Chapter 1
Gathering
The silence of the night rang in Sonnellion's ears. It was a beautiful night. The moon shone with breathe-taking radiance, and the soft breeze tickled his arms and legs and body.
He sat in his seat, looking out the window of his room, into the once vast elven lands. The blue, stagnant light from the moon bathed everything that his eyes could see. A small smile formed itself upon his lips.
In the distance, he could see his sister sitting side by side with her love. They leaned against each other like two jagged rocks by the shores of Kalimdor.
She swayed her red hair back playfully while the blonde elf beside her laughed at her childish nature. They seemed so happy together, he thought. And again, that made him smile for there was no true reason why their kind would be happy at a time like that.
The scourge had taken everything from them: their homes, their loved ones…their magic. That was what hit them the hardest, the magic. Sonnellion saw what it had done to the elves, and in the end, he found himself pitying his own kind.
Sonnellion looked down at the piece of paper he had been working on. He touched up on the picture he had drawn on its surface.
It was a crest of something that didn't exist. It was the crest of the House of H. The House of Het.
He remembered his father used to tell his stories of Het. The elf was a paladin just as he was back in the days of the alliance. And his father would travel to all corners of the known world.
His father would tell him stories of an orc named Het who had saved his life. He used to say that the Het was a better man then most he had met. And he'd joke that one day, he'd create a guild for all races known as the House of H. All would be welcome just as long as they were good people.
He laughed at that. There was no chance of it ever happening.
"Sonnellion!" a cry emanated from below.
He looked down onto the garden below. His sister and the blonde elf stood in the middle. All around them, the garden was filled with Mana Wyrms that shot about in all directions like silver arrows without a care.
"Sonnellion! Come join us down here," said Sal'thoron, the blonde elf. A seemingly permanent smile etched on his face. Ros'valan, Sonnellion's sister was at his arm, smiling the world away.
"Nah, I'll just leave you two alone" he said as he leaned back on his seat. He looked out once more into the silver lined glade. It was a haven, even in after all that had happened.
A sigh escaped his lips, and sleep was almost upon him. His eyes flickered momentarily as he tried to stay awake. He took one more glance at the piece of paper. What a sham, that thing they call an alliance. Betrayers and liars the likes of them. Never would he trust such men. Then again, he never believed he would ever trust, not at the very least join forces with the horde. Fate had a funny way of unfolding the future.
The door swung open and in came his Ros'velan in a red robe. She placed her staff by the door and took a seat next to Sonnellion.
"Where's Sal?" Sonnellion asked.
"I sent him home; we've spent enough time together for one day, I think. Now, it's time I spent time with you."
Sonnellion laughed a hearty laugh. "I'd rather be lost at sea. I wouldn't want to bore you with my dreamings. There are better things to do than dwell in pasts forever lost."
"Don't worry. I've gotten used to you." She gave him a bubbly smile that lit up the room. "What are you doing?" she asked, seeing the pieces of paper on the table top.
Sonnellion picked up the paper and showed it to her. She laughed loudly at what she saw.
Sonellion thought he saw a glint in her eyes. They sparkled slightly when she saw the crest. She reched out, her finger tips touching the smooth surface of the paper. She traced the lines with her fore-finger lovingly.
"The House of H" she began to look out the window. "I remember when father used to tell us stories about that orc and his ambitions to unite all who lived in Azeroth."
"It was a good dream."
"It was a great dream, the best I have ever heard. Imagine humans, orcs, dwarves, elves, and all together as one, believing in peace. A great dream if ever you heard one. No more wars, no more death, just this."
She pointed out at the calm world outside. The blue and black world welcomed their eyes.
"And yet, it is still just a dream." Sonnellion hid the crest inside his pack. He folded it neatly and placed it into the pocket of the old, brown bag, dropping it with a bump on the tiled ground.
Ros came closer to Sonnellion. She sat herself to on the side of the table and sent a serious look to Sonnellion's way.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came, only an eerie silence. She struggled to find her voice. The words were there, only her voice failed. She tried again. This time a sound formed, then it was a grunt, until, finally, the first syllable was uttered.
"Sonnellion, promise me you'll come back." she said. Her eyes misted up quite a bit.
Sonnellion simply smiled. "Don't worry. I'll come back."
"No" She grabbed his arm. "Promise me you'll come back."
Sunstrider Isle stilled in their silence until finally, he spoke.
"I promise"
For the last time that night, he smiled. The next day would be a day to remember. He knew it.
---
Sonnellion's eyes were un-shut. He stared up into the ceiling in his room. Memories and visions swirled in his head, a mixture of things that were and things that will be.
Nothing existed in that forever moment, only the soft brushing of the wind against the tall trees that decorated Sunstrider Isle.
There was an ambiance there that Sonnellion could not describe.
He could not sleep, only as much as one could sleep the night before a war.
