Transformation: In which a choice is made

"You had better explain, Naaru," I said, my voice dark and threatening. "You were supposed to save her, so there is only once choice between those two."

Chromie winced at my harsh tone, glancing up at the Naaru floating serenely above us and I felt a heavy hand on my arm. Sebbat's hand, no doubt trying to keep me from doing anything rash. The chiming voice in my mind was once again calming, but I was not so easily soothed this time.

{Purah Bloodblade, as one of the undead, you know that the connection to soul and body is tenuous at best. Yrovi's soul is shattered, pieces of it already swallowed up by the Twisting Nether. I have the power to make it whole again, but if I do, the undead body will reject it. Her body will be a corpse, an empty shell, and her soul will move on.}

My face fell as I knelt by her side. Surprisingly, Chromie patted my arm, comforting me as she could. "Don't lose all hope, Purah. A'dal did have another idea..."

{Yes, which is why I called you. Though death is not a terrible end, as all things must die in time, Yrovi was not meant to find this kind of death, not now. As you said, Chronormu, Yrovi's timeline has been tampered with, and this was not supposed to be her fate. The other side of this coin, then, is to change her timeline again, to prevent this from befalling her.}

The gnome-dragon nodded. "Precisely. Yrovi was not meant to come into contact with whatever it was that sucked in her soul. There is a very good chance that I can alter her timeline to ensure this fate does not occur, it's just... well..." Chromie's face fell.

"What is it, Chromie?" asked Tyra, the worry obvious on her face. I stared down at the warrior, wanting anything except her death. "Tell us."

The dragon sighed. "I'll do another sweep of time, just to be sure of my calculations, however..." she paused again, wincing. "However, from what I can see, the only way to ensure that Yrovi never meets this fate is to go pretty far back in her timeline. Far enough that I'd be changing more things than just this unfortunate end. In fact, there's no telling what may happen if I meddle in her fate, or the repercussions it will have in all of our timelines, since Yrovi has touched us all."

So that was the choice, then, I thought to myself. Either she dies, or she is never here. But A'dal had said the choice was between... It hit me then, like a punch to the gut, just what the Naaru and the dragon were saying. "Oh, gods..." I groaned.

Sebbat and Tyra understood it too, as I heard gasps from each of them in turn behind me. Karrim grunted and turned away, seemingly disgusted with the whole affair. Cobb, on the other hand, seemed strangely still. It's so damn hard to read him, I can't even tell if that fool warlock even understands what A'dal has said.

"Let her die. The Yrovi I know wouldn't want to live again. She was a proud member of the Forsaken," Karrim said coldly over his shoulder. "I wash my hands of it. If any of you lot need me for anything, you know where to find me." He moved away and then disappeared in a flash of light, teleporting away.

"Damn him for leaving like that!" Tyra said angrily, but Sebbat gestured for her to calm herself.

"Karrim is a true Forsaken, Tyra, and cannot understand the position the rest of us are in. There is little room in his heart for compassion. Besides, I think this has hit him harder than he expected. He told me once that Yrovi had given him the willpower to be more than just a tool for vengeance. She taught him to enjoy his life after death, to explore and learn and become a better mage, not just for the glory of the Dark Lady, but for himself. I think the thought of her being gone for good frightens him a little, and he cannot bear to stay here any longer."

Tyra seemed satisfied, but I wasn't. I sat beside her and held one of her bony hands in my own, wondering if the pain in my chest would ever ease. What would I wish for her? No, that's not the question I should be asking... What would Yrovi want for herself? I thought of the days we would ride through the plaguelands, where she would tell me stories of her youth in Lordaeron. I thought of the days that we would fight, side-by-side, slaughtering Scourge, reveling in our power and skill. Of the stories we traded over the campfire of our experiences with the Lich King and how we escaped his power to be free again... Free again.

"There are worse things than death, you know," Tyra finally said, quiet. "I have seen terrible things, and terrible fates for men and women who fight the wars of this world. As a healer, I often must try to save them from their own foolishness, pull them back from the brink of death, even revive those who have passed beyond the reach of simple healing or the skilled touch of a field medic... and I've come to realize that death is probably pretty peaceful." I saw a single tear on her cheek before she wiped it away. "Yrovi was strong, and brave, and bold. She didn't fear death, or undeath. I think she'd want to go out fighting, like any good warrior, but I also think she'd enjoy peace."

With that she looked up to A'dal and nodded, and I knew she had told the glowing being to make her soul whole again and let her pass on. I found myself hating her for it. Sebbat and Cobb still hadn't made their choices for Yrovi. It suddenly seemed so wrong that this was how her final fate was determined, by us and not her.

Sebbat shook his head. "While Yrovi would no doubt like peace, I think she would like life better. Yrovi was always curious to me. I found her fascinating, her interest in life, in protecting others. As a Druid, I wanted to nurture that in her, and she spoke to me of her life and how she sometimes missed it." He turned to Chromie and continued, "If you can alter her history so that she does not die in the first place, I think she would be pleased."

The tauren's words echoed in my own heart. To live again... what I wouldn't give to feel my heart beating, and the air in my lungs, and the sun on my face. "I agree," I found myself saying. "Yrovi wasn't afraid of anything. And she'll find peace. One way or another. As you said, A'dal, all things must die, and humans in particular have such short lives. Let her live hers as she was meant to." I realized, then, that I would never meet her if she lived, and part of me regretted my words, but I didn't say anything more. I would rather she live and be happy having never met me, than have her die like this, in the darkness of that evil, her soul shredded and marred, even if A'dal can make her whole again. I would rather have never met her, than have her die like this.

