Chapter 2
Half an hour later found Crys fully attired in what was essentially his "dress uniform". He had spent the lion's share of his adult life in Dalaran, living and working with its human rulers and serving to bolster their already impressive standing army as a warmage. He lead attacks on dangerous humanoids such as trolls and ogres during the more peaceful years, earning some distinction as an efficient and savvy trouble-shooter. When the Scourge began to threaten Dalaran's borders he participated in daring raids against their bases of operations, disrupting their mining operations and bringing more than a few of their structures down into flaming ruins. All of the elves working with Dalaran had heard the Scourge's advance on Quel'thalas, and while some had left in defense of their homeland, others, like Crys'annadath, had chosen to remain, confident in Sylvannas Windrunner's abilities to stop the undead's advance. Afterwards, the tainting of the Sun Well and the loss of its flow of magic drove many elves to insane lengths to destroy their unliving foes, Crys among them. It was because of one of these dangerous vengeance-fueled raids that the warmage had had to remain out of the final defense of Dalaran, in a small camp of the wounded, the infirm and the civilian population. The anguish he had felt when he watched the elegant spires of the capital city crumble was almost enough to break the elf, especially considering the loss of Silvermoon and thousands of elves piled on top of that. Then, in traveling, well, fleeing was more accurate, he chanced upon his sister, and he had been given new hope to keep living…but that was another story.
His clothing was a somber array colored shades of purple, in deference to the parent nation he had served with and the Kirin Tor which ruled over it. A short robe covered his torso, dyed indigo, with full-length sleeves and wide cuffs, and the bottom hem reaching down to just above his knees, a slender black leather belt with a silver buckle cinching off the robe at his waist. Loose-fitting violet breeches covered his legs and were gathered up and tucked into the dun, shin-high leather boots on his feet. The boots were a family heirloom, inset with silver wires artfully placed along its supple surface and enchanted to give the wearer a slight boost to his reflexes. The cuffs, folded collar and hem of the robe were decorated with a band of black silk, onto which white four-pointed stars were sewn at regular intervals. Stiff leather shoulder plates dyed violet and decorated with silver filigree jutted just over an inch past his actual shoulder, portraying a more militaristic image than most mage's robes did. Due to the humidity outside Crys decided to forego an undershirt, which could be thick wool or fine silk depending on the season and always dyed black. Finally, a night blue cloak was slung over Crys' shoulder and fastened into place by a silver broach in the shape of a leaf, and a thick silver chain. The back of the cloak was sewn with silver thread and depicted the emblem of Quel'thalas, a silver, many-branched tree with roots showing, crowned by a downwards facing crescent moon and flanked by two four-pointed stars. A gift from graduating from the academy of magic in Silvermoon, and one of his most prized possessions.
Crys had untangled his hair and it now sat straight and even from his scalp. The foremost locks of his hair were pulled back along his temples and gathered into a small ponytail at the back of his skull, presenting a more orderly appearance and keeping gusts of wind from blowing hair in his eyes. He remarked inwardly that his breeches were fitting a little tighter than they had during the war, a life of heavy drinker and a practicing recluse taking a toll on the trim figure most elves possessed naturally. It wasn't much now, but in five years, who knew? Crys quickly abandoned these thoughts. He had trouble enough getting through today without fruitless worrying about the future. He paused at the door long enough take up the short walking staff he had commissioned made upon his return to Theramore after the Legion's defeat. It was about four feet long and made of dark wood, capped with gold at the bottom. The shaft was of consistent thickness from top to bottom, that being about twice as thick as a man's thumb, and polished until it looked like glass. The top handle was made of ribbed gold with a small smooth star sapphire set into the top. Unbeknownst to most, the cane also served as a weapon, the top three-and-a-half feet of the shaft was shaped to accept a slender-bladed long sword, which, with a simple twist of the gold handle, could be unsheathed and used. Crys disliked openly carrying about a weapon in these times of supposed peace, and also enjoyed tricking would-be foes into believing he was unarmed except for his spells. Crys could wield a blade as good as any human, and when he found his spells exhausted or ineffective, put those skills to good use on the battlefield.
Pushing open the door and closing it behind him Crys turned and tapped the stone balcony three times sharply with his staff and spoke; "Kalseb."
The door's handle sparked with electricity and the trap was activated. It was almost a needless precaution, but the elven wizard didn't take chances with his possessions, especially after his trip to Ratchet showed him how many wizard's items goblin thieves had managed to lay their hands on. Cloak fluttering out dully behind him Crys descended the stairs, the opened letter he had been sent sitting tucked into his pocket and its contents occupying his mind. Come to the council building at once, have a matter of some urgency to discuss, it had simply read, then signed with a 'J' at the bottom. It was just enough to command him to come, not enough to make him start formulating reasons or excuses for not responding.
