All Shadow's War

((Temporaly, this takes place a little more then one month after "To Kill A Goblin" and two weeks after "Nip / Tuck."  Warning for a minor allusion to drug use in the name of arcane science!))

Sometimes we don't miss something, until we realize that it's been lost.

We let ourselves think that the shadow and the light are  two completely different entities.. but I believe that they are not. There are no shadows in the day without the sun, and without shadows.. there really is no need for the sun. It is a closely bonded relationship. I live to exists the shadows.. yet cannot do so without the light.

The central tower in Stormwind rang ten times as Nykalia settled in to the very tiny room. There was little more than a bed and a very small window, and not much room for anything else. Despite her attempt to seem optimistic to Savas, she was very frightened.

Darkshire… sunset…  The light of day began to recede westward, leaving the cursed forest in darkness.

Shannae squinted her eyes to shield them somewhat from the brilliant presence of the Naaru. Today, she had not come to speak with them, simply passing from one of the many portals to another on her way to places better left unvisited. Something was odd on this night, however. A vague feeling of being watched that she couldn't shake set her nerves on edge.

I cannot see you,

I keep you, in my heart.

I cannot hear you,

I keep you, in my heart.

I cannot feel you,

I keep you, in my heart.

I cannot sense you,

I keep you, in my heart.

You are so far away,

But I am not alone.

You're forever, in my heart.

Savas stopped to muse a bit as he wrote the letter, memories washing over him. Another life, yet, not so long ago now compared to the weight of ages he bore these days. He could still see her hand over his, long feminine fingers adorned with simple yet exsquisitely fine jewelry. He could hear her voice, the elvish accent strong, but pleasant, like music, as she remarked how far he'd come, in such a short time. Had she not known better, she would have thought he was an elf himself. The nostalgia passed, and he took up the quill once more. There was work to be done yet.

Malafese had always been a good boy. This had nothing to do with the wicked brats nature, per se, but more as a result of his uncanny talent for not being caught. This time though, he was in the limelight, and he reveled in it. He'd always had a big mouth when he wanted to use it, and the great thing, he decided, about the mob mentality is how much power that gives you over the actions of the mass.

The Cathedral loomed into view, the light of their torchs and the rolling of their angry voices bouncing off it, cast back almost with a sneer from the marvelous ediface. Malafese grinned to himself...he hoped to wipe that sneer off with blood tonight.