(( Hey again, sorry to interrupt your reading, I promise I'll be brief! In this chapter are the lyrics to a lullaby of my own creation. I'd like everyone to know that it's completely fine if you want to use it for your own purposes! I'm not saying that I'm Beethoven and that you're going to immediately fall head over heals for the song, but I like it, and I hope you do as well. If you do plan on using it, feel free to do so, but please make sure you're not claiming it as your own work. Thank you! ))
Winds whipped about, causing sand to rise into the air all around. Barren wasteland stretched for as far as the eye could see in all directions, aside from a single grove in the center, where life flourished and ponds twinkled with reflected moonlight.
A night elven woman gazed around, observing her surroundings. She was of average height, with deep teal-colored hair sweeping down past her shoulders. This hair was naturally curly; it twisted in ringlets around her pale blue-skinned face. Leaf-shaped tattoos were inked over her cheeks, forehead, and eyes, which were bright amber, indicating her druidic ability.
That is, it would have, if it weren't for the fact that her skills were made so very obvious by her choice of garb. Greens and browns covered her entire body; a tabard of the Guardians of Hyjal rested on her chest. Her feet were bare, and she dug them into the sand as she looked around quietly. "Desolace," she murmured softly. Her gaze reached the lively grove, and she brightened for a moment. The inclination to visit the grove on her way southward was appealing.
She shook her head suddenly and frowned. "No," she told herself. "The sooner I reach Silithus, the better. No time to stop." She pursed her lips in determination and reached up to pat a hippogryph that was at her side. "Dear friend, are you ready to continue? Have you had a pleasant rest?" she crooned, stroking its feathers affectionately. It chirped in response, and she allowed a weak smile to flit across her lips. Slowly, she climbed atop her mount and gripped the reins. "Onward!"
She urged her hippogryph into the sky, and it took off, spreading its majestic wings. The woman held on tight and leaned in, and her thoughts began to drift elsewhere...
"Sister," a white-haired night elf man started. "The Moonblade is worried about your learning. I have heard that Brother Eshel has been rather busy as of late, and he has not been attentive in his duty to help you progress as a druid."
The teal-haired woman nodded in response. "Yes, Brother Galondel, this much is true. I am afraid he has not shown the most interest in my studies."
Galondel heaved a sigh and tapped his staff on the ground a couple of times as he thought. "As a Cenarion of the Moonblade unit, I have the responsibility to provide practice and guidance to young druids of our order. Seeing as you are a part of the Moonblade as well, and you are for the most part without a mentor, you would fall under that category of 'young druids.' Say, sister.. would you be opposed to me taking up your training? Matron Melyria has contacted me about Eshel's lack of concern for your education. I would gladly take you up as my thero'shan, if you would accept me as your shan'do."
The woman blinked slowly, then furrowed her brows. "Well.. I appreciate the offer, truly. But of course, you must understand that I mean no disrespect when I say that I need to consult Eshel first. I cannot make the decision right now, without speaking with him."
"Of course, sister. I would not expect an answer straight away. Please, take your time, and contact me when you can give me the verdict."
The scene in her head faded black, and a new memory took its place.
"Sister, I am so very glad you could accept my offer," Galondel said with a smile. "It is my honor to train you as my thero'shan. Please, follow me. We will begin with the crafting of your staff, here in the Stormrage Barrow Dens..."
Once more the scene faded, and a flurry of images spewed forth—arduous training, smiling and laughing, practicing the druidic transformation into a doe's form, the occasional debate, hugs and tears; they all blended into a medley of memories. Eventually, the barrage slowed down and focused upon another scene.
The woman let out a sigh as she wandered over to the mailbox at Nijel's Point. Battle wounds littered her body, and she had clearly just gotten out of a fierce fight. Many other soldiers were spread out around the Alliance encampment, and they, too, had obviously been in the same battle as her. A pair of them passed by, chattering to each other.
"Could you believe the amount of demons? The tide was endless!"
"I know! Shadowbreak Ravine was swarming with them! I was certain I wouldn't make it out alive..."
"And then the warlock at the end! What a fiend! But the druids were so skilled as they managed to save the sacred tree!"
"Imagine what the Burning Legion could have done with a tree grown out of a seed of G'Hanir!"
