A/N: hello readers! Consider this story a sneak peek for my upcoming stories about the women of Serenity, a Kaldorei grove of only twenty five people who upheld their duties during the Long Vigil. I felt the inspiration to write this story yesterday while looking for my phone charger. I hope it gets you thinking and entertains via the lives of beings who (formerly) lived forever and had no concept of time.
For those wondering, Isurith is Cecilia. This story takes place a few thousand years before the first Warcraft game; the exact number of years doesn't matter, as immortal beings of pattern and habit probably don't notice many differences between one day and another. All of these characters appear in future stories in some shape or form. I don't own Warcraft, night elves or Kyra. Enjoy!
Onward across the grassy plains, the five riders pushed, breaking out of the edge of the forest and speeding forward. At such speed, their elven armor blessed by the moon itself clinked and created noise that echoed across the flat grassland leading toward the lake. The ground was uneven, and their sleek nightsabres grunted as they bounded over the raised stones and patches of dirt underfoot. Starlight shone on the plain, though given the bright power shining from their eyes, it wouldn't be necessary; in the dead of night, all five of them could see just fine.
Loosely tied ponytails flapped in the wind, moving to the rhythm of the party of five's push. Although time was of no issue to beings as ancient as they, there was a sense of urgency as they raced toward the isolated lake in a clearing at least a mile wide. Different colors waved around, one of the few markings of individuality aside from their varying heights and the tattoos on their faces; actual features were relatively even, and to the colorblind, differentiating them might have been difficult.
Not that there were any such people around. Long ago, the world had been ripped asunder and blast to pieces; virtually all the peoples of the world had died, leaving a minority entrusted with the sacred duty of eternal life and servitude to nature. And while not the most ancient among the five, the leader was the most wise, knowing exactly when to slow her sabre, when to raise her first, when to pull to a stop and when to scout for signs of intruders. She'd gone through the motions enough times; conscious thought was no longer necessary.
"Hold!" Unelia called to the others as the skidded to a stop on a straightaway facing toward the shore.
Her four companions, all larger and more heavily armored, formed a perfect diamond around her as they stopped in tandem. A light wind rustled in the far off trees, but there was otherwise not a sound to be heard. Undisturbed grass marked their path all the way to the shimmering lake, punctuated only by an earthen outcropping forming an awning that faced away from them. Without being told, the four larger warriors of the night readied their glaives.
Deep indigo hair marked both Unelia and the huntress next to her; much, much taller but bearing almost the exact same features, her younger but larger sister was nearly a carbon copy despite being several centuries younger. Ancient regardless, Isurith leaned over ever so slightly to indicate she wished to speak, all movements subtle.
"I sense no imbalance," Isurith whispered in a clear, unblemished voice.
The shorter sister continued to stare at the back of the awning as if she could look right through it. The others held firm, waiting for the leader of their reconnaissance unit to give an order. All five of them were on rotation far from their ancestral groves; four of them from a tiny village near the very frontier of their people's land, and another borrowed from one of the many villages lining the slopes of Mount Hyjal. They were all far from their home territory and scouting an area considered remote even by the nearby huntress lodge they had been assigned to for that current century.
Wary of her women's differing temperaments, Unelia leaned back to her sister. "You and Madrieda around both sides. There is no imbalance in nature here, but...something is not usual. Show restraint."
Wordlessly, Isurith and Madrieda set their sabres into a slow creep, prowling around the sides of the earthen awning and shadowmelding to better blend in to their surroundings - a gift to their people from the Goddess herself. The two remaining back with Unelia hung close at her sides lest there be some sort of trickery involved. Kyra, the Hyjal native, had fought alongside the four compatriots during the Satyr War but her prowess was not fully known to them, and Unelia saw fit to keep her back in the event of an intrusion. Gwynneth, on the other hand, was well known to the other members of the grove; merely four millennia old, she had transferred in from Hyjal to live permanently at the grove and was a steadfast sentinel. She also bore that phenomenon long forgotten to their people called emotion, and held a rage unbecoming of a stoic Kaldorei warrior. In a case requiring restraint, it was better to hold her back on her leash.
Isurith and Madrieda both expended a few minutes creeping up silently, none of them having any sense of time; only work and sleep in an endless cycle. Patient and ready, Unelia watched as the two huntresses paused by the sides and froze, poised to strike and unwavering. Sensing that something was indeed awry, Unelia shadowmelded and crept forward as well. The slightest of hand movements instructed Kyra to assume a position atop the awning in the event that her sabre as well as she herself needed to pounce. Gwynneth hung behind Unelia, obedient though likely resentful, as the leader arced in a long, slow half circle around the awning.
