I awoke to a face full of pungent mud, sprawled out on the ground as the noise of clinking chainmail and whistling swordplay reverberated off the trees. As I gradually pulled myself upright the battle ceased. Rimewind held the paladin in an arm lock, her sword pressed against the Draenei's neck. The Death Knight was tall for an elf but her captive was easily a foot taller if not more. Even so, the Draenei was powerless to escape her firm grip. I watched as she kicked and struggled until her hooves lost their footing in the slick mud, landing her flat on her backside.

"Cursed monsters!" she snarled in frustration. "What do you intend to do with me?"

I fumbled through the ooze for my staff, unable to see properly as my right eye progressively swelled shut.

She wriggled back and forth in the Death Knight's grasp, "If I had my hammer I would smite you where you stand!"

Rimewind tightened her hold and the paladin winced. "It is a good thing you do not have you hammer then," she said. Her tinny voice was sarcastic, although whether the Draenei picked up on that was anyone's guess.

Eventually my searching fingers came upon my staff, its wood entirely coated in goo. Try as I might to scrape it off it had sunk into every furrow and crevice, making it too slippery to be of any assistance. I absently caressed the various wounds Araj inflicted on my body. Those on my chest were covered in mud but those on my arm and shoulders were still freely bleeding. I was losing a lot of blood and couldn't think clearly, my mind rapidly going back and forth between events as if trying to shuffle them into the proper order.

"When the Argent Dawn hears of this you will be hunted like rabid dogs!" the Draenei screamed.

Cinching my hands up on the staff I decided to give standing a go anyway, slippery mud be damned. I couldn't feel my stump of a leg anymore which, although I wasn't in pain, I knew in the back of my mind was probably a bad thing. My blood loss and hunger and mana withdrawal were making me lightheaded and on top of everything else I'd lost my temporary prosthetic. Where was I going to find another table leg in the middle of the Western Plaguelands? Regardless, I gave one good heave on my staff and felt my hands slip, the slick wood gently lowering me back down. I stayed there, leaning over on my staff and clutching it for dear life, my body inches from the mud. Gradually I looked over at the paladin.

She curled her lips in confusion and defiance, "Are you listening to me, heathen!?"

My vision started to fade. First my right eye went entirely black from the swelling, then my left started to lose color. The Draenei was enveloped in a fuzzy static until all that remained was a grey impression. I tried to swallow but found my mouth too dry. My fear of dying back in the Eastern Plaguelands seemed so distant now, weirdly out of context. In that moment all I could feel was a bit nauseous and a growing anger that if these wounds were to be my undoing, I wished they would hurry up and get it over with. I was almost offended that I was denied any kind of a climactic release, that my end would come through what could only be described as annoying discomfort.

The Draenei gave another solid tug at the Death Knight restraining her, "Say something!"

I scowled at the dim grey blob in my vision and spoke in a commanding tone, "You're welcome." Then my arms gave out, landing me head first in the muck.

Rimewind immediately let the paladin go and charged to my side. Pulling me out of the dirt she said in a monotone, "My companion needs healing."

The Draenei snorted in disgust.

"I implore you, paladin, please help him."

"You implore me?" she scoffed. "What do I owe my captors?"

As Rimewind looked back at her the air seemed to cool around us, "We are not your captors and these wounds were acquired during your rescue. You owe this mage your life."

I watched the darkened blob of a Death Knight argue with her. A weak cough was all I could muster as what pain remained started to subside. It was a frightening but altogether not horrible feeling. After all the trauma my body had gone through, the numbing sensation as my nerves shut down wasn't all that bad. Then in a single moment it all came rushing back. I was torn back to reality as the pain surged through my body anew, my wounds closed just enough to stop the blood loss and my limbs screaming in refreshed agony. The paladin finally gave in.

As I rolled over on my side I realized I could open my right eye, even though it hurt to do so. Rimewind sat me up and my vision slowly restored, bringing into focus the face of a rather disturbed Draenei.

"Thanks," I said in a throaty voice.

"I do not know who you are or what you have come for," she said earnestly. "You fight the Scourge yet keep the company of a Death Knight. Explain yourself."

Reaching into my hair I pulled out a thick clump of mud, unsure just how to answer such an enormous question. I started to take a deep breath but winced as a pain shot through my chest. "I am Ignatius Dawnsworn-Abrams, mage of Theramore," I said meticulously, "and I am here in search of my father."

"You are searching for your father…" she repeated. "In the middle of Andorhal?"

In spite of Rimewind's prior warning in the Ghostlands I decided to indulge the paladin with the true nature of my quest, "He is a paladin and I have it on authority he took this road some two months ago."

The Draenei's face scrunched in offense, "I've seen everyone who has passed through these parts in that time and none of them were Blood Elfs."

