Saleia, it turned out, was a magistrix aiming for officer training, and a fun girl to hang around with off-duty. That first week of basic – all the Thalassian enlisted were being required to go through the orcs' idea of basic training – their newfound friendship was most of what kept Myphria sane. Besides, as Myphria found out after basic began, she had a very cute brother.
Saleia wasn't fooled in the slightest when Myphria denied that thought over chow, of course. "Watch out Myph. Tharen has a girl already. And Jys doesn't really like it when other women start hanging around him. In fact, it makes her more than a little crazy," she warned.
Myphria frowned over her porridge at that, blushing slightly. Tharen always seemed to have a compliment ready for her. Just little things, like how her hair shone, or how sharp her uniform looked, but there was always something he found to mention to her. Her eyes were a favorite topic of his compliments, and she fully believed those. Asyria had always said she had the most beautiful eyes in Quel'Thalas. She forced a smile to her friend, though she was sure that her troubled mind was plain on her face still.
Saleia opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the Centurion in charge of trainees came in, banging a bastard sword on a shield for attention. "Alright, maggots. Those of you who aren't applying for an officer rank, duty roster just went up," he declared. "Interview schedules for those that are applying for an officer rank and are being considered are being passed out as we speak. Just watch for the stone guard with big tusks growing out of his mouth. If ya get something from him, do what's on that paper, otherwise check the duty roster as you leave for your assignments. That's all. Go back to chow."
"Think we made it?" Myphria asked her friend.
"Oh please, you've got a recommendation from the Regent Lord himself. You're at least going to be considered," Saleia said before sipping her morning mango juice. "And I always make the consideration list, but haven't actually gotten that promotion yet. I heard that the Horde is even stricter than our own people like that."
"You just gotta put yourself out there more, sell yourself to the orc who has yes or no power," Myphria told her.
"It'll take more than a 'yes' on my application to make me 'sell myself' to an orc, Myph," Saleia replied teasingly.
Myph was sure she went red in the face because Saleia started laughing uproariously. "You know that's not what I mean, Sal," Myphria replied, rallying. "And besides, who else are you gonna 'sell yourself' to, hmm?"
Saleia grinned and grabbed at her own chest, over her heart. "You wound me!" she exclaimed in mock hurt. "Oh, lookie, you've got a troll visiting you."
Sure enough, even as Myphria turned in the direction that Saleia was looking in, an envelope was dropped on top of her bowl. Even though it hadn't actually landed in her food, she still pushed the bowl away as she picked the envelope up. Food might be better at a base than on a ship, but it still wasn't very appetizing, at least for enlisted. Her interview was scheduled for later that afternoon, and Saleia's was immediately before it.
Of course, Tharen just had to be flirting with her just before she was called in. Asyria had always warned her about men who wouldn't stop flirting with her. Telling herself she'd tell him to stop the next time – for the hundredth time or so - she was very nearly late with the amount of time it took to get that damned blush off her cheeks.
"Grunt Skyflame, reporting as ordered, sir," she barked out as she entered the assignment office, run by a legionnaire, a green orc.
"Skyflame, Myphria, Grunt, just transferred from Quel'Thalas…" he recited off in a bored-sounding monotone, "recommended - and petitioning - for officer training, yes?"
"Yes sir," she replied sharply.
The orc muttered as he started reading out of her file. It seemed that her tests were all good from what she was overhearing. He set the file aside and then folded his hands on the desk, leaning on his elbows as he looked her up and down.
"Denied," he stated flatly.
She felt like she'd been sucker-punched. "May I ask why, sir?"
"You may not. Just be a good little enlisted girl and do as you're told."
"With respect, sir, that is not satisfactory."
"Didn't you hear me, girl? You - can't – be – an - officer. Why? Because I say so, that's why. You're nowhere near imposing enough to lead a pack of orcs, let alone a mixed lot."
"I rather thought that was the point behind being trained for an officer rank, sir," she replied, perhaps a tad hotly. Oh, she saw through the test. It was incredibly transparent, after all. But the motions were important when you were prodding your adversary to do what you wished instead of reacting to their actions. Asyria had always said as much, and her big sister's advice had never once led her wrong.
"This is the last time I'm asking, girl. You can take your enlisted rank and walk out that door, or I can kick you out of the service entirely and send you packing back to Silvermoon. Which will it be?"
