High on the rocky bluffs overlooking the port city of Ratchet, the wind blew by with little to impede its flow. Down in the city proper, among the winding streets and numerous high, goblin style buildings, the air was a little more calm that night. Busy and bustling twenty four hours a day, there was still quite a bit of activity going on even after dusk, and the lights down below made it difficult for many of the denizens to know night from day.

Up on the bluffs, things were a little bit different. Starlight provided a more natural means of illuminating the area, shining bright from a gorgeous cloudless sky. Three large estates lied in a row, facing toward the ocean and overlooking the public breach below. All three of them were walled, the residences of various families who had contributed to the city's cultural flavor and the local community. A quiet wyvern roost manned by a sleepy eyed pair of orcs stood at one end of the row, marking the sharp southern end of the bluffs and the dropoff point to where one could reach the main entryway to Ratchet by land, through a slanting ravine.

Far at the other end of the houses stood a miniature forest sprouting up at the northern edge. Next to it stood a naturally grown, arched house bearing Kaldorei architecture and featuring Darkspear decorations. The small forest growing outside complimented the scene, situated right next to the far outer wall of the estate and shielding another series of stone structures unseen to outsiders. Hidden from all but those who knew what to look for, the small shrine held an unnatural silence, as if the noise of the city below and even the wind itself couldn't penetrate the circle of trees.

Inside, land was flat and grassy. Even during the daylight hours it was a dark place due to the angle at which the trees grew, shielding everything from the sun. At that time of night, only a few pixels of starlight broke through, though the natural sparkle of the balance provided just enough light for anyone to see. Small round stones jutted up from the soil, ringing the flat area as a sort of border. None of them stuck up particularly high, but they were noticeable and had obviously been raised that way intentionally. Strangely for the Barrens, a handful of wispy forest spirits rotated around the trees, a holdover from the enchanted forests to the north of the continent of Kalimdor. It was an altogether calm scene, were it not for the purpose of the visitor's presence at the clearing.

A tall, well built man with a violet-blue colored hide stepped in from between the trees. Despite his great height, he walked carefully, as if he didn't want to disturb any of the spirits in the area. Slowly, somberly, he entered the clearing without a word, his eyes downcast as if his mind were elsewhere. An indigo colored mane spilled over his back, washed but not styled, as if he hadn't planned on going anywhere that day. A plain cotton shirt and pants seemed to accentuate the fact that he hadn't been out in a while, and the crestfallen look on his face spoke of someone who had spent the past few nights in contemplation of this moment.

Hands in pockets, he merely stood and watched the ground before him, not quite knowing what to do or what to say at first. There were no birds nor crickets chirping in the clearing, and not even the wind rustled the leafy branches above. All was still and silent in the world, as if nature itself waited for him to act. Two glowing silver eyes contrasted with two short but visible tusks, marking the man of mixed Kaldorei and Darkspear heritage just like the style of the large house next to the clearing. Yet even the presence of the large, comfortable looking estate couldn't comfort the downtrodden man as he watched the scene laid out before him.

There, in the middle of the clearing, sat two round stones with hollowed out holes in the faces. Elven runes had been carved into the sides of the round stones, words of farewell in the next life for the souls of the beloved fallen. Trollish fetishes also hung off of the rocks, once again marking the dualistic aestheticism of the place. Inside the hollows of the rocks shone ethereal blue and silver lights, the signifiers of a night elf cemetery; a place of quiet reflection on the heroines and heroes of the past, naturally designed by the balance itself and distinct to even the most unfamiliar of visitors.

And there, in that clearing, sat the two graves laid out before the gravestones. One of them was shorter than the other, while the other was longer, signifying the different heights of the two people buried there. Peaceblooms grew up from the slightly elevated soil that symbolized the return of the living to nature, a beautiful scene that should provide some measure of solace to the loved ones of the deceased. To the creator, we belong; to that creator, we return. The man had repeated that mantra to himself so many times, but that didn't make acceptance of it any easier.

As he stood and looked down at the two graves, the first tears began to fall. Slowly and without sound, he wept for those he had lost. For every lost comrade, for every deceased family member, for friend and family alike that had been taken from him as fate often tended to do. Unseen and unable to contain himself any longer, he silently cried in that clearing, the only living being but by no means alone. Names and faces flashed through his memory, the last among them the pair who had been laid to rest in the graves before him in that clearing.

Ever so slowly, he knelt down, coming to rest on his knees on the soft grass. His movement was purposeful and careful, as if he didn't want to disturb the rest of those who had finally found peace. Melancholy but almost envious in a way, he wondered what that felt like; to attain peace in life and to die happily. For sure he knew the two before him had found that peace, but whether or not he'd be able to do so, to truly atone and make amends for all he'd done was another question.

Kneeling in the grass, it was all he could do to simply cry out what had been repressed for so long, and to mourn what he'd lost in those two graves, even if the occupants had found their peace.

It was all he could do to feel that sense of loss, and go over all the mistakes he'd made that had led up to that point...