- Reforging Alliances -
Alaric had always liked Hillsbrad. It was beautiful, not in complexity like some of the other places he had been in the world – the Storm Peaks came to mind – but rather in its simplicity. It had everything you could want. A beautiful sea to the south, snowy mountains to the north, and nestled between them was the quiet town of Southshore. It was one of those places that always seemed far away from the rest of the world's problems.
It wasn't of course; the Horde and the Alliance regularly clashed when the scouts from Southshore or Tarren Mill would cross paths, but even those skirmishes never held the same intensity that you might find in say, Ashenvale, or even just a few days ride north in the Alterac Valley. They were born out of a sense of rivalry rather than hatred. They happened because each side was itching for a fight, not because one wanted to genuinely exterminate the other.
The Paladin had fought in the war years ago. He knew what it was like to hate your enemy, to want to scour the world of their kind. He bore no love for the Horde, but he also understood the value of restraint. Skirmishes served a purpose; they allowed the more rowdy citizens of each settlement to satisfy their need for battle in a way that severely mitigated the potential for damage or loss of life that was so prominent in the rest of the world where the ongoing conflict between the two sides had boiled over. It was an unspoken agreement between the two factions in Hillsbrad that he was happy to see upheld.
His own need for combat had been sated long ago. He wasn't particularly old – middle aged, or even young by human standards – but he had seen enough of war to grow tired of it. He was still perfectly capable with his sword, and wouldn't hesitate to use it when called upon, but he tried to stray from any path that might lead to such an event when he could foresee it.
On this particular day, he had been traveling through on his way to Southshore. He had wanted to make good enough time to get there before the night fell, but the sun drooping low over the hills told him that was unlikely. He had maybe an hour of light left, and so it seemed like he would be spending the night under the stars, not a prospect he particularly minded but one which would set him back part of a day.
He turned his charger north, towards the higher hills. It was a short ride, and off the beaten path, but it would make it less likely someone would stumble across his camp as he slept, and the hills would provide a natural barrier from several sides. The hooves of his horse patted softly against the ground as he rode on slowly, and before long he had found a spot to stop for the night. Dismounting, he scanned the area around him to verify that it was safe. The side of a large mountain was visible less than a hundred yards to the north, and thick trees provided cover from the other three sides. Even better, he could hear the soft patter of running water nearby. Water meant fish, and fish meant food.
It took him only a few minutes to unravel his makeshift camp, and before long he had tied his charger to a tree and set out on foot in search of the source of his meal. He attuned his senses to his surroundings as he walked, scanning subconsciously for anything that might be a danger to him. Coming upon the stream, he settled in to wait and was pleased to find he got a bite almost instantly, and then two more. That was easy, he thought happily.
He put the yet-to-be-cooked meal into a small pack at his side and set off back to the camp slowly. His eyes drifted upwards to the sky and he saw the first hint of stars peeking through only a moment before his subconscious alarm alerted him to something nearby that should not have been.
Quickly his gaze fell and scanned the trees. He saw nothing. No dark silhouettes, no telltale signs of a trap or ambush. But something was not right, he knew it. Slowly he began to walk once more, waiting for the reaction of an enemy who would have to keep up with him.
None did.
He turned again, gazing out through the trees into the quickly growing darkness. He couldn't shake the notion that there was something out of place. If it wasn't an enemy so be it, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts. Luckily for him, the darkness was not an obstacle to the Paladins of the light.
Quickly he brought his hand out, whispering the words he knew well. A burst of light erupted from his palm, illuminating all that was around him for a short moment as it pulsed before collapsing back inwards and returning him to darkness.
There.
He had seen something, or rather he had seen someone. Only briefly but what was now revealed could not be hidden from his eyes again. She was there, laying haphazardly in the grass only a few steps away. Not an enemy waiting to spring, but certainly someone who needed his attention. He was at her side almost immediately. It was an elf, that much he could see. Her dark hair covered her face but the ears gave her away.
Pale, even for a night elf he thought. She must have been out here a long time.
He moved his hand down, feeling for a pulse. To his horror he felt the cool wet sensation of blood, and saw for the first time her injuries. Her face was swollen and her shirt was torn and covered in dark splotches that even in the fading light he saw for blood. Her leg was laying at an awkward angle and for the first time he saw that her wrists were bound together. Most frightening of all though was the deep gash running along her side. This wasn't someone who had come here by accident.