There was a rustle by the window. The wind, he thought. He didn't care much if it wasn't.
He could not move his head to even see who it was. Too caught up in the trance that he was in.
He drummed his fingers lightly into each other.
His eyes were open. They were pale flashings in the dark.
There was a knock by the widow. And Sonnellion struggled to move any inch of his body. There was no response.
"Come in" he said. It was the best he could do.
Sal'thoron Sungaze crawled into the window frame. First, came his blonde hair that was like a stream of stardust set ablaze by the deathly radiance of the sun. Then the rest of his body entered the room, suited in the finest mail armor the elves have ever crafted. Yellow and tints of brown could be spotted all over his body.
He looked back out the window.
"Stay there" he called in a whispered manner.
Sonnellion knew what it was that awaited outside. It was the lynx Sal'thoron had tamed. He could never really remember its name. He didn't quite understand why. He simply couldn't remember.
Sal'thoron pulled out a chair for him to sit on. He licked his lips and began. "Sonnellion, we must speak."
Sonnellion's head bobbed up. He looked at Sal'thoron's face with quizzical eyes.
"Don't go to war tomorrow" He pleaded with his eyes. And Sonnellion saw fear behind the green.
"Why?"
"Because what you're doing is wrong"
"What are you talking about?"
"The naaru" he continued. "Don't you see? Magic just made us weak through the years we've been using it. And now, we are lucky we have been liberated from it. A new age is upon us, Sonnellion. The age of the Blood Elves. A new empire will need to rise through our blood and our strife, not through magic. And all the Blood Knights are doing is keeping that age from coming."
"The Farstriders are just paranoid, Sal" Sonnellion quipped.
They heard a roar from the courtyard outside, and a pot broke somewhere in the commotion.
"I'm a Farstrider" he shot a look in Sonnellions direction.
"Sorry" he said.
"Just don't go tomorrow. Ros'velan is worried about you. She's afraid something terrible is going to happen."
"She already spoke to me about it. I know. But there's nothing to be done. Regent Lord Theron has ordered this attack himself."
Sal'thoron's nose fell to the ground.
"This is for the good of the Blood Elves."
"I hope you're right" Sal said, nodding his head. He could not shake the feeling in his chest like something was about to happen. No one could explain it to him. Not even the magisters of Eversong woods.
"Don't worry. This war will unite the Blood Elves."
---
The blood knights were called from all over the eastern kingdoms the next day. They came in from the plaguelands and rode in through Eversong woods. The autumn trees dropped a confetti of yellow and orange leaves on their path as if welcoming them home. And yes, they were home. They even arched overhead.
Truly it was a glorious day for the Blood Elves.
At their head, Cerius rode on an elegant purple strider. He waved at the many patrons they met on the seemingly long walk to the Sheperd's gate of Silvermoon.
The mages that trained by the side of Stillwhisper pond heralded their return with a magnificent display of lights brought about, of course, by their magics.
Many met the paladins with weeping faces and open arms. Mostly sisters, mothers, and lovers. But amongst the midst of the Blood Elven crowd, there were brothers and friends, hunters and mercenaries, and those who did not have smiles on their faces.
But mostly it was a happy site. There was no doubt of that.
Sonnellion caught up at the back of the line. He had woken up late that morning because of his sleeplessness the night before.
He ran as fast as he could to make it to the parade before it could end. He didn't want to miss it at all.
Sal'thoron and his sister joined him from their home in the Sunstrider Isle. If they didn't, they may not have been able to see him ever again.
They came to a stop at the entrance bridge. Their feet stomping in unison, then going silent in unison.
Cerius bowed to the three men that awaited them there, and the others followed soon after. Of course, as did Sonnellion.
The three figures had an imposing aura to them. To the left was the Grand Magister. To the right was the Ranger General. And in the middle, of course, Regent Lord Theron himself stood to greet the forces.
"Welcome all" he began. He did not shout, yet his voice carried from the front of the line to those who were at the back. He raised his arms into the air. "I would have hoped that you would all be gathered here for a better reason."
He looked over at all who were gathered. A sea of pointed ears met his gaze.
"Our peoples have been plagued by misfortunes, to say the least, in recent times. The undead have taken everything we hold dear to our hearts. And now, even as they are defeated, they still infect the wound they left."
Tears began to drop and soft murmurs rose from the crowd. Even Theron himself shed a tear.
"The undead still plague the Dead Scar and to the south, they have found themselves a new leader. And what makes it worse is that the enemy was once one of us. Dar'khan Drathir. The traitor. Now, I call upon you paladins, you knights of blood to fight this darkness, the darkness of Dar'khan. I have called you from all the ends of the Eastern Kingdoms for this one task. Not because he is such a powerful foe, but because we need to be united in these times. The Blood Elves must know loyalty and love for their homes and their families. Go, paladins, go and banish the shadow, so that we may be worthy once more to be known as the Sin'dorei!"
