as the green light faded from his shackles. They dropped limp to the floor and slowly eased himself to his feet. Krath kept one of her hands on his, gazing into his eyes hopefully as he stood. “You're much taller,” she murmured, her head tilting back where once it tilted down. He gazed back, smiling tiredly and noted the wonder in her eyes. He felt relief and joy filling him, amazed that such a terrible time in his life could finally be over...
The ground shook, hard, so that in his weakened condition found himself stumbling towards a wall to catch himself. He stood there, eyes wide, gazing into Krath's eyes; he had pulled her with him, catching her protectively to his chest during the rumble. Screams and shouts echoed from outside the stone walls, and sentinels drew themselves up from the ground, pushing away tossed about furniture. Tyrande herself was braced against Rhonin near the door.
“An earthshake? Here?” Rhonin shouted, motioning for everyone to follow him as he yanked open the door, to the much safer outside.
"What in the -" Tyrande gasped.
It was all she managed to say as the earth shook the world hard, as it had once before. The walls trembled and the ground rose up in judgement. The sky shook and broke with lines of red, the angry claw marks of a vengeful god. The seas tossed; the seas fell, and around Azeroth they would run screaming from the Cataclysm.
