(7-2-2014 Update) Edited part of the last scene with Genveera.


Chapter 21

Shadows


X Ranger-General X

Genveera pulled her miniscule squad to a halt in the forest with a raised palm. They resided upon the wide branches of Crystalsong's golden trees, aware of the menace and hostility the forest felt for their interloping. Paying it no regard, Genveera began to scan her own armaments, counting her arrows by bundles and her hidden knives and daggers. Flaerie and Jerath performed the same.

While counting, she said quietly, "By giving me a team, we are to assume the Shadow means for more than a simple scouting mission. Our recon will outline target outposts and divine regions of cultist operation. We know our work: find the weaknesses, exploit them, and leave without them any wiser. Secondary is unraveling the mystery and nature of the forest. Deynora would have been better suited for the task, but we are the chosen agents."

Jerath finished his inspection first, and with his hands settling at his thick waist, he mentioned, "You needn't worry about the forest. I have been probing it since our entrance, and though its conflux is a bag of snakes, I'm making progress. Already, it speaks to me of the horrors lurking in its shadows."

Genveera lost count of the times she stopped to reassess this man. Now, she only stared at him, considering his face and complexion. Such a gentle face, over his strong strong features and thick beard. His corrupted green eyes were lighter than the average sin'dorei, nearly still the blue of quel'dorei, and the corners of them remained soft, with only laugh lines to mar them.

What glamor did he hold over his true face, she wondered again. What ancient fiend or god hid within that kin-seeming body? Perhaps her suspicions were only projections of herself, and Genveera pulled her perspective of Jerath back to the blood elf he was. He wasn't so supernatural, but his experience and seemingly endless range of mastered fields was becoming... unrealistic.

Flaerie, dressed in the Sunfury archer's uniform, kept silent, but her disinterest was obvious. Genveera understood this one well: "Flaerie, you are to continue the Shadow's mission alone. Explore, scout, decipher – mark the locations of the enemy, and then you will meet us again for assault. The Ranger Lord's command was a good one, in this forest of lies, so meet us with the greeting of: the dawn of vampires is imminent. If we do not reply with "Yes, and no, for the dawn burns all evil," then kill us with no remorse. Say it."

"The dawn of vampires is imminent," the reserved brunette repeated, and Jerath replied, "Yes, and no, for the dawn burns all evil." With a final nod, Flaerie dropped to the forest floor and departed.

Jerath turned to Genveera with a pensive frown. "A Sunfury slogan, belonging to Exarch Mandrel. Why that reply?"

"I believe in hope, Jerath. It has been theorized by great minds that the corruption that seized our race will diminish in time, and the addiction and needs will be overcome by a return to our old ways. Now, let us continue too."

Jerath did not move immediately, instead watching her under his heavy gaze. "Are you alright, Gen? The bloodgem enthrallment was so powerful..."

"As I said, I believe in hope. My part in the curse is over, Jerath. My battle now is with myself, not Meyanna, and I will win or I will die, but I will not allow it to doom my duties, or Thomas, or the Exilee. You will kill me before it does."

Jerath nodded sadly at her words, and he adjusted his bow over his shoulder. "I do not envy, nor pity, your coming days, Genveera the Swan, of House Duskfury, but you have long earned my respect. Remember that when the mountains upon your shoulders feel escapable."

They both leapt to the next branch, running over its trunk with sure feet.

XxX

"So when the danger is most present and your safety most in question, you would have your Ashblades disbanded and dispersed to the corners of the army? Each of us refuse such foolishness," Dor'rath criticized.

Thomas hardly gave him a second glance. "I will not have every ranger of the Exilee encircling me, when I am the least threatened by this forest. The Exilee needs the protection of rangers. Already, I will have Buck with me, which is more than adequate."

"Do you have experience in cursed forests?" Meyanna pressed. "If Genveera's assessment is correct, we will encounter illusions, veils, ancient ghosts, shifting woods, and hellish monsters more real and dangerous than all of the aforementioned. You are still, understandably, new to trying ranger magicks."

Thomas glanced at her with his lip turning up in a half-smile. He spoke in Common: "I got this far without it, didn't I?"

She followed him into his natural tongue: "At least keep myself or Farron at your side."

"Five-hundred men, and nearly a hundred moving wagons. We need every one of you and five more watching them, not me. Now, rangers, attend the forest! Commander, on your word!"

"March!" Raeloth ordered.

He, along with Thomas, Merridan, and Genveera began to march before the first wagon, where Lord Dasen McAnole sat in watchful silence. The lord, Thomas had heard, often mingled with the men, curious after the ways of Light and arcane from the priests and mages. Each night, Lord Dasen would also assist the men in raising tents, the barricades, starting fires and cooking – whatever task he was allowed.

With only the first few steps, as snowy ground became slushy earth – and later still would be golden paths of Crystalsong's fallen leafs – Thomas' vision shut out unexpectedly, despite his open eyes, and he grunted sourly for Buck. "Right now, really?"