Even for a ten thousand year old warrior of the night, Unelia was considered especially cold and stalwart. She'd known a time before arcane magic had even been discovered, and had seen their people grow from primitive tribes in the shores of the Well of Eternity into a once advanced civilization. Very little ever surprised her, and nothing gave her pause.
But when she saw the makeshift camp of a satyr, almost entirely in tune with the balance and totally absent of fel corruption, she could not but stop and stare in confusion.
The cursed blasphemer sat on a rock, picking the stems and leaves off of a bunch of berries he had ostensibly foraged for, unassuming as if her weren't the foul beast he looked like. His horns pointed up toward the sky in the most offensive of ways, complementing the vile hooves that had replaced his feet. Unlike the rest of his kind, he was clothed - partially, at least. A makeshift tunic had been woven from beaver fur, and it was obvious that the man had been living there for quite some time given the beaten nature of the dirt near his rock and the crude but weathered shelter he'd built from tree branches against the dirt outcropping. Even his movements were even and without the manic jerking typical of his insane ilk; during the daylight when they couldn't see as well, they almost could have mistaken him for a proper night elf male.
All eyes were on Unelia in confusion, confounded as to what they should do, save Gwynneth who nearly started fidgeting in desire for a fight. After a long period of silent observation as the satyr ate his berries, Unelia found no further explanation for the lack of demonic energy and disruption in the balance and had no recourse but to engage the target. Giving the signal well in advance and directing Gwynneth to wait behind her, Unelia broke her shadowmeld and confronted the satyr.
When the man continued eating his berries and showed no fear, another round of shock overtook them all. He was either very stupid, or had a death wish.
Leaving her bow in its sheath but giving him a hard stare, she attempted to understand why he was behaving so calmly. "What is your business here, satyr?" Unelia asked coldly, expecting stuttering and lies.
The horned man stopped eating for a moment and swallowed his food before answering, and didn't even bother to check how many of the Sentinels had surrounded him. "To live," was his only response before he returned to his meal.
Gwynneth growled lightly in the bottom of her throat but didn't behave rashly, and even Isurith twitched as if she were ready to cut the man down at a moment's notice. Her curiosity piqued if at least to ensure they understood any potential threat to the closest villages, Unelia studied the man a little further but gave no execution order as of yet.
"Your kind lives to sow the seeds of corruption in our holy land," she stated as if reading off a death sentence. "What illusions have you cast to remove your fel aura, satyr?"
Unafraid but respectful, the horned man finally looked up as if he were staring his end in the eye and felt ready. He radiated no sense of panic or urgency, but no scorn either. "I have no illusions to cast, archer. As I have turned my back on Elune, so have I turned my back on Archimonde," he explained, garnering hisses from some of the women at the mention of the Dark Titan's name. "My folly has left me alone in this world, not even with a source to blame but myself. I no longer possess the ability to even corrupt the berry bush from which I picked these."
Unelia shot Madrieda a look they often used when questioning one another. Born from the same generation, they often trusted each other's judgment when away from the priestess or commanding watcher of their grove, and that judgment hadn't steered either of them wrong so far. For her part, the dark green haired huntress held her glaive arm loose and her shield arm low, an indication that she felt no threat from the man.
Choosing caution over expediency, Unelia nodded for the others to stand at ease, much to the chagrin of Gwynneth and even Isurith to an extent. Kyra remained perched above, relaxed but ready for the killing blow should it be needed.
Unelia remained atop her nightsabre but released some of the iron in her words, letting a more formal if not quite relaxed tone of voice take over. "Demons do not possess free will; it could not be possible for you to forsake the Dark Titan," she asserted, hoping to push him into explaining himself.
Finished from his meal and straightened up on his rock, the satyr looked nonchalant but alert as he looked at Unelia the way the hunted game looked upon the archer after accepting that her arrow had hit its mark. "If you intend to carry out the High Priestess' orders, I will not flee. I know what I am, and regardless of what you may think, I am capable of choice-"
"Watch your tongue in front of the commander!" Isurith shouted from her position to the left, obviously incensed at her sister being openly contradicted.
A mere shift in Unelia's shoulders was enough to tell Isurith to quiet down; the party's leader could bear the slight if it meant discovering why exactly a satyr gave off no fel aura. "Your sentence has been stayed for now. You have much to answer for regarding your...lack of aura," she remarked in an almost humorous sense of disbelief. "And if you refuse to explain how you've done it, your end will be much more painful."
Unperturbed, the satyr remained silent for a moment before continuing. "I have no objection to telling you whatever you ask. Perhaps there will be some benefit from it to the Children of the Stars." His comment was made without jest, merely confounding the entire group even more.
Seated on a rock and facing his end, the satyr calmly began to recount his tale, almost as if he'd wished to tell it at least once before dying.