Aramalia

“Alright, Lady Solisbane said that the elemental would be on the shoreline.”

The large, armored form of the Baron Maras Bloodsword walked calmly and silently at the robed priestess’ side.  His blue-green eyes scanned the mountains as she watched the shoreline, full lips pursed in a tight line; the only visible show of her continued frustration with this contagion that seemed to be consuming the whole of Quel’thalas.  There were times she wondered if this was the fate of the sin’dorei, the destruction of the remains of the handful who survived the Scourge’s assault.  There were times she wondered if this was simply best for the world, that the last of the children of the Highborne peter away, snuffed out like a candle in a storm.

He found her at the pond. Biarzenne had gone to run her errands, and so Korrelas was alone for a bit. He'd rather that she had been with him, but he knew that she needed to be protected. And protection did not necessary mean keeping her by his side. Sometimes it meant keeping her away from his side.

Aramalia stood at the rocks overlooking the pond outside the city, her cloak aglow in the light of the Light, a cowl draped over her head. She glowed like an angel, a brilliant that brought the pain back to his head once again, but muted now to a twinging thump with just enough sting to let him know it was where. Korrelas stopped for a moment, wondering whether he should pretend there was still something between them, or whether he should simply let it go. The world was bigger now. It was changed. With every passing day, his love for Biar extinguish the torch of passion he felt for Aramalia a little bit more. Aramalia was becoming less as person, and more a tool; but then again, she brought that on herself, didn't she? The blind fool … it was time she was played as such.

He stepped in front of her, not bothering even to make eye contact.

“You brought harm to yourself looking for me,” she said after a moment. “You had to have known there was a reason I left without saying.”

Korrelas pulled his gloves off, clipped them onto his belt as he surveyed the stream that ran down into the pond. His hand was still covered in rashes and welts, but was healing. The one thing that showed no signs of such healing was his voice, which made itself known more as a hard breath than speech, the words cloaking themselves in a growl.

“It doesn't matter. What did you learn?” he spat out.

(( NSFW:  language and imagery ))

She was trained to be nobleborn. She was born to dance. I was trained to be a protector, a warrior. I was born to dance as well, only in a different way.

With both swords at the ready, Korrelas slammed into the fiery monstrosity that had begun rolling down the hill toward him. It let out a roar as flames licked his face, further damaged hair already hopelessly seared and frizzed in this land of heat and fire. Another spin sent it off the ledge just in time for him to eye the fire druid blasting into being to his right. As the shadow wardens he had been ordered to protect peered up at him, he flowed to the right like the finest ballet dancer Silvermoon had to offer, in an act that seemed more like a choreographed fall than the stance of a fighting man. The fire druid's weapon lashed out at him, exactly as Korrelas had been expecting, landing with a slam against his shoulder guard. He screamed, dropped the sword that was in his right hand, took a knee to feign injury.

The druid relaxed to gloat. “You dare challenge us in the land of --”

Korrelas reached up with the supposedly injured hand violently, thieved the blade from the fire druids hand and spun with both blades extended, turning with the speed of a goblin weedwacker. Blood sprayed against him as the druid screamed in terror, looking down at arms which no longer possessed hands. Korrelas' twisted his sword so that the flat side faced its direction of travel, which happened to be quickly in the direction of the fire druid's kneecaps. The sound of bone shattering echoed through the Molten Front, as did the poor creature's screams as his legs bent in unnatural way, the druid meeting his undug grave face first. Korrelas dropped the tip of the druid's weapon against the druid's spine. There was yet another crunch, and another scream as the weapon dug in, given incentive to do so by the warrior's own weight as he used it to pole vault over the downed man. Korrelas released the druid's weapon and grabbed his own in one fluid motion as he cartwheeled back into a fighting stance, both blades ready to go.

She laid there, draped in his arms, her body seemingly as frail as an autumn leaf robbed of its tree by the wind. Korrelas had not climbed in her bed with her for years, not since he had lost his fear of mountain storms and the threats they bellowed in the night. Indeed, she had forbidden it. But she was no longer in the position to forbid him anything, and unfortunately he could not lord over what was to come. To be sure, the priests had gathered around, and even the bishop had paid them a call. Her fare for transport to the Light had been paid in full.