I realized that it was Cobb's decision that would determine her fate. He realized it, too, it seemed, as his eyes were shut tightly. His imp minion tugged lightly on his tattered robes in concern, his squeaky voice uttering words I couldn't make out.

{He would have you hear his words, Purah. Will you listen?} Surprised, I turned to look at the warlock, and for the first time I saw the undead man as more than just a rotted, walking corpse. There was emotion in his eyes, one I knew was echoed in my own, and one that I was shocked to find there: Love. Love for Yrovi. Love that ran so deep that it was beyond the reach of the numbness that came with undeath. There was fear there, too, though, and I was afraid of what he'd say.

{I don't know what to do, Purah.} The voice wasn't the chiming of the Naaru. It sounded young, and scared, and... almost fragile. It was nothing like what I expected. {I know that you love her. I do, too, though she would never have... well. It doesn't matter now, does it? Karrim and Tyra say to let her die, to find everlasting peace, and I want to. I want her to feel happy again, but...} the voice in my mind trailed off as Cobb looked away, his yellow eyes glazing over, his hand clutching the soulstone he had used in the failed attempt at saving Yrovi.

"But you fear what will happen if she dies... If you know that her light, her energy, is gone from the world forever."

He nodded. {The thought of Yrovi not existing in the world makes it a much darker place. She was meant to help others, to protect others, just as she has helped and protected each of us. How many will die if she's not in the world in some capacity or another? I would have fallen in to madness without her guidance.} He turned to the Naaru and the gnome, his voice silent again. I looked at him with a new respect, not realizing just what kind of mind he had, the thoughts and emotions locked inside a body long past repair.

{It is decided, then.} A'dal's chiming voice finally said. Cobb and I looked at one another, and I could tell we both hoped we made the right choice. Tyra turned away, unable to watch, and Sebbat did his best to comfort her.

A little fearful, I moved back as Chromie reached out and touched Yrovi's pale face. The gnome-dragon shimmered and Yrovi seemed to fade in and out as the time-traveler adjusted the timeline: pale bones were suddenly covered with flesh that changed from deathly pale to rosy and lively, and her golden eyes, almost dark, flared with life again, changing to a hazel hue that fluttered open and blinked, seeing me. She smiled, though it seemed sad.

{You had better say your goodbye. The timeline is changing and all of you will be changed with it.}

I leaned down and looked her in the eyes. She seemed confused, and suddenly very fragile. "I love you, Yrovi Greenfield of Lordaeron. Remember that, always." I brushed my cold lips against hers, now red and full of life. I was surprised and pleased to feel her return the gesture and whisper "I'll remember."

Cobb shuffled closer as she sat up, my hand supporting her as she stood, still fading in and out as the time-stream started to take her back. She stared down at hands that were whole, then looked up to A'dal. "Thank you." She whispered, and turned back to us. "Thanks to all of you." She looked at Cobb as she said it, and reached her hand out to him, which he took gently. "Don't ever be afraid of who you are, Cobb."

Sebbat and Tyra nodded to her in farewell, and she turned to me one last time, her eyes shining with tears. "Where I go, you can't follow, death knight, but it doesn't matter. Part of me will be with you, always." She placed a warm hand on my chest, over my heart. "Remember that you are not the Lich King's and never will be again. Remember that undeath is just another way of saying a second chance. Remember..."

She was gone, as was Chromie. I stood under A'dal, the Naaru's light cascading down all around me, and felt the sorrow wash over me. I embraced it, letting it fill me, knowing that it was an emotion I shouldn't be able to feel, and loved the fact that I still could, no matter how painful it may be.

{The only gift I can give you now, is a memory of her to keep. Because she never became one of the undead, when you leave my light, you will forget you met her, forget she was once your ally. Think of how you want to remember her, and go with my blessings.}

Sebbat and Tyra left first, sad, but content. I thought of all the moments we had shared together, all the times we found peace in each other's company, and I found it impossible to choose only one. I realized that I didn't want to remember her as I had known her, that it would be an insult to consolidate our friendship into a single moment.

"Let me remember her as she left, as a living, breathing woman, rather than the Forsaken I knew. Let me remember her parting words." I felt the chiming song in my mind, and closed my eyes to see her living face imprinted on my mind as clear as if she stood there now. If I was still capable of tears, I would have shed them.

Cobb nodded as well and we turned to go. I glanced at him, wondering what memory he chose.

"None of 'ya business, what the Master chose, elfy," his minion said, voice high-pitched and grating. I considered kicking the little demon, but simply shrugged and nodded to the warlock. He summoned his fel charger and rode slowly away towards the lower city, his eyes blank, his hand still clutched around the soulstone. As I watched him go, I felt tired and worn.

I glanced back one more time to the glowing chamber of the Naaru. A'dal hung there, serenely, the swirl of light the Naaru created illuminating the city. It felt so strange to be standing here... I was supposed to be in Northrend, wasn't I? I had tasks to complete...

I shrugged it off, the feeling slowly passing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chromie entering A'dal's chamber, and wondered what she was up to, and if she was the reason I felt befuddled. Damn bronze dragons, always meddling in the affairs of the mortals. As I lifted off into the night sky, I stared up at the stars and thought they were beautiful, and wondered why my lips felt so warm, and the echo of a woman's voice sounded in my mind.