Crys passed through the richly appointed waiting area on the main floor and out the main doors of Greymere tower. The street outside contained its usual bustle of commoners going about their daily lives and the occasional patrol of armored humans making their rounds. Crys glided through them with the aloofness expected of both an elf and a wizard, most moving aside or altering their direction slightly to avoid him even if they weren't directly in his path. The warmage kept his expression indifferent, neither snarling nor smiling, a look that dissuaded interruptions from those around him.
The mild headache that he still endured from the night had begun to flare up from the exercise and noise he was getting, making him long for the comforting seclusion of his chambers, or an isolated wooded glen. Elves were not meant to live in cities like this, Theramore City little more than a fortress that had grown too big for its walls. The stonework was neat and professional, the streets orderly and paved, but with practically the whole entirety of the human race located on a single island and a few scattered settlements, there was precious little room for green spaces of any kind. One could walk for half the city and not see anything more substantial than a potted plant. It didn't help that the nearest wilderness was Dustwallow Marsh, a fetid swamp filled with murlocs, sink holes, and black dragons. Yes, Theramore was a crowded city, and having such a large population confined behind walls, it was not uncommon to have tempers flare and fists fly, especially when it was a racial difference at fault. The Alliance still held a tenuous treaty with the Horde and the night elves, but each day that some earth-shattering evil was not just over the horizon, the need to continue being friendly and honor past treaties grew smaller and smaller.
Linking up with a main street Crys was again reminded why he did not enjoy strolling about during the daylight hours. His pace had slowed to a crawl while the citizens bought and sold goods, talked about their days, and moved from place to place. More than a few could stand a good dousing in soapy water, or at the least a toss into the bay, the humidity only heightening the odor. A thin sheen of sweat soon covered the elf's brow, the claustrophobic environment and beating sun causing the perspiration to spring forth. Gritting his teeth in an effort to remain calm a wave of nausea and a gnawing pain suddenly erupted in his chest, and he gasped aloud despite himself. Maneuvering so that he now leaned heavily against a nearby building's wall his left hand reflexively clutched at his breast. Of course! He had far surpassed the time when he usually meditated to fight off the effects of the addiction, the stress and the previous night's binge only reinforcing its strength. This then, this was the price all the high elves now had to pay for being shut off from the Sunwell's glorious mana. Crys knew there was nothing for it now, he would have to live with the stabbing ache for the rest of the day, even though it left him distracted and, if it were cast on him, more susceptible to the effects of magic, his body subconsciously trying to draw in what it needed.
People noticed the tall elf in pain, face ghost white and glistening with sweat. Most were too wary even to spare more than a curious glance his way, but eventually a call for a priest was relayed down the street. "That won't do anything," Crys muttered angrily, but the call had already gone out. Eventually a pair of plate-armored guardsmen with a priest of the Light muscled their way through the crowds towards the ailing elf. Forcing himself to stand upright Crys willed the pain away, giving up some of his own prepared spells to temporarily feed the screaming void in his body.
"What grieves you so, wizard?" the first footman asked, eyes peering out from behind the enclosed helmet. The priest behind them was female, and an elf besides. The warmage didn't address the speaker, instead looking directly at the priest and answering.
"It's nothing clerical powers can aid in, it will pass shortly." The other elf read his expression and then nodded somewhat sadly in acknowledgement.
"His ailment is not one of the body. Good day to you, sir mage," she said quietly, then turning about and walking away. The two humans looked at each other in confusion and then shrugged and clanked after her.
Having enough of being gawked at by rabble Crys decided that he would simply teleport there. He could only do it once, his return trip would have to be on foot, but as he did with most matters these days, he would worry about the future when it happened. Sliding his hand the shaft of his cane until it was near the middle he hefted it and drew it in a wide half-circle before him, a starburst of bluish-white magic radiating from the tip of his short staff as it moved. Traffic on the street ceased, watching the display of magic, but Crys was insensitive to their gaze, his eyelids closed and concentrating on the broad steps of the council building with his mind's eye. A small ring of the bright energy inset with mystic runes formed around his feet, and then suddenly flared up like a fire given new fuel, and the elf was gone. The public chatted about how nice it would be to teleport around at will for a few minutes, but soon the sick-looking elf and his magic display passed from the collective minds of those on the street and life returned to normal.