Around him, women in scarlet robes stood around, some misty eyed, some standing with the strength their faith demanded of them, their husbands standing directly behind them, a few strengthening the women with hands placed on shoulders, arms wrapped around backs.

The desiccated blood knight reached up, placed a trembling hand on Korrelas' face. “The last rites have been read, boy. It is time to go.”

“No!” he screamed out viciously into her face. “Don't leave!” He wrapped her even more strongly in arms that belonged to a man who would still, for the moment, be a boy.

“Dear Korrelas, time can't be stopped. Life and death cannot be stopped. I don't want you so … so attached to me. This isn't good for you. You have done your duty, and done it well. Now, it is time to move on. You have to go take care of Nobleborn Aramalia now.”

“I don't want to move on!” he wailed. “Please don't do this. Please ...” he managed to say once more before dissolving into his own tears. “I need you.” She never heard his pleas, however, as her eyes had closed, her breathing had become more erratic, shallow.

Another gentle woman's hand caressed the back of his head in motherly fashion. The elderly human woman who comforted him stood at the side of the bed, her Scarlet tabard pressing against him as she held him close. “There is nothing more you can do, young one. It is up to the Light now.”

Korrelas held her face close to his cheek, desperately seeking to feel her breath against it. He clung to the dying woman, whimpered out, “I love you. Please don't leave me now. Not now.”

A tear ran from his eye …

((NSFW: A Few F-bombs))

Journal Entry: Day 13 of leaving home.

Right.  I'm an idiot.  And for the looks of it, I'm going to be a lonely one.  I'm too young.  I'm so young.  When I grow up.  You know what, if I hear that come out of someone's mouth again, I will beat them down with my fishing pole until they cry for mercy.  Yeah, I'm young.  I heard stories in the hostel about some dragon somewhere that can jump around in time.  Sweet.  I'M NOT HIM.  HER.  Whatever, it's not like I'm going to flip the <scratched out> dragon to <scratched out> find out.

Okay.  Yeah.  I'm angry.

Korrelas stepped up to the window at the Silvermoon bank, stared slightly below the eyes of the lady who stood behind the counter. Well, okay, slightly below slightly below the eyes. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Yeaaah,” he answered, then caught himself, snapping his head back up. “Yes.” He opened the envelope far enough to pull a key out, one which had a small keyring attached to it which read SILVERMOON BANK ROYAL EXCHANGE. “I got this. From my mother.” 

“I see,” she mumbled, taking the key out of his hand roughly, apparently put off a bit by the way his eyes had gone spelunking in her blouse. “Well, I can't get you information about another customer's safe deposit box key.” 

Korrelas grumbled, his mood in the wee hours of the morning showing. “Well, I didn't know it was a safe deposit box key until you told me,” he growled. “So you've already gone that far.” 

Fate is an interesting, wonderful thing, son.  In my darkest hour, I put aside common sense for bourbon and sins and need, and from that, the greatest soul to ever grace my life was born.  And ... and in the end, fate will guide you.  From a desperate moment, when all hope is lost, it is then the Light will shine brightest.  To find the greatest things, the greatest people, the greatest moments, you must do what is almost impossible.  Stop looking.

Mother had told him that in the few quick weeks before she had passed away.  And at the moment, as Deathholme spun past him which the chaotic twists and turns of an out-of-control hawkstrider, he definitely wasn't looking.  "For the love of all, stop!"  Korrelas pleaded with the hawkstrider as it bounced about up and down roads, oblivious to his commands, or the surroundings.  He made a quick scan of the area as he rode on helplessly, Dar'Khan's recently detached head bouncing around in his bag.  Maybe, on the other hand, stop wouldn't exactly be the right thing.  "Go!" he changed his mind, pointing toward the exit, then vainly pulling on the reins to try to get this damned beast to simply leave.  But no, it seemed to be rather joyously dancing with all sort of nerubian spiders, wailing spirits, darkened phantasms, and shadow bolt flinging acolytes.

