Ring a ding-ding, a bell sounded inside of the claustrophobic Dwarven inn of Aerie Peak. "Wake up, all o' ye!" Rang the voice the stout, angry little woman who ran the place. The few who stayed in the normal sized rooms stirred instantly, but for the bigger, human-sized spaces, they were jarred awake very slowly. Begrudgingly at that.
Archerus was the first of his posse to get upright in his bed before another loud ringing of that bell surely would spur him. The room which he stayed in was dark, and the mattress was thin and just hardly padded enough to be considered comfortable. On the bright side of it all, though, it wasn't his old bedding of wolf pelts and a blanket stitched together of old cloth. Twisting the knob on a small lantern at his bedside, Archerus lit the room and brought light to it all again. Pushing off the light but rough feeling sheets, he sat at the edge of the bed. His body screamed for him to go back to bed; there was noticeable fatigue in his eyes and on his body from the decision he had made just the other day.
Truesteel sold himself to the young thought of service in Northrend He had more than enough gold to get him to Stormwind, arm himself and his allies and then off to the frozen wastes they would go, perhaps to never return. Such a thought was furthest from his mind, however, as he would rub those stinging eyes of his and open up his satchel. Just like he did every morning, he took his journal out, wet a quill with fresh ink and turned to the next blank page. A new day, and the beginning of a new chapter in his life.
"It is the start of the fifth day of my journey. We have traveled from the wilds of the Plaguelands through the husk of old Lordaeron to the Hinterlands. Our path thus far has been comfortable and safe, for the most part. Gwenhyfar appears to be doing well away from home, but there is honestly no way for me to tell just how she is doing. It is a great concern of mine. I suppose her true colors will show in good time. I know that she can be strong, but only time will tell. If anything can test her will and faith in the Holy Light, it is our quest.
Upon our arrival at Aerie Peak, we entered and sought the tavern to get a lead on some work. There we were led to the back by the bartender—an older human man—who then pointed a knife at me and questioned where Gwenhyfar's ornate weapon—her mother's ornate weapon, had come from. There, we discovered that Matheld lived a double life as an SI:7 agent—the only agent of SI:7 in deep cover in a Scarlet Crusade settlement. There were two other agents with him who were also familiar with Matheld—Nessan and Silvana, a dwarf and sin'dorei respectively. The 'Bartender' revealed himself to be Spymaster Klaus, Matheld's old friend and handler. He gave me no surname, only Klaus.
Though I largely stood idle while the scene played out before me, Nessan would ask me for my name, to which I answered him truthfully. The stout little man was hysterical, recognizing my name and explaining that he served alongside my father. He gave me something that I have been studying on and off for quite some time now: a locked book belonging to my father. It is bound by silver and holy words have been etched into the hinge plates, now that I have inspected it in better light and on my own time.
To make things even stranger, on the spot the sin'dorei agent resigned on the spot in favor of joining us. She didn't quite ask if she could come—rather she just made the decision to tag along. It was beyond me, but I was not about to complain. Perhaps it was the fact that Silvana had decided to come with us that Klaus, in all his generosity, rendered unto us a bag of gold. At my behest, of course. It's... far more than enough to afford us equipment when we reach Stormwind. First, though, we ought to stop in Dun Morogh. It is a more... personal stop. I want to see the Great Forge that I have read so much about. I want to feel its searing heat on my skin and forge a weapon of my own.
The start of the new day beckons us southward, through the remainder of the Hinterlands and into the rolling hills of Arathi. I quite look forward to it, to be quite honest. To see the great expanse of green again will be quite refreshing to the sickly tones of Old Lordaeron.
Archerus blew his ink dry and shut the journal tight, his rough fingers tracing over the crude cover as a gentle sigh would escape him. A long road was ahead of him and his comrades, but surely they would make it through. Packing away his writing material set, hoisting on his armor and lifting on that satchel, Archerus would roll his shoulders and open up the door to the corridor that linked the human-sized rooms to the remainder of the subterranean inn. Just outside he would be met with the eerie glare of fel green as Silvana would be the first to meet his gaze that morning. Gwenhyfar could be heard stirring in the room over, so it was going to be just the two of them for the next few minutes. It appeared as if Silvana was intent on being up before the would-be follower of the Light.