In the blink of an eye Crys found himself standing on the white marble steps he had envisioned in his mind. The council chambers were sufficiently impressive enough to give those who viewed it a sense of the critical issues that were decided upon there, a symbol of their government and its power. Of course, it paled in comparison to the castle that had existed back in Lordaeron's capital city, but something of that extravagance was not permitted by both costs and size issues. The two guards stationed flanking the main doors started at his sudden appearance, halberds fluidly coming down into a fighting grip, blades aimed at Crys. Once they got a good look at him they returned to their former statue-like positions without saying a word, most likely used to such arrivals with a number of mages on the ruling council. The elf strode past them with a slight nod and pushed open the door, walking into the austere interior of the building where the head of the remaining human forces awaited him.
Two flights of stairs up and down a long corridor where pages and clerks in blue tunics quietly did the menial tasks of the council behind the scenes. Crys walked through them without so much as a glance in their direction, his eyes focused on the double doors at the end of the hall, emblazoned with the stylized 'L' of the kingdom of Lordaeron in shining gold. The doors lead to a small antechamber, in which a round stained-glass skylight let in blue and golden light, yet another emblem of Lordaeron shaped from the two shades of glass. There were a few small shrubs in pots and wooden benches for those who had to wait to be admitted, and four soldiers equipped like the duo outside stood guarding the doors to the actual council room, and to the door leading to Jaina's private office chambers. It was quite warm in this room, only a small arched window facing to the south-east permitting any air flow, Crys did not relish of staying in there for much longer, nor envy the guards who had to remain there after he had departed. Wanting to get his wait over with as soon as possible Crys turned to one of the guards flanking Jaina's office.
"Please inform the governess that Crys'annadath Skychaser has arrived."
'The governess already knows,' a woman's voice sounded in his head, a telepathic message from perhaps the most talented remaining wizard in the Alliance. 'I will be with you shortly, please make yourself comfortable in the mean time.'
Crys recovered from the shock quickly, motioning the guard away from the door and saying; "Never mind. It must be nice to work someone who can read your thoughts, eh gentlemen?" he asked the four of them, receiving some uncomfortable shuffling and clearing of throats from the plate-armored guards as a response.
Allow himself a brief chuckle at their expense Crys's hands began to twist and bend, words of power quietly spoken tumbling effortlessly from his lips. Despite the gnawing ache in his gut, being able to control the arcane forces that permeated the world almost made up for it. Even with minor spells there was a sense of satisfaction in manipulating the world to suit your own needs, though it was this very same sense of satisfaction that lead to the often lethal hubris that was almost the world's downfall three times and counting. When at last Crys' hands stilled their writhing dance the air became noticeably cooler in the chamber, changing the mid-day heat to an evening's clime, even while the sun still shone brightly above them. The guard's shoulder plates all fell a little bit as they drank in the refreshingly cool air, some releasing deep sighs of relief. The elven warmage slid into one of the benches wooden embrace, glad for the change as well. A few quick nods in his direction let him know that his spell was welcomed gratefully by them all.
It wasn't long before Jaina's office door was pushed open, with more force than was necessary, or polite. A well-dressed dwarf storming out, his thick eyebrows almost meeting above his nose in a severe frown. The short visitor paused momentarily as he walked into the cool air, but then his dark eyes spotted the source, the robed elf, and he muttered something derogatory as he struck up his previous walking pace. Obviously some sort of dwarven diplomat, if there was such a thing, doubtlessly complaining about the insultingly small (no pun intended) representation their race receives on the Alliance Assembly. It was made up of five humans and two elves, and to be ruled by these two races was almost more than the stout folk could bear. The dwarf passed quickly from Crys' mind when a voice from behind the now open door bade him enter. Rising from his seat and taking one last quick moment to make himself presentable the elf walked into the room with a nonchalance he did not feel.
The room was spacious, yet made small by the dizzying array of books, letters and maps that made Crys' own collection seem paltry by comparison. While the oak shelves seemed to fairly burst with written material, Crys also noticed that they were neatly arranged, and most likely in alphabetical order, a must if one had precious little time to waste searching your shelves for the proper information, and Governess Jaina Proudmoore was one who had very few spare moments in her day.
Despite penning something on a blank vellum scroll she rose as he entered the room, not breaking in her task until she had finished the sentence. It was only then she put the quill aside and met his gaze, her face welcoming, but in the polite manner afforded to any whom one would meet in their daily routine. It took the elf a second for the full impact of her appearance to strike him, causing him to grimace slightly.
