Death. It is an ugly scent, one of rot, plague, and despair. How it permeated Quel'thalas, seemingly worming its way through every crack in the beautiful moonstone the streets were paved with and the great spires were built from. It crept along the walls, across the sky, as Arthas marched forward towards the glorious Sunwell. She watched, forcing herself into a corner behind a cobalt gauze curtain, as the Scourge stampeded through her beloved home. Her tears blurred her vision, running down her high nose and sharp cheekbones, glistening on porcelain skin. The screams of her kin pierced her ears, the gurgle of those who choked on their own blood, the rip and tear of elven skin as abominations threw their vile hooks. "Pyravia!", shouted a lanky, sandy haired man at her, before a skeleton ran him through with its greatsword.
She outstretched her hand towards the other Blood Elf, a strangled wail escaping her as she watched his crimson blood pour out onto the once-pure walkway. "Oh, god.. this can't be real...", her thoughts shrieked, her sobs raggedly ripping their way out of her throat. "It can't be real... it can't be real... Oh god, it can't be real.. Alurion..."

A sharp jostling awoke the onyx-haired elf. "Pyravia.. wake up.", said a lilting voice behind her, thin fingers rocking her shoulder. Pyravia turned, aiming her misty , verdant orbs towards the older elf above her. The greying elf sadly smiled back down at her, wrinkles crinkling further as her lips pulled taut. "Tyalda... why have you woken me?", the younger elf groaned, rolling her head to its original position. "You were whimpering, my dear. It is not healthy to sleep through a night terror..", Tyalda explained, removing her hand from Pyravia's shoulder. "It is time to wake, anyhow.. you cannot sleep all day."

Pyravia grunted in response, throwing her soft, silken pillow over her head. "You better be out of bed and dressed by the time I come back in here!", the elder called as she shut the door to the private room and briskly walked away. Sighing, the young elf forced herself into an upright position, toes dangling from the bed and tickling the velvety rug below. Reaching for her hair brush, she gazed out the large window into the Ghostlands. She could never tell if it was dawn or dusk, as the skies above always seemed to be plagued with heavy clouds and an incomprehensible blackness. The glow of the bio luminescent fungi that grew on the withered and gnarled trees, however, always seemed to cut at least a tiny bit through the gloom. Pyravia blinked back tears as she thought of the sun that had always kissed Quel'thalas gently, harshly dragging the brush through her long, midnight locks.

"Pyravia, take this, the magistrix tore his cloak again and he needs it back as soon as possible.", Tyalda quipped, thrusting an unsightly orange cloak into the black haired girl's bony hands. "Is he ROLLING in thorns?!", Pyravia screeched, exasperated at always having new orders from the magistrix. "That's none of our business... you're my apprentice, so you best get used to this, as you'll eventually take my place as Tranquillen's tailor.", Tyalda sighed, tightening her bright grey bun and adjusting her blouse. Pyravia nodded solemnly in response, picking up her needle and thread, weaving it in and out of the gaudy orange fabric.

"My dear, may I ask what you were dreaming of earlier that had you in such a fit?"

"It was nothing, madame."

"It was Quel'thalas, wasn't it?"

"Yes.. I miss it so dreadfully."

"You know I do as well, but we have to accept this. We must accept that we cannot return until Prince Kael'thas deems it safe for us to do so."

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know, Pyravia."

Tyalda looked sadly down at her apprentice, thoughts of Arthas' brutal invasion piercing her mind.

She had found Pyravia rolled tightly in a ball, backed into the corner of a library. Numerous dead surrounded her, their bodies sinewy and gaunt, as though every shred of life had been torn out of them. She shivered so violently, her onyx locks whipping wildly around her thin face, sticking to where her tears had streamed. Tyalda had reached out to touch the shuddering girl, only for her to begin screaming and wailing, gripping the elder's arm until her knuckles went white.

Tyalda slammed a thin-skinned hand over the young girl's mouth, frightened that she had alerted Scourge to her location. Pyravia's eyes were crazed, fresh tears flowing out of them as she clawed at the old seamstress. She buried her face into the greying elf's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her shriveled torso, sobbing and gripping as though the only living elf she had seen in hours would simply fall away like sand. Tyalda sighed, placing her palm against Pyravia's quivering back , quietly whispering to her on how they would escape.

The two slipped out of Quel'thalas, thankfully unscathed, fleeing to the Ghostlands. For weeks, Tyalda could not get Pyravia to speak. Every night, her screams would awake the elderly elf , as she lay thrashing and convulsing in her bed. Finally, one dim morning, as the seamstress gently set morning glory tea in front of the young elf, she spoke. "Thank you.", she murmured, voice crackly and dry from her incessant crying.

"What is your name?", Tylada had asked gently, reaching out to take the young elf's hand. She sat, silent, eyes slowly making their way up to Tyalda's kind face. "Pyravia..", she choked, pulling her hand away from Tyalda's.

"Pyravia... how old are you?"

"13.."

"Where are your parents?"

The teenager choked as new tears welled up. That told Tyalda all she needed to know.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

Pyravia shook her head.

"You may stay here with me then.. my name is Tyalda, I was passing through Quel'thalas for some new fabrics when Arthas came.. I found you, after I had been hiding from the Scourge myself and was attempting to escape."

That had been 9 years ago.