"Galondel Fleetsong was so brave to lead the attack!"
The woman smiled faintly, a surge of pride filling her chest. He had been her shan'do. He had trained her up to the top. He really was brave, and she had the honor of calling herself his former thero'shan. She had 'graduated,' so to speak, some time ago—but her sense of loyalty and pride had not left her.
She reached the mailbox and pulled out a letter with her name signed on it. She frowned, inspecting the markings on it and instantly recognizing them. "A letter from Galondel?" she said to herself, puzzled. "But I was only with him a few hours ago—what could he possibly have to say in this letter that he could not have simply said to me himself?"
She opened it up and scanned it, eyes widening as she read its contents:
"Soldiers of the Moonblade,Ishnu dal dieb. I will make this brief. Recently I have been called upon by Hyjal. They are forming a new project in their military and have asked me to helm it. I will, unfortunately, be resigning from the Moonblade for this reason. I have very much enjoyed fighting alongside you all, and I thank you all for giving me this honor. I hope that I will not be forgotten, and that some of you may have learned something from me. Should you ever need me, you may call upon me. I will come. I will always come.~Shan'do Fleetsong"
Confusion clouded her gaze as she passed her vision over the letter once, twice, three times. She furrowed her brows and swallowed back tears. He was leaving? But how could he do that so suddenly? And why did he not tell her first?
She looked over as another woman approached her. She was somewhat short, with purple-tinted skin and long blue hair that faded from light to dark as it flowed around her body. She bore a purple tabard with a white tree in the center: the tabard of the Moonblade. In her hand was a letter.
"Leilla!" the teal-haired woman cried, running forward to reach her friend. "Have you seen? Have you seen what has happened?" She gripped Leilla by the shoulders firmly, eyes stretched wide.
Leilla swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "I.. yes.. I have received the letter as well. Come, let us go somewhere more private." She began to lead the way toward the mountainside, where the two of them sat behind the remnants of an old Highborne wall.
"How dare he?" Leilla rasped, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The teal-haired elf's cheeks were also drenched. "He left without a word! How long until we see him again? It could be moons—years, even! Perhaps never, if this 'new project' in Hyjal ends up getting him killed!"
The two of them embraced each other, exchanging their unbridled distraught at the thought of one of their closest friends leaving without even saying goodbye.
This scene faded, and another one entered her mind.
Many moons later, the teal-haired woman sat atop a nightsaber as she walked down a road in Ashenvale. Beside her, on his own saber, Galondel Fleetsong matched her mount's stride. They spoke quietly for a while, catching up with each other, as well as discussing battle plans for an upcoming skirmish with the Horde. The two had seen each other since Galondel's departure from the Moonblade, but it had been quite a long time since their last conversation.
Silence pierced the air for a moment, until Galondel parted his lips. "I missed you," he said simply. "Very much so. More than the others."
The woman peered at him for a moment, letting silence once again fill the space around her. Finally, she inhaled slowly. "I missed you too, Galondel," she replied quietly.
Again, her thoughts sped onward.
Another battle had clearly taken place. Fresh scars marked the bodies of the soldiers that had gathered in Silverwing Grove, and outraged cries about Horde attacks filled the air. Evidently, the skirmish that Galondel and his former thero'shan spoke of had recently come to pass.
As the men and women licked their wounds, the teal-haired woman and Galondel decided to take a stroll toward Silverwing Outpost. When they reached their destination, they paused and turned to each other. Conversation commenced, and minutes rolled by. Eventually, their flow of topics came to a standstill.
The woman hesitated for a brief moment, then suddenly leaned upward and pulled the man into a deep kiss, to which he responded at first with surprise, then with equal fervor.
Her mind reluctantly left that particular thought and honed in on a different one again.
The woman and Galondel were curled up next to each other inside a hollow tree, whispering sweet nothings. As they began to slip into slumber, the woman parted her lips and started to sing a gentle lullaby from her childhood.
"The stars, they tire and yearn for sleep,
Oh, moon, stay out and play.
Midnight sounds and shadows deep,
Please do not fade away.
Alas, the sleeping forest yawns,
And blinks its bleary eyes.
It's tired of waiting for the dawn,
And so, casts up its sighs.
Now close your eyes, my dearest one,
Let slumber take your form.