...Remember.

((And that's that! Yrovi will get a few new stories that deal with her human self and Purah and gang will get different stories, too, now that Yrovi doesn't exist in the same way as before. That's not to say that they'll never meet again. I mean, Dalaran is neutral, you know!))

Transformation: In which a Naaru calls a Gnome

The chiming voice was soothing, calming, and warm. It filled my mind, and pushed back the dark thoughts and feelings that had nearly overwhelmed me... feelings that I thought I had completely overcome. It seems that the Lich King had trained me too well.

{Bring her to me} it chimed again, a little louder, as though to drown out my dark thoughts of death and blood.

I obeyed, leaning over her to gently scoop Yrovi up. Sebbat, Tyra, Karrim, and the still slightly shaken Cobb followed close behind me to the central chamber in Shattrath. There, hovering above the dais, in bright, shining glory, was A'dal. It was A'dal's chiming voice that urged me forward with Yrovi in my arms. The Naaru's voice was more obvious here, and yet not overwhelming. A little spark of hope flared in my cold heart.

I placed her beneath the great Naaru and bowed my head low. "Please," I said, quiet, pleading. "Please. Save her. If you can, save her. She deserves your mercy."

The light from the floating being of Light pulsed a bit and radiated down onto Yrovi's prone form.

{Mercy? An interesting word to use, Death Knight. Interesting, but fitting, perhaps, for one such as you. Yrovi had mercy, too. She, unlike so many of the Forsaken, clung to old memories of love, kindness, and hope. Through her strong will, she did not dispair, did not turn fully to the darkness of vengeance and hatred so common amongst the undead.} The song-voice turned a little sour, slightly off key, as though sad. {And she will need all her willpower now, as her soul has been shredded and pulled into the Nether by some old power.}

I clenched my fists and shut my eyes tightly. No wonder Cobb could not pull her soul into his crystal... it is beyond the reach of any mortal, now.

"Please!" I pleaded again, more urgently, knowing every minute that passed could be her last. "If there is anything you can do, great Naaru, do it! She means a great deal to us. To me."

I hadn't wanted to admit the truth about my feelings for her. I hadn't wanted to admit that she made me feel alive, and whole, and truly free. I hadn't wanted to admit that she made me feel love again. It shouldn't have been possible. I shouldn't have wanted it so badly. Yet... here I was, practically on my knees before a being that should make me cower in shame, begging for aid. Me, a Death Knight, a former member of the Scourge, an undead killing machine, begging...

{Let us see what can be done, then, Purah Bloodblade, though you may not like the choice that must be made, and it will not be you alone who will make it.}

The chiming in my mind grew louder then and seemed to spread out, into the world and beyond. The air grew still, then almost warm, and then hot. I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure build and wondering what the Naaru had done, when I heard a tiny pop and the heat and pressure vanished.

A high-pitched, bubbly voice spoke out, "Goodness, A'dal. If you needed to see me so badly, I wish you'd find another way to call on me. That was a bit uncomfortable." I spun around quickly, my runeblade finding its way to my hand automatically, before I realized just who it was.

"Chronormu," Sebbat said, his voice deep and full of respect. He nodded a greeting to the tiny gnome dressed in white and bronze. My eyes grew wide, as I had only heard stories of the well-known dragon of the bronze flight. Somehow, I had expected someone taller... and more... male.

The little gnome giggled quietly and returned the greeting, then turned to each of my comrades in turn. "Tyralina, hello again! And Karrim and Cobb still together, I see... huh, strange. Or is it not? Sorry, I do lose track of timelines now and again." The two undead glanced at each other, obviously wondering if the dragon-gnome was speaking of the past before they met, or of a future event yet to come. She turned to me then, a small smile on her face. "Oh. Purah Bloodblade. We meet at last. Or, have we met before?"

I shook my head, wary of the dragon. "No, we have not, though I am hoping that if A'dal brought you here, it is to help Yrovi." At the mention of the undead warrior's name, Chromie glanced past my legs to see the comatose Forsaken. "Oh, dear... what happened? This doesn't seem familiar to me at all..."

She pushed past me and knelt by Yrovi's side. "This wasn't meant to be in her timeline, A'dal. Someone or something has meddled with her." Chromie was silent, then, her head tilted up slightly as though listening to something. A'dal's voice, no doubt, speaking words mere mortals aren't meant to hear. My eyes narrowed in distrust as my inner voice grew bitter. I knew, deep in my heart, that I had no right to ask grand favors of creatures like the Naaru or the dragons. I had done horrific things in service of the Lich King, and I had not been a brave soul in life, either. I had a great deal of blood on my hands. Still, Yrovi had done heroic things, great things, in service of the Argent Dawn and the Horde...

{Listen now all friends of Yrovi. You who are her closest friends and allies must make a choice and it must not be made lightly.}

The chiming seemed a little off key to me, as though unsure. I turned to stare up at the Naaru's glittering form, my mind set and prepared.

"What choice, great one?" asked Sebbat.

A pause as the chiming nearly stopped entirely. {You much choose if Yrovi lives... or truly dies again.}

((Fail for me. Not only did I initially use the triangular-shaped brackets for A'dal's voice (which cause the text to dissapear, since it's used for HTML code) but I didn't save the Naaru's speech, so I had to write it again. Also, I totally realized that the first part of Transformation was written in third person perspective instead of first, so I'll have to go back and fix that, too. The story is nearly finished, and I'm really pleased with it, surprisingly. Most of the stuff I write I end up disliking at some point (like Brothers, which I'm actually in the process of reworking entirely), but I'm really digging this one.))