He ended with a boom of his voice. And all together, the Blood Elves erupted like thunder. Their calls echoed through the forest, and it became apparent that it was more powerful than any orc war cry. They were unmatched even by the great Grom Hellscream himself.
Theron shot his arms into the distance, his eyes almost puddled with tears. And the paladins marched out to have their war.
---
The rain poured down heavily upon Tranquillen village. Rangers and the Forsaken all ran about with their business. Crates were pulled in from Eversong woods to help with the siege on Deathholme.
The forsaken handed out weapons and armor to all personnel. Bows were strung tight and blades were sharpened as the moment drew closer. All there was to wait for were the Blood Knights.
Their mastery of the light would be a great asset when it came to fighting the vile undead.
A cluster of shadows marched in. Their forms were drenched in water. Each step seemed to make the blight that had settled on the grounds of ghostland grow. There were those in robes, others were in harnesses, and the rest were wearing nothing more than clothe and their weapons.
Each of them held their weapons tightly. It was almost a part of them, and who they were, and extension of their lunacy.
"Let the blood shed begin" said on of the warriors as he raised his blade up into the roaring sky.
They were a frightening sight, yellow eyes glowing in green darkness. Only the bravest could face these eaters of death.
A woman approached the group. Behind her, the other leaders of the town followed, each barking orders at the many soldiers that crossed their path.
"Gentlemen, you're all here to follow orders, not to give in to your frenzied madness and become the very thing we are fighting. Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of grunts emanated from the group of "men". "You don't order us!" a forsaken shouted from the back of the crowd. And all the answered with a "Yeah!" followed by laughter.
"Who said that?" she asked. Her eyes tried to pear into whoever had talked back to her.
"I did" One of them stepped forward. He held his sword high and proud for all to see. His eyes did not glow like the others. Instead there was only emptiness in the sockets. And upon his face, a smile was fixed.
"Well, it's good to know you are proud of what you did" the blood elf said, pointing at the undead.
She looked him in the eye, then smiled and without any warning flames were born out of her hands, and the undead burst in flames.
The embers licked at his hands and feet. His torso and face did not escape its wrath neither. A horrifying scream escaped from his lips, and all who heard it trained their eyes to the burning man.
They all twitched. No one would've admitted it. And in that pouring rain, I doubt anyone would've seen their moment of fear. But I promised you, it happened.
"Make it stop!" he said as he struggled to fight of the element that was charring his every fiber. The woman just smiled at her doing. She felt no remorse for the undead. "Make it stop!" he cried again.
In that moment, he was bathed in green light. The flames died and his body healed as much as an undead body could.
Another stepped forward. He carried a staff and let it lead his way. He wore a green robe that draped over his body like ink. His mouth hung low as his neck and he spoke, though with the mannerisms of the undead, with great etiquette like someone who had been educated.
"We are in control of our beastial nature; I can promise you that" he said, picking up the ally he had just healed.
"Make sure of it" were the woman's final words before leaving them there in the pouring rain.
He gave her a quick but transparent smile.
"Move back to you post" he said to the others. And they complied with nothing more than just a few grunts and moans.
The drums of war played at the back of the undead priest's mind. He knew they would not get out of this without great loss. It was to be a bloody campaign. He could feel it in the very earth he walked. Something great was about to happen. Something that would change all their lives.
A spark caught the side of his vision, and he turned to where he had seen the flash.
In the upper floor of one of the houses, a small flame flickered in the deathly wind. It played shadows on the great walls of the house: tall ones, thin ones, large ones, and dark ones. There was a shadow of a woman elf woman, and she wept in that darkened silhouette. There were shadows of shadows that wrapped the air around her. And shadows of magics that were wild when released.
The priest hobbled up the ramp to where she was. He heard voices, concealed under the pounding rain.
The woman spoke. "Come to me! Come to me!" She chanted in a labored tone.
The priest closed in on where she stood. Her shadow now cast under his feet.
Another voice joined hers and the rain's in that cacophony of chaos. The priest sought to see to whom the voice belonged, but there was no one. And he began to wonder if it was just his imagination playing tricks on his already scarred mind.
He reached in for the woman's shoulder. He hesitated just as his hand touched the silk of her robe. Finally, he pulled her to look at him.
"Excuse me, are you okay?" he asked.
She turned. Her body glistening with sweat.
"Yes" She breathed heavily. Each breathe passed through her like it was her first. "I was just practicing my magics."
"I was just checking. I heard-"
"I'm fine. Now please, leave me to my training" she said straight faced.
"As you wish" was all he could say.
He left her there that night. He looked back to her as he went, knowing that something was wrong. Something was going to happen. He could feel it in every drop of rain. Something was going to happen. He just didn't know what.