The Legacy of Silvermoon

A story

By

Chaotic of Dark and Chaotic

Prologue

Given the circumstances one would think that saving the life of a high elf of all things wasn't the best choice of action that she had ever made. She, being an ancient night elf druid living as a recluse in a cave in Winterspring for… Elune knows how long. Not that the passage of time bothered her. It was peace and quiet where she lived and she could nap away in the Emerald dream for as long as she wanted. Maybe there was a reason why her sense of time was somehow irreversibly screwed up. But back to the topic at hand. She had to tend to a frostbitten and bleeding High Elf mage. There was also something quite off about him but there would be time to mull it over later. She had to stop the bleeding coming apparently from everywhere.

Sometime later two blue eyes that weren't quite glowing opened up to discover a blurry cave packed from top to bottom with various trinkets, books, herbs and the occasional hide and leather piles. The man groaned and slowly moved his hand to rub his eyes. He was tall, like every other High Elf, but they were not as tall as the Night Elves. His skin was rather pale but it seemed strangely off. It was not a typical Elven hue. Now she knew what was different about him. Despite his general appearance, the man was not a pure High Elf. He was a half-elf and by the looks of things, half-human. She wondered where the world had gone to in the many years of seclusion to have allowed such a thing to appear and reach such an age. Back in the day, when she was still considered part of polite Kaldorean society, even the thought of these Halflings was repulsive enough for most. Perhaps there was still a bone in her body embedded with these notions. But right about now she was more curious as to how he got these wounds.

As his vision cleared, the man slowly pulled himself up into a semi-sitting position and immediately started gulping the refreshing pure Winterspring Mountain water from the jug she had left on the nightstand next to the bed. Finally he removed the jug's throat from his lips and sighed tiredly. He had been so thirsty that he had completely disregarded the cup placed next to the jug. That wasn't really surprising. The man was a mage if his tattered robes were any indication and by his condition alone she could bet he had been in a mana-intensive battle. So far he had expressed mostly human behavior. Perhaps he lived in human cities? There was a rather unique form of morbid fascination going on in her mind when observing the man. She had missed out on so much during her self-imposed life of a druid hermit that right now she even felt apprehensive to show herself properly. She wasn't a shy person. Not by a long shot. But she hadn't had proper civilized contact in a long time. She was pretty much certain that apart from a few high-standing Furbolg of the local variety no one else knew she was still a living, breathing Night Elf, let alone she existed.

'Hello? Anybody home?' the man tried to speak loudly but he still somewhat lacked the energy to do so. Never the less she was close enough to have heard him. The Human tongue, or Common as the books referred to it, sounded strange to her long ears.

She phased from the shadows, completely startling the man. She stood crouching next to the low bed, covered in intricate furs and hides, befitting a Kaldorean druid. There were a few small pieces of amber and colorful gems that glittered in her neatly styled long silvery white braid. Her skin was a pale shade of silver, only a tad darker that her hair and her golden eyes were glaring with a piercing stare at the half-elf before her.

'You are a fair way from home, little half-thing, whether it be Stormwind of the Human variety or the Quel'dorei's grounds to the north of Azeroth.' Her voice was slightly above whisper. It was gentle and yet almost emotionless sounding. There was this serene quality to it that he could immediately pin point as a mark of an Elder. A wise one at that. While her Common sentence structure somewhat lacked proper setting, her accent clearly defined her primary tongue as that of the Ancient elves of old. Bewildered by his findings, the young man sneaked a few peaks of the room he was in. Indeed, it was littered with a weird combination of everything- towering columns of books, piles of leather, hides and finished and unfinished leatherworking projects. Various trinkets made of natural materials and colorful, miniature rocks and gems covered the majority of free space on the walls. An entire section next to the desk on the other side of the room was specifically set aside for what seemed to be Alchemical and Herbology-related works and projects. Most of the herbs he could spot immediately were common or unique to Winterspring but there was a certain collection that he knew well enough to have come from Felwood, as he had seen them while crossing the accursed forest not too long ago.

With feathery brows high in excitement, he landed his curious eyes and eagerly grinned at the stoic hermit of a Night Elf druid.

'Uhm…Darnassae?'

