The Brothers Song
Book 1: BROTHERHOOD
By Araldah - Caelestraz
-1-
Rays of morning light filtered through the thick canopies above Ashenvale, illuminating the morning mist that had settled across the forest floor. The silence of the morning was broken only by the gentle hooting of the owls retiring to their nests and the sounds of young deer welcoming the new day. Different sounds resonated through the trees on this day, however. Sounds of activity. Sounds of preparation. Sounds of a new generation learning centuries of tradition.
In the middle of a clearing, stood a young night elf, his long green hair braided elegantly down his broad back upon which his quiver was perfectly fastened. His right arm outstretched, holding his bow with extreme precision and the other nocking an arrow back on the drawstring, arming his weapon of choice. Sweat beaded across the purple tinged skin of his brow that was creased with concentration. His yellow glowing eyes focused firmly on the tree stump that was his target.
"Don't forget to breathe son," said the soft, feminine voice of the young man's teacher. "If you focus too hard, you lose sight of everything else around you. There is more to hitting the target then aiming for its head." She slowly walked over to the side of the elf and leaned to his ear. "Close your eyes and focus on the forest instead of the tree."
The elf did as he was told. His eyes closed gently. He took one deep, smooth breath and suddenly he felt himself open to his surroundings. He heard the breeze gently move the leaves above him. The young fawns grazing at the outskirts of the clearing. The wolf cub attempting his first prowl towards an unaware squirrel that was scampering along the forest floor. Then he felt the tree, his target, in front of him. He no longer saw his target, but instead everything that allowed his shot to hit with uncanny precision. He felt the moment of perfection arrive. He released the arrow he long held onto, his eyes still closed.
The arrow made a loud THOCK as it found its target flawlessly. The night elf still stood in his place as if the ground around him remained frozen in time. He opened his eyes to see the result of his extensive preparation. He calmly lowered his arms and turned towards the trainer of his skill, nay, his art. She stood firm, her long and loose blue hair flowing elegantly across her shoulders. Her grace was only matched by her fierce, warrior-like pose that was enhanced by her bleached white armour, which was lined with black feathers. Her bow held the peculiar, regal appearance of her armour as well, its white wood interrupted only by the intricate black markings of ancient Kal' Dorei.
"Well done young Whyspar," said the proud female elf. "With Elune's blessing, I may just make a true hunter out of my son yet."
"Thank you mother," replied Whyspar shyly as his mother proudly clasped his shoulder. He blushed as a smile drew across his face. He was happy to please his mother.
"And so you should be pleased Arion!" yelled a boisterous voice from the edge of the clearing. Whyspar stood in awe of the figure that approached him and his mother on sabreback. The rider dismounted with a graceful disregard for the weight of his armour. Whyspar gazed at the tall muscular night elf that stood before them, his bright blue hair tied back in a ponytail and his beard perfectly sculpted to frame his jaw line. His armour matched Arion's almost perfectly, apart from having black fur in place of feathers.
It was none other then the mighty Mavelorian, the elf who had to prove his worth in a field of expertise that was not the tradition. He was one of the first male elves to forsake the customs of druidism in order to pursue the skills of hunting, and he excelled at this immensely. He was a living wonder, becoming the first male member of the Tyrande Guard, the personal force of Tyrande Whisperwind herself. They were the fighting elite and legends of the Kal' Dorei.
"Arion, I express regret for breaking up this joyous morning with your son, but Priestess Whisperwind requires an audience with us," explained Mavelorian.
"Then we shall ride at once Mavelorian," replied Arion. "Fear not son. I will return in a few moons. Practise with your bow some more so that when I return, we can find you a beast." Within moments, Mavelorian was mounted upon his Sabre again, with Arion behind him. Whyspar watched helplessly as his mother once again left the trees of Ashenvale behind, much like she had before. He saw her glance back at him standing in the glade, alone.
Images flashed before Whyspar's eyes. Images of hate and death; malice and destruction. Foul voices filled the air, surrounding him in dread. Suddenly, he saw his mother's face in front of him, contorted in a mask of agony with her eyes rolled back and her skin paled beyond belief. The stench of decay surrounded her grotesque, lifeless corpse. She was dead.
Whyspar sat up in bed, his shirtless body trickled with sweat. The last moonlight of the night shone through the window as he stared out past the silhouette of his sleeping Moonsabre, Sylance. He knew it was just a dream.
-2-
Morning light filtered through the canopy of Ashenvale, illuminating Whyspar, his bow focused on the tree trunk. The dream from the night before replayed in his head.
"Don't forget to breath son… If you focus too hard, you lose sight of everything else around you... There is more to hitting the target then aligning your arrow to its head…Close your eyes and focus on the forest instead of the tree."
He followed, step by step, just as he had all those years ago. His eyes closed as he breathed deeply, releasing the bowstring instinctively. With a resounding thud, the arrow hit its mark.