Transformation: In which healing fails

Sebbat, changed into a living tree, swayed back and forth, chanting quietly, his amber, bark-covered limbs glowing brightly with the power of his healing magics. Yrovi lay on the ground at his roots, bathed in the green light. Tyra, a Sin'dorei paladin, had joined the druid in his work, and the golden power of the Light flowed and intertwined with the power of nature.

I watched, silent, worried. Though I could tell that both of them were pouring all their power and knowledge into helping her, she didn't awaken... she didn't even move. I sat quietly, unmoving, my gaze unwavering, with the patience that only the dead have. I didn't even stir when I was joined on each side by familiar Forsaken.

"No change, then?" asked the one on my right, his voice gravelly. I said nothing. He shrugged a bit, and watched our leader and the paladin work. His companion glanced my way, but said nothing... though this was not unusual, since he was missing his jaw. Karrim and Cobb, a mage and warlock, one rarely seen without the other. The warlock's imp minion opened his mouth to speak, but, thankfully, Cobb silenced him with a kick. The last thing I wanted to hear was that screeching voice, no matter what it was meaning to say.

Slowly, the glow from Sebbat and Tyra faded, and I could see sweat beading on the lady's face. Even Sebbat appeared ashen, his usually golden leaves almost grey in the starlight. Yrovi still hadn't moved.

The paladin approached me, her face wary. "Purah," she began, and my gaze shifted from the comatose warrior to her green eyes. She winced and took a half step back, but continued, "We don't understand... Everything we do, every spell we use, all the power we pour into her body and soul is simply absorbed. Nothing we do seems to work. I'm... I'm so sorry."

She moved to lay a hand gently on my arm, but Karrim blocked her, shaking his head. He knew me well, and knew that the last thing I wanted was a comforting touch. I felt cold inside... empty and dark, and I could feel my eyes unfocus as her words set in. "Nothing?" I stood slowly, feeling a dangerous strength build inside, and though Tyra was tall, I still stood over her. "Nothing?" My voice was nearly a whisper, but it hit her with force, and she took another step back, her expression worried. My fingers twitched near my runeblade's hilt.

"Enough, 'Rah," the undead mage said, quickly moving to block my path. "We'll find something that will help, some way to bring her back, pull her out of this..."

I didn't notice that Cobb had pushed past us, his tattered robes sweeping the stone as he shuffled quickly over to Yrovi. His imp cowered a bit, but followed obediently after. The jaw-less warlock pulled out a ceremonial dagger, one that had seen a great deal of use, from the looks of it, and used it to cut open Yrovi's arm. I wanted to stop him, but if Sebbat and Tyra couldn't save her, then I'd let him try, no matter how terrible the magic.

She had no blood to bleed, but the athame didn't seem to need actual blood for whatever spell the warlock was hatching, as a stream of dark magic pulsed between him and Yrovi as soon as the cut was made. His yellow eyes glazed over and flickered, and what was left of his face contorted into a grimace of what appeared to be pain. I knew something was wrong when even his imp began to keen. He shuddered, then, and collapsed to his knees, but still the spell continued, unwavering, through his sheer force of will.

I moved to stand at his side, and though I wasn't fond of Cobb, or his magic, I placed a hand on his bony shoulder to steady him. He seemed lost in his spell, whatever it was, and reached into his robe to pull out a light-purple crystal, a soul shard, I realized. The magical bind that linked him to our warrior pulsed and brightened, swirling up and into the crystal. It filled it with light... and then vanished, the spell broken. Yrovi remained still, and Cobb seemed exhausted with the effort. The soulstone was dark.

His imp coughed and sputtered, clutching at its neck, "It... it was too powerful... the thing, the blackness that has her. I couldn't pull her out. I couldn't..." The voice was forced, and less grating than usual, and I guessed that Cobb had spoken through the little demon. I squeezed his shoulder in silent thanks, though the demon looked irritated.

"You tried, at least. For that, I thank you," I said quietly, so that the warlock alone could hear. I felt as I had when I had died. I could feel nothing but pain, and my mind was clouded with grief. Cold gripped my heart and turned it to stone, just as it had when I had been raised from the dead to serve the Lich King... and then, I heard a gentle chiming in my head, and a warm light that melted my frozen heart again, pushing back the cold.

{Bring her to me.}

Transformation: In which there is a hasty flight

I could feel her leaving, feel the energy behind her golden-glowing eyes fading faster with every moment, and my still heart was aching at the thought of losing her. I can't bear to think of whatever fate awaits her if that light slips away.

My skeletal gryphon shifted and twitched as I laid her quickly, but gently, over the saddle, praying silently that whatever was wrong, whatever had harmed her would release it's hold, that she would blink and sit up and scold me in her echoing voice for worrying about her as she so often did. But she didn't, and her eyes remained dim.

Not a sound, no movement at all and I had to fight the urge to yell or strike her, anything to get a response of some kind...

"Yrovi, I swear to the gods, if you don't come back from this, I will hunt your soul down and drag you back myself," I whispered, my voice strangely hoarse and angry and raw. It shouldn't even be possible to feel this way, to have this ache in my chest where my once-beating heart rests, feel the constriction around lungs that no longer need breath, but I do feel it... and it was more painful than the lashes from the Succubus demons they had been fighting, more painful than the fel-fire burns I bore, so painful, in fact, that I wanted to trade places with her, just to escape the alien emotions that were clouding my mind.