The Goddess rests; her work is done,
Now sunlight sheds its warmth.
Your sleeping frame, from up above,
The Lady Raven guards.
And from below, you'll feel the love,
Of Aessina's heart.
While through the trees, fresh sunlight runs,
The White Stag watches you.
And nearby, his blessed son,
Cenarius does too.
Quiet your ever-beating chest,
As sleep cloaks your sweet mind,
For as you rest, the sun moves west,
To set beyond the sky.
The stars, they'll wake up from their sleep,
The moon will come to play.
Midnight sounds and shadows deep,
They will not stay away…
They will not stay… away…"
More memories came crashing down on the woman as she flew southward with her hippogryph—an exchanging of vows during a traditional night elven mating ceremony; a blissful moment in which the woman was clearly with child; a sweet embrace between the two. Again, the flow of memories slowed down and honed in on one particular scene.
The woman sat down on a chair, caressing her swollen stomach as she opened the first of two letters. She perused it, then lurched backward in shock at the contents. "No," she whispered, shaking her head rapidly. "No, it's not possible. He would never." She read it again to make sure, then took a deep breath and let it out shakily.
"To whomever it concerns,
This letter is being written to you upon request of the Darnassian Senate. Immediately after the Siege of Orgrimmar had ended, I was given orders from the High King to take my elite company of Royal Stormwind Elite Cavaliers and clear the perimeter of the surrounding regions. My company, comprised of 40 of the finest lancers in the Eastern Kingdoms and four high ranking Paladins, including myself, ventured into the nearby region of Mulgore searching for Kor'kron loyalists.
During our expedition into the bluff-littered plains, we came across a Kor'kron loyalist garrison camp. Most, if not all, of the soldiers were of the bovine scum variety. I ordered my Cavaliers to line up, and prepare to charge the garrison. As the royal banner of the High King appeared shining on the horizon, lit by the sickly sun of the wretched nation of Mulgore, the Kor'kron filth prepared their defense.
Oddly enough, it was not a member of the Horde who led the defense, no. It was a bloody Night Elf, antlers and all. As most of the Kor'kron filth began to flee like cowards, the Elf mongrel made his stand. The violet bastard began to conjure a variety of filthy pagan spells and fired them at us as we led our charge. He took the lives of two of my Paladins and twenty five of my lancers. We used our mastery of the Light to curse the traitor, and to protect ourselves in a shield of Light.
We broke through his wretched magics and ended his pitiful life. For his sins of murdering my Royal Stormwind Elite Cavaliers, I removed his head and placed it on a pike. As we rode away, his corrupted traitor blood spilled behind us. Riding to the rising pylons of Thunder Bluff, we set fire to the traitor's head and placed it to rise up, so his remains could rest with his filthy Horde friends.
The revered Druid had betrayed the court of Stormwind, and died like a traitor. Let it be known that the filthy dog, Galondel Fleetsong, died a Horde lover, and betrayer of His Grace, High King Varian Wrynn.
Earl Frederic Bennet of Elwynn
Field Marshal of Stormwind
Paladin Marshal of the Stormwind Elite Cavaliers"
Dead? It wasn't possible. Galondel, allied with Kor'kron loyalists? Something didn't click. Surely, this was some cruel prank played upon her. She regained confidence, certain that the second letter would confirm her assumptions that the first letter was a joke.
Everything was made much more clear after she read the next letter. Too clear. So much so that the woman could not handle all of the emotions that were thrown at her—agony, sorrow, anger... but also relief; at least now, she knew that the first letter had been sorely mistaken in its accusations of Galondel's treachery.
"Honored sister, Druid of the Antler, mate of Brother Galondel,
I write you this message so that you may know the truth of what has become of the Shan'do Fleetsong. Roughly nine moons ago, the Elder Talon arrived at our Druidic children's school in Mulgore among the beauty of the bluffs. In this school, small calves, barely old enough to speak, are introduced to the path of Druidism.
The Shan'do Fleetsong had come to aid in teaching the young-lings of the totem of the Bird Queen—the Talon. Many of our students were young children, orphaned by Garrosh's tyranny. Fleetsong helped us take these young Shu'halo in under our wing, and he taught them Druidism.