"You mustn't live in the world of light any longer. Once your vision becomes only a tool of times, like your Cloak of Shadows, then you will truly be ready for what may come," his friend intoned, not without humor.

Thomas grunted again. "I can counter the spell now, you goat-licker. Or better, cast new eyes for myself."

"Vision spells are far more difficult than you... What in Farstrider's third leg is that?" Merridan demanded, switching to Common in his surprise.

"New eyes," Thomas remarked smugly. He could make out a hazy Genveera staring at him with wide eyes now, and even Raeloth who was glancing over. The vision was disorienting, however, as he was facing in two opposing directions. "It's not perfect, but just weave the spell at the base of the sockets, then pull it out like gnomish taffy. The tricky part is holding the blasted things straight."

"Gross," Raeloth mentioned, "yet captivating. I do believe I've blown prettier things out of my nose."

Behind, they could hear Lord Dasen laughing as if a youth, and the noble jested, "Put it away, Sir Thomas, before I sick the royal guard on you! You're scaring the children."

Though Thomas did not know exactly what visual the spell entitled, he knew it must have been as it felt – squirming, worm-shaped columns reaching from his eyes and facing every direction but forward. He faced the lord, affronted. "I'll have you know, this is a serious matter of serious things!"

Lord Dasen slapped his knee and tipped his head back for bellyful chuckling. A good amount of cheer and vitality in that one, Thomas noted again. He canceled the spell finally and turned his sightless gaze towards Buck. "I had figured that's how you were doing it, actually. I know the spell must look silly, but its a nightmare to focus and that length of stalk is necessary to actual see."

"Lady Windrunner or Lord Sunstrider – you can match the legend of one, but not both," Genveera's sweetly accented voice remarked, sounding shrewd. Thomas heard her soft laugh follow though.

"Jack of all trades, darling," Buck proudly returned. "And to your question, I am not using such a spell. I have no visual perception, but much like the alterations of a demon hunter, I can detect concentrations of energy, likely mana itself. The Skinless especially reek of a putrid source, and they stand out like maggots on corpses."

Thomas pursed his lips in consideration, and he returned to Thalassian: "Then how did you miss the Sightless under shroud when we stood upon the walls of New Hearthglen?"

"They erased traces of their mana too. A novice mistake otherwise, I'd say, if they hadn't."

By then, they had entered the forest, and Thomas could hear the fae sounds and strange quiet in the woods – the tinkle of active spells, the groaning of ancient wood, the distant trample of some hooves, and birds that sounded as if angry. Without even seeing, however, Thomas could feel the menace of the woods. It was unwelcoming, pained, and full of a misery he had never encountered before.

With a small apology, Thomas canceled Merridan's spell over his eyes, and he blinked against the sudden light of the world that returned to him. Visually, Crystalsong appeared as if a regular woods, of thick trees bearing uniformly gold leaves. Studying it to a closer regard, he noticed the sharp, angry bends in the branches and the unnatural light within shadows and distant reaches.

This forest was still very much alive, but despite all his time in over a hundred woods, Thomas had never felt so alien to one. A thought struck him, of a memory, and he said, "It's as if we are walking through a perpetual displacement spell."

After a moment of surprised silence, Genveera remarked, "That was Jerath's assessment as well."

Thomas nodded. "I can see why. If I didn't know better, I might even accuse this forest of one massive illusion. There's so much mana and channeling going on here. I cannot tell if these are ancient spells still fueled or anomalies permanently marring this place. Light, but the sentience of it – that's not the will of a forest but some malevolent being, watching over it."

"According to Jerath, there is a latticework of spells here that incorporates ley lines and intertwines with the nature magic of the forest. The conflux here is born of a corruption, whatever caused the mage-blight to the east, and the anomalies of loosed arcane is manifesting into dangerous spells. As to an entity in control... that is for consideration."

"Flaerie's report?"

"Altogether, we eliminated the stations outside the blight, but Flaerie found massive operations within. Perhaps five hundred cultists to be found at their lair, perhaps more if they are running tunnels or far eastern camps."

"How closely are they working with the Sightless?"

"Not at all, as far as we can tell. A few daemons, but they seem to mix poorly, and none were of any power."

"Good. I have a mission for you, Genveera the Swan. Espionage, a bit of assassination, but ultimately, I want one of them in front of me for interrogation. Someone of position and authority."

"You can consider it done, Shadow."

"Can I? You're out of gems, and your skin grows pallid and your attention sluggish. I would send Jerath if he hadn't taken that blighted Ashblade mantle. I don't care for Meyanna's disgruntlement, but I need to know that you will survive the next few days alone, deep within hostile territory, where every bit of skill will matter... And you'll be submerged in potent, sickly arcane magicks, ripe for feeding."