"Well done little brother," remarked a voice behind him. "By the looks of that tree, you have been down here a while." Whyspar turned to face his brother.
"Trying to surprise me Fenixis?," retorted Whyspar. "Perhaps you should have chosen a softer apple."
"Indeed," Fenixis took another bite out of his breakfast.
Whyspar walked past his brother as he retrieved his arrow from the tree. It was a journey he had taken hundreds of times already that day, and a journey that he would never grow weary of. As Whyspar left, Fenixis inspected the numerous marks that now covered the target area. He rested his hand on the tree and closed his eyes with concentration. A gentle breeze rustled his long white hair and a green aura emanated from his hand. The marks on the tree slowly began disappearing as new bark formed over them. Fenixis pulled his hand away and the breeze died, as too did the aura. The tree looked unblemished, regaining the pristine condition it had once held earlier in the morning.
"The art of a druid. It will never cease to amaze me brother," said Whyspar.
"You too have the ability young Whyspar," replied Fenixis as he placed a reassuring hand on his younger brother. "But you are too much like our mother."
Suddenly, something grunted from the nearby undergrowth. Sylance immediately jumped to her master's side, having roused from her mid-morning nap. Fenixis picked up his tree-branch staff and moved towards the sound. With a rustle, a large stag jumped out of the bush and landed in the clearing. Sylance growled at the animal before them but Whyspar comforted her. She would not move without his command. Fenixis waved back Whyspar who had already aimed his bow at the stag. He walked towards the creature, unafraid. Every step put Fenixis' tall, elegant frame within range. His green leather jerkin and kilt would do little to stop the stag's antlers from causing serious harm, yet he walked. As he got closer, he stretched out his hand towards it. He could see the taint the Lich King had brought to this land those few short years ago, and this animal was infected by it. Its fur was discoloured to a sickly yellow and its mouth foamed. It turned to Fenixis. Then, it charged.
Fenixis was knocked to the ground. The force of the blow had stunned him briefly so he had no time to cast a spell. He was preoccupied, holding back the stag's antlers from goring him into the ground. Murderous grunts filled the air as Fenixis wrestled with the corrupted animal. He glanced back at his brother sharply. He knew he could not heal this creature's distortion.
Whyspar closed his eyes and took one deep, smooth breath. The forest around him filled his mind. He saw Fenixis' movements, almost rhythmically. He saw the breeze die. He saw his shot, and he released.
The corrupted stag slumped onto Fenixis, the stem of Whyspar's arrow poking out of its forehead. With a deep breath, Fenixis heaved the lifeless corpse from on top of him and was helped to his feet by his brother.
"Like I said," he remarked, inspecting the results of the altercation. "Just like mother."
"Brothers Moonsong!" yelled a voice from the edge of the clearing. The brothers turned to see a female night elf running towards them.
"What brings you to this part of the forest Sentinel Aisha?" greeted Fenixis.
"Sherriff Ravenhook requests your presence in Astranaar immediately," replied the Sentinel.
"Then we shall leave at once," said Whyspar, slinging his bow around his shoulder.
-3-
"We have a major problem," said Marin Ravenhook as Fenixis and Whyspar entered Marin's hut. Marin stood in the centre of the room, her white hair flowing across her shoulders. Her hair stood in contrast to her purple skin and the brown leather armour that adorned her lean and alluring feminine form. "Do you have any idea how hard it can be to guide a furbolg chieftain to rationalism, let alone two of them?" Whyspar and Fenixis took their place at the wooden table in front of them, Sylance by Whyspar's side. Fenixis relaxed into his seat, preparing himself for the long story that was to come.
"Yesterday, I had to hold a conference between the Denclaw and Padroot clans in order to settle a dispute," explained Marin. "Apparently someone attempted to kill the Padroot chieftain. The plot failed and the assassin escaped. Now, the Padroot are accusing the Denclaw tribe of hiring the assailant and of course, the Denclaw are denying this. Tensions between the two could not be any higher. 'Open War' are two words that have increased in popularity in their vocabulary. Now it is a good thing that the chieftains have asked for the Moonsong family to investigate this due to your mother's involvement in the clans' original truce, because I cannot spare any more outrunners or sentinels. A new lumber company has moved into the south of the forest and they are testing their boundaries quite significantly."
"How much time do we have?" asked Fenixis.
"Very little," replied Marin. "I would not take any longer then a week. I cannot estimate the moment when the two tribes can no longer tolerate each other."
Marin placed her satchel on the table and removed an object wrapped in cloth.
"I do believe this would be helpful," she said. "The assassin left it behind in his haste."
