Chapter 3: Mesmethazan

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Not that Blood Knight Turaho Runestalker, a Tauren, intended to make himself the center of things again, or anything like that, but he felt he had to drop everything, immediately, and talk to this gorgeous Blood Elf girl. Now.

Initiate Mesmet sat on an old log in a familiar little clearing in Eversong Woods. Turaho knew it well. It had been his home, tent included, for a week or so while he had been running his investigation on the Sunstriders. Should he… explain that to her? That he had been investigating Kael'thas about a year ago? No, that would only make him seem shady. Shadier than a Tauren Blood Knight, which sounded impossible to most people in Quel'thalas.

He sauntered handsomely over, a whorl of shamanic lightning sweeping around his red-and-black plate metal waist. A solid strut was something he knew women of all races found impressive. It was more impressive when a guy had hooves, obviously. He knew that as well. He could be gentle, too. But the slight thump-tha-thump was good to let them feel. Know that he was a big, strong guy.

Mesmet saw him coming. This dark-gold blonde was staring at him. It felt like a glare, though her body language was easy, and relaxed. Like she had been expecting this. So, then. She was into him, too? Good.

"Welp. Beautiful day for it." Turaho placed hands on his Tauren hips, swished his tail once.

She kept on staring. She was enchanting in a strange way that Turaho couldn't put his finger on. He assumed that meant she was dangerous. He liked his women dangerous, couldn't help being attracted to the type. Well, she was a Blood Knight, which meant she was automatic-dangerous. But this here was like an extra kind of dangerous. She clearly liked to play with fire, ontop of everything else. Maybe he could be that fire.

"You um… lost? I can help you find your way back, Mesmet. Nothing for a Blood Knight initiate to embarrassed about. This used to be my part of the woods." He gestured, asking if he could sit. She scooted over for him, tucked her white mace in its sling out of the way.

Then, beautiful nothing. A sort of long, companionable silence that went on for a nice, good while. Unless Turaho was reading things incorrectly. Was she enjoying his presence, the day, or that patch of dry dirt at the center of camp?

Yep, it was the dirt. What was she getting out of that dirt patch that he wasn't?

"I guess I flattened the place, with my hooves. Ground is still worn around the area of my old camp. Funny, that."

She said, "Funny how?" And she sounded irked. Like he had somehow talked down to her.

"Well, initiate. Uh, I haven't read about or even seen any big ruminants around Quel'thalas, in this forest. You'd think there would at least be deer. But the place is weirdly clean of anything that might make the Blood Elves, your people, uncomfortable. Man, though! I don't think nature really is nature if there's nothing to spoil a thing."

"Spoil?"

"Well, you know. I wanted to put it nicely, but animals poop—"

"Turaho."

Well, he'd ruined it. Crap. Wait!

She stood, slowly. "Something happened there…"

Again, that sense that she was seeing more than he was.

"Still on that dirt, eh?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Dear Mesmet. I used to be an investigator, remember? I think that's what they told you initiates. It's so obvious to me that you suspect something about this place. Like something bad went down? Well, you're right. That was me. That's why this place looks different to everyplace else. Ya know it's an interesting story, looking back. I should tell it to you."

She didn't say anything. He feared he was losing her.

"Well! It all began around Winter's Veil. I was heading across Mulgore with my kodo and all I could think about was a warm bowl of porridge because it was snowing. But then there was this lightning strike! And something with horns, but it wasn't a Tauren, it screamed—"

"Turaho! Enough!"

She said that like she was about to cast some grand spell at him. He raised his arms, like he was in one of those Goblin dramas and the jig was up.

She frowned, winced. "I… forgive me. I didn't think. I've been in a bad mood all this morning. I've been having trouble… seeing things. Understanding things. I guess I misunderstood something you said or did, just now."

Which also meant she hadn't been listening to him. Well, great.

"I need to see King Kael'thas, actually. I was sitting here, wondering how I might go about doing that as well."

"Oh really? I just happened to have a meeting with him this morning that got canceled. And I think I know why. He doesn't like me very much, and I don't like him."

Mesmet smirked. It came unexpectedly, out of her brooding. "Imagine that. Sworn to the King of Quel'thalas as a Blood Knight, but yet you hate him?"

"It's a mutual dislike. But I tend to be professional about it." Turaho realized he probably shouldn't introduce her to all that about him, "Uh, but that also means he has an opening in his schedule! Surely, he'd be interested in talking to a lovely, intelligent thing like you."

She turned on him, annoyance there again.

"Um, well—you've studied arcane magic, correct?"

"All magic is arcane magic, in a way."