"Send me or strip me," she indifferently remarked in the Thalassian song. "If you feel you cannot trust my work, take from me my rank and authority. Otherwise, send me, Deliverer."

"Burn me, Genveera – Go! and godspeed. You're a keen comrade with none more capable; don't let my trust down."

The fair skinned, golden haired elite beheld him with a strange expression. Was it appreciation for his final trust in her or disdain for his reluctance in getting there?

He ignored it, adding, "Take this. Use it as often as is safe. Tell me when your work is accomplished, and if your trials are great, Merridan and I both will be present for consultation."

Thomas had retrieved a pale blue stone, spherical in shape with a twisting pattern of white mixed into its look. With a tilt of her head, Genveera accepted the trinket, and she exclaimed, "An Orb of Whispering?"

In truth, Thomas did not understand the Thalassian word she used for the item, but by Merridan's nod, he made the connection between them, committing it to memory as he did with new words. "The activation is easy, and its partner is on my person always. Knowing your work, I will not try to reach you unless the Exilee is faced with certain defeat."

The Swan nodded, carefully slipping the orb within a pouch at her waist. Her ranger uniform was formfitting leathers, without any hint of slack or a cloak. Even that pouch was sewn into her pants. Reaching up, Genveera dragged her veil from her neck to over her face, then slipped her hood over her golden hair, until only her green eyes showed and her long ears poked from the slits. Thomas' own mask was tied at his waist, worn only for times of combat.

"Shadow," Genveera said once, giving a slight bow while marching, and then she sprinted forward, rushing headlong into the golden woods of Crystalsong. In only the first few steps of distance, Thomas could feel the heavy mana wedging between them.

Once she had departed, Raeloth dragged attention to himself with a deep hum. "She's a flower, that one. Pretty, but fragile, easily tarnished, and heavy boots have already trampled her down."

Thomas sighed. "Genveera's mind is highly tactical, strategic, and her experience tempers her actions into a dependable expert. Her flaws are few, but the times are especially trying now. If she did not possess control, she would have mutated to something Wretched, yes?"

"Aye," Raeloth concurred. "But not every flaw must be physical. We are a mighty force, Deliverer, and loyal to you, but a dark corruption runs deep in every man's veins here. Keep your guard up and your Ashblades close; not everyone here follows the same altruism as you."

"Wise, wise words," Merridan put in, his voice strangely solemn. Though he did not glance at Lord Dasen behind them, his use of Thalassian pointed suspicious fingers. Thomas' hunch proved correct as next his blindfolded friend looked back at the human lord to say, "Forgive me, my liege, but your time of consideration has come. Jack, my dear friend, I have something of wild fear and deep shame to reveal to you."

"Sir Merridan!" Lord Dasen reprimanded, sounding both short and hot. He did not betray anything by saying more, yet the message of dissent was clear.

"Commander Raeloth, keep your eyes peeled on the forest before us. I suppose you do better than most in breaking down its spells and grasps. Young Jack, follow me a short ways, where we may speak in private."

"Of course, sir," Thomas said. A heavy feeling settled in his gut, like the start of a sickness. Trepidation at what his friend had to say, for never had Merridan ever proven afraid of something, nor this serious.

The duo left the march to the forest, vanishing from sight much like Genveera as they skirted the gold-crowned trees. When the sound of tramping feet was only a faint thing, Merridan stopped them and faced Thomas.

In Common, Thomas asked, "What is it, Buck?"

"Have you ever needed to doubt my word before, Jack?" Merridan asked, and he leaned against one of the hostile trees with his arms crossed before him.

"I'd say not."

Merridan nodded. "There never have been secrets you were better off not knowing. I would never lie to you, given the choice, but things are not as they seem. It is my shame that has held the truth from you this long, but you must know – and I assume you have guessed much of this secret already."

Thomas took a breath, forcing his mind to remain level. "Something about the method of the Skinless... your certainty that I will lose my sight, like your own. I have suspicions that something was kept, but not on what."

"I'm not blind, Thomas."

The statement was clear and simple, and it took him a moment to realize it was less an accusation than a concession. Thomas felt an eyebrow raising. "So you wear the blindfold for fun?"

Merridan reached up a hand to slowly work the cloth from his eyes. The lids were closed, but Thomas could see there was a total lack of damage to the area. And then Merridan opened them.

The two men looked to each other in silence, one tense and one morose. It was Merridan, it was Buck, who looked upon Thomas then, yet it was not, not in that alien face, of skin too pale and with those eyes. Rather than the blue orbs of a summer sky, the high elf's- the former high elf's eyes glowed with a persistent purple light, like that of the shadow magicks warlocks worked with.

Of the million questions that jumped to Thomas' mind, only one was put to word: "Do you work for them?"

Purple-eyed Merridan shook his head. "No. Not yet, and not while I have fight in me."

"What happened?" The question was quiet, unsure.