Fenixis reached over and grabbed the covered object and slowly removed its shroud. Within the cloth, he found a dagger. It was of Night Elf design yet very unique. Its blade was made of a dark metal, causing no glare and the carved wooden hilt was tightly wrapped in leather that been died purple. The leather fell into carvings on the wood underneath it, revealing intricate grooves and markings, one of which caught Fenixis' eye. The marking resembled a large tree with sprawling branches and a pool at the base of its trunk. Within the pool, a reflection of the moon was carved. Fenixis knew this marking well. Why wouldn't he? It was the family crest of Moonsong.
Whyspar looked over at the knife, prompted by the surprised look on Fenixis' face. "Is that…" he said.
"Yes," interrupted Fenixis. "It is. I do believe it is time we sought our brother."
-4-
Whyspar focused intensely as he tightened his chain mail chest plate across his shoulders. The drums of war thundered around the makeshift town of tents that had grown at the base of Aldrassil on Mount Hyjal, and Whyspar flinched with every beat. He had never faced a real conflict before, let alone the entire scourge. Fenixis stood across from him, calmly slipping his hands into his fingerless gloves.
"What are we going to face?" asked Whyspar to his surprisingly composed brother.
"Nothing you cannot handle," replied Fenixis, placing his hand reassuringly on Whyspar's shoulder. "Mother has taught you well. The only one who should be scared out there is whatever is on the receiving end of your arrows."
Sylance growled in agreement. Whyspar nodded as he fastened his quiver across his back and buckled the belt that held the holsters for his axes, which lay sharpened on the table in front of him. He hesitated as he holstered his axes, not fully believing the words of his brother.
"I have heard the tales of our enemies Fenixis," started Whyspar. "Murmurs of our own people fighting under the banner of our foes. A grotesque giant with blades for arms that can storm through lines with single-minded ferocity. Skeletons that wield the old magics. How are we meant to fight an opponent that only grows stronger with every fallen ally?"
"They may be strengthened by the magics of necromancy, but they are ultimately still flesh and bone," replied Fenixis, burning with a noticeable fire that could be interpreted as either bravery or stupidity. "You remove the head, and the body will die. If they still move, then burn what remains. If you see a caster, focus your attacks on them. The dead do not rise on their own. Remember to breath and you will not become one of the abominations."
Whyspar grinned with a newfound bravado. His fear alighted enough for him to focus on what was surely, to be a memorable battle. Old enemies had become unlikely partners at the guidance of the Night Elves in order to bring the once-human King of the Eastern Lands, Arthas Menethil's plans to a grinding halt. From stories told around the camp, the brothers heard of the destructive battles between the orcish horde and the humans, which ravaged the Eastern Lands. Only a threat of immense magnitude could remove such horrific blood feuds and promote such unity. A threat that targeted the entire world of Azeroth.
Without warning, the flaps of the tent that represented the door were flung open and the tall slender figure of a night elf burst into the room. The armour that hugged his physique was coloured a dark ebony black, much like his short, ponytailed hair, and was adorned with the intricate etchings of the Kal Dorei'. Daggers hung by the sides of his waist and the long black cloak that reached down to his knees fluttered with his every move.
"Brothers, are you ready to kill those that have already died?" questioned the new arrival.
"Renaurion," said Fenixis dryly, "your overconfidence astounds me, even in moments like this. I'm sure that your conviction is enough for both you and Whyspar."
Renaurion turned to his younger brother. "You have nothing to fear. There is enough out there for all of us. Just make sure you don't hit me."
"Enough," said Fenixis, steadying the room into the harsh reality of their future. "Confidence is important but arrogance will turn you into one of our enemies and I will not permit that to happen. We are brothers, in life and death."
"Agreed," replied Whyspar and Renaurion in unison.
Horns echoed around the camp and outside, the brothers heard a commotion. Without delay, they joined the small group that rushed towards the emergency. They saw Mavelorian riding towards them sluggishly. He was hunched over his sabre, blood marking the back of the creature's neck. Deep lacerations also afflicted the mount, signs of a violent getaway. Fenixis was the first to Mavelorian and eased him off his transportation. Mavelorian himself looked almost beyond recognition, his face and hair stained and matted with blood.
"I couldn't save them...I couldn't save them," Mavelorian mumbled repeatedly as Fenixis eased him to the ground, healing what wounds he could and tending to the others he couldn't. As Whyspar and Renaurion inspected the dying sabre they noticed a large bundle draped across its back. Moving forward to inspect it, Whyspar reached up and pulled the cloak off the mysterious form. Nothing could prepare them for the atrocity they witnessed. In front of them, they saw a female night elf, her face contorted in a mask of agony with her eyes rolled back in her skull and her skin paled beyond belief. The face was their mother's.
Whyspar awoke to a loud thud on the wooden floor in front of him. The smell of salt water filled his nostrils as he attempted to gain his composure after the sudden awakening from his nightmare.
"Come brother," said Fenixis. "We have arrived."