"That is good," Rimewind spoke up. "Because his father is human."

This reminded me to tell Rimewind about my sensitivity regarding my bloodline, assuming of course I survived the rest of our excursion. In this particular moment though it seemed like necessary information so I let it slide.

"Human? But that makes you a…" The Draenei gave me a long, hard stare, "Who is your father?"

"Sir Jack Abrams of the Knights of the Silver Hand," I said, "but he refers to himself as Jack Radical."

The paladin's jaw nearly hit the ground as her eyes ping-ponged between the Death Knight and me. My eyes narrowed as I waited to see where this was going. Obviously she knew of my father, but whether as a former comrade or "conquest" I was unsure. At last she blurted out, "You're Iggy!"

"What?"

"I knew your father when I was little!" The Draenei raised a hand to her forehead in disbelief. "Then he stayed at our camp a couple months ago. By the Light was I happy to see him again!"

"You saw him!?" I asked, scrambling to my knees, "You mean he's okay!?"

The Draenei smirked, "Better than okay, he's the one of the finest paladins I've ever seen fight! He helped us reclaim the cemetery near the tomb of Sir Uther the Lightbringer."

"Wait… who's us?"

The Draenei pointed to herself but then looked down with disappointment; only shreds of her tabard remained tucked in her belt. "Oh, my name is Sir Samara, serving under the Argent Dawn. We have a base camp a short ways from here."

I leaned forward, the pain in my body wracking me with every motion. "I don't mean to impose but… would it be alright if I…"

Rimewind placed her hand on my shoulder, "Ignatius' wounds are still severe, he requires a safe place to rest."

"Yes, yes of course," she said, lifting me by the arm.

My chest felt like it was on fire as Samara wrapped my arm around her neck, which being a Draenei, was rather high up. Even with her stooping I was nearly lifted off my foot while trying to stand. Gradually the three of us made our way south towards the road. As we were walking the paladin's eyes kept shifting towards the Death Knight.

Eventually her curiosity became too much, "I'm sorry but you are going to have to explain your choice of companions before we reach the camp."

"I can speak for myself," Rimewind replied.

"So speak, Death Knight."

Taking her helmet off the Death Knight strode beside her. The pink locks of her hair were matted from the dingy water making her appear if anything a bit silly. "My name is Rimewind, I served with Jack Radical in the Northrend campaign over twenty years ago."

Samara looked thoughtful for a moment, "Okay, but why do you seek him out now?"

"When we broke paths I swore my blade to his cause," she said. "His recent disappearance has, as you might put it, brought me out of retirement."

"Disappearance? What are you talking about?"

"We were told he was going to the Cathedral in Stormwind two months ago," I answered. "But we haven't heard from either him or the Order since he left."

The paladin gave me a concerned look, "That's funny, he told me he was going to Feralas."

I let out a chuckle. Father would never go to Night Elf lands willingly, even if he was being hunted, and especially not to the ends of Azeroth that Feralas was. "Well, we do think he's being followed," I replied. "It could be he said that to cover his tracks in case anyone was on his trail."

"More likely he told your mother he was going to the Cathedral so she would not worry," Rimewind added.

I hadn't considered this angle before, but my mind was too hazy for it to run through its usual routine of deciphering the possibilities, so I dismissed it. "Father has gone on dangerous missions before. Besides, why would the Cathedral stonewall her?"

"Would you reveal where your agent was if you were sending him somewhere dangerous? Or perhaps undercover? And particularly to his wife, a member of a rival Order of paladins."

Things were starting to slip into place now. "Just… what did he say he was doing in Feralas?" I asked Samara.

"He didn't. All he said was he was heading that way," she replied. "He must have a good reason though, Feralas is really far."

"Yeah, it is…"

This conversation would have continued but we were approached by a stern looking human paladin and two soldiers. Each one of them wore full plate armor, the paladin herself carrying a large hammer and shield not unlike my father's. Emblazoned on their tabards was the milk white sun of the Argent Dawn. Noticing their weapons were drawn we stopped in the middle of the road and waited for them to address us.

"Samara!" the paladin shouted, "Who is it that goes with you!?"

"This is Ignatius, mage of Theramore and Jack Radial's son!" she called back.

"And the Death Knight?"

"This is Rimewind, she's uh…" Samara looked at the undead elf beside her, "She's just Rimewind."

The paladin and her entourage approached us, steel in hand, "Tell me what you're doing with these Blood Elves."

"They… we fought the Scourge in Andorhal. The mage is terribly injured, he needs to be taken to camp!"

The paladin waved her hammer in Samara's face, "I ordered you to stay away from Andorhal at all costs! What were you doing there?"

"I did! I was on patrol and I heard fighting in the city, these two were being overwhelmed by the Scourge, I had to help!"