In fact, they were all running around him, appearing rather put off by the hawkstrider's shenanigans.  Quickly, the rampaging bird spun about, almost throwing him, then charged on one of the undead, who was barely able to raise a sword before it trampled the clattering demon, blasting bits of bone and rotted flesh into the air.  Again, it spun around, side-stepped a volley of shadow bolts, and pummeled a female acolyte, who squealed as she slammed onto the ground, clutching at her gut, as it had taken the full weight of the bird.

"Sorry!" Korrelas yelled out, his voice modulating thanks to the hammering bounce of his mount's gate, as the bird, thankfully, made full speed for the exit.  Its body now streamlined for speed, the hawkstrider bolted through the opening to Deathholme, emerged into the Dead Scar itself.  More shadow bolts as the two of them left that wretched place far behind them.

Begin Recording.

It's ironic, it would seem, that a device such as this has become so helpful to me, another little bauble Ixidos had been coming up with.  Such a fine researcher, that boy, if only he had the mind to lead...but I digress.  I record this speech from my sanctum, warded away from the world and its thousands of other recording devices called eyes, ears, and minds.  For so long, I have lived in the public gaze, always swift to recognize my face to the world first.

I have served our people for thousands of years.  I am a very, very old elf, and I know my time is finite.  These are...difficult thoughts, to be sure. 

Overview
As per the Law of Silvermoon, I stand under oath and civil obligation to report to the authorities when, in my practice, I encounter matters of dire importance or gravitas.As per that law, I must unfortunately file this report about an encounter I have recently had with Rhosyn.

 The events
Myself and my student Aizawa D'Aranath were engaged in a lesson in my office, when we heard a commotion coming from downstairs. When we moved the investigate, we noticed a horse (in the barding of a “Charger”) standing behind the bar of the Wayfarer Inn, mounted by the female healer Rhosyn. There was no response to her name, and she appeared at first glance to be in a catatonic state. At this moment, lady Sijmen Beauregarde arrived, and I requested her to dismount Rhosyn and carry her to my office for further investigation.

 Date Filed: April 5th

Excursion Date: April 3rd

((Special thanks to the fine roleplayers above for a fun late night rp session. I tried to do the scene justice as much as possible without a chatlog available and only my poor memory to rely on.  If I failed, the blame is all mine.))

He walked the streets of Silvermoon like a zombie. In his mind, a slow, reverberating chant could be heard in a disturbing mockery of his own voice.

"Mana. Mana. Mana."

More more more.

He clutched his head, squeezing the temples until his head physically ached. He walked, trying to avoid the mana dens but was drawn back to them like a moth to flame. He paced in front of one of the doorways, drawing the attention of several nobles who tut-tutted and clucked their tongues at him.

"Filthy addict," he heard them say. He turned, forced his leaden legs to walk away. Everything was so bright. So bright.

So...purple.

((The following are two letters from Aestan's hand))

MEMORANDUM
TO: LUCAS MALKIN
SUBJECT: ARAMALIA SOLISBANE
CLASSIFICATION: STANDARD

Hello Lucas,

As we discussed, I have taken lady Aramalia Solisbane to the Bazaar today, where she took a vow proclaiming her loyalty to the city, the Legion, and swearing that she had never betrayed us. As you know - the reason I suspected her of treason was because she refused to take this vow. She changed her mind, and her vow was clear-voiced and sincere. Her name, as far as I am concerned, is entirely cleared, and I hope you will feel the same, and make clear to any doubting voices that she is loyal.

As her previous rank was Colonel, before she became the General, I have decided to give her the rank of Lt. Colonel, and as such, I offered her the option to take an Adept under her care. She has chosen Sijmen Beauregarde, and I've decided to honor her request.

 MEMORANDUM
To: Lucas Malkin, Colonel of the Legion ; Hamlen Prideux, Chief Security Officer of the Legion
Subject: The arrest of Lady Aramalia Solisbane

Moments ago, I have apprehended Lady Aramalia Solisbane. I had received a note from her, requesting to meet with me just outside Silvermoon gates, within eyesight of the guards of the gate. When I met up with her, and I asked her how she had been, she told me the following about the Sunsinger Rebellion and her escape: 

Sunsinger appears to be under some form of external control. During a moment of lucidity, he decided to release her and her daughter, after which she made her way to the city. 