-5-
The sun hit Whyspar strongly, catching him off guard. He wasn't use to the direct sunlight that shone in the open lands of Eastern Kingdoms. He had never left the forests of Kalimdor and he was finding it an uncomfortable yet astonishing experience. He stood on the dock, amazed by the sight of the little fortified harbour town of Menethil Harbour, which had grown immensely since it was founded essentially for trading with the new colonies of Kalimdor. A small goblin grunted as it squeezed past Whyspar, annoyed at the dazed night elf that stood in his way. A nudge from the goblin brought Whyspar out of his stupor and he apologised as he ran to catch up with his brother.
The brothers entered the local inn only to be confronted by the pungent odour of stale booze and sweat. Despite the smell, the tavern was a hive of activity, with races from throughout the Eastern Kingdoms singing merrily or trading stories of previous conquests.
"OY!" shouted a gruff man from behind the bar. He moved over to Whyspar, the smell of ale following him. "I'm sick of tellin' you elves from across the sea to leave your damn pets outside!" Whyspar was stunned by the sudden confrontation but Fenixis came to his rescue, placing a hand on the barkeep's shoulder and apologising for the transgressions. As he walked away with the man, discussing their lodgings for the night, he shot a glance over his shoulder at his younger brother. Whyspar did as he was told, walking Sylance outside and returning to Fenixis minus his beloved moonsabre.
The confrontation had not interrupted the patrons of the tavern but it did catch the attention of one individual. Sitting in the corner of the large room was a shadowy figure, with a long black coat draping his chair. His eyes followed the brothers as they walked up the stairs to the rooms available for rent. When they moved past him, he dipped his head, hiding the purple skin of his face under his wide brimmed hat.
Fenixis opened the door to their rented room and was surprised how homely it was, despite its bleakness. Everything in the room was made of unfinished wood and a small cup with a flower in it sat on the table across from the bed, obviously a poor attempt at making the room more appealing. Fenixis laid down on he bed as Whyspar ran across to the window. He opened it and gave a single, high-pitched whistle. With ease, Sylance found her way to the window from the outside and jumped through. While his back was turned, Whyspar didn't see the figure that had watched them in the bar occupy the single chair in the room.
"I wonder what would bring my forest-dwelling brothers all the way to the Eastern Lands," said the figure, calmly leaning the chair back on two legs and holding it steady with his foot on the table. Whyspar turned, excited to hear the voice of his brother again. Fenixis shot up from the bed as well. As Whyspar ran to welcome Renaurion, Fenixis chose to move over to the window and take a seat, balancing on the sill.
[ "It's nice to see you too brother," said Renaurion snidely, noticing Fenixis' reserved attitude.
"I was not the one to leave Renaurion," snapped Fenixis. Renaurion bowed his head, knowing the truth to his brother's words.
"Let's not waste our time," continued Fenixis. "Back in Ashenvale, there have been some dangerous accusations being thrown between the Padroot and the Denclaw tribes. There was an attempt on the Padroot Chieftain's life and now they are charging the Denclaws of having a hand in it. There was only one piece of evidence though. This."
He reluctantly handed the blade to Renaurion
"I have not seen this knife for months now," said Renaurion, showing his brothers the empty sheath in his pack. "Last time I saw it, I was with an old friend from Booty Bay to the south and I do believe now is the right time to pay him a visit."
-6-
Renaurion stepped onto the docks of Booty Bay and took in a deep breath. The aromas of the thriving Goblin trading town filled his nostrils.
"Smell that brothers?" he asked. "That is the smell of commerce!"
"Smells like Hippogryph leavings," replied Whyspar, staggering at the odours confronting him.
If Menethil Harbour surprised him, Booty Bay was indescribable. Stories of the town had reached even him deep in the Ashenvale forest. It was the meeting place for all manners of business, be it legitimate or not. The place was a cesspool of illicit activity. Back alley deals and gambling were commonplace and goblins kept the peace in their own way, through extreme neutrality. The heavily armoured goblin bruisers that patrolled every walkway looked as dangerous as a small child but yet, everyone knew not to get in their way. These goblins were above the laws of men and elves. Every kingdom did not approve of the town's activity, but in reality, without it, all trade would cease and an epidemic of poverty would no doubt ensue.
"I suggest that you two find the tavern and don't draw attention to yourselves," ordered Renaurion. "In case you had not seen, this place is no sanctuary and where I am about to go, you would not find comfortable in any way. I mean it," he added, pointing at Whyspar, "Do not cause trouble. Goblins are the last people you want to annoy." And with that, Renaurion lowered his hat and turned into the crowd, disappearing in the commotion.
"I have never understood how he does that," remarked Whyspar.
