Rethelia

Urilla makes another letter for Miss Rethelia, but this paper is of crude quality. The stamp of the Exodar is on the note, but nowhere to be found are the fine stationary of Frostmana. The note lies on Urilla's bed, perhaps forgotten as she heads off to train yet another day. It reads...

Light above...this man is huge! It's as if the Naaru chisieled him out of obsidian chunks, and crafted ivory stones for his eyes and teeth. His arms seem to be as hard as titansteel, his bones of enchanted thorium, hardened, and tempered, he shows no pain, feels no pain when he trains us. It's good that we have such an honored man in our midst. It appears that he has seen much turmoil in his life, yet only within the swings of his blade and voice can you sense it.

The letter would be sent to Miss Fallowtide's residency in Dalaran with the absolute care and professionalism. Upon the envelope was the seal of Frostmana pressed lightly upon the opening of the envelope. With the letter came an expensive cane, mahogany wood with ivory grip tip.

Dearest Rethelia:

I hope you enjoy the cane, it is always a saddening sight to see you hobbling around the city last I saw you. How I miss you so! I tried to stop by in Dalaran while ona whirlwind tour of Eastern Kingdoms, and to the Citadel to the north. I was recently in the Quel'thalassian city, and you would not believe the sights I've seen. Their lands were ravaged like the human-owned lands. Just like the humans, they suffered so much. But my eyes are not like theirs, nor my skin tone. Perhaps that is why I was unable to make many friends there. It's so easy to talk to you, you're such an accepting sweetheart. Don't ever change that, OK?

Urilla sits in her chair within the personal study of the Duchess, musing over a letter to write to her friend. She had not seen her in a week's time since going on her sojourn to Silvermoon. Sighing, she thinks aloud. "Good thing the elves saw no reason to behead me. I'm surprised they did not scream a human with some short elf ears walks around their city."

Peering at the letter once more, she gives it a go to read it aloud.

Dearest Rethelia,

How I miss your frame sitting upon the benches in Dalaran. Yours was always unmistakable. Funny how those of no importance can spot other like minded spirits. I still owe you that vacation in the woods, perhaps Eversong? The views are stunning, there is an eternal afternoon in those lands that I have not seen anywhere else. Oh, Or Winterspring! Those snow-capped hills and mountains are dreamy, a shame it is so frigid!

"It's been a long time, Ktar," he said, sitting next to the bed in the Druid's hovel. "You got knocked off your gryphon above the city by Horde invaders.. some.. 4, 5 months ago.  You were lucky to live, however, you've been in a coma for some time. Even our magicks couldn't snap you out of it."

Four months before, Stormwind had been the target of a sneak attack by some small sect within the Horde.  Ktar had been on guard duty with the Children of the Stars over Stormwind that day of the attack. He fell, and for reasons unknown still was unable to shift into his Storm Crow form, nearly falling to his death.

Struggling to sit up, Ktar wheezed in painful breath. "I've been in a coma these past months, but to me, I've been sleeping. And I've dreamt of terrible things to come. I need to find my friends."

"Ktar," the man said, "I am your friend. What is it?"

"Not you," the Elder replied. "I need to find Rethelia. Rethelia Fallowtide."

Stormwind City, Old Town, midnight.  A gnome clad in weather-beaten leather darts down a dimly lit alleyway.  She glances warily from side to side; her eyes narrow as she searches for movement in the darkness.  Assured of her solitude, she climbs into the packing crate serving as her temporary residence.

She awakened slowly...painfully. The lean blonde was shackled to a wall- unable to move much at all, much less find a more comfortable position...and gods, was she weak.

But hadn't Asarel told her that her luck would run out, eventually?

Why, why have I given my word to try and save the life of one I so loathe?

 Petitioned first by the Marquis, who wouldn't give me any solid details as to what the issue was...

 “Lilliana, I am an enemy of the Horde, due to the Forsaken. It would be remiss of me to explain. If your employer thinks you ought to know, then he shall tell you if you ask. Your skills would be useful in this instance.”

Lady Howell frowned, not for the first time, and considered the letter that lay on her desk.  She reflected how interesting it was that a simple piece of paper and such a seemingly innocuous request could hold such peril.  The Fallowtide woman had written her some days earlier requesting; politely, oh so politely, access to the late Countess Cheraville's books.  Such a simple request, and one that raised the most interesting questions.

How had she known of the bequest?  It was generally assumed that the Countess' library had been destroyed in the fire which had consumed her estate following her death.  The books had been conveyed to her some months later through a chain of intermediaries.

((For Verisimi and her research project mostly.  Also for my ego.  Also because I'm bored.  The question was simply "What do you know/think of Elrin?"  Sorry I couldn't use everyone's answer.))

"Elrin? He's a bloody good fighter, I don't worry when he's got my back."
--Teranar

"He's alright.  For a human"
--Hron