Her jaw locked. She knew he wanted her to think he meant what he was saying, and gave him what she thought he wanted to see. "Permission to speak freely?" she requested.
"Go ahead," he replied indifferently, leaning back in his chair and waving his hand.
"You're just going to have to toss me out, sir, because I'm not leaving until you make me, or until you approve my application… sir," she told him frankly, dropping military decorum.
He grinned predatorily at her and stood up, looming at her as he rested his weight on his knuckles pressed against the desk. She didn't back down. "You're about as intimidating as a mouse trying to stare down a tiger," he told her menacingly.
"If you think that's true¸ you haven't bothered looking closely enough, sir," she said, looming right back and putting her knuckles on the desk. The big orc blinked, probably not expecting for her to react that way. "I know I'm officer material. And I know you're going to approve my entry into the training program, sir."
He grinned again, though this time it was… not friendly, but not hostile either. Amused was the closest label she could put to it. "You're damned right I am," he told her, and she obliged him by feigning surprise to cover her satisfaction. "I don't let mice into the officer corps. You just proved you're not a mouse. You're off active duty as of this moment and being assigned to shadow a Stone Guard – that's the lowest officer rank – for the next week or so. From there… we'll decide what to do with you. Dismissed!"
Myphria saluted smartly and turned on her heel, feeling stronger and more confident in herself then she had in a while. Maybe she'd just steal Tharen from his current girlfriend… unless she turned out to be another of Saleia's friends, of course. She'd never backstab Saleia, even second-handedly.
Officer training proved to be rather easy. Asyria had already taught her most of what she 'learned' from Stone Guard Blackfang, the orc officer who she'd been assigned to shadow. And the few things he'd strongly advocated, she remembered Asyria strongly advising against. After the first week was over, she decided to trust her sister's advice against the creepy orc's. After the first month ended, she'd decided that he simply didn't know what he was talking about.
She wasn't the only one in officer training. Saleia and Tharen both made it in, much to their shared delight. One night, three weeks after training started, she found herself alone with him just outside his quarters – officers and officers in training all received private quarters – with her back against his door. He was flirting with her to a most distressing effect, and decided to ask him straight out:
"Aren't you worried about your girlfriend learning of our… dalliance?"
He chuckled, reaching up and tucking a strand of her rust-colored hair behind her ear. "Let me guess, Sal told you that?" he asked quietly, not stopping touching her. She'd started to like the little shivers that went through her when he did that. "I'm quite available you know. Saleia just tells girls she's attracted to that I'm taken by a possessive and very jealous woman."
That made her give a start of surprise, and then again in disbelief. "Uh, wait… she's attracted to girls?" she asked, feeling a little of her mood evaporating at the thought. Hadn't she mentioned having a husband? Myphria suddenly couldn't remember clearly if she had or hadn't.
"Oh yes. She likes both men and women, though if I had to put a hair's difference I think she favors her own sex. But I don't think you're that way at all, Myph," he said as he leaned in closer, so close she could smell his breath.
She couldn't think straight when he leaned in close and nuzzled his nose to hers, and she found herself nuzzling his back as his hand slipped down to her hip, pulling her a little closer. "I really, really like you, Myph," he whispered to her, making her heart beat faster. She didn't stop him when he kissed her, and wrapped his arms around her, finding herself relaxing and kissing him back, her fingers twining through his hair. She tried to remember the things that her sisters had taught her about this sort of situation, but none of them would come to mind, apart from the fact that none of them would walk in and interrupt this time. Her will weakened further when he started kissing her neck, making her gasp. And she was surprised to figure out that he'd somehow let them both into his room without her noticing when she heard the door shut behind him. The next thing she knew, she was on her back, and saying no to him didn't even occur to her.
[-]
Dressed in a practically simple, yet finely woven and tailored, dress, Celandia and her attendants for the day stepped through the small, narrow gate that had so recently been unbarred. She hated the ruins of the west side of the city. Everywhere she looked there was debris, and Wretched, and the dead, some of whom still moved despite their necrosis. And while that was enough in itself to make the bile rise in her throat, the fact that her elder sister was likely still somewhere out there, assuming Arthas hadn't commanded her elsewhere, was nearly enough to force that bile out past her lips. She was the second daughter, and the second child, born to her parents; and she was the High Priestess of the Sun. She wouldn't let such a sign of weakness show.