Candles illuminated the small room that was littered with plush cushions. Long red curtains with gold trims adorned the walls and the door was little more then a blue silk drape. In the centre of the room, laid a small gnome, his vibrant pink hair contrasting the green cushion he was on. A pipe brushed his comically large moustache as he inhaled the incense burning in it. He closed his eyes and reclined into the cushion further, exhaling and losing himself further into his hazy loneliness. He enjoyed the serenity. After a few moments, he realised he wasn't alone anymore. He opened his eyes, barely, and saw the shadowed figure of Renaurion, sitting cross-legged a few metres from him, watching him with glowing eyes.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeey maaaaaaaaaan," drawled the gnome in his race's native high-pitched tone. He was obviously being affected by the contents of the pipe. Renaurion responded coldly, staring emotionless at the intoxicated gnome in front of him.
"Come on maaaaaaaan. What's goin' on?" continued the gnome.
Renaurion walked over to the small table next to the gnome and stabbed the dagger into it. It stood upright, several centimetres embedded into the wood. "Well Boltzen," started Renaurion, "Apparently, this knife was used in an assassination attempt in Ashenvale. The peculiar fact is that I have not been in Kalimdor for years and the last time I saw my dagger, was few months ago when we were being rather merry in the Southshore tavern. I figured that since both you and my dagger were gone before I awoke, you might be the one I'm looking for. Care to explain?"
"Look man," responded Boltzen, "I don't know how that knife of yours ended up anywheres. Take a pipe and relax man."
Renaurion flinched at Boltzen's nonchalant response. He knew the little gnome knew something and he was prepared to find out by any means necessary. He carefully placed his hat on the table, allowing his dark ebony, shoulder-length hair frame his stern face. In one swift move, he lunged for the gnome, grabbing the dagger on his way past. He lifted the gnome up by his hair and threw him against the wall, bringing the dagger to his throat. He gritted his teeth fiercely as the gnome squirmed pointlessly, struggling against Renaurion's strong grip. An action made more difficult by his inebriated state.
"What do you know?!" demanded Renaurion, his voice changing into a deep, raspy growl. His eyes blazed with burning frustration, literally. They had changed colour to a deep crimson and glowed furiously. The dagger grazed the skin of Boltzen's neck.
"OK! OK!" he responded. "MY BAG! MY BAG!" Renaurion removed the blade from Boltzen's throat but still held him by the hair as he navigated the cushions to the satchel. "I was hired by some goblin. He never told me his name but he gave me a contract. They're all about their paperwork." Renaurion sheathed the blade into his boot and rummaged through the bag. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. He dropped the gnome onto the cushions as he read the tattered piece of paper in his hand. In the bottom right corner of the contract, was a very distinguishing mark. A printed logo of a large 'R' surrounded by a thick circle.
Renaurion approached the tavern triumphantly, holding the contract in his hands.
"I thought I said to go inside and not draw attention to yourselves," he said as he noticed his brothers were outside on the wooden walkways.
"Sylance got thrown out again," explained Whyspar, who was sitting, legs over the edge of the gangways and patting his feline partner.
"Well, my little friend gave me this." Renaurion passed the contract to Fenixis.
"I've seen this before," Fenixis said, pointing to the printed logo. "It was on a tattered jacket in a wolf den back in Ashenvale. Razzin Corporation." A concerned look grew on Fenixis' face. "They are the lumber company that has been causing Marin's inconveniences in the southern forests. We must get back to Astranaar immediately."
"Mind if I join you?" Renaurion asked. "I want to have a word with the one who attempted to tarnish my name."
-7-
Magic-infused crystals lined the underground caves deep within the Ashenvale forests, illuminating them with a cold white glow. The brothers, along with Marin Ravenhook, stood around a large table in the centre of the natural hall. They watched the two furbolg chieftains and their entourages with wary eyes. The tension in the room almost unbearable as the irate roars reverberated with mind-shattering volume. Fenixis raised his right hand into the air and a large white light emanated from his hand. The cave fell deafly silent.
"Chieftains of the clans," started Fenixis. "We have found the source of your aggravation…"
"Those filthy Denclaws!" interrupted the Padroot chieftain, erupting the meeting place back into an uproar of infuriated growls. The two clans drew closer to each other, threatening to explode into violence. Fenixis flicked his wrist and the ground beneath the Furbolgs blasted apart as roots of nearby trees extended upwards, latching onto the nearest participant. The night elves remained surprisingly calm as the Furbolgs struggled against nature itself. It was not long before they realised the futility of their actions and calmed down again. Fenixis begrudgingly released them from their captivity and they sat down at the table once more, exchanging foul looks as they did.
"As I was saying," continued Fenixis, "the source does not lie with each other. Nor does it with any elf of our realm. I'd like to introduce my brother, Renaurion." Renaurion stepped forward, taking his hat off and pulling out the knife he had recently reacquired. The Padroot chieftain shifted unsteadily as he did so. "As you can see, the dagger left behind was his. We cannot refute that. It is a Moonsong crest carved into the hilt. The description of your attacker does match a night elf quite accurately. However, what we have learned recently destroys the notion of a planned attack by either of you."