His heart pounded in his head. This was the moment of truth. Today he would hold his first real conversation in the native tongue of all elves. Darnassian. Or at least a more modern version of that tongue.

'Darnassae-al-adore?' The Kaldorean woman asked, no surprise visible on her face, but the half-elf did indeed notice the minute pause in her answer. So she was indeed surprised? There were very few if any High Elves that knew a few words and sentences let alone a whole section of the Kaldorean language.

'Darnassae-nala-dor. Fandu-nala-dor Anasterian Sunchild. And yes, I am named after the King of Quel'thalas – Anasterian Sunstrider. But I don't know enough of the language to say it in your tongue yet.' The half-elf, now identified as Anasterian Sunchild, grinned in a completely non-elven way – a mischievous, childish, foxy grin that split his face from ear to ear. His long pointed ears were slightly droopy, making him look remarkably like an eager puppy.

'Your diction lacks practice, but I care not one way or the other. What business have you in Winterspring?' The elven woman did not introduce herself in turn but rather asked what seemed to be most relevant to her at the moment.

While there were all kinds of creatures that were capable of killing unwary travelers, chimaeras, snow sabers and bears to name a few, the man had sustained quite a large amount of magical damage that did not have roots in either the local Furbolg (most of which she knew by name) nor the restless souls from Kel'theril's ruins to the south.

'As I said, my name is Anasterian Sunchild. I am a mage from Stormwind and I came here looking forward to do some research.'

'Things have not gone according to plan then. I found you lying half dead in a pool of your own frozen blood.'

'I had a disagreement with what turned out to be some sort of Troll Shaman. I don't really remember what happened exactly since that bastard swung his huge hammer in the general direction of my head. Copious amounts of lightning may or may not have been involved. Say did you happen to find my backpack as well? All of my things are there.' There was a note of nervousness in his voice. Anasterian then tried to stand up from the bed. It proved to be futile when he discovered his legs completely numb and lacking in any sensation at all. 'Uhm, I appear to have suffered some form of paralysis. You are a druid right? You can cure this with little to no hassle? I've heard druids make for amazing healers. At least that's what I've heard.'

In the following months of his recuperation, Anasterian discovered that the elven druid had simply forgotten that it was appropriate to introduce herself. She would often spend hours at a time meditating, sometimes not even being aware of the amount of time that had passed. For the newly minted but incredibly talented mage, the hermit druid woman proved to be everything he had been looking forward to from the moment he first decided to go to Winterspring. She was mostly silent but incredibly well spoken, with amazing in-depth knowledge of many things, both arcane and mundane in origin and she gladly let him peruse her vast collection of books.

She had said her name was Akasha, but somehow he knew, even then, that that had not been her real name. It was some sort of alias but he never really wanted to delve any further. Even when he fully healed from the extensive damage that troll had inflicted upon him, some 7 month later, he spent more than a year afterwards, learning all he could about Enchantment, Herbalism, Alchemy and the rare art of Inscribing – creating scrolls that boosted one's power in various ways for a short duration. In the end, the Night Elf Akasha figured his thirst for knowledge would never be fully sated. He could see that man, a Half- High Elf, Half-Human, becoming something great in the circles of Magi all over the World. He had raw talent, a defined ambition to surpass everything that stood in his way and a certain type of devious charisma that would one day make him not only into a high-ranking Archmage but also into an amazing leader.

Akasha supposed that people like him would exist in every age. She still remembered that bittersweet moment in which her little Thero'shan (for he was exactly that, even if he was not a druid) said Farewell. When he had left, a part of him remained with her. And that part had been a very small proverbial seed of Wanderlust that would take a few more years to finally take hold of this old druid with its roots. A part of her had left with him as well. A better understanding of the natural world and the balance that kept everything together, and also a very special form of open-mindedness, one that would transcend aeon-old racial feuds and would help him appreciate the uniqueness of every single race in his own way.