The rush of the wind as the undead gryphon took to the sky on bony wings calmed me. It was cooler in the air above the fiery peninsula, the wind less heavy with fire, and ash, and sand. Already a call had gone out to the others, a plea for aid, and they were coming. "Meet in Shattrath," Sebbat had said, his voice strong and sure over the communication stone they all carried. "Tyra and I shall meet you there to heal Yrovi of whatever is harming her."

***

Shattrath was quiet, the night sky overhead clear. It would be almost beautiful under any other circumstances, but I didn't notice as we glided in to land in the upper ring of the city. A large, horned cat stepped out of shadows and transformed into an even larger, horned tauren. He nodded a silent greeting, but I cared little for formalities when Yrovi was this ill. I pulled her down from the saddle and cradled her in my arms, armor and all.

"She's dying, Sebbat. She's dying again, and I can't stop it from happening."

((A quick explanation for this story: I server and faction switched Yrovi some time ago in order to have a level 80 character on the same server that my RL friend was on for access to gold, heirloom items, run throughs, etc. Because of this, I of course imagined how it would be explained in terms of RP or a story that fit the Warcraft universe, and Transformation started coming about. I'll be borrowing some famous NPCs from WoW, including A'dal and the one and only Chronormu (aka Chromie) of the Bronze flight, along with my interpretations of some old characters that belong to previous guildies of mine. Enjoy.))

Preparation: Loem of Gilneas

Cataclysm is coming. It looms closer and closer, excitement building crazily. I can hardly wait.

Even my guild is starting to prepare for the ending of the world... of warcraft... as we know it. The progressive raiding group in the guild has begun making plans for the chaos of having to level up again and how to deal with raiding once they get enough level 85 characters. People are talking about alts and who they will be and how this will change their characters. It's very exciting.

What is even more exciting is a new house within my guild, one that is starting entirely in preparation for the coming Worgen race. I would classify the guild as a whole as lawful good, for the most part, though a few of the houses might be a bit more lawful neutral. Wait... is that an option? Lawful neutral? I've never actually been that familiar with these categories, to be honest, as I think they're a DnD thing, which is something I've never played.

Anyway, the houses in my guild usually show unity by having a uniform and a specific mount and such to wear for RP events. What's totally awesome to me, is that the planned RP clothing I had already collected for my future rogue is the house's uniform... the Silver-Thread set. It's a beautiful set, honestly, and just about perfect for the house's theme. The mounts will be Silver War Talbuks, which will be fun to grind out. I've never, on any character, gotten enough reputation to purchase a Talbuk. They're very cool looking, though, so I'm excited.

As for other things for him, I've prepared a wish list that I've already started on. I'm getting Loem the Stained Shadowcraft Shoulders and Tunic, and probably at least one of the heirloom daggers (probably the Balanced Heartseeker). In fact, the tunic is taken care of already, though another alt is borrowing it for just a little while longer, 'till she hits Northrend, at least. It won't take me long to get the other things, as I'm doing the tournament dailies, rather than using Emblems.

Other preparations include getting bags and such for him, as well as certain materials and things. All that's left, really, is to ensure his story checks out. The story on this site is sort of the semi-polished draft, the story as I thought of it, with a bit of rewriting and reworking. It can change, and probably will change, before the cataclysm. Besides, I don't actually know the true Worgen story, yet, and that will need to be integrated as well before he becomes a truly solid RP character.

So much to do, and less and less time!

Starfall

It happened suddenly, unexplained. A gift of the titans, perhaps, or a Kirin Tor experiment gone awry in Ulduar. The true nature was unknown. Where they came from, why they appeared... it didn't matter. But they were beautiful, and shining, and remarkable.

The heavens were clear, the night sky dark, but strewn with stars of all sizes and brightness, as though sparkling crystals hung suspended in the vastness of the surrounding dark, high above. Then, suddenly, some unseen hand or force cut the strings. Hundreds, thousands, of stars cascaded down from the sky, a rain of crystal and light. Some fell slowly, others swift, a chaotic swirl to the earth, grouping together into clusters that took form.

Constellations on the move. They coalesced into familiar shapes; winged steeds of the stars. The people looked up in awe and they traveled down, shining, glittering, beautiful. A gift of the heavens.

The Celestial Steeds of the sky have arrived.

Players: Loem Kingswarden of Gilneas

Name: Loem

AKA: Loem Kingswarden, Loem of Lordaeron, Loem of Gilneas, Squire Loem

Physical Description: Tall and lithe, Loem is graceful, for a human. Unlike his father and brother, who were built to be warriors, Loem follows his mother’s slender build. Though his hair is naturally brown, he dies it black, and keeps it quite short. He’s often seen in dark-colored, comfortable clothing.

Skills: Loem is a rogue, and a master of disguise and stealth. He is also fairly knowledgeable about poisons and can throw a dagger accurately from many yards away. Though he claims no real profession, he is quite good at tracking and killing small prey, and is a very efficient skinner. He’s dabbled a bit in creating leather armor, as well.

Basic Background: Loem was born in Lordaeron six years before the First War. His father, Laric Kingswarden, was a knight of Lordaeron, and insisted that his oldest son become a squire and follow in his footsteps. Though Loem wasn’t built like a warrior, he obeyed his father’s wishes. As a squire, he served his father in the Second War, though he was technically three years too young to have completed his training.