Fenixis walked over to his satchel and pulled out the contract Renaurion had forcibly appropriated from his short acquaintance. A smirk drew across the Denclaw chieftain's. "Tell me friends," said Fenixis to the chieftains. "Have you had any visits from a goblin lately?"
The eyes of both chieftains widened. They had both been approached several days prior to that attack by a small goblin attempting to make a deal. He wanted their forest and offered little in return. Both clans refused and both clans showed their willingness to defend their forest, violently.
"So your refusal left him with no choice," surmised Marin. "Mr Razzin could not actively attack you though, otherwise he would lose his entire company. We would destroy it and force him out of the forest. So instead, he hired someone and played on the uneasy truce you held. And you almost fell right into it."
The chieftains burned with anger. The race of Furbolgs prided themselves on their ability to see through deception, despite their primitive nature. And with the realisation of their foolishness, they itched for retribution.
"I do believe they have overstepped their boundaries Sherriff Marin," said Fenixis with a smug grin on his face. "Now we can act."
-8-
The sounds of commerce echoed throughout the south forests, breaking the fragile serenity that once ruled these lands. Beings of all races hacked away at the trees, felling them with disregard for the life that once stood there. They boisterously joked about the lives they had left in order to make money as they stripped the tree of branches and any remaining animal life. Bipedal machines controlled by goblins easily sawed their way through the lumber that was now nothing more then a resource for consumption by the highest bidder.
Whyspar frowned in disgust. He loved the treetops. They were his domain. His playground and today, his vantage point. He found comfort in the boughs of Ashenvale. Within them, he could watch anything he wanted and move without fear of being seen, and that was exactly what he was doing. Along with a multitude of other elves, clad in the armour of their family crest, they jumped from tree to tree, high above the forest floor and silently drew closer to the edge of the Razzin workforce. They passed a pair of crude wooden towers without drawing any attention, killing the unfortunate watchmen in them as they did and allowing the outrunners a clear run to the work area.
On the ground, Renaurion led the outrunners past the watchtowers, shooting a look of gratitude to the treetops, hoping that at least one of his invisible allies received his thanks. The outrunners moved just as swiftly as the sentinals above them while darting in and out of hiding places, killing all workers in their way and hiding the bodies. As they neared the tree line, the sentinals stopped and perched themselves as comfortably as they could, aiming their bows into the treeless landscape in front of them but holding their fire. Marin had given them their orders and they followed them obediently. The outrunners found their path through various trees that lay on the ground, using them as cover. Somewhere along the field, a bush rustled as an outrunner darted into it, drawing the attention of a nearby goblin. It moved forward, axe ready to cut down whatever was creeping through its workspace. Suddenly Renaurion appeared behind it and plunged his dagger deep into the back of its neck, paralysing it instantly and preventing the goblin from warning its fellow workers. They continued only metres away, oblivious to the large force passing right by them.
A large roar reverberated across the treeless forest, causing some workers to stop what they were doing. A second roar sounded, much closer, stopping many more. They looked towards the source of their fear, a large hill close to the site. On the hill stood Fenixis, his hair moving in the gentle breeze. The workers all watched curiously, not believing that this lone elf could make such noise. The emerald gem in Fenixis' staff began to glow. Fenixis closed his eyes and whispered a small incantation. Suddenly, the gem released a strong, blinding white light across the landscape, blinding the workers. Many fell back, disorientated. From behind Fenixis, a large rumble began to sound. Those few workers who had regained their composure watched in horror as the entirety of both clans of Furbolgs started to run over the hill towards them. Fenixis stood in place as the primitive bear men ran within inches of him. From behind the Furbolgs, a large black cloud had formed in the sky. As it drew closer, many workers screamed when they recognised the tell tale whistle of arrows. The airborne weapons rained down upon the workers, killing or injuring those who weren't armoured or shielding themselves behind fallen trees. By now, the Furbolgs had reached the first of the survivors, clashing violently. The workers who were without weapons or courage began to run from the conflict, towards the main office building towards the back of the camp. The outrunners quickly revealed themselves, surprising these workers and forcing them to fight for their lives or surrender to their mercy. Many workers did the latter but those few with axes in their hands were shown no mercy as they swung at the nearest night elf.
Fenixis had found himself deep in the conflict, following the Furbolgs into the melee. Whilst many workers gave up quickly, the guards of the work site showed amazing tenacity, despite being outnumbered. Fenixis found himself outnumbered though, taking on two burly Orcs with fists the size of his head. The first swung his armoured fist at Fenixis, intending to crush the elf's face. Fenixis artfully dodged to the Orc's left, swinging his staff around with him and connecting with the Orc's thick skull. The second guard ran at Fenixis but was stopped fast by a large green ball of magic conjured by his target. He fell to ground unconscious as the first Orc returned to his feet. Now he had found himself an axe on the ground and swung it fiercely at Fenixis. Fenixis was unprepared, watching the axe come at him. A black flash flew across Fenixis eyes as he prepared for the axe to cleave his head in two. The Orc never connected. Instead now he had a large panther attached to his arm. He winced in pain, trying to shake Sylance off.