But then there was the simple fact that she had to cross the Dead Scar, that dark blight on Quel'Thalas, that eternal reminder of that horrible day, in order to reach it. Despite years of study, no one could conclusively state what the Dead Scar was, beyond a mar on their home, a ribbon of black, diseased earth that ran through Quel'Thalas from Scourgeholm to the south, to where Celandia now stood, to the north, beneath Sunstrider Straits – that part truly worried everyone who studied it, for fear of the contaminant being spread by ocean currents – to the isle of Quel'Danas where the remains of the Sunwell stood. Simply getting near it made her feel as if the heat - that blessed gift from the Eternal Sun - was leeching out of her body. A few headstrong young apprentices, one apprentice Magistrix more vocally than any of the others, had put forth the notion that the land simply couldn't be cured. Celandia knew – though she had nothing to base it on – just as surely as she knew that the Blessed Sun would always guide her, she knew that those apprentices were wrong.
"Have the Wretched been forced from this section of the ruins?" she asked one of her personal bodyguards.
"Several times, Mistress," the man answered. "Each time we drive them out they manage to reappear and harass the rebuilding crews. We just don't have the manpower to track down all of their bolt-holes, and the military doesn't consider them enough of a 'priority' to lend us troops for the endeavor."
"And how long ago was it that they were last driven out?" one of the Prelans – a Prelan was higher than a brother or sister, but still several steps below her - asked. She considered that one a toady, a meaningless yes-man. Either he was concerned for his own safety, or believed that she would be fooled into elevating his status by showing a concern for hers, or both. But he was an insignificant fool, and a known womanizer. His place in her heart had long since frozen over.
"It makes no difference," Celandia asserted firmly. "Persistent though they are, the Wretched here are weaklings, stragglers from whatever unholy parody of an army they've worked themselves into. We will dispatch them forthwith if they challenge us."
"As you say, Mistress," Toady – she never acknowledged him by name, and even called him that to his face - said with a bow.
She just wished that someone could tell her exactly what the Wretched were. They'd only appeared after – not during or before – the Scourge invasion, and were almost as much a mystery as the Dead Scar. Theories ranged from naturally devolved High Elves to elves whose minds had been broken when the Sunwell was destroyed to those who had simply been too addicted to their own Arcane energies and been consumed by that addiction. Some said all three, and more besides. But while there was evidence for each – though some require straining to see how - she couldn't decide on exactly which case was correct. Certainly their appearance was related to the Scourge. But beyond that, and the fact that they weren't undead, she just didn't know. They were clearly mad. Every attempt to 'cure' the Wretched had failed, and in fact just seemed to hasten the affected body's devolution.
She shook herself from those contemplations and brought herself back to today. She had been called upon to cleanse a section of the reconstruction and reinstate a ward that the aforementioned Wretched had apparently managed to break through. She was one of the only priestesses alive who had the skill and power required to do it.
And unfortunately most of the rest of them were on some pointless warfront somewhere; those who remained in Quel'Thalas were either busy with other duties, or had taken ill. "Well, we're accomplishing little simply standing here," she said, before launching into a spell that called forth a solid disc of pure light, six paces across. Mounting was a chore, but as soon as she was sure she had control of it, seated cross-legged in the very center of the disk with her staff across her knees, she bade them to mount it, and set it in motion towards their destination.
It wasn't that she was particularly afraid of venturing here; there was little that she could honestly say she was afraid of, at least for herself. Her fears mostly revolved around others. Today it was for the men and women who were accompanying her into the ruins, even Toady, as much as she loathed him. She was the highest ranking priestess here, which meant that she was responsible for their safety, even if they believed they were responsible for hers. And that was why she used that particular spell to travel. It was of her own creation, and came with a shield dome that covered the platform.
She was hardly surprised when she felt the shield being impacted less than ten minutes later, an arrow bouncing harmlessly off as some Wretched tried to pull an ambush. What she was surprised at was the number of impacts. There were at least a dozen, and five Wretched were suddenly just there in their path.
"You are not to leave this disk unless necessary," she instructed her retinue calmly. "Deal with them from here."
"Yes Mistress," the dozen soldiers and half-dozen priests, and two magisters with her replied.
It was over before it began. She never stirred to look about as arrow and spell alike shot back into their would-be ambushers, giving the appearance as if she hadn't noticed or simply didn't care that those hostiles were there. Perception was important to both sides. Acting worried over the enemy would have indicated that she perceived them a threat, and that would have only made them bolder. The five in front died long before they got in range to threaten anyone with weapons, and the archers scattered when a fireball incinerated the one who was visible.