There was nothing wrong with the young leader of the Alliance's appearance, not at all, but the combination of ice blue eyes, well-groomed blonde hair, and a light crimson robe gave a little twist to a dagger called regret that had been lodged in his heart since that fateful day he left his sister Rhell. The faintest of frowns crossed Jaina's dignified yet still youthful face, Crys silently cursing himself for letting his pain show to her, of all people. "Are you not well?" she asked, gesturing with a slim hand to a chair padded with brown leather cushions in front of her desk. The elf shook his head and quickly removed the pained look from his face, seating himself and resting his cane against his knees.
"No, its nothing. I'm just not used to the humidity, that's all. I rarely venture beyond my chamber door these days."
Jaina seated herself as well, nodding shallowly in understanding while her eyes still watched him intently.
"We could postpone this meeting until later if you wished, the evening perhaps," she offered. Crys shook his head and held up his hand.
"Nay, I've endured far worse than a little heat in the past, and I make concessions to the governess, not the other way round. Your reason for summoning me has the air of direness about it, and I would have it laid out before I can settle myself.
Please, continue."
Once he was able to put aside her resemblance to his sister, Crys'annadath was reminded why the arch-mage seated before him was referred to as "the Golden Sorceress ". Even amongst the fair folk of the Quel'dorei she would be counted as possessing great beauty, a beauty only matched by her staggering magical ability and the power she now wielded. Crys was certain that he had lived five of her lifetimes, yet her keen mind, aptitude for the arcane, and privileged tutelage under Antonidas of the Kirin Tor made her his superior in ability. It was her level-headedness and leadership which also allowed the tattered remains of the Alliance to survive the third coming of the Burning Legion and settle in a land altogether foreign and harsh to them. The elf realized that he was probably staring, and quickly gave the room another thoughtful look to conceal his true interest, including a glance out of the three windows set side-by-side in the south wall, which afforded a view of Theramore's main street, both the street and the view of it extending all the way up to the main gates at the city's southern tip.
"The matter I have brought you here for is indeed dire, and I offered postponement only out of politeness. I knew you wouldn't truly accept it. My concerns involve a recent murder within the city, and before you dismiss it out of hand," she added quickly, holding up her index finger to still Crys, who had indeed begun to formulate reasons why such a thing did not concern him," know that the killer was a mage, and that more deaths have been promised for the future."
The elven warmage listened to her carefully, his own concern growing with each new fact.
"The body was of a prominent fish-merchant who had been reported missing the evening previous, Jhek Herodose was his name. A passing patrol spotted his remains not ten feet from where his business operated. He wore the tattered remains of the night shirt he had put on prior to turning in for the night, and through it numerous cuts and scrapes could be seen, including several large gashes along his torso that had been crudely stitched closed. He had been operated on, though what twisted mind would use a healer's art for torture I do not know. A slender metal spike pinned a note to his chest, and its contents were enough for the captain of the guard to be sent for."
"Before he arrived one of the patrol men had leaned down to examine the corpse more thoroughly, including the note. Despite cautionary warnings by his fellows, said patrolman tried to tear the note from the corpses' chest, his hand grasping the paper but suddenly the corpse moved, grabbing the guard's arm in the steely grip afforded to the undead. The corpse then proceeded to laugh hysterically, and exploded suddenly into a mass of flying flesh, bone, and green fire. Three men died from it, and five were injured, one of those only surviving because the guard captain was nearby and is an experienced paladin as well. The flames burnt even stone, and has left an evil-smelling stain on the street despite best attempts to cleanse it. Our priests tell me that it is demonic in nature, and will likely take divine magicks to fully erase it."
" 'I am the first, but not the last' the message had said, the guard captain and myself doing everything we can to keep that message away from the ears of the public, but if this madman continues to kill in such a manner, the truth will become inescapable. I need you, then, to investigate this murder and bring to justice the ones responsible. You will have the full cooperation of the city guard as well as any aid that can be rendered either by myself or any wizard within Theramore's walls. We must purge this corruption as soon as possible, lest it continue to spread and compound our problems. Can you do this for me?"
Crys took a moment to let the question hang in the air, thinking about this task laid out before him. It was a far cry from his usual duties, indeed, far from anything he'd done previous. Was he really capable of hunting down a murderer? In a way it was no different than trying to out-think and out-maneuver an enemy commander, but Theramore wasn't a war zone, and he hadn't commanded troops in over a year.
" Why me? " he asked, sitting further back in his chair and giving the arch-mage before him a critical look. Jaina had apparently expected such a question, and, nonplussed, folded her hands before her on the desk and explained.