It was mid day. The sun was high. The animals grazed along the plains and the sky was clear of clouds. A thundering noise was heard and we scurried outside. It was an Alliance raid. We had been warned of a bloodthirsty Paladin crusader who led a company of templar raiders, however we did not believe they would attack us... a children's school. With haste, the instructors moved as swiftly as possible to move the children from their tents, and towards Thunder Bluff. Galondel stayed behind to cover our retreat.
As we looked behind us, we witnessed the the oncoming thrall of charging cavaliers. The children were screaming in fear. Galondel mustered all of his strength. It was said that his Cenarion antlers shone with a light brighter than the light of Mu'sha herself. He called upon his mastery of nature and let forth a barrage of wind, nature's wrath, and the earth. It was even said that he called upon the stars themselves to fall upon the raiders.
The corrupted human raiders summoned a sunwalker shield of light, making them temporarily invincible and un-harmed by the Elder Talon's efforts. The Druid could no longer hold them off. The humans took the head of the Elder Talon and escaped. Myself and a few elders rushed to his corpse, only to find that his staff had lost all of its life.
Once we picked up his staff, an intense blue light began to emit from his body. Seconds later, a wisp emerged and began to flutter away, north towards Hyjal. We brought his staff to the boughs of Nordrassil, and merged it with the world tree. His legacy will now be one with the World Tree.
Thunder Bluff will never forget the sacrifice made by the Elder Talon. Long will his name be sung, and his deeds etched into the stories of our people to be passed down for generations. Long will he be remembered in Hyjal. Long will he be remembered in Moonglade. We will never forget the Elder Talon. The Shu'halo will always remember.
-Gignar Dreamwalker, Archdruid of Mulgore"
Tears poured out of her eyes, coating her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands as uncontrollable sobs shook her body, but a certain amount of pride swelled within her.
He was dead. He was truly, utterly dead, and for that, she wept bitterly. However, Galondel had, in fact, never sided with the Kor'kron; he had defended a tauren orphanage from corrupt humans. He gave his life to protect the innocent.
It was such an honorable death; she was so proud of him.
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and gripped the reins tighter, fighting back tears. One last memory flashed through her mind's eye.
"There, there, my sweet," the teal-haired elf murmured to a small infant in her arms as she set it down in a simple wooden crib at Nijel's Point, Desolace. "I have been cruel to you; my love has not been full. I saw you as a burden, but no longer." She leaned down to give it a kiss on its white-tufted forehead. "I wish I could spare more time, but the situation is urgent."
She continued on, pretending the child could understand what she was saying. "Leilla will be here any moment to retrieve you, and she will look after you while I am gone. I have shown her this token," she whispered, pulling out a tiny white statue of a stormcrow with yellow topaz gemstones for eyes. "I don't want to leave her to look after you for too long; I know she has many duties. If I find that I will be gone for more time than I had expected, I will send this trinket to whomever I trust to take care of you. Look," she said, holding up the stormcrow. "It's just like your daddy. He was a brave Druid of the Talon; he turned into a bird just like this one." She placed the stormcrow in the left pocket of her pants, then held the infant's tiny fingers and rubbed them soothingly—for the child's sake or for her own, she was not entirely sure. "My darling daughter, I will return to you as soon as I can."
And so, she opened her eyes, waking from her trance. Glancing at the hippogryph, then craning her neck to look behind her at the distance they had traveled, she sighed. They were crossing the border into Feralas now, and she knew her mount would need to rest very soon. Reaching down, she patted its side. "Come now, friend—we will stop at Feathermoon Stronghold."
The hippogryph cooed in response, but its sound was soon cut off as some unseen force barreled into the animal and its rider with tremendous power. The two found themselves falling down, hitting tree branches along the way; the woman tried to shift into her avian form, but the impact of so many branches as she fell left her too winded and frightened.
The hippogryph hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and the woman felt her body bruise badly as her world started to fade to black. She heard footsteps approach her, and she vaguely felt her pockets being searched.
"Here's something.. her name.." a male voice said.
"What is it?" came a female voice.
The male voice said something in a low tone, then read the text off of some sort of talisman he must have found. His voice rang through in the battered druid's ears just as she slipped into a state of unconsciousness.
"Thellandria Cinderpelt, Druid of the Antler."