Merridan had a tired, dry smile at the question, and he broke their gaze to turn aside and look to the forest. "I lost, Jack. When those three Sightless came for Prince Anduin, Lord Dasen, and I, I fought to protect them, and I lost. I wasn't strong enough, not fast enough, and not able enough to defend them... so I took the power from them, and my eyes, the eyes you knew, were forfeit."

"Speak in full, Merridan Twilwing. I need to know if I can still trust you."

"You cannot. And you can. When I took the dark, sickly power from the Sightless, it returned favor by trying to take my mind with it. I saw, then and now and forever more, the master these fiends serve. I was given knowledge of their purpose, their people, and temptations that I- it, whomever we were in the mix, had given into once before, and the rewards of our devotion. It nearly consumed me, but I had my purpose and clawed my way back on top and slew the monster before me. Now, the influence only returns if I try to take up that power again."

"Can I trust you?"

A bubble of humorless laughter. "See me, young Jack. I am keeping secrets from you, so you know you cannot. But I am in most unchanged, until I touch that lurking power. Even then, I am too old and it too young for such a thing to wipe me out."

Thomas huffed. "So then there is no issue. We all do as we must, and you confessed on your own volition. Now, is there more you are not telling me?"

His oldest friend pressed his lips together, and he glanced at Thomas again. "You are far, far too kind, young Jack, and that trust will get you killed one day. Heed the warning of Commander Raeloth, as I urged you back there. But to your question, I hold nothing secret that could endanger you or your Exilee, but I am wrapped in tight oaths over one more thing. I have begged for you to know, but there is no room for wiggle."

Thomas tried to shake the unpleasant tightness from his spine, and he joked, "Shall I beat the answers out of your Lord Dasen then?"

Merridan smiled at the attempt of humor. "I'm afraid I'd also be oath-bound to stop you."

"You're welcome to try." As the lighter moment passed, Thomas asked, "Is that all, Buck? You got the bad end of an exchange, and you had to pull me out here for it?"

"Jack, please. You need to understand the total change that comes to elves in moments like these. It is no different than the turning of the blood elves, and I fear you don't fully understand their change either. I love you like my own family, Jack, but I am not the Merridan you knew anymore."

"Then I'll come to know the Merridan I have left," Thomas remarked. When Buck opened his mouth to argue again, Thomas spoke up, feeling a flash of frustration: "It's just urges and thoughts, right?" Buck paused. "That's the difference, how you explained it to me with the birth of the sin'dorei, to keep me from prejudice.

"They were the same men and women, but they were undergoing new thoughts and urges. Those who remained above such could still be trusted, while those who gave in were to be pitied, because they weren't strong enough to face their curse. That's what you told me, and I know that to be true, but with one more thing: the fear of those who make peace with their curse."

It was a relief, Thomas felt, to finally see Merridan's face in full again, even with the corrupted eyes. The eyes of one who fed from Skinless mana. The tightness wouldn't leave his spine. The moment stretched, until Buck sighed, and he gave one short nod. "I don't want to see you hurt, Jack, and there's nothing more painful than betrayal."

"Can I trust you, sir?"

Merridan seemed pained. "Yes, Thomas, you can always trust me. Light, boy, you're relentless, but this isn't about just me. The new thoughts and urges, they change people. As you said, once they make peace with them, that is when it is time to fear – and your exiles have made peace with demons far worse than the mana-cravings of the sin'dorei. I left my people for a reason, Jack. Elvish schemes and self-imposed entitlement were baleful even before they knew the apathy of the sin'dorei. They will use you, plot around you, and run you dead before you realized something was amiss. You are convenient and helpful to them now, but when the time comes where one is better, they will cut you off like Meyanna would have Genveera."

Thomas looked to the forest now, considering Merridan's words. He could hear the rear guard of the Exilee was passing them now, leaving them behind; the elven army moved quickly.

"I don't play the political game well, Buck," Thomas admitted finally. "The Ashblades, they formed to protect me from such manipulations, didn't they? My preservation both in life and command."

"Keep your Ashblades close to you, always, Jack. I have tested every one of them, and they are a solid core. Your lovely Sarrine, Velanee, Jerath, Farron, even Meyanna and Jon'ah. If you wish to stay alive, trust them and no one else. Expect everyone, even Raeloth and Genveera, to betray you at any moment – live like that, and you will win against elvish ploys."

"Do you know why I call you "sir," Buck? You and no one else?"

The former high elven Ranger Lord blinked surprised purple eyes. The question had taken Merridan off-guard. "I considered it a respect thing, but in hindsight, I'm struck by how foolish that thought is."

Thomas met his smirk but ultimately shook his head. "Let's get back to the head before the forest eats half our men. And Buck, keep at my side. You are closer to me than the Ashblades, no matter how tight of a clamp Lord Dasen has on your testicles."

"Vulgar runt." He bumped Thomas in passing, as they sprinted through the fae woods.