The human looked at me and then looked at the Death Knight. Her face told us everything that needed to be said about Samara's story but she waved us forward anyway. The two guards strode behind us, making sure we didn't fall out of line before we got back to camp. As we walked I noticed Samara beginning to sweat in spite of the cool air. Anxiety dug deep into her brows as she stared at the back of the lead paladin's head. Rimewind, like myself, seemed ambivalent about the episode we'd just witnessed and said nothing.

As we rounded the corner the Argent Dawn's camp came into view. A smattering of paladins, priests, rogues, alchemists, and soldiers of all sorts gathered around campfires or mingled in tents, the semi-permanence of the camp lending it a kind of warmth and camaraderie I'd not seen in ages. Most of them were of Alliance breed but as far as I knew the Argent Dawn didn't turn away the Horde either. Still, I expected no warm welcomes. As we were led inside the camp I immediately was approached by a human priestess, her flowing white robes out of place in such a dirty atmosphere. Her gaudy regalia spoke of her influence; this was obviously a powerful member of the clergy.

"By the Light, what happened, Pureheart!?" she exclaimed.

"MacDonnell, will you please tend to our guests?" the paladin said. "I have something I need to discuss with my initiate."

"Yes, of course," The priest bowed slightly to the paladin and waved us towards a nearby tent. I glanced at Samara, she looked like she was just handed a death sentence. Her tail firmly between her legs, literally and figuratively, she relinquished me onto the Death Knight's shoulder and followed after this Pureheart character towards the rear of the camp. Rimewind hobbled me over to a cot and laid me down, my head rushing as I put it back on the soft pillow. The priestess eyed the Death Knight cautiously as she began removing what was left of my disgusting robes, exposing my bloody, damp, mud-caked body.

"I have to get you clean before I can heal you, dear," she said, mouthing the words slowly while gesturing with her hand.

"I can speak common, miss," I replied.

"Oh! Well that makes this a bit easier." The priestess got up and started soaking a clean rag in a washbasin, "I'm High Priestess Iona MacDonnell, your name?"

"Ignatius Dawnsworn-Abrams, it is a pleasure." I gestured to the Death Knight standing by the edge of the tent, "And this is Rimewind."

The High Priestess nodded towards her, then gave me a puzzled look, "Wait, are you Jack Radical's boy?"

"Yes..."

"Fantastic!" she exclaimed, sloshing water all over my wounded body. "He was our guest here for about a week, the man never stopped talking about you and your sister."

"That sounds like father," I replied, wincing in pain as the cool water soaked my damaged skin.

"Oh my, I'm sorry!" The priestess wrung out her rag and began to clear away the top layer of gunk from my wounds. "I suppose you picked Samara up on the road then?"

The Death Knight and I looked at each other, "Something like that."

High Priestess MacDonnell frowned, "That girl breaks my heart. She means well and her faith is indestructible." She tenderly scrubbed me clean, the mud so thick she had to rinse her cloth after just a few passes. "But she has no patience."

"I noticed."

"I don't want to know what happened," she said. "Just please tell me she didn't drag you into whatever caused these frightful injuries."

"No," Rimewind spoke from behind, "The worst of it was done before we even found her."

"Thank the Light," she said, wiping my arms clean. "Or, well, you know. And thank you for seeing her returned safely."

Rimewind watched the priestess curiously, "How did you know it was we who brought her here?"

"Like I said, the girl is all heart. She just gets too headstrong sometimes." MacDonnell had me flip over and began scrubbing my legs and back. "This isn't the first time she's needed rescuing."

"Well, she wasn't the only one," I said.

The High Priestess smiled knowingly. After much cleaning and scrubbing and rinsing she pulled out a soft, fresh towel and patted me dry, being careful to avoid any wounds that were still open. I looked down at my body, more than a dozen cuts and scars crisscrossed my torso and arms. Even the stitches that held my stump together were already fraying.

The priestess placed my hands at my side, "Just lay back and try to relax."

Light flowed through her hands and healing magic rolled over my body like the tide, washing away every pain and injury. I took a deep breath and my chest filled with air, no stabbing in my lungs or aching tugs at my skin. All that remained were thin, ghostly scars that ran across my already pale flesh. I looked down, amazed at how quickly so much damage was reversed. The High Priestess was indeed a talented healer.

MacDonnell turned to Rimewind, "Are you in need of healing as well?"

The Death Knight's hand flew up in response, "No, I will be fine."

"Very well," she said, standing to leave. "I have to go fetch the captain, no doubt she has some questions as to what happened between you and Samara. Can I trust you both to stay here?"

"Mm… hmm…" I replied, sinking deeply into the cot.

She gave the Death Knight a passing glance as she walked out of the tent, leaving the two of us alone. Rimewind stood beside me to look over her handiwork, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, starving, but otherwise comfortable," I replied, my words beginning to slur from exhaustion. "But at least we found a lead on my father."