When his father was slain fighting orcs, he began serving another knight, this one of Gilneas, one of the human kingdoms of the Grand Alliance. He served this new knight master, Uldor, until the end of the war. Unfortunately, due to a mix up in the military records, he was apprehended and wrongfully accused of thievery and stolen identity, thus forced back into Gilneas where he was held long enough for the Greymane wall to be completed and shut, locking him forever in the foreign country. Uldor gave him a home and the training required to become a spy and while he is relatively happy in his new home, he misses his brother and often thinks of him and whether he has survived the wars and other events that have plagued the remainder of the Alliance.

Unfortunately, the wall, while designed to protect the people of Gilneas, could not keep Arugal’s curse out. After watching much of the populace fall victim to the terrible transformation, and fighting against former friends and allies, Loem also contracts the curse, becoming a Worgen himself. Wishing for a cure, he suffers along with the populace of Gilneas, waiting for what the future will bring.

Players: Leodry Kingswarden of Ironforge

Name: Leodry

AKA: Leo, Leodry Kingswarden, Graz’s Human, Leo Stoutstump

Physical Description: Leodry is an average 32 year old human, standing just over 6 feet in height and very muscular. His green eyes are usually scanning for trouble, or the nearest tavern, depending on his mood. Leo keeps his brown hair cropped to no longer than shoulder-length, though it usually looks like he did it himself... with a butcher’s knife rather than shears, but at least it’s clean. He makes no effort to appear handsome, at any rate. He sports a small beard as well, most likely to help hide a long, thin scar that runs from just beneath his eye, down his cheek, to his chin.

Skills: Leo is a warrior, most comfortable with large swords. Though once a member of the Lordaeron army, he hasn’t touched a shield in quite some time, and has little interest in the finer arts of shield-bearing. Instead, he is a worshipper of steel and a fine blade, learning all he can about balanced combat. A blacksmith, most of his armor is self-made and maintained, though his unusual pauldrons are actually his father’s, found in the plaguelands and fully repaired to be put to use once again.

Basic Background: Born shortly before the Second War, Leodry is actually the younger of two sons of the Kingswarden house, a former noble family. After falling out of favor, however, the estates were squandered away, until little was left for current generations. He lived with his father and older brother, after his mother died giving birth to him, on their estate in Northern Lordaeron. Unfortunately, at age six, his father went to fight in the Second War, taking his brother along as a squire. Neither returned, leaving him an orphan, and the only remaining member of the noble Kingswarden family.

Once he had grown up, he joined the army as well, following in his father’s footsteps. Quickly making his way through the ranks, he served under Prince Arthas during the Third War, until the battle of Stratholme, where he deserted, running south into dwarven lands. There, he stayed with a small Wildhammer family for a time, before finally making his way to Ironforge where he rejoined the Alliance war effort. He currently keeps a home in Ironforge, when he isn’t out on the road.

Players: Brother Fandren of the Church of the Light

Name: Fandren

AKA: Brother Fandren

Physical Description: Fandren is rather average in height, at just under 6 feet, though he still has time to grow a bit. Slim rather than muscular, he is rather like a stork, all limbs, occasionally tripping over his own feet. Dark black hair frames a slightly square, handsome face. Eyes nearly as dark as his hair look out with curiosity. Though Fandren has had his share of tragedy, he’s quick to smile and laugh, and rarely carries a frown for too long.

Skills: A priest of Stormwind, Fandren focuses on holy magics, though he used to practice the darker Shadow magics. He is scholarly, choosing to also study a bit of the arcane, at least as it pertains to augmenting armor and weapons with various enchantments. His time as a priest has also taught him how to care for himself, as he can cook, create bandages, and clean a fish efficiently. He also has a real knack for tailoring, as he creates most of his clothing himself.

Basic Background: Fandren is an orphan, as his parents were killed by bandits shortly before the Third War. Luckily for him, the Cathedral of the Light took him in and trained him in the ways of the cloth. There, he made fast friends with another orphan, Seona Lightstone, another priestess who later became a paladin. Headstrong, sometimes to a fault, he often wishes to do things his own way, which has caused friction between his mentors of the Church and himself on a regular basis, particularly when it comes to his studies.

In fact, after some very poor choices and a harrowing trip to Kalimdor to right some wrongs, he turned completely away from Shadow magic and focused entirely on the Light again. While this has eased his relationship with the Church and his teachers there, he can’t help thinking that he has failed himself somehow. He continues his scholarly pursuits when he can, between aiding various militias in the Human kingdom of Stormwind, where he currently resides.

Brothers: Seventeen

Loem, age 11

Gilneas, after the Second War

Hektor looked in on Loem over the course of the next few days, but he said nothing as there was nothing to say. All hope of seeing his brother again, the only family of his blood he had left, was gone. He spent the days in the stable seeing to Praetor or in a small clearing outside of the town, silently practicing with his sword and his daggers. The nights he spent curled up in his bed, quietly crying himself to sleep.

It was on a very bright morning that Uldor grabbed him, turned him over, and splashed water on his face. “I know it hurts, Loem, but you’re killing yourself. I’ve sent a message through the gate and I can only hope it gets to your brother, wherever he may be, but this is ridiculous. You can’t live the rest of your life moping about forever. Besides, I need you. Until I say otherwise, you’re still in my employ.”