It was a shame to see Merridan returning his blindfold in place, though he knew now why the man disguised himself. Briefly, Thomas wondered again at the secret between Merridan and Lord Dasen, but he dropped the topic. Merridan had his reasons for trusting the lord so and swearing such oaths, and Thomas would trust him.

XxX

Pounding head. Welling sickness. Genveera pushed on, unrelenting, mindless to the complaints of her body and her fogging head. She could certainly appreciate a bloodgem at that moment, and she would certainly offer much of herself to get one, should she not be on a mission. Separation of self and duty. If nothing else, Genveera desperately clung onto her ability to keep the two separate.

"Don't trust the disillusionment of the visual," Merridan Twilwing had reminded her briefly in her intrusion. "The enemy sees through more than eyes, as we know from the Sightless dogs. You are the Shadows, Genveera the Swan. You have no sight, no sound, no touch or presence. You are an absence, not a being. One cannot detect what is not there."

Lines were blurring, the parts that made Genveera herself. But it was not shadows that came to replace her. Genveera was vanishing, but the Duskfury remained. Light, but how swiftly she moved then, entirely undetected. Genveera thought herself the better in the subtle world, but how wrong she was!

The fools thought themselves covered by keeping in pairs. Against one of her caliber, both dropped before they even detected an issue with their partner. The earth, as dark patches of life-drained soil and Nether-infused residue, split apart to gladly swallow the bodies, keeping them hidden.

No panic ran through the base of the enemy, unknowing of their predator. Over one hundred of them had already been felled, and they still were in the stage of asking each other where they last saw "Kalina" or "Geoffin." Catching sight of a watchmen crouched atop the arch of some kaldorei ruins, Genveera dropped behind cover and drew her bow, preparing to fell him in a single, soundless shot.

Her vision blurred, and her arm began to shake unreliable. Hissing, she eased off the bowstring, suddenly panting.

Weak... a voice hissed within her head. I am not this weak!

Genveera needed to hurry, but the withdrawal was hitting her harder and harder. She needed a quick fix. She needed to feed on mana. The forest? Her teeth showed in her humorless laugh. A poison more potent than bloodgems themselves. A cultist would have to do, one untainted by their magicks.

The Orb of Whispering in her pocket called to her. In moments of trial, she was to contact Thomas or Merridan. Here, within the enemy camp, she could not afford the luxury. She needed to feed. She wanted to.

Genveera stalked her prey, knowing the urgency for time. Her breathing stayed accelerated, and excitement warred with the anxiety within her. A youth, likely a fresh recruit with latrine duty. A spell passed her breath, one without Genveera's explicit prompting, but the result pleased her as the boy fell to the dirt. She dragged him from easy sight, threw up a veil, then tugged at his mana, ripping it from him and gorging on it.

"The dawn of vampires is imminent."

Elves could not live without mana. There was hope for the sin'dorei, that in time, the corruption of feeding from demonic energies would fade, returning them to their natural states as quel'dorei, as high elves, but even then, their people had grown too dependent on mana itself, and they must be immersed and saturated in it. Until then, the lust for feeding, for taking it from other sources like vampires, would remain.

Genveera did not take pride in feeding. She knew she was sin'dorei, but she wished for the return to the race she was born as, where mana was a thing of wonder and beauty, not a method of survival and hunt.

"Yes, and no, for the dawn burns all evil."

Her shot was steady, and it claimed the life of the crouched watchman without raising alarm. Running up the side of the stone ruins, she reclaimed her arrow, then took the body down to hide it within the earth. That was the last of the men watching for the leader's tent.

There was nothing special about this tent, purple and dome-shaped like all the rest, other than the subtle watch given it by six separate men. None of them remained close to it, but their attention was clear to one of her training. After taking each of them, her way was clear, but there was still one last thing that needed doing.

Ten traps remained in a pouch at her hip. Explosive spells, bound into small orbs fitted for arrows, to be fired off into the distance. She drew the first, attaching it to her arrow, then set the spell to release after a minute. Drawing her bow, she fired it into the night, aimed for the command tent. She drew another trap, then fired that to the barrack – though each man slumbering there had already had his throat cut. Again, and again, she fired each of the ten into regions of importance, then slipped inside the tent of the leader.

The first of the traps activated as the tent flap settled behind her. Loud, violent explosions. Everything around it would be blown away and immolated. Jerath was not the only one who could craft spells. No matter who was left within the camp, soon they would notice how many of them were dead, and with the firestorm now unleashed, they would have nowhere to run but away.

With her bow now over her shoulder, Genveera drew her knife and approached the darkened figure.

XxX

Thomas led the march through the charred ruins. Two days post-execution, the flames had since extinguished, but the stench of ash remained pungent over the inexplicable tang of the corrupted forest. The air smelled of heavy musk, but also something clean and charged, like ozone after a lightning storm. By the tension in Thomas' spine, he felt as if that lightning storm hadn't quite ended yet, expecting sudden and forceful violence at any moment. Such was the experience of traveling through Crystalsong's corrupted half.