By Risael Salvius

Silvermoon, if you've been seeing what I have, you've gotta be pretty damn annoyed right now.  Since the changing of the guard in the Convocation, we've had us a real winner of an autumn and, as some might think, a questionable future going into winter.  All I have to say is simply: Bollocks. 

 Citizens of Silvermoon, 

By order of the Lord-Convocate Jasper Nox, all members of the so-called "Rebellion" are to be considered wanted, dead or alive. 

The charges include the attempted bombing of Silvermoon, the bombing of the Solisbane residence, murder in the first degree, several counts of attempted murder, several counts of reckless endangerment, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping. 
 
Should you choose to be part of the Rebellion, you will be held responsible for every act committed by the organization as a whole. Should you resist arrest, please be advised that deadly force will be used. 
 
- Aestan Firatril, 
Convocate-General of the Legion
------------------------------
DIRECTIVES
TO: ALL BLOOD KNIGHTS, FARSTRIDERS, SILVERMOON CITY GUARDS
FROM: OFFICE OF THE CONVOCATE-GENERAL

Thought I'd whip up some quick signage for Fancy Cakes -- Aestan's idea, really. Not my best work, but it does it's job. ;)

Sebastien wiped the sweat from his brow even as the hawkstrider beneath him fretted anxiously.  It didn't like being here, this place which had so quickly turned from home to hellscape.  They'd been working all day, purging the streets of the infected and the shambling.  Many of the spellbreakers had begun deferring to him as he rode through the streets barking orders, moreso as others rallied to his side whilst he hurled magics into the masses of ghouls plaguing the streets.   Even one of the trolls had begun calling him "captain elfie" which he'd taken as its own odd term of respect.

"Easy there, Camilla..." he chided the Hawkstrider, petting her neck gently.  "We've got this bested yet."

"Sir!" A harried apprentice shouted, pulling up on his own hawkstrider.  "The Argent Dawn is being ordered to pull back, they're being told the situation is untenable." 

She huddles in her husband’s arms, shivering, the telling done. The blacksmith’s hands so gentle, so protective, his deep voice in her ear whispering words of safety. Depite this, she doesn’t feel safe. There’s something wrong yet, something is amiss.

Sunwing on the loose - Two guards murdered - Blood Knight implicated in escape

Silvermoon Correctional -

The city was rocked today to hear of the sudden and brazen escape of Rivanne Sunwing, the implicated suspect of multiple counts of torture and kidnapping as well as an attack upon the pregnant Convocate-General Aramalia Solisbane during Sunwing's capture by the city authorities.

I find I have fun taking these, a few of the ones I like

My mind was a tempest as I crossed over the shattered yards and through broken buildings to my most familiar place. For years it had been a place of sorrow and comfort. Now, with every passing moon, I grew to dread my trips there more and more.

I paused at the door, touching the small markings in the stone to activate wards, which would block my home from the sight and thoughts of those who would look upon it. I hesitated another moment, wondering where the Lord Convocate was.

I reached out for his familiar presence, and almost immediately withdrew; having seen through his eyes, I found that I was looking in upon a moment that I had no business seeing.

How long has it been since you looked upon the benefits of matrimony or felt, Inokentei? I shook the unbidden thought away, knowing that such thoughts were only detrimental to my work.

"You can't get people to listen; in this day and age, if you want people to hear you, you have to hit them with a hammer." -Tobinius Bellsaura; The Pieces of the Puzzle

"Nothing has changed." I murmur, kneeling before the small slab of marble I took from a ruin long ago. "They don't listen. Despite what I do every day, they continue in their own ways. There are changes in the players, but not in the game."

I run my fingertips over the marble, tracing the words I carved once, so torn with grief.

"I'm breaking my promise. I'm so sorry for that." I whisper. "I promised I'd change them, change them so that it could never happen to anyone again. So no one could suffer like you did. So no one would lose anyone like I did. But they're not listening."