Well, now Turaho felt dumb. "I mean, that um! Well, Kael'thas is a magician, too. Ah, a blood sorcerer—"

"A Bloodmage. Part mage, part warlock."

"Got a major in all the magics back at Dalaran University, did he?"

Mesmet rolled her eyes. Now, it was an effort not to laugh at this charming, country Tauren.

"I don't understand these things. But you specialized in magic, in your studies. You were a talented mage before you got recruited to become a Blood Knight. Initiate or not, of course he'll see you. Let's go arrange it!"

He wondered if Mesmet knew about the Knights of the Blood Nexus, yet. Well, they went public years ago. But there were secret initiation rights, secret meetings. She may not have caught on completely yet, though she was smart. And they were keeping an eye on her, that's why they positioned her so close to their chief members. Sunthraze, Pyorin the Tank, Fennore, all those guys. He decided not to try and explain any further.

Mesmet wore this dark choker. It looked ancient. The glass bauble in a golden globe setting hanging from it, looked somehow wet sometimes. Well, like it glistened in a strange way. He wondered what sort of enchantment would do that? Looked like there was sand sifting around inside the glass, but the thing was still wet. He didn't understand that at all. Dry sand, wet gold. And she never explained it well at all, not to anyone. She even seemed offended if you asked too much. Cute, strange girl. And he liked her hide—her hair. Such a nice, deep, summer-gold.

He bowed, "Miss Mesmet, if you would like to see Kael'thas, then I would be happy to escort you."

"It's really his office I'd like to see. I may have left something—"

Turaho was sure that was a lie. But some snooping suited him, where Kael'thas was concerned. He nodded big and exaggerated that of course she left something of hers in his locked-up, exclusive royal office.

Turaho confided, "I heard a rumor that he slept in this morning, actually. That he had a hangover. I bet he went on a binge! Heh, that old junkie."

Mesmet tried not to look alarmed to hear of someone in Quel'thalas openly talking about King Kael'thas Sunstrider that way.

"…If we ask the guards and they don't let you in either, then I'll know it's true. And not just a 'no Taurens allowed' thing. I'd like being reassured of my good sources." He grinned, offered her an elbow.

"What's that for?"

Turaho took Mesmet's hand and gently guided it through the crook of his arm.

"Oh."

He winked. "You've been indoors, in all those scholarly libraries, studying for too long a time."

"All libraries are scholarly," Her deadpan tone returned.

He walked her along. They found the path.

"Can't you run on those hooves? This is taking ages."

"…Do you mean for me to gallop?"

She side-eyed him. The Tauren man side-eyed back.

"S-sorry. That was offensive."

Turaho harrumphed. Then, he let her arm go, and bent down. "Well? Go on, saddle up!"

"What the-?" But she asked this as she climbed over his back, like a little kid going for a piggy-back ride. "I did not… forsee this."

Turaho held her legs tight against his body, raised up, scraped a hoof. And then, he mooed and ran like crazy. Mesmet screamed for joy, almost all the way back to Silvermoon City.

At the Sunspire, the guards let Mesmet in, once she asked. Turaho rolled his eyes. Well, she had asked to go to the royal library, which was adjacent to Kael'thas' office on the bottom floor. There were other rooms he used, and a private office that was closer to his private apartments upstairs. However, this one would be the easiest to sneak into. Turaho stopped her by the ivory double doors. He leaned out down the corridor first to check they were alone, then he stood upright again, looking casual.

"Alright. Here we go. Maybe there's a magical lock, though—"

Mesmet waved her hand over the doorknob. It sort of, turned backward. Not clockwise or counter-clockwise. But… backward. He'd never seen a door work like that, work in reverse. She didn't have to turn it. It opened, and they went inside.

"How'd you do that? Reverse the door closing? And, locking."

"Nevermind that." She wandered the room. She came to an ornate red-and-gold rug. Turaho stayed focused on the shadows in the room, near the heavy, dark red curtains. "Oh, damn. Someone was in here." He sniffed, "And it wasn't Kael'thas. And, you called it. Didn't you?"

Mesmet had never said why she really wanted to go into Kael'thas' office. Turaho hadn't bothered asking, he thought the whole thing was funny. He craved being naughty where Kael'thas was concerned, rummaging through his things.

They also had their big re-assignment coming up, and that could fling them all to the extremes of the Thalassian empire, which now included Outland. Only obvious that Mesmet had been worried about her new deployment. He was, too. He suspected Kael'thas to fling him into the broke-down, ghetto remnants of Tempest Keep. Kael still kept a stranglehold on what was left of that place. The Naaru, nor the Draenei had zero hope of getting it back during his long elven lifetime.