Even so, the scent of ash and charcoal remained a welcome diversion from the usual peculiarities. It told of Genveera's success here. Though she had already informed Thomas of it through the Orb of Whispering, beholding it himself made it solid. Purple cultists tent were collapsed and tattered around their tent posts, if any of the colored cloth escaped the fires at all. Stone structures may once have been reclaimed from kaldorei ruins, but now they were twice razed, incapable of being used for more than cobble.

The absence of bodies, despite the present bloodstains and smears, was another point of notice, though it was rationalized away by concern of diseases. Genveera would not have left them open to fester. Despite no clear means of counting kills, it was obvious that hundreds had once lived in this camp, all of which one lone ranger had somehow disrupted and overthrown. Heroics worthy of stories, of tales.

As the head of their column neared the center of the ruins, a chill swept through Thomas' already tight spine. That was his first perception, and once he actually listened, straining through the stomping of hundreds of elven feet and rolling cartwheels, he noticed the faintest sound in the distance. Just as he did, there was a whistle from Jerath, followed by nearby Ashblades wedging closer to his person.

A dozen yards closer, the sound formed itself as faint silver notes, as if from a wind instrument. Thomas turned towards Buck, about to make a comment over it, only to stop short when he noticed his friend's expression. Merridan seemed in pain; tightly masked, a trait contributed by his blindfold, but there was a flexing of his facial muscles, then a shudder that passed his frame.

"What's wrong?" he breathed, a ranger sound so quite that no one without their fine hearing could pick it up.

Buck's replied was stoic: "Nothing." Yet, Thomas noticed he showed too much teeth saying it.

The sound remained ahead of them, and with each passing step, it filled their ears louder and louder, until the average man could also hear it. The soldiers began to whisper, but nothing was outright said between them. Everyone, it seemed, was listening; listening to the music that greeted their welcome.

It did not take a musician like Thomas or Sarrine to recognize the unusual sound of this song. It was breathed through a single instrument, a mere flute, but each note rang with a beautiful, surreal sound. It was a haunting song, resonating with an ethereal quality, but it struck Thomas' ears with an astoundingly pleasant sensation. He had never heard a song like it before. As a piper, he wasn't sure he could ever reproduce it either.

Around the Exilee danced the silver notes, echoing around each other, vibrating stones and ruins. Such a melody... Men and women would pay an unsightly amount of money to hear that flutist perform songs of this caliber. It began to frustrate him that he could not begin to plot it on a mental sheet; the closer he got to translating it, the swifter his mind was once more consumed in that lovely sound.

As soon as that last thought passed his mind, a frown settled on his face, and he called forth the miniscule mana that Deynora had given him to cancel whatever illusion was being laced into that music. Nothing changed. He tried once more, only to realize there was nothing magical about that otherworldly melody at all. Its only magic was the touch of a genius mind employing masterful skill.

Around the collapsed ruins of an elven marble archway, they passed. At its end, Thomas picked up sight of the fair ranger they sought, also finding in her the expert flutist that heralded their return. Genveera the Swan held the silver instrument, blowing powerful notes in that dazzling song, seeming so entranced by her work that she hadn't even noticed them.

There was a moment in which Thomas appreciated the master at work. Those pink lips diligent upon their post, the lithe fingers dancing wildly over their keys, her eyes squeezed tightly shut in their focus. Thomas assumed he played the pipes well, but watching Genveera now, he felt like no more than a child with his first blade of grass. Such speed, such flawless grace, and the sounds she produced that he hadn't heard before...

"Ahem!" was the loud interruption. It seemed Thomas wasn't the only one to start at it, snapping out of the daze of the music. He glanced at Buck, finding the man nearly pallid now. Knowing his hybrid nature, did the music touch him differently?

Thomas returned his attention to Genveera, seeing her bright green eyes open now. The flute between her fingers was silent, the absence of its song so powerful that even the rolling wind seemed beneath Thomas' perception. He cleared his throat then and hailed, "Lo! I expected to see your quivers a bit skinnier."

The Swan had left with four of them, each bustling at their two-hundred capacity. Three remained full, with the last still holding a handful of arrows. Each quiver was laid beside her, where she sat upon a collapsed arch of stone. Her bow laid across her lap in wait, and on the purple dirt below her danging legs was a hooded figure bound by rope.

"I played target practice while the camp still burned and nearly used them all, but two days of sitting here has given me ample opportunity to reclaim them," Genveera returned conversationally. Dropping from her vantage point, she hit the ground cleanly and offered him an elaborate bow. "Shadow." The flute vanished into a pocket.

"Swan." He returned a salute. Though Thomas wished to ask her about the song, this was not the time nor place. "You have done good work, and the Exilee thank you. Now, who have we here?"

