World of Warcraft: Scryer
Chapter 1
"Dar'Khan Drathir is dead!" Deafening cheers arose at the town crier's announcement in the center of Silvermoon's bazaar district. "The enemy of all Blood Elves is vanquished forever!" he continued, standing amidst a company of Blood Knights. "No longer will the traitor plague our beautiful homeland with his filth and depravity! No longer will the Scourge block our path to the south! All glory to the Sin'dorei!"
At this, one of the Blood Knight attendants emptied the contents of his burlap sack and a severed head plopped down onto the raised, disc-shaped platform on which they were standing. The head was of a Blood Elf, though pale and gaunt beyond the norm and his features were horribly disfigured, showing clearly that he died in terrible agony.
"See now the head of the enemy, who may never again return to beleaguer the children of the blood!" the town crier shouted, but his voice was drowned out in the exultant roaring of his audience. High above, the sun blazed furiously, as though it were a natural testimony of the Blood Elves' victory, yet the temperature was tolerable with the wind blowing from the east creating a gentle breeze for the citizenry of Silvermoon City, even though its walls were high, and proud.
Straining to raise his voice above the din of the gathered crowd, the town crier at last concluded his speech by shouting, "Let it be known that there will never be an obstacle that we as a people cannot overcome! This important victory has proven our worth to the Horde, and even now our ambassadors travel far and wide granting us access to these steadfast allies. When Kael'thas returns, he shall see the glory of Quel'Thalas restored!"
There was murmuring at the mention of the Horde in certain social circles of the assembly, for many scoffed at the notion of having to prove their worth to anybody, least of all to the barbarous races of the western continent of Kalimdor. Yet overall, the rapturous spirit of the people of Silvermoon City did not diminish, and the cheering only grew louder, echoing throughout the streets, and they were on the whole overjoyed, especially when Prince Kael'thas was referenced.
There were at least two blood elves however, that did not wholly partake in the celebration, even as they stood in the streets observing the festivities. Foster brother and sister they were, as well as apprentice magisters; to them a sense of foreboding overshadowed this grand victory.
Ramael, the brother, was the elder of the two siblings by less than a year, although the both of them had only recently reached full adulthood. He was broad and somewhat tall for a Blood Elf, and possessed long black hair that flowed gracefully down past his shoulders, which covered his ample forehead and the better part of his face. His sister Rhynnian had a full-figured body, which she was often made fun of for throughout childhood, though she would easily be considered slim by the standards of most other races. Her deep auburn hair was cut slightly shorter than Ramael's, reaching both shoulders evenly, and was side-parted to the right. The two of them shared a rather typical look, perhaps even considered unremarkable compared to the sharp facial features of the rest of their kind, but most would agree that both were nonetheless, pleasant to look at.
At this moment however, they were no doubt an odd sight to behold among the other revelers in the bazaar, staring at the center fountain and sharing wary half-smiles that bespoke of nervous worry, as if disaster would strike at any moment amid the celebrations. In a rather somber manner, Rhynnian turned to her brother and spoke first. "I wonder what all of this even means for us."
Ramael seemingly perked up at that and began shouting, "Why dear sister, it means the restoration of the glory of Silvermoon! The reclamation of the lands that is our birthright, and an end to the advances of our dreaded enemy! Hoorah!" That last bit he hooted at the surrounding crowd, who reciprocated in turn with their cheers or indecipherable shouts of joy, as Rhynnian stood by sighing with a hand on her drooped forehead.
Turning back to his sister Ramael whispered, "I have no idea what it means either. Perhaps I am too young to understand it, or perhaps it is merely drivel propagated by our beloved leaders to keep us satisfied and in line. Either way, I feel as if there is nothing for us here."
Rhynnian smiled at her brother. "Right then. Well, what are we to do about it?" Just then, an unlikely source arrived with the answer.
Lumbering along the outskirts of the Bazaar district, much to the dismay of the nearby vendors, an arcane guardian forged of metal and magic made its presence known by causing the ground to tremble with its heavy footfalls, and emitting a booming, pre-recorded message in the voice of an unknown Blood Elf.
"Citizens of Silvermoon! Hearken to me! For it is with great pleasure that I announce the regent lord Lor'themar Theron's decision to allow pilgrimages into Outland, where our beloved leader Prince Kael'thas has promised an everlasting paradise! With Dar'Khan Drathir's demise and our inevitable entry into the ranks of the Horde, the path is now clear to the Dark Portal. The first group of pilgrims will be departing under heavy guard by the end of the week. If you wish to take part, you must speak with Grand Magister Rommath, located in the Sunfury Spire as soon as possible. Safe travels, and may the sun guide you!"
Rhynnian gave her brother a long expectant look, while he stared blankly at the arcane guardian wandering away and repeating the same message. After a brief moment of silence he said, "Well, I suppose this victory means more to us than I initially thought."
His sister gave him a wry smile. "Does this mean we're about to embark on our first adventure?"
Ramael chuckled. "Adventure? More like a long stroll across the continent into lazy bliss, but I'd do anything to get out of this place. Let us go give Rommath a little visit."
He began to head off, but his sister reached for his arm. "Wait. We should consult with father first, or at least see if he's all right. He said he would return to Fairbreeze Village if he survived the conflict in the Ghostlands. Now that Dar'Khan is dead, I'm certain he's waiting for us there."
Ramael gave a long sigh, but offered no resistance. "Of course, dear sister, but we should hurry. I'd hate to risk losing such an opportunity." And with that, they headed into the Eversong Woods, away from the city and towards a small village to the south, where a weary Blood Elf was undoubtedly sitting patiently, and awaiting the arrival of his two adopted children.