Mesmet stood on the carpet, her eyes searching apparent nothing. Just as before, at the dirt patch. The dirt patch wasn't a dirt patch.

"What are you sensing?"

She looked up all of a sudden, as if he had said a dirty word. "O-Oh, That. Um. Just… leylines. I want to make sure they are functioning here."

Turaho didn't believe that, either. She was a liar for sure, now. A bad one. And there was something else, something his nose was picking up on. Someone he'd met once, who had been in the room, just this morning. They—no, he—had stood by the desk, with Kael'thas. So much fear and anger. He could smell that as well. Faint traces of two frightened, furious men. And then it was sort of pooled on the floor, where Mesmet stood.

"…And what are you sensing, Turaho? With your wonderful, Tauren nose?"

Turaho looked up, slowly. Yes, Tauren do have better noses than most races. And it was even more useful when he knew whose scents he was dealing with. That helped him guess more about the why. He had certainly met Kael'thas before. And he had, unfortunately, dealt with Illidan Stormrage, too.

Turaho took his time answering. Should he tell Mesmet? Or, was this suddenly Nexite business? He was a newly stamped Nexite, he couldn't mess this up. Saturna certainly needed to know, didn't she? But Illidan was afraid of Saturna. He was so sure of that. Those two had bad, bad history, he figured.

Sadly, Turaho realized he needed to take this to someone adjacent. And he knew just who. It was someone among the Nexites that he had upset and offended greatly in the past. Because Kael'thas himself couldn't be trusted. Sort of Kael's second-in-command.

"What is that inglorious, royal bastard up to now?"

Mesmet finally smiled at him again. It was slight, gentle, "So, Turaho. Won't you tell me? Pretty please?"

"Mesmet. You ask me as if you already know. So what was all this, a test?"

Mesmet wanted to go back outside. He followed her there. The two of them stood in the streeth, in front of the grandiose palace called the Sunspire, up above its moat, its shining towers and enchantments, wondering. He knew they were both working out the same thing. Well, she claimed not to know, and he wasn't going to chance telling her if by chance, she actually didn't.

Why was Illidan Stormrage in Kael'thas' office this morning? And now, Kael'thas had hidden himself away, cancelled all his morning meetings because of it? They must have argued. Or worse.

He eyed Mesmet, only to note that she was eyeing him back. Again.

"Hey, beautiful. Wanna get a drink?"

She smiled more, came forward and touched his strong Tauren cheek. "Of all the things for you to say in such a moment, I didn't expect that. That does fascinate… women like me." Was that a purr? "Keep surprising me." Then, she left.

After a beat, Turaho thought to follow her. This was all just too damned weird and his investigator instinct was kicking in. Really, they had said nothing to one another, but yet they had done everything. She was keeping a lot of secrets. And she hadn't tried to find anything in Kael'thas' office, either. Not really. Whatever she was up to next, whoever she may be meeting, that would give him more answers.

Not that he was on an official investigation, but it made Turaho feel better to satisfy those old Pathfinder instincts, keep an eye on things.

He went around the corner, but she was gone. He walked faster, she was still gone.

"Okay, I've done this about a thousand times. Nobody walks that fast!"

Turaho turned back then, into a cloud of gold dust. Or was that pollen? He scrunched up his muzzle to sneeze, whisked his big Tauren hands through it, freaking out.

Anyway, no Mesmet.

"Well, well. No Mesmet that we… know of." If she was a sort of spy, or possessed golden disappearing powers, then that—that was one thing Queen Saturna Whiteblade, the Blood Knight Matriarch, she ought to know.

Mesmethezan the Bronze dragon flew so fast over Quel'thalas that it was an autumn blur beneath her. Then came the Eastern Plaguelands, the Western Plaguelands. She couldn't understand it. Everything about this world, this timeline, was mostly similar. Plagued land not yet mended by the Argent Crusade, nor the Cenarion Circle. The Scarlet Crusade all but beaten… but then Undercity was still in the same location. Not a plague-bombed out pit. And Teldrassil still stood, that was also concerning.

It meant certain things had not made Aldrassil come into existence. And no Aldrassil was serious. She was desperate to re-check the spot of the latest world tree. It should have happened by this time. It was overdue. Long, long overdue. It had to be there. Had the Dragon Isles not even re-awakened?

But Ashenvale was along the way, and she didn't dare skip that, either.

Easy for the unskilled, the untrained, to mistake bronze for gold. Hiding out in Quel'thalas, with all its golden-capped towers, filigreed clothes and everything—the Blood Elves were so vain—gave her that one advantage. Her magic melded right in.