The motion towards the hooded captive elicited an annoyed expression from Genveera. "A real bag of snakes," she replied. "Stubborn and deceptive as they come. Careful to not let her speak much."

Thomas had already noticed the gender of the captive, simply through her shape in her robes, but then Genveera threw back the hood – and Thomas had to pause. Sometimes, that was just how beauty worked; an image would be too great to take in all at once, and the mind would need a moment to reevaluate what it was seeing to truly appreciate it. It still happened when he looked at Sarrine sometimes, but it certainly happened now.

The perfectly disarrayed hair, silver in color; the electric blue eyes, shining bright on her just barely ash-dusted face. Full, lively pink lips split by an elven cloth gag. The tattoos boldly drawn beneath her eyes were telling, but the pitiful and helpless, nearly maiden-like, contortion of her face as she looked to him was breathtaking. Women like this were the reminder that elves did not hold beauty alone, and that humans too could outclass them, though their spectrum of traits was vastly more varied.

A shame that she had turned to forces worse than the Shadow.

Leaning towards the cultist leader, he said in Common, "I welcome you, my lady, to the glorious march of the Exilee. My name is Thomas. You and I will be making acquaintances real soon. I trust you to look forward to it." Turning his eyes back to Gen, he said, "Bag her."

The hood was thrust over the woman's face again, and the slender elf bent to throw the whole body over her shoulder, lifting the weight easily. There was no strain in her voice as she asked:

"So has anything happened in my absence?"

Thomas nodded, and he turned to meet the eyes of Raeloth, Jerath, and Merridan, though the last still wore his blindfold. To Genveera's question, he said, "You cannot feel it from the corrupted half here, but the forest has changed. It quivers, it rejoices, it fears. Someone, or perhaps something, has come from the far west, and it is approaching us."

"Something of power then, and an affinity?"

"A forest god or nature goddess," Thomas confirmed, appearing reluctant. "Meeting it is inevitable, and we must hope it looks at us with benevolence. How many cultists remain, do you say?"

There was no reluctance from her. "Very few, if any. I shot down scores in the confusion of the burning camp, and fifty more that tried returning to rebuild. The rest were not strong enough to survive this forest alone, so if they still live out, they will not for much longer."

From behind them, a voice interrupted their talk: "Make way, make way! Ranger-General!"

Turning, they found the Portal Master Lorrin Foxfire leading his partner Ysanna towards them. Upon reaching them, they both bowed, but the urgency remained on the man's face. Ysanna remained strangely pale, and she let him speak.

"Ranger-General, pardon the interruption, but I fear this is something you must know. I... I don't even know how to begin this."

"Is it something about the ley lines?" Thomas asked.

Lorrin and Ysanna both nodded quickly, but he remained the vocal one: "Yessir, mostly that its busted open like the legs of an elvish crack-whore! By the sun, I never would have suspected something like this is even possible. I just... Alright, let me try to explain. When we're making portals, we access the ley lines, and we need to use a port to exit – a node, or access point, like the one in Stormwind, or Stonard, or Wyrmrest, right? But we can access the lines from anywhere, and... Ysanna, help me."

"He needs lectures first on what ley lines are, and how the power is traveling through the-"

"Never mind! By the sun, we worked with orcs for years and you cannot explain this to a human? Look, Ranger-General, something happened, and whatever did opened up a big fucking hole in the ley lines that run through here. If the lines were pipes, we've got ourselves one titanic gash here."

Thomas looked between the Portal Masters, trying to comprehend their urgency. "So the ley lines are leaking their power? Could that be what has tainted the region?"

Lorrin had a flash of frustration, and he swept himself into a sudden line of pacing. "No, no, that's not it at all! It's not leaking, and that's the problem! And when I say here, I mean right here, Ranger-General, at this camp, with the exact breach right over there, where that cave begins."

His partner, Ysanna, had appeared peeved since his interruption and remark, and she now offered in a dry voice, "The access point exploded."

Lorrin's head shot up, and he spun on his heel with new excitement. "Exactly! Exactly that, you beautiful darling you!" Shock passed to a brilliant blush, but Lorrin's mind was working far past that as he addressed Thomas again. "Now, I don't want to get too technical as none of you are masters in this field, but it wasn't exactly an access point that exploded but something very similar. A node that harnessed power from the ley line, perhaps more than one, and had it collected like a nexus..."

He broke off, mumbling words of Thalassian Thomas had no hope of understanding – likely wouldn't even if they had been in Common – but he prompted, "So something like the Crystal Trees of Crystalsong?"

Lorrin jumped on it. "Yes, yes! One of those, or something much like it, must have been here, and then something else – and I cannot even begin to describe how much power would be needed for this – but something else must have come and shattered the damn thing, tearing apart the pathways and leaving a gouge of this size in the ley lines themselves – or line; I cannot tell a blighted thing here with this rend."