Over the years she came to understand that her prediction of his bright future had been generally right. Despite the fact he was the product of a drunken one-night stand between his High Elven Noble of a mother and a handsome, tall Human Paladin who had died several months later in some sort of bandit scruffle, Anasterian Sunchild's noble bloodline apparently held some form of minute clout over certain parties. His sporadic at times letters described adventures and events in his life in an interesting way. The poor Snow Owl he had named after his mother, Irelia, often made the tenuous flight between the two continents in order to give her some news of her little Thero'shan. Soon months passed yet again into years and she felt as if it had been yesterday when little Rian (as he insisted to be called by his friends) informed her of this incredible human beauty of soft, sun-kissed skin, honey brown eyes and midnight black silky hair that also happened to be a young Paladin trainee.

After more than eight thousand years, the Night Elven Druid Hermit Akasha began to yet again immerse herself into the dynamic world of contemporary events. She found herself interested in the comings and goings of the Alliance and found herself feeling disappointed in the decision of the Quel'dorei to secede and be on their own, away from the Alliance.

Sometimes she found it hard to stay away from all that. In those times she dedicated herself to spending more time in the deepest recesses of the Emerald Dream, a place that she always found to calm her, no matter what. Probably because of the many years spent slowly delving deeper into the Emerald Realm, she rarely found herself even remotely lost. It was probably a unique trait to her – the ability to always wake up from those type of dreams. In one such occasion in which she spent nearly a year hibernating while her soul wandered the Dreamlands, she missed out on the Battle of Hyjal, which happened right under her nose. With a scewed scence of time and even more screwed up sense of events due to that long hibernation, she found herself opening a letter after letter from Rian, describing how he finally decided to dabble into the darker arts of the Warlock caste and how he finally became the leader of a notoriously powerful and dangerious, if small, guild. The Brotherhood of Darkness. The turn of events surprised her, but she was happy to read how he finally could not take his separation from his beloved Katherine Thadarius and one fateful evening he had snuck back into Stormwind and proposed to her with the most expensive, exquisite and apparently of great archaeological value ring of Night Elven origin. The fact that he had gone to Dire Maul (which suspiciously reminded her of Shen'dralar of old) was barely mentioned but she did not miss it. The next few letters appeared to be of a much later date, describing a few idyllic years of family life in which a child had been produced- a little girl bearing an Elven name- Firraley Sunchild. The last letter she had received spoke of an Undead Scourge and how Rian, under the guise of an ordinary mage, would help against the undead menace by following Prince Arthas into Northrend, along with his strongest guild members.

For a fair while there were no letters at all. But after the first two years of silence and the complete lack of Irelia's presence, Akasha started to worry. And then, one day, a tiny person appeared before her doorstep. The poor gnome was beat from the horrid trek across the world in his attempt to find her, the elusive druid hermit, living in the northern parts of Winterspring. After treating the courier's various ails, he finally delivered his message.

'It took forever to find you, Night Elf miss.' He spoke excitedly.' I was a friend of the family, you see? Poor Lady Thadarius- I mean Sunchild, was the most experienced fighter in our settlement. She trained our men and women the best way she could but it still hadn't been enough. When the scourge came she was one of the first to fall, taking with her more than a few dozens of those things. It was horrible! I tried to find Anasterian, but there hadn't been any news of him since his departure. I fear the worst has gotten him as well-'

'Where is the child?' Akasha asked in a voice bearing tremendous gravity. Not just asking, but ordering to know her location.

'Little Firra is in a small shelter along with other war orphans in Southshore.'

Nothing more was said. She had departed as soon as possible with the puny little Gnome either under one arm, on her back while in her panther form or with her claws grasping his shoulders as she flew towards her destination.

That day she had remembered well, crystal clear in fact. It was a day of great grief for her, but also one of joy. Even though she had never met the Lady Thadarius, she felt her a very close friend. It was probably due to Rian's honeyed words, the way he loved to describe how her laugh sounded like a cold spring in a desert or like chirping song birds. She felt joy that their legacy had survived. She did not remember how exactly she had made the journey to a place she had never before seen in her life. She only remembered the urge to find that child and keep it safe from all the evils of the world.

Relief and warmth. That was what she felt when she finally grasped the three and a half year old toddler in her arms. She didn't look like her father, though she had his blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. Her face seemed to be an exact copy of her mother's if that gnome's words held any truth. When the little girl had giggled in her arms, a tiny smile had spread on her lips. All was well. All would be perfectly well from now on, demons, scourge and World Politics be damned to the fiery depths of the world.