Loem, wanting to give back a biting retort, thought better of it, and slowly sat up, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to dry it. “Was the water really necessary, m’lord?” he finally had the courage to say, but Uldor only shrugged and left, pointing to some clean clothes that had been set out as he exited, next to a warm bath that had been prepared.

Loem stripped from his filthy clothes and eased into the steaming water. He sat there for some time, simply soaking, before finally scrubbing away the dirt and grime from the road and the past days of moping about. Feeling cleaner and much better, he got out of the bath, dried off, and put on the clean clothes, tossing his old ones into a pile near some of the other washing that still needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened the door and went down the stairs to the main room of the inn.

Hektor was there, talking to a young woman, most likely the barmaid, a smile on his face. The Innkeeper was conducting business with another tenant of the inn, and Lord Uldor was drinking and eating breakfast, reading a scroll. Feeling a bit sheepish, knowing how insulting it was that he had acted so foolishly after everything that Uldor had done, he made his way over to the young lord, bowing his head.

“I wish to apologize, my lord, for my behavior. I... understand what you did for me, and I’ve been repaying you in a very poor way. For that, I’m terribly sorry.” Uldor looked up from his work and stared at Loem for some time before nodding and gesturing to the seat next to him.

“It takes a great deal to come to me and apologize, Loem. I respect you for that.” He turned to the barmaid, indicating that she should bring a plate of food for Loem as well, and continued, “I know that you’re dealing with something very difficult and that the transition to living here is not going to be an easy one. I promise to do everything I can to make it as comfortable as possible, truely. I know that Hektor wants to spend more time with you, training you, as you have some real talent.”

The barmaid came by, then, carrying a plate laden with warm food and a mug of simple melon juice. It was a hearty meal, of ham and eggs, and some vegetables. Loem dug in right away, the smell of the food reminding him that he had hardly eaten for several days, and the food before that had been simple, and rather awful, prison food. Once he had eaten his fill, the table was cleared and he sat and listened to Uldor, Hektor, and one of Uldor’s men from his estates go over the plans for his return.

Loem was fascinated by all the planning that went into running a large household smoothly, and how much had to be dealt with even when the lord wasn’t at home. He listened intently, learning about various things like the proper way to store grain (as some of Uldor’s hadn’t been was was now ruined), how to split up work between farmers so that all of them would have plenty to do (as idle hands are the worst kind, as Uldor laughingly put it), as well as how much and what kinds of food to keep to plant next season.

Hektor motioned for Loem to follow him out once the talk between Uldor and his servant changed to politics. As they stepped outside, the sun shone down, warming the stones, and their faces. “That was terribly dull to me, yet you seemed to enjoy it, Loem,” Hektor said, walking towards the stables, the young squire in tow.

“Yes. My father... I mean, I...” He paused a moment, realizing that, now that he couldn’t return, the estates of his family would pass to his younger brother. He shrugged, suddenly realizing that it didn’t really matter to him, anyway, and continued, “My family’s estates aren’t very large, Hektor. I never had to really learn any of those things because the size of our wealth never warranted it. Still, it’s good information to know.” He spotted something shining in the dirt and bent closer to look, but it was just a bit of tack or scrap metal.

Hektor smirked. “I keep forgetting just how young you are, Loem. You speak so maturely, but then go and dig about in the dirt, thinking you’ve found a silver piece.” He chuckled, patting the squire on the back. “I want to teach you so much, Loem. Many things, if you wish to learn, and I’ll do it gladly. I’m a hard taskmaster, though. I expect the best from my students.”

Loem frowned. “Students? As in, more than just me?” Hektor chuckled again as they finally entered the stables and walked to his gelding’s stall. “Yes, more than just you, although right now it’s just one more. My niece, actually. I think you’ll like her, she’s just a touch younger than you.” Loem grabbed a brush and went over to Praetor’s stall, opening the gate to join him inside.

He got to work, getting all the tangles out of his mane and did all he could with the tools he had to get rid of most of the dirt from the road. Though he had been seeing to Praetor over the last few days, his heart hadn’t really been in it, and now that he was more himself, he intended to really fix up his father’s stallion. “Hektor, I do want to learn from you. You and m’lord Uldor, both. In fact,” he finished up, closing the stall door behind him, “I’m ready when you are. Any time you wish, provided I’m not busy doing something for our lord, I’ll be glad to learn from you.”

Hektor smiled wide, a glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll regret that, trust me. Still, I’m glad to hear you say it, and I’ll definitely take you up on the offer. And since Uldor doesn’t really need you right this second, lets get started. Grab your daggers and meet me in that clearing you’ve been in. Your form’s a bit off and I want to correct it now, before it gets worse.”

Loem smiled and nodded, going back into the Inn and running to his room where he grabbed his twin daggers. Belting them on, he thought, As much as I wish I could go home and find Leodry, this is my life now. I miss him... I probably always will, but he’ll get that message from Uldor and he’ll know I’m safe and sound. Besides, I have a new life here, one that suits me pretty well, and now I have time, time to learn and time to become something more than the brute soldier my father wanted me to be. With that thought, he bounded back down the stairs and out the door, past a bewildered looking innkeeper and a pleased Uldor.

Once he met up with Hektor, he smiled, saying, “Okay, Hektor, teach me what you know. I’m ready for anything.”

