Silea noticed his stress one evening when they had met to catch up and reminisce. Some time before, the announcement of King Terenas' death had finally gone out to the populace, and Silea was smart enough to know that his work was now much harder and far more busy.
"They're going to kill you," she whispered, making Purah choke a little in surprise, spilling his drink a bit down his front. He silently thought to himself, I really need to stop drinking when women make strange comments to me.
After cleaning up a bit, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're working yourself to the bone. You hardly ever see your friends anymore. This latest news is disturbing and I know you know more than the rest of us, and can't say anything. That weighs on a person, too."
He looked away. It was true, every word, and it was hard to not blurt out everything he was feeling to her, his now closest friend. Her hand found his across the table and she squeezed it reassuringly.
"I'm sorry, 'Rah. This probably just made it harder on you, but I worry. You look thinner than you used to, and you rarely smile anymore." She frowned. "Perhaps that's unfair. Not many smile these days, what with all the disturbing news coming from the south."
He did smile, then, though it was small and sad. "Thank you, Silea. This... knowing that you care, that you worry... it means a great deal to me." He sighed. "Honestly, though, I'll be fine. I can handle the pressure, it's no worse than my studies used to be." She didn't look convinced. He wasn't sure he had convinced himself, either. Still, things couldn't be helped or changed, not now.
He bade her farewell outside and walked back to his apartment. The moonlight was comforting and the night air was cool and refreshing. His mood picked up a bit again and instead of staying inside he decided to go for a longer walk around the park near the western gate of the city.
What he saw there, though, quickly dashed any hopes he had of keeping his good mood. Rangers were at the gate, in full armor and weaponry, preparing to depart. The Ranger-General herself, Sylvanas Windrunner, was striding back and forth, looking over the troops before sending them out. It looked to be a scouting party. Purah knew better than most that the more recent news from Lordaeron and the surrounding territories wasn't good. The army of undead marched over the land far faster than any had guessed and more recent reports showed them headed north towards Quel'thalas faster than before, as if they were driven with some purpose in mind.
The raw reports he saw had no further information, but a foreboding began growing in his mind, especially now that the Rangers were going out of the city. What news had come that had made this action necessary? he thought to himself as he stayed out of the way. Curiosity getting the better of him, he made his way out of the park, this time heading towards the station. Information abounded there, and if the Rangers had made this decision recently, the scribes in the station would no doubt know why.
When he entered, he realized quickly that the news had been dire indeed. Another red scroll had come, this time with news almost as terrible as the first. Uther the Lightbringer, one of the greatest paladins of all time, and a great friend to all of the Alliance, was dead. Killed, again by Arthas. This time, none were surprised by the fact that the former Prince had done such a deed. It was well known, now, that he had turned traitor, had become the very thing he had fought so obsessively against, had become a Death Knight of the Scourge.
Still, the loss of Uther was a terrible blow, especially since the note also mentioned that the urn holding King Terenas' ashes was stolen and the Scourge was indeed pressing North into Quel'thalas. What Arthas needed the urn for, none really knew, but it couldn't be for anything good. If he was bringing it here, there had to be a reason, and the consensus was for power.
The Sunwell, Purah thought. It has all the power Arthas would need for whatever terrible thing he's concocting. Now worried, Purah didn't return home. He stayed in the station, working with other scribes in rotating shifts, ensuring the station was manned at all times. As his time at a desk ended and another scribe took his place, he stumbled over to a cot in the corner to sleep for a few hours before doing it all again.
His quiet dinner with Silea was forgotten in the unending rotation, as more and more runners came in with grave news. Terrible things were happening, but the royal family and the council said nothing to the people. The gates of Quel'thalas would hold, they were all told. There is nothing to worry about. The keys are safe and Arthas had no idea how to open them.
Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. Truth be told, they were right. Arthas didn't know how to open the gates, and the Rangers were keeping watch over the forests surrounding the city and their home. Quel'thalas had survived far worse, the Kaldorei people had fought off Trolls and other aggressors for centuries. They'd survive this.
Of course they'd survive this.
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