"Yes, and it appears a journey to Feralas is ahead of us."

I let out a deep sigh, wiggling around half naked on the thick wool blankets, trying to keep them from itching. "I don't know if I can make it all the way to Kalimdor, just leaving Silvermoon nearly killed me. And on one leg…"

Rimewind gave me a thin smile, "It was a treacherous path, but you weathered it just the same. I think you would have little to fear on the road to Feralas."

"But I'd slow you down, wouldn't I?"

The Death Knight's expression went blank for a moment before returning to what she tried to pass as an optimistic grin, "I still need to track your father along the path he traveled. The boat from Menethil to Theramore is the fastest way to Feralas from here."

I nodded slowly in understanding as my tired mind put what she said together. "So I should wait for you in Theramore?"

"That is what I am thinking."

"Yeah…" I said, rolling on my side. "But how am I supposed to get back? My runes are exhausted."

"I will speak with the quartermaster in camp. No doubt these Argents have reagents on hand."

Rimewind stood over me as if waiting for me to say something else but I was far too tired. My eyelids sagged shut and I fell asleep, sprawled out on top of the blankets.

Sometime in the evening I was awoken by shuffling at the entrance of the tent. High Priestess MacDonnell had returned with Sir Pureheart, though Samara was nowhere to be seen. Rimewind was outside too, and although I couldn't hear what she was saying, I caught the paladin muttering something under her breath to the two of them.

"I can answer that for you, let the mage rest," Rimewind replied.

Peeking my other eye open I watched with blurry vision as Pureheart crossed her arms. After a moment of deliberation she walked away with Rimewind in tow as the High Priestess stepped inside the tent. She carried something towards me, and though I couldn't tell what it was, it smelled delicious. Abandoning my ruse of sleep I sat up to get a better look at the food.

"I'm afraid it isn't the delicacies of Silvermoon," MacDonnell said, handing me the bowl and a spoon, "but it will fill you up."

Inside was a generous helping of stew. Large chunks of boar meat, potatoes, and carrots hung in thick gravy that smelled like it had been simmering all afternoon. I scooped up a mouthful and shoved it in my mouth, not even waiting for it to cool. The stew burned my tongue and I frantically started fanning my mouth, breathing heavily and coughing in a desperate attempt to cool the food before swallowing hard.

"Careful!" she said, smacking me on the back as I forced it down. "Light take me if I let you choke to death after all you've gone through."

Between coughing fits I took a drink of water to cool my throat before eating again, this time slowly. I savored every bite, scooping generous amounts of the gravy with my spoon.

"When was the last time you ate?" the High Priestess asked, taking a seat by the cot.

"Yesterday…" I replied, a bit of onion dribbling down my chin. "Um, sometime around lunch."

"Poor thing," she tucked my hair behind my ear, "you must be famished."

"I um, yeah," I replied, scooping more food in my mouth.

MacDonnell watched as I ate, a wistful smile on her face. The low light of the campfires outside danced around the edges of the thick tent canvas, providing the only ambient light. The High Priestess' eyes however seemed to emitting their own, the same familiar white glow I knew from my father's magic. Gently she raised one of her hands, her palm radiating a faint magic. I watched her enviously. My own magic was expended and I had to fight back the instinct to drain such an easy source of mana. My mind slogged through its thoughts now, unable to function under the effects of magical withdrawal.

Slowly the High Priestess clasped my hand around hers, a knowing look on her face. Setting my empty bowl aside I began to tap her mana, tentatively at first, but growing bolder as the magic flooded my veins. MacDonnell endured it silently. Her fortitude was far beyond my own anyway, I don't think I could have drained her completely even if I tried. Nevertheless, she took her hand away as the worst of my withdrawal faded. I pulled away myself, gasping in surprise at how much I needed it, and also slightly ashamed.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yeah, um… thanks," I responded, wringing my hands and avoiding looking her in the eye.

"Is something the matter?"

Glancing up for a moment, I quickly returned my gaze to my lap, "I'm not especially proud of my addiction."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," she replied. "You can't help you were born that way."

"I know," I said, my voice low. "Even so, drawing mana from another is a sign of intimacy among Blood Elves. Or humiliation… depending."

The High Priestess gave me a cockeyed grin as she moved closer, "Well, I don't feel humiliated, Ignatius."

Nodding, I scooted to the side to give her some space. She moved closer still, edging herself onto the cot. I began to feel uncomfortable as her hips pressed against mine. Her hand forced me back against the blankets as she leaned over me, the golden locks of her hair flowing onto the pillow beside my face.

The High Priestess' eyes were still glowing, but not just with the Light this time, "Though perhaps a bit intimate."