"Lorrin," Ysanna urged then, and the man nodded, saying, "I know, its just overwhelming. Give me a second."

Taking a breath, the Portal Master straightened and faced Thomas again, steady. "But while this is all well and neat, Ranger-General, I know you must be wondering what the point is. Well, we know already from Stonard that these Sightless horrors can move access points around, but while this breach isn't leaking, it stands as a point of intrusion and exit. They ripped the bloody thing up to give them a new node, and from it, I'm nearly certain they could enter the lines themselves in body, not just astral projection."

"What that means," Ysanna picked up, "is that they are in the lines themselves, not just opening a portal from entry to exit. If the Blues were aware, they would make war with the whole arcane world at the atrocity, but like Wyrmrest, their post is unwatched, and by the Sun, the suggestion of what can happen should leave us cowering under our bedsheets."

"Explain as best you can," Thomas requested quietly.

The two looked to each other, and Ysanna nodded assent to Lorrin. The man took a breath, then sighed. Slowly, he said, "It means, Ranger-General, that should they possess the ability, they could harvest the energy of the ley lines for personal use, making any such foes a fucking nightmare to stop. It also means, assuming this new power, they can rip a new exits at any point in the lines as they will. Left unchecked, this will ruin the lines and the arcane powers of Azeroth over time, but until then, they can be anywhere, anytime, at their own prompting, with all the power in the world at their fingertips."

The pale woman added, "Without the Blue Dragonflight's watch, the master of the daemons could just be sitting on a massive intersection of ley lines and harvesting it unchecked. With that much power, even a hare would be made an all-powerful god. Considering the movements of its minions, it is safe to assume that is exactly what it is doing."

Thomas met the faces of his officers around him. Each seemed as pale and tense as him, with the exception of Genveera and his Ashblades. They only looked at him, unconcerned. The world on his shoulders.

He asked the Portal Masters, "Where would we find such an intersection?"

"Well, every ley line passes through the Nexus in Coldarra – that's the Blue's domain, and the seat of the Aspect of Magic," Lorrin said.

"What about Storm Peaks, up north?"

"...There is only one such place there. None of our texts in Silvermoon has any detail on what it even is, but there is an abandoned giant city called Ulduar at the crown of the world – and everyone knows the giants don't make cities. The web isn't fully charted there, but we know nearly a dozen ley lines run through it, confirming our suspicions that it is of titan make, and of titan use."

Thomas held his breath, then slowly exhaled it. He looked to Merridan, who was looking back, then said in a voice that shook: "Old gods..."

"Sir?"

"Ulduar... Most of you don't know because you were trapped on Outland, but far from a titan city, Ulduar is a titan prison complex, used to seal the Beast of a Thousand Maws beneath it. I'm guessing the lines were the power source for its securities. I never fought there, but Light, no story from it has ever come with good tidings, other than our victory of slaying the awakening old god. Everything ties together, however."

There was a bubble of mad laughter, and Thomas added, "The leaders of our world fell in a week. Our finest armies and cities shortly after. How could we not have realized this? We're fighting an old god in the height of his power."

"Shadow?" a quiet voice addressed. Captain Maloree. "We are only five-hundred."

Thomas remembered back to Hellfire Peninsula, when he had stood before the human lord who requested they join him in gathering an army to fight back. That army, he realized now, just might be the only thing capable of saving their world. Only if the naaru can be convinced to turn their Army of the Light on a foe more vile and evil than the Destroyer.

"This changes nothing," he declared suddenly, sounding far more sure than he felt.

"Sir?" others questioned.

He met their eyes. "This changes... nothing. We fight on. No, I fight on, and any who wishes to stay rallied to my side is welcome. Otherwise, my Portal Masters will open a safe way to Shattrath, where you will find a much grander army in the works of rallying, of every remaining race. I am leaving to meet the god who walks this forest, and then I turn north to lend my full aid to the man called King of Northrend."

"Your Ashblades are with you," Velanee said immediately. He met her eyes, seeing the determination, and also the smile. This moment was familiar.

Turning, he saw Raeloth withholding an answer, again waiting on word of the others before making his authoritarian decision. Merridan explained the proceeds quietly to Lord Dasen, and the man nodded quickly. "We are with you."

"I am with you." Genveera.

"Light," Lorrin groaned, but he stood beside Ysanna and they joined, "We are with you."

To the officers, he looked next, and they met his eyes. Captain Maloree began it, and the others – Blood Knight Flenadar, Magister Sarthas, Warlock Vessa – immediately followed, "We are with you, Ranger-General."

To Raeloth, his attention fell, and the man nodded, smirking now. "And I, as is the Exilee, are with you, Ranger-General. To death, to victory. For Azeroth."

"For Azeroth," Thomas agreed, and the rest took up the phrase, shouting:

"For Azeroth!"