Georgiana
A Familiar Voice
Vingetrymming Hall
To the Most Honorable Marquis of Vinguld,
I would have begun this letter on more intimate terms, say, My Love, My Dear Ythgar, or some other equivalent phrase expressing the affections of she who presently holds the pen, but as it has been some seventeen years since we last spoke, I fear the recent impudence of one half-beguiling you under my name may have inured you to the bewitching charms responsible for arranging that little scene in the carriage.
I, it seems, have a great deal of explaining to do.
Conversations with his Guard
Ythgar glared at the shattered soul crystal and spat accurately. High above, in the tiered seats, the humans of Stormwind cheered him. He turned as if on wheels to stare at them with hatred burning in his eyes, and some sank back into their seats, ashenfaced. One idiot blonde continued to cheer stupidly, and he privately promised her he'd find where she was staying and make her lift her voice another way in his honour. Wrynn, that ass, waved encouragingly, and Ythgar longed for nothing so much as sufficient range to yank the oaf to the sands to die screaming as this equally moronic minion had died. "The Black Knight". Paugh. A mindless toy of the Traitor Prince, dancing on and on, strings cut and wood severed, until a soul and nothing more howled into the Nether.
Departure
The Warden sat upon Talah, eyes on a distant peak of the towering mountains of northern Feralas. Rising from the temperate rainforest of the rolling hills, the mountains bore swirling patches of fog like fluttering ribbons of fabric about their stately majesty. The peak her silver eyes gazed upon bore what had been her home for nearly five thousand years. Like an eagle's, Aktarin's eyes sought the tiny gap among the dripping trees where the ancient fortress of Sentinels had stood for the long centuries. Her mind lovingly constructed the Hall as if she stood at its door - the stairs winding down into the forest to merge seamlessly into a hidden path marked by a carven owl. The great doors so richly carved by the many hands who'd lived within - most recently by the pair of Draenei called Aladiana and Nuuliniir. Patches of beaten bronze made a curious, alien look to the doors the huntress had stepped in and out of almost daily for millenia.