Bloodsword: 13 - Massacres

With the added prestige of a deathcharger, especially one as beautiful and deadly as the one he had earned, Purah continued moving up the ranks quickly. He raised ghouls for the Harvester, and dealt with the Scarlet Crusade as it prepared supplies for ships sailing for Northrend. Not wanting to allow those ships to make it out of the harbor, he found himself hiding in a mine cart to get past the multitude of soldiers at Light's Point.

That day was a glorious one for the Scourge, as he turned the cannons on the ships against the very soldiers who built them. At least a hundred Scarlet soldiers died by his hand alone that day, in glorious fire and destruction. The chaos and confusion he caused only made the cold indifference within him grow, that small part of him that still clung to the light nearly blotted out entirely.

Silea. What have I become? Does it even matter anymore? Does what I do in my death have any bearing on who I once was?

He was lost in these thoughts when Prince Valanar sent him back to the Ebon hold with the reports of the slaughter at the coast. He was going before the Highlord Morgraine himself. He couldn't afford to show weakness. Besides, he thought. It probably doesn't matter anymore. I've become a monster. Silea... he closed his eyes for a moment, that lone, warm place in his heart fluttering feebly. Silea would run screaming from me as those Scarlet fools do. My life is done. My death, on the other hand, could be so much more.

He could feel a cold forming deep within his soul as he approached the Highlord Darion Mograine. He wasn't sure what it meant, but had decided it wasn't any of his concern. His body and his mind were not his own, not anymore. He knelt in respect, holding out the report of the victory at Death's Breach for the Highlord's acceptance. He stood as Mograine took it, immediately breaking the seal and reading through Prince Valanar's words.

"The entire fleet?" the Highlord said, more to himself than to the death knight waiting patiently. Purah took little else in as the Highlord praised him, though Mograine's mind appeared to wander elsewhere, to his father. Nevertheless, he gave Purah new armor and a commendation, moving the dead elf further up the ranks of the Scourge army.

It was days later that he found himself in the middle of what was left of Havenshire, surrounded by ghouls and tossing human skulls into the newest plague cauldron of the Scourge. Noth the Plaguebringer stood nearby, talking mostly to himself, no doubt bored as his work was more or less complete. Purah had been in New Avalon, the town south of Havenshire, also full of the Scarlet Crusade. The skulls that now rested at the bottom of the bubbling cauldron had come from the town's inhabitants, both citizens and soldiers alike.

He was a shell of his former self, he knew. He rarely showed any emotion anymore, and when he did it was usually through a cold smile of triumph or frown of frustration. As he stepped back from the cauldron, his dreadsteed waiting patiently nearby, he looked back over the dead fields of Havenshire. The inhabitants were long gone, fled or dead. He rode slowly through the town, dead plague-hounds occasionally looking up from their pacing, but otherwise ignoring his passing. The lumber mill was still now. The paddock where he had once stolen his black stallion was now filled with other Death Knight's steeds.

Purah tied his stallion to a nearby post and walked up to a nearby tree. Its trunk was covered in deep gouges from swords and ghoul's claws. He touched it, running his gauntleted hand over the rough bark. The tree was trying to survive, but the plague and blight that covered the land was already starting to take over. He sat under it's branches, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was naked, standing hip-deep in the snow. Well, this is something I never expected to see again, he thought to himself. Instead of being surrounded by impenetrable darkness, though, he could see for miles and miles. Snow and ice as far as he could see. He wasn't shivering, as the cold didn't seem to bother him. He turned around and nearly jumped back, reaching for a runeblade that wasn't there. A cloaked figure had appeared, just on the horizon. He said nothing, wary of this new development. I'm dreaming, of course. This is all just in my head.

The figure gestured, beckoning him to follow. He hesitated. He noticed how gracefully the figure moved and he wondered if it was a woman, or another elf. Perhaps it's... her. He moved, then, slowly towards the unknown person. Every step he took, the figure took, too. After what seemed like hours of walking through the snow, he grew frustrated and threw up his hands.

"End this foolishness! I'm done. Let me wake, so I can continue my work!" The dark and mysterious figure gestured again for him to follow, but then pointed towards the horizon. There, small and nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the snow, was a small crystal dome. At least, that's what it looked like. It seemed to shine and sparkle without any light, a small star on the ground.

With a goal in sight, Purah continued, patient and constant in his trek through the snow. He rarely looked to the figure anymore, instead his eyes fixed on that dome. It was important. He didn't know why, but it was, and he had to get there. It came ever closer, but he was tiring. It was as if the snow was freezing him in place, or trying to. His legs were dragging, catching in the frozen landscape. The figure was gone now, nowhere to be seen. Only the dome on the horizon, beckoning to him, kept him going.

Finally, after fighting for every little movement, he made it. The dome rose up out of the snow before him, glowing from within. He staggered closer and touched the shining surface. It was ice, distorted enough to keep him from seeing what was inside, from seeing whatever it was causing the glow. He walked all around it, searching for a way inside. It was solid and impenetrable.

Purah, come inside.

He wanted to laugh, as he had been trying to do exactly that, but there was no energy left anymore. He reached out to the ice again, touching it, his bare hand slipping against its shining surface. He felt nothing. He closed his eyes in frustration.

And awoke, his back against the blighted tree, his deathcharger standing patiently nearby, standing watch over him. Whatever dream had gripped him, it was gone, and he rose, slowly. I can almost see the snow, even now. It is no normal dream, that is certain, he thought as he mounted again, turning his mount once again towards the crypt.