"You really believe that girl to be a worthy follower of the church?" She spoke, very clearly -eager- to get involved in matters that very clearly didn't concern her.
Archerus' hazel orbs gleamed as she spoke, drawing a sharp breath. It seemed this morning was already shaping up to be exciting, "How do you know so much already?"
The sin'dorei pointed at his pack and the journal within, "You ought to bind it in something finer. Fashion a lock, appoint it a key, keep it safe..." Though she spoke it fluently, her Alliance-Common was accented very distinctly, very exotically in Thalassian.
"And you ought to keep to yourself—keep out of others' business," he bit right back.
"Watch the way you talk to me, Truesteel. I am here not because you inspired me to join up alongside you and your precious, white-haired mannequin of a 'paladin' in that room—no, I am here because I am tired of serving the Alliance with a forked tongue and salacious outfits. SI:7 has abused my talents for far too long. I seek to serve proudly, not secretly." Silvana crossed her arms beneath her bust after swiping away a rebellious lock of her golden hair, "You will make use of my knowledge and my connections within the Alliance. I might be of scorned birth here, but I am just as patriotic as you are."
Archerus bit his tongue for now. She was correct, unfortunately. There was still much that he needed to learn about her. Hell, he barely knew little more than the fact that she was a now former member of SI:7 and apparently had a knack for putting herself in the business of others. Before he could open his mouth to dismiss her, though, Gwenhyfar would stumble out of her room, a look of despair evident in her eyes as she very clearly had no sense of night and day in a place like this.
She did smile, though, seeing that her new friend and an old friend waited for her in the hobby. It remained a question in her mind why Archerus looked slightly disgruntled, but figured that this was not the best of times to be asking. While the young woman didn't look particularly enthralled to be up at that moment, it was always the case that she'd have a bad morning before straightening up and that youthful enthusiasm which she cherished so would return to her.
Shelling out the money to buy themselves a meal in the tavern, they ate in silence alongside the workmen and travelers preparing to depart. The last thing they purchased before departing was a few flasks of water, bandages and salves. Being naive as she was, Gwenhyfar made it rather clear that she was certain they wouldn't need anything of the sort, but Archerus—much like an older brother—asked her to keep her wits about her before they would ramble on southwards. With the trio prepared, from Aerie Peak they would emerge, the sunlight burning at their eyes from a night stuck in some stuffy dwarven installation.
The air was clear and the sky was rather cloudy. For the most part, they were all quite large, puffy and as white as Gwenhyfar's hair, but the occasional patch would pass by with a tinge of gray, forecasting the slightest bit of rain for those below. With hope, they would be far ahead of the weather. Their path was clear and the journey southward was uninterrupted; they were given this divine opportunity to truly soak in the natural beauty of the Hinterlands as they passed it by in favor for the lowlands of Arathi and the old kingdom of Stormgarde.
Mother Nature didn't quite seem so overjoyed at the newcomers, however. The skies above darkened a few shades further and before long loud claps of thunder would begin to echo over and through the land. Thankfully, they would be given the perfect place to settle until the rain passed: the dwarven tunnels that connected Arathi and the Hinterlands. They would make it through to the Arathi exit when it would finally happen. The heavens opened and the rain poured. Thunder struck and the wind chilled down. An underwhelming start, perhaps, but it was better they didn't find themselves stuck anywhere else in Arathi without reliable shelter.
Archerus would throw down his pack onto the ornate stone paving of the dwarven tunnel, his armored frame sliding down against the wall as he would glance out at the pouring rain. The skies seemed ever-dark beyond where they were, so he imagined they would be there for quite some time. Though Archerus merely lounged, Gwenhyfar had already taken off her boots and opted to drag Archerus' pack over to use as a pillow substitute. For a farmgirl, she had very little stamina. Her gentle but telltale snores would soon echo through the tunnel, accented by the falling rain and orchestra of thunder. Unladylike, perhaps, but it didn't seem to bother the remaining two.