He looked up, glancing around the forest. He had chosen this spot specifically because there was little chance of being found by others, but now others were exactly what he needed. The night had fully set in though, and it wasn't safe to travel to a settlement, especially if whatever had done this was still nearby, so with a quick motion he picked her up and made for his camp. It would have to do.
Arriving back at the small tent, he laid her down softly on the bedroll and quickly dug into his pack for the vials he knew he kept there. The first he withdrew was red. He popped out the cork and turned the entire thing down her throat, clamping her mouth shut so as not to let it spill out. She made no reaction as he forced her to swallow it, and Alaric feared she may already be dead.
The second potion was blue. This time he drank it himself and almost instantly felt his magical strength restored. Without hesitation he tossed the empty vial aside and began to whisper more words, hovering his hands over her chest and head. Light began to flow to her, and his whispers grew more desperate with each second that passed without any signs of life.
Finally he fell back, his strength drained once more. Alaric had done all he could do; He hoped it had been enough. Slowly he moved his head to her chest, listening closely. After a few seconds of unnerving tension he felt it. It was faint, barely there, but the undeniable single thump of a heartbeat told him she was alive. He exhaled, relieved and sat back, trying to will himself to recover faster.
Every few minutes he would move his hands back to her and press himself to draw out any more healing strength he had regained since the last push. He focused most of his energy into healing the deep stab wound as best as he could, and though he could do little he managed to seal it. After another hour he had gotten her to the point of breathing almost normally again. She was in a precarious state, but her pulse was somewhat stable and she would likely live, at least until morning when he could do more.
Exhausted, he settled in to start a small fire and finally cook his fish. He ate only one of them; if she woke up he had no doubt she would be hungry, if she could even eat. Every few minutes he spared a glance over to her and by the time he was ready to allow himself a few hours of sleep he was happy to see her chest rising and falling normally with each breath. With that he twisted his cloak into a ball and placed it against a nearby log before settling into the dirt – his bedroll was a sacrifice he gladly made to someone in such dire need of comfort.
With a final sigh, he closed his eyes and drifted off, comforted by the quiet sounds of the elf breathing.
Where Kiri'el found herself she did not know.
And yet, she did.
She was here – wherever here was – and yet she wasn't. It was cold, and yet there was a soft warmth that permeated her skin. She could stand, walk, think, and do all the things that might have been impossible with the injuries she had sustained, and yet she needed to do none of them, for as she watched the nothingness unfold she felt as light as a feather, drifting up – or maybe floating in place?
Yes, she knew what this was.
She was dead.
She remembered now. The Orc, Karzak, had tortured her for hours before his minion had finished her as simply as if he were putting away a loaf of bread. It had been nothing to him. The memory pulsated through her mind but try as she might she was unable to feel anger or hatred. Something about this place put her at ease.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a spark, tiny at first but slowly it grew. Then, another spark right next to it began to grow as well. They expanded, ballooning in size as light rays shot outward into the nothingness, illuminating it into a beautiful garden of warmth. She had seen these creatures before. Naaru the Blood Knights called them. They were the source of power for the newly created Paladins of Silvermoon.
This is the one you felt? Came a voice.
It was clear, and soothing, but she did not hear it with her ears. Instead it radiated through her mind, calming her thoughts and flowing like a soft golden silk through her head.
Yes, this is her. She is here but she does not belong. Came a second voice.
All those who are here belong here. Came the first.
They do, and yet not always at the time at which they might find themselves here. Replied the second.
What does he wish of her then? Asked the first as Kiri'el looked on, intrigued.
Her task remains unfulfilled. Came the reply. She is here but she does not belong yet it added.
She is here but she does not belong yet. Echoed the first Naaru as they each began to pulse.
Kiri'el watched the light grow more and more intense, finally shielding her eyes as it grew. With one last burst it overtook her as the heat radiated off of her face. White light blinded her and she felt as if the air was sucked out of her lungs. Her head began to spin wildly as she felt the sensation of falling at a tremendous speed. With a pained gasp her uninjured eye shot open and she registered, for just a brief moment, the quiet crackle of a fire and the nighttime chirping of insects easing her senses back to reality.
And then…she saw only darkness.