"For one, I simply can't spare anyone else. You are the only mage, to my best knowledge, who has both the experience and the, shall we say, free time, to take on this assignment," she said matter-of-facty, Crys catching the none-to-subtle jibe at his personal habits.
"Also," she continued, "I have heard exemplary things about you from what few former commanders I have come into contact with since the end of the war. You have a sharp mind and a head for strategy, both traits you will find to be useful when compiling facts and attempting to preempt the killer's next move. Plus there is the Sight…." she paused, letting the term dangle in the air, no explanation needed to what she referred too.
The Sorcerous Sight, as it was known amongst the elves, was a very rare gift, a thing born once in a ten generations from the elves constant exposure to the arcane every day of their lives. While there were spell-magic equivalents in the world, the ability to see or hear what was occurring in distant places that were familiar to the individual at any time was an ability possessed by very few indeed. It had been Crys'annadath's gift and tool throughout his entire career as a warmage, giving him glimpses at the layout of enemy campsites, let him hear the whispered battle plans discussed in a commander's tent late at night, and had earned him rank and honors faster than any of his peers. He had also, over the years, developed the ability to read lips and had become a decent sketch artist to aid him in retaining the information received from such visions. After the war against the Burning Legion, Crys had been given a very cushy duty in recognition of his service and his gift; use his Sight to keep track of human settlements on the mainland, as well as a few hotspots on Kalimdor, such as Bael Modan, Ratchet, and Orgimmar. This meant traveling to these places and getting familiar with an important area within it, and using those memories to allow him to see or hear them again in the future. Once they were fixed in his mind, he need only visit them with his magical senses to determine if something of importance was happening there or not. It only took up about an hour of Crys' day, the rest left to pursue his own interests, though what that amounted to was usually a few hours spent repairing the damage he had done the night previous and then indulging heavily in drink to deaden the pain he still carried within him.
Could he do it? Yes.
Would he do it?
"Yes," he said finally, his eyes refocusing on her face after staring at nothing while he pondered. "I will do this thing for you. I can't make any guarantees, but I'll do my best to bring the person or persons responsible for this heinous crime to justice."
Jaina smiled faintly at his response, her body relaxing slightly as she sat back in her chair, the wood creaking slightly at the movement.
"Excellent news. Your usual duties are hereby suspended until the case is solved to everyone's satisfaction, and you will draw a special duties pay from the treasury, as well as a bonus depending on how swiftly, and more over, quietly you bring the murderer to justice." The smile from the arch-mage's face had already vanished, like a precious spring blossom fading swiftly under the summer's heat. Her unadorned hands began searching through a sheaf of papers nearby, her attention focused solely on her task, undoubtedly preparing herself for her next meeting. Crys took that opportunity to rise, stepping around the chair and half-turned towards the door should she have anything to add.
"I rest better knowing that as a special emissary of the Alliance Assembly you understand that there is a certain image that must be maintained at all times. Behavior unbecoming someone in such a powerful position would start casting doubts as to the competence of Theramore's rulers…" she commented, glancing sideways at him with serious blue eyes. Crys'annadath subconsciously stiffened at this veiled warning, reminded again that there was likely little that Jaina did not know, or could not find out, about his life. She was the one who had the letter delivered to him via Sarah after all.
"You may indeed rest easy, governess," the elf replied, bowing his head in her direction before starting to walk towards the door.
"I would start by questioning the men who survived the explosion, they are stationed in the east barracks, resting until they are fit to return to duty. I would also recommend becoming familiar with the guard captain, building a friendly rapport with him would certainly expedite the exchange of information."
Crys looked to her over his shoulder and nodded. She was already engrossed in her next task, scribbling something down on a scroll.
"I will, thank you," was his clipped response as he left.
Outside the office the cool air continued to hold the mugginess at bay, and would for a few hours more. Crys was loathe to leave and face the hot, sweaty chore of making his way through the press of humans on the streets outside to reach his destination, but as he had told Jaina, he had endured worse. Already his mind had begun to toy with theories and culprits as he walked through the legislative buildings' corridors. Who could be doing such a thing and for what reason? Burning Legion cultists? A rogue necromancer splintered off from the Scourge? An Alliance mage with a personal grudge against the ruling council? If the elf knew one thing, it was that this case would likely become more clouded before things started to became clear, and would he be able to solve the puzzle before he himself, became a target?
Crys walked out into a bustling city which suddenly seemed filled with potential killers and their accomplices.