Silvana, still clad in her black leather armor with a deep, Stormwind-blue cloak hiding much of her body and her SI:7-issued weapons. She sat down adjacent from him, calculated stare still cast towards Archerus. She seemed content to sit there and stare at the grizzled visage of the paladin, but it didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. In fact, it even brought the slightest of grins to his face.
"Tell me about yourself, Silvana. Surely you have a story to tell," he would say, his deep voice piercing the relative silence of the tunnel. The sin'dorei returned his grin with one of her own—albeit it was quite smarmy.
"My mother and father never quite fell in when the blood elves joined the Horde. They remained true to the Alliance, but wore masks like those silly nobles at parties in Silvermoon. The more I watched them operate as a pair for SI:7, the more I saw just how pitiful my race really was." Strong words, but true for the most part, "My people are sacrilegious. We have perverted a holy creature to breed warriors, we have become literal power-hungry savages, and we have blasphemed against the Alliance of Lordaeron—against the whole of the Eastern Kingdoms."
"You seem to feel very strongly towards them all. Why is it that you do not just fall in with the new 'sin'dorei' and reconnect with your people?" He asked, his hands folding in his lap as his hammer would recline against the wall next to him.
"Because my people have become sick. My parents illustrated to me in great depth the betrayal of our leaders that made them who they were. How they let their golden towers fall, yet their egos only grew larger and consumed all in its path. It disgusted me. They even apologized," she gestured up, her index finger pointing to those emerald orbs, "for all of this. They apologized for not giving me the opportunity to behold Silvermoon in its former glory, and know the allegiance of the Alliance once more. Though, I am certain I will never be welcomed amongst your people, know that I have served in silence for as long as I can remember. Even in my youth—on my own volition—I served beneath Spymaster Klaus after my parents passed to disease. I killed, I stole and I spied for the people I knew to be the one true allegiance to which the blood elves belonged to." Silvana scoffed.
"Even now, I wish to see the blasphemers of Silvermoon hung by the skin of their tiny cocks for what they have done, and if they've not got the parts for it, then they ought to hang them by their ears. Those who have perverted the church and those who have dabbled in fel magics in particular... They are the ones who deserve it the most." Perhaps her feeling "strongly" about it all wasn't quite cutting it. It was clear that the emotion she felt was genuine hate for what her people had become.
Archerus was quite impressed. The way she spoke, how that exotic tongue of hers rolled and made the perfect impression on him, he knew that this woman was one of pure conviction. She was as loyal to the Alliance as he and Gwenhyfar were. "You certainly sound like you're determined to make good on your family's old ways," he would reply, "I respect that."
"As you should. So many of my kind have desecrated the old ways and spit on the allegiances of their forefathers." Silvana's voice was as cold as the air around them and steady as the steel of her knives. "That is why I chose to resign right in front of your eyes. That is why I chose to urge Klaus to grant you that hefty bit of gold, so that I could come south and join you on your way to Northrend."
"You could have easily reported to Menethil Harbor. I am certain there are ships running between there and Northrend—" Archerus' smile became smarmy, "I thought you didn't think too much of me?"
"I don't. I still don't. There isn't much that can change that." A smirk tugged at the corner of her perfect lips, "You just seem like you've got something worth fighting for here," the sin'dorei glanced over towards Gwenhyfar as she slumbered, oblivious to their words, "The context was inspiring—not you, Archerus Truesteel." A controlled burst of laughter escaped the elf as she would tilt her head back, ears mashed up against the wall as she rested. As she calmed, she would speak again: "You seem like a fool, Truesteel, but by the way Nessan spoke of you and your father, you are meant for a great destiny. It would be a shame if I were to miss out on such a lovely fairy tale."
"I am many things, Silvana. A fool is certainly one of them." Archerus' head would tilt, glancing out and over the rainy hills of Arathi.