The Wretched were persistent. But they were also weak, and usually cowardly.
They reached the site of the ward without further incident. It was an open square with a statue honoring one of her ancestors – Asyria Skyflame, for whom her next-younger sister had been named – that was amazingly intact, though somewhat… crooked. Paving stones had been uprooted, probably by combat between golems and abominations, and nearby an apartment house had been destroyed…
She felt a chill when she realized where she was as she dismounted and dispelled the disk. This was the place. This was where Lynathariel had died. Her family's former apartments were less than a half mile to the west, buried somewhere under a pile of rubble. Something of her feelings must have shown. Toady picked that moment to inquire into her health.
"I am fine," she replied, schooling her features back to serenity. "This place holds… dark memories for me."
"Dark memories for us all," another voice called from directly beneath the statue. "Though some of us have chosen to embrace that darkness, sister…"
Even in undeath, Lynathariel Skyflame-Sunhawk was a striking woman. She didn't appear to have rotted in the slightest, nor suffered any form of injury. Her blonde hair was just as lustrous and wavy as it had been in life, her nose an exact copy of Asyria's and her lips just as full and pouty as Ashantra's. But her grey eyes, so often sparkling with mirth and joy in Celandia's memories, were flat and emotionless as she regarded her sister. And her skin was pale and waxy, though it retained the tan she'd had from her Farstrider lifestyle.
"You ceased to be my sister when you joined with the so-called prince who killed you!" Celandia called back, fighting for composure as she put her staff between her and the thing that looked like a woman she'd loved.
"Come now, Celandia… don't you want to know? Aren't you the slightest bit curious?" Lyna taunted, ignoring the elves fanning out to encircle her. "After so long why I present myself to you… surely…"
"I have no interest in anything you have to offer, monster."
"Ah, but my master has great interest in you, sister," Lyna pressed, unfolding herself from the column and stepping towards Celandia. "Kneel. Your death will be painless, as mine was, and you will join us in service to Ner'zhul. And then you and I can be together again."
Invoking a shield around herself, Celandia just stood there. Lyna's body was intact. She'd never suffered a wound… perhaps there was a way to convert the soulless corpse in front of her… to give her back what had been stolen and save her sister…
"Kill it!" Toady screamed, pointing at Lyna.
"Fool," Lyna spat. "Did you think I would appear here alone?"
Before anyone could react, a skeleton of a Dragonhawk – how it stayed aloft without the webbing betwixt its wing bones was a good question – swooped down from the statue where Celandia hadn't noticed it, making straight for Toady. One of the magi to his left screamed as a hand thrust up through the top soil and grabbed hold of his foot. Celandia had to choose, and had to make up her mind very quickly.
"Goodbye, sister," she uttered for what she hoped was the last time. Tapping her staff to the paving stone, she opened herself to the Light and overcharged her shield. It strained within her, yearning for release, and she held it for only a second before letting it collapse, imploding before radiating out in a wave of pure energy. The skeletal remains of Lyna's pet screamed as it was repelled, but not destroyed; and the ghouls who were even then pulling themselves out of the ground sighed and collapsed.
Lyna didn't even appear to have noticed. Some sort of black miasma leaped forth from every pore in her body, forcing the Light wave to part around her. Before anyone could react, she'd pulled her bow from off her shoulder and mercilessly shot two bodyguards and a magister in their throats. "I had hoped to convert you painlessly, as I was, sister," the thing that looked like Lyna said with a cruel sneer.
Without bothering to reply, Celandia focused everything she could muster into a single spear of light that she didn't hesitate to throw at the walking corpse.
Lyna dodged, diving to the side and rolling back to her feet before turning and bolting through the hole in the circle she'd created mere moments before. "Until next time, sister," she called over her shoulder. Celandia let her go. It would be several minutes, if not an hour, before she would be able to amass an attack like that again. "I suppose if you can't be turned, little Myphria might be…"
Before Celandia could change her mind, the thing that had been her sister was gone, disappearing around a corner. If she'd had anything left, Celandia would have flattened what little was left of the structure she'd dodged around. No one threatened Myphria to Celandia's face and got away with it.
Showing one's emotions was, under normal circumstances, considered a sign of immaturity, but no one would criticize her in the slightest for crying after narrowly escaping undeath at her sister's reanimated hands, which is what she broke down and did on the spot.