"She thought you could use a hand," joked Whyspar, shaking Fenixis back into reality. Fenixis conjured another ball of magic and hit the Orc in the face with it.
"Thankyou dear Sylance," said Fenixis to the cat who had saved his life. "I had noticed the arrows had stopped," he continued as both of the brothers returned to the melee.
"It became too messy," responded Whyspar, swinging his axe at the nearest Razzin guard. "I could not find a clear shot."
Whyspar hacked fiercely at the guards who prevented them from reaching the offices, a stark contrast to Fenixis fluid-like movements and graceful swings of his staff. They finally reached the position of the outrunners, who were moving slowly towards the main office buildings. There had been more resistance then Marin had expected but not enough to best the skills of the night elves or the pure rage of the Furbolgs. Fenixis looked for Renaurion amongst the fighters but saw no sign of his tenacious little brother. "Where is Renaurion?" he asked one of the outrunners fighting close to him.
"I have no idea," she responded between swings of her dagger. "We have not seen him since the Furbolgs clashed with the main force."
-9-
"Sir. The deforestation area is overrun," screeched a nasally voice through the desk intercom. "Many of the workers have surrendered and our guards are gradually retreating to your building."
"Then send in some guards to protect me!" boomed Razzin in response. "I don't want to hear anymore until those guards are in my office!"
Razzin reclined in his comically large chair, chewing on his cigar meant for a being at least triple his size. His moment of solitude and peace was abruptly cut short by two Orc guards bursting through his door.
"Reporting for protection detail," said the first guard as the second grunted in agreeance.
"Do you see any elves or Furbolgs in my office?" asked Razzin sarcastically. The Orcs scratched their heads in confusion, looking at each other in the hope that either of them had an answer for their boss.
"Um…No?"
"Then stand outside my office and GUARD! I'll sound the alarm if I need you."
The Orcs did as they were told, shuffling out of the office. As they swung the door closed, Razzin quickly realised he was no longer alone in his office. Standing next to the door, was the leather clad Renaurion, his hat covering his eyes. He casually leaned over and locked the door, the clunk breaking the ominous silence that had fallen over the room. Razzin reached for the large red button on his desk but was stopped by a throwing knife hitting blade-first into the desk inches from his outstretched hand.
"I'd prefer it if our little chat remained uninterrupted," remarked Renaurion. He started to walk over to Razzin's desk, drawing his once-stolen dagger as he did. He casually sat down in the chair reserved for visitors to Razzin's office, putting his feet up on the table in front of him. "Why did you specifically ask for my dagger to be used? Of all the choices you had, why me?" he asked, playing with knife.
"Just a pawn in the game young elf," replied Razzin calmly. "You were merely the one to blame."
"I don't like asking twice little goblin."
Razzin chuckled at Renaurion, causing tiny pieces of chewed tobacco to land on the desk. A smile drew across Renaurion's face. He couldn't believe the gall of the goblin that sat before him in its finely pressed suit. The being may have been four feet tall but it believed itself larger then a Tauren. Renaurion's eyes began to change. They slowly became crimson as his anger grew. He lunged blade first for the goblin. Razzin squirmed in Renaurion's fingers as he pinned the goblin to the chair. "WHY ME?!" he demanded.
Razzin began to chuckle, which grew into a full laugh, despite a knife being held to his throat. The door of the office began to shake. Renaurion's eyes darted to the door then to the desk, noticing the alarm button pressed down. By some miracle chance, Razzin had acted faster then he did. With a large crash, the first guard exploded through the door, showering the room with splinters. Renaurion dropped his quarry in order to fight. He quickly threw another of his small knives at the Orc, hitting it in the knee and causing it to fall face first on the floor. The second Orc entered the room and swung his axe downward at the intruder. Renaurion darted to his left, avoiding the cumbersome weapon. Renaurion used the momentum of the swing to his advantage, sliding pass the Orcs side, gliding his once-stolen blade across the guard's neck. The Orc was dead before he hit the ground, blood gushing freely from the open wound. With one final move, Renaurion drove the blade deep into the back of the first Orc's neck as it lay half conscious, executing it as it lay on the floor. He calmly stood up, thick Orc blood dripping from the knife in his hand. He turned back to Razzin, his eyes still glowing a bright crimson. Razzin sat in his chair, frozen in shock. His cigar had fallen out of his wide-open mouth.
Renaurion stepped over the lifeless guards and grabbed Razzin's collar. He pulled the little goblin from his chair and slammed him down on the desk.
"I hate being interrupted," remarked Renaurion, his face was surprisingly calm despite the savagery in his voice.