Turaho, though, he was worrisome. But he was also honestly too fun, too cute, to actually be a problem. Blood Knights who were Tauren certainly shouldn't exist.

That was the stand-out element that drew her into the Blood Knights, ever-nearer to the Knights of the Blood Nexus. Yes, she knew about them and their little, miniscule doings in the dark, all around Azeroth and beyond. It shouldn't be much longer before they recognized her acute magical skill and welcomed her into their full ranks. Not surprising in the least! She'd played it out in her mind several times.

She'd have some sort of Nexite initiation… a rite, some test, a golden one… Turaho should be in charge of it…

But after that, things were foggy. Her Bronze magic couldn't penetrate further in. Too much about this timeline had changed and was still so unformed. She needed to make sure that it didn't have fins where arms should be, so to speak. There was more to investigate about the Tauren investigator, and about this entire twisted timeline that had made him, before things got wildly out of control.

Wildly out of control, and too late.

So who had been with Kael'thas in his office at the Sunspire? Turaho knew, but she couldn't be sure. And he was not going to tell her. Her Bronze powers, as well as her dragon nose, should have been at least as good as his, if not a thousand times better. Not fair. The paracausal sparks had guided her that far, but once she arrived? Nothing.

Now, she was hunting for someone else badly misplaced in time and space. She hunted for Illidan Stormrage.

Mesmet set down in a swamp. It was as black as it was green, at the border of Felwood and Ashenvale. It was the kind of place that could go either way, when it came to healing this part of the world. Whatever happened, whatever the fate of Felwood would be, it should start in that spot. And, thankfully, she could see twinkling Bronze magic floating around it. A good sign. Things had not been decided here, yet. Those who would die might still live. A culture, a kingdom, might yet stand. No conquest, yet.

Mesmet could have been a Blood Elf again, but she immersed herself deep inside of the bog instead, to hide. She sank down and down, until just her eyes and her nostrils poked above the surface. Her large, golden, bulbous eyes blinked. Some sort of large crockolisk maybe, if a Night Elf druid or passing sentinel didn't look too hard. Or, some Horde meddler in these parts.

Wait, this was the runaway, re-united Azeroth. At least it had got started toward peace before the main timeline, that long-awaited armistice between Horde and Alliance. It was why Mesmet had left things alone for so long. The timeline seemed to be mending itself, going in the right direction. Now, though, it seemed not.

When it came to reality, the eyes can deceive. Mesmet closed hers.

Illlidan Stormrage, wading in the dark pool… dancing…

Mesmet opened her eyes, wide. "I've never seen Illidan dancing before? Illidan Stormrage? He's quite good at it!"

She let her eyes slip closed again, smiling. Wonderful dream.

He wasn't alone. Other creatures with horns, hooves, like his were with him... Not Demon Hunters. Not. Just… others… Blue? Yes, all of them blue... And a silver woman. Silver.

Mesmet grinned. Silver-woman was dark and yet proud, like herself. Broken and remade. How nice for Illidan. How wonderful, for him to no longer be alone. So, he would one day be free of Tyrande! That old, damaged love song.

She admitted to herself now, she had a very soft spot for the other Stormrage brother.

Partaking in an ancient ritual… a great, peaceful ritual… restoring these forests. Washing everything with pristine blue…

She felt her heart lift, searching and sifting through moments, until—

The coldest blue of the afterlife.

"No."

The big yellow dragon head that could have been a massive crocolisk in the bog, it re-emerged.

"Not that. How could he… Tyrande should never let him… And what of this timeline's Malfurion? After what he endured, does he have no respect for the world of death as well as his precious dream? None at all? Unless." She cried out, it echoed, "Unless he didn't endure it at all?!"

Mesmet raised herself up, so much dark water washing down her flanks, her neck and tail. She snapped open her wings, sending tall trees bending back. In the next moment of tumultuous windstorm at the center of the shadowy woods, Mesmet was gone.

Darnassus. So eerie to see it whole. Mesmet soared over Teldrassil, circling in. Then she set down in a plume of bronze magic, this time as a Blood Elf. She wished she was as good as Alextrasza herself, and could become a Night Elf or a tree. Either would be more convenient here. Instead, she kept to the shadows, weaved her way between columns lining the back gardens of the Temple of Elune.

There was a period, for all Bronze dragons, where it was too painful to look at Darnassus in any timeline. And then, once a dragon's heart healed, it was possible to see the massive, shorn world tree stump as a hallowed place. A very sacred site of sacrifice. Essential to bringing about the next arc of history. To bring the last Titan, to ignite the War Within.