"Ok! Ok!" screamed Razzin, as Renaurion brought the blood-soaked blade to the frightened goblin's throat. "It wasn't my idea. We were having problems with the Furbolgs. They wouldn't make a deal and their land has amazing potential. They could be rich easily with the wood they have. They started attacking our scout parties. We would lose contact and a few days later, the scout team would appear again, minus their equipment and some their clothes. It was costing me a fortune. One day, a being of the forest approached us. An elf that looked very much like you but his hair was long and puffy, like a lion's mane, and very….orange and his eyes were black. He wore a lot of gold too. He was walking with these…goat-elves."
"Satyrs," interjected Renaurion.
"He gave us a plan. He wanted your dagger used. I don't know why. He just gave us the way to have the Furbolgs taken care of without our direct interference."
"What was his name?" demanded Renaurion through gritted teeth, his eyes flaring as he did.
"I..ah..I don't…"
"His name!"
"He never told us!" screamed Razzin in response. "He never told us! Please don't kill me!"
A sinister grin drew across Renaurion's face.
-10-
Fenixis, Whyspar and the rest of the outrunners finally reached the main office building. The guards had put up an admiral fight but sheer numbers out weighed them. The brothers, along with the outrunners, broke their way into the building, fighting those who stood against them. They finally reached Razzin's office, stopping when they noticed the remnants of the door swinging on the one remaining hinge. Fenixis tentatively stepped through the doorway, conjuring a green light in his hand. He saw the two Orcish guards, lying in a pool of their blood. The light grew in ferocity. He wanted to be prepared for whatever had taken out these massive creatures with such malice.
"It took you long enough."
Renaurion sat in Razzin's chair, his feet on the desk and his hat covering his eyes. He lifted his head to reveal his face to his brother. He grinned smugly, one of Razzin's cigars hanging in his teeth. Fenixis withdrew his spell, laughing at the site before him. Razzin was squirming, trying to free himself from the various knifes that were stuck through his suit, attaching him to the wall. His little legs moved as if he was running on the air.
The Furbolgs had finished rounding up those who surrendered in the deforestation zone and the sentinals guarded the tree line, making sure no one escaped. The outrunners brought the subdued guards from the office to the gathering. Marin, along with the two Furbolg chieftains, joined the Moonsong brothers to confront the tiny goblin being escorted towards the work site.
"Mr Razzin," began Marin, "you have caused quite a problem within my forest. Your mandate was not to interrupt any life outside of your designated zone. Evidence has come to light that you have broken this agreement. By order of the High Priestess of Elune, Tyrande Whisperwind and the Kal' Dorei people, you and your company are hereby forbidden to step foot anywhere in or north of Ashenvale. If you do, all equipment will be confiscated and you will be sent further south. That is if we find you first. I assure you, if we don't, your bones will never leave the forest." She shot a glance at the infuriated chieftains to Razzin's right, their faces scowled at the prospect of Razzin remaining alive. "My fighters will escort you to the Talondeep Path. I highly suggest you do not look back." And with that, the workers, along with Mr Razzin started the trek south, all the time under the guard of the Night Elves.
"You boys certainly were the heroes of today," she said to the Moonsong brothers. "Without you, I'm sure this would have ended much differently. Thankyou." She gently placed a hand on Fenixis chest as she moved away. "If I ever need a hand, I will certainly contact you."
"Indeed young Moonsongs," shouted the Padroot chieftain. "You have certainly lived up to your mother."
"She would be proud indeed," remarked the Denclaw. "The peace started with her and now you boys have forged it stronger. We are in your debt."
"We are welcome Chieftains," responded Fenixis as the chieftains turned to leave, chuckling at the renewed friendship.
They stood together, surveying the scene of the conflict. A grin grew on Renaurion's face.
"We did well brothers," said Renaurion approvingly. "I missed the forest. Don't mind if I stay for a while do you?"
Whyspar looked at Fenixis. His face gleamed with excitement at the prospect.
"Our home is always open to family Renaurion," responded Fenixis. Sylance jumped on Renaurion in celebration as the brothers laughed together like they once did so long ago.
-Epilogue-
A shadowy robed figure stood near the edge of a cliff, overlooking the brutal conflict below. He resembled a night elf but his skin was bright pink and his body was adorned with various pieces of gold and gemmed jewellery. A long mane of orange hair ran down to his waist and small horns grew from his forehead. Deep, black eyes watched intently as the Furbolgs clashed furiously with the Razzin Corporation workers. A grin drew across his dark visage as he saw Whyspar join Fenixis in the melee.
"My liege," interrupted a purple Satyr, the noise of his hoofed feet breaking the observer's fixation. "If we wait any longer we risk exposing ourselves prematurely to the Kal' Dorei."
"Very well Xiantus. We can move our plan forward. The Moonsongs have returned."
With that, the observer reluctantly left his position, followed subserviently by Xiantus.