All words, and words, and words to those who could not understand them. Those like Turaho and Saturna Whiteblade, Alessandre Shademoon, Illidan, Kael'thas Sunstrider. All players in the play. She still despaired at how this timeline had ever become so contorted?

But it had also been twisted in exacting measures. No Bronze dragon, however a novice, could ignore the evidence of that. She would be with the Blood Elves for a while, until she knew for sure. And she certainly had good suspicions.

For now, Mesmet opened her hand with bronze nails. She flashed her fingers and forced a pale marker into being. It was long, and ivory. It had a glowing, pale yellow beacon on the top. The base hovered, revolving like a falling pin in a child's bowling game, until it found its center and wobbled upright.

"By Nozdormu, I hope you fix them! Fix the finished ones. There isn't much I can do about the unfinished," She frowned, thinking of the dark Felwood pool in sore need of ritual. She couldn't have done this there, stick a pin in it. Not yet. "Dammit. None of this is right—"

Someone was coming. Mesmet nearly made a noise, had she actually yelped on seeing Illidan Stormrage? Was he so favored now, so forgiven, that he could just stride through Darnassus like he was anyone? A true child of Elune? Mesmet hid herself, behind a ruined temple wall. Still plenty of those. Night Elves liked to reuse sacred stone in their architecture.

Illidan came, and then he went. He didn't walk as well as Turaho could. Well, he had his own elven, manly way of doing it.

She had this strong feeling that he did know she was there. His special sight… but maybe she just found him that intimidating? Time, events would tell.

Or, was he just that damned attractive? Mesmet found herself tantalized by mortals from other timelines. They were all so, well, naughty. She let her gaze glaze over now, admiring the horned man go.

It would take a Bronze dragon to really explain it.

And she hoped she was still one of those! She'd better behave herself!

Mesmet waited, unbelieving that Illidan Stormrage was about to go into the Temple of Elune itself. This was just insanity. Tempting to sneak around and see whatever she could overhear. Why, in a thousand hellish timelines, was he even back? Who invited him? What was his meeting this morning about?

A Night Elf visage was in order. There were certain tools, a higher grade than she deserved as a novice, that might help her. But she should go back to base at the Temporal Conflux in Thaldraszus anyway, make sure that all was right over there, too.

Pain warmed in her chest, a lingering anxiety that had only intensified over the last few days of searching, that nearly held her back from going there and doing what was now necessary. But there was no longer any avoiding it. No excuse that could keep her nailed down to her duties, as a Blood Elf in Silvermoon.

She must now go and see if the Dragon Isles were awakened. It truly frightened her what to think, if they had not. And she should pass by Amirdrassil too, if it was even there yet? If not, then this was a horrible circumstance, indeed.

She looked down at her hands. Were they smoldering dark, yet? An old joke she kept to herself, but this assignment was getting less and less funny.

Mesmet flew. And she flew, and she flew, until she approached the land mass near the center of the eastern stretch of the Great Sea. It was tempting to hook north and go in near the Waking Shores, avoid seeing the whole thing until she had to. Why not stop in Thaldraszus first? But that was cowardly. She barreled in south, near the ancient bough and the domain of the green dragons. Amirdrassil should still be around there, if it yet lived.

She soared around for a time, convincing herself that she was in the wrong spot. She told herself that maybe the Primalists had triumphed in this timeline and removed every trace of the Green dragonflight's good works. That had to be it.

But, no. She landed and sat her big, yellow dragon rump on the spot, to be sure. And her heart was really darkened to be in that very space and accept it at last. The place was bare. No Amirdrassil.

So, then. Something horrible had occurred in this timeline. Maybe the Shadowlands was secretly still broken as well? Could she dare go there and see? Without Sylvanas ever breaching the realities, how would they know? She wasn't still the warchief of the Horde. She'd been deposed by a Horde Council. But that was a weird, peaceful change of power. Sylvanas simply went back to being much of what she was prior, the leader of the Forsaken. Under no circumstances would Sylvanas merely relinquish that kind of power in the main timeline. What the hell was going on?

No matter what, Amirdrassil was needed on the world of Azeroth. Everywhere, even, in this timeline. If not, who then, would awaken the soul within? And who would again bless the aspects and restore their powers? Evil could get a foothold in any timeline, just as it could get a foothold on any inch of Azeroth itself that was left unguarded.

"Whoever has doomed this world, they have doomed us all." Mesmet looked around, with wide dragon eyes. Horror-struck.