Post by exmeralda on Mar 6, 2009 13:46:26 GMT 1
The isle was wrapped up in its cloud of screams and whirling dust. Even the ocean beating on its shores could not cleanse nor mute out the war clambering to spill over its shores and due south, into Silvermoon. This was the staging ground of Kael’thas, the first step in his next invasion, and also his last stand. The Shattered Sun Offensive had quickly and decisively taken the isle from him, surrounded his holdings, and made his proud keep into a tomb.
Landing on the docks Exmeralda quickly reported to the duty-officer, signing her presence to the charter he had, reporting she would depart within the hour, and went to the supply depot. She had been here before, many times, and while she had grown tired of the war here, and the endless incompetent bureaucratic fumblings of the Shattered Sun Offensive, she was still recognized here. The very idea that A’dal could somehow make the Aldor and the Scyers work together was beyond silly. Yes, they formed a mighty army, but it was a lumbering brute, and once settled on this isle it would never move again, bogged down in endless debate as to intent, direction and leadership. The strange windchime in his proud outland city would entomb himself in his effort there, the city slowly overflowing with refugees, and all his noble efforts dashed here on these shore. The last insult to this mighty cause was of course the betrayal of Lady Lisandra. Exmeralda tasted the bitter in her mouth at the name. She had been a proud aristocrat in Silermoon, a decadent but fiercely devoted warrior, and now, she had turned her back to her own order, thrown her tabard and title, and left them in the dark. It was a despicable move, and if there was one thing that the Keeper, and by extension Exmeralda valued, it was loyalty, resolve, stalwartness. Exmeralda had added her name to the Scyers until their leadership faltered so catastrophically, and then joined the Aldor for her expedition through Outland. Now she didn’t care for either anymore. The war was passed.
The supply depot was quiet now that most of the effort of the Alliance and Horde was focused on Northrend, and the more pressing matters of Arthas rather than the Sunstrider and his plans. The Shattered Suns had it well in hand by now, bogging down reinforcements, whittling away at the summoned demons, and sniping at anyone trying to leave the isle. In short, they had no need for her services anymore, so she passed through it, listening to the gossip and the news, before walking up to the monument and paying the matron her daily god for the orphans.
Exmeralda didn’t even feel the shift happening, just the thought that she needed to be unseen for the crossing over towards the entrance to the plateau, and soon her wide black paws stepped through shadows, passed sentries, up to the gate. The Shattered Sun had their crossbowers and arcane patrollers checking so nothing got across, but being seen here was not conducive to her intent.
As she approached the gate and saw the Exarch on post beside it she shifted back, and stepped up to him, straightening her clothes. He smiled from behind his visor and flipped it up. They nodded to eachother, each recognizing the other from the campaign to curb the Sunstrider, and lock him onto this isle. They chatted as they heard the commotion from inside, the effort to hold the onstorming breakthrough vanguard of Kil'jaeden’s forces, still unable to breach the gate and get out.
Exmerlada leaned close, whispered with the Exarch, who inclined his head and whispered back, and while the storm of explosions and blows from inside made the walls shake, they shared a few pleasantries, and secrets, out of the world; the names of their fathers, their deeds, and the hardships of the people of the other, until they reached an accord, enough to talk of serious things. She inquired about the woman she was seeking, and the Exarch nodded gravely, and produced a small package from under the bench behind him. In it were the tattered remains of a tabard, bearing the crest of the Cenarion Guardians, and with the stripes of gold indicating that it once belonged to the High Warden, Almae. Now it was just a rag, torn and bloodied, dirty and frayed. The Exarch explained that the elf, her head born high, had strode into the gate, and then charged into the fray inside, without regard for her own life, weapon in hand. She had disappeared in the throng of bodies, fire and blood, and he had only been able to recover the tabard, or what remained of it.
A tear trickled down Exmeralda’s pale cheek. She clutched the tabard as she thanked the Exarch, and turned from him so he could not see her weeping. She closed her eyes, felt them burning with tears and let the Dream wrap around her, and didn’t open her eyes until she could feel the breeze of Nighthaven on her skin.
She walked slowly through the sleeping village and to the gryphon to the south, flying to Maestra’s post in Ashenvale, to announce her bloody find.
Landing on the docks Exmeralda quickly reported to the duty-officer, signing her presence to the charter he had, reporting she would depart within the hour, and went to the supply depot. She had been here before, many times, and while she had grown tired of the war here, and the endless incompetent bureaucratic fumblings of the Shattered Sun Offensive, she was still recognized here. The very idea that A’dal could somehow make the Aldor and the Scyers work together was beyond silly. Yes, they formed a mighty army, but it was a lumbering brute, and once settled on this isle it would never move again, bogged down in endless debate as to intent, direction and leadership. The strange windchime in his proud outland city would entomb himself in his effort there, the city slowly overflowing with refugees, and all his noble efforts dashed here on these shore. The last insult to this mighty cause was of course the betrayal of Lady Lisandra. Exmeralda tasted the bitter in her mouth at the name. She had been a proud aristocrat in Silermoon, a decadent but fiercely devoted warrior, and now, she had turned her back to her own order, thrown her tabard and title, and left them in the dark. It was a despicable move, and if there was one thing that the Keeper, and by extension Exmeralda valued, it was loyalty, resolve, stalwartness. Exmeralda had added her name to the Scyers until their leadership faltered so catastrophically, and then joined the Aldor for her expedition through Outland. Now she didn’t care for either anymore. The war was passed.
The supply depot was quiet now that most of the effort of the Alliance and Horde was focused on Northrend, and the more pressing matters of Arthas rather than the Sunstrider and his plans. The Shattered Suns had it well in hand by now, bogging down reinforcements, whittling away at the summoned demons, and sniping at anyone trying to leave the isle. In short, they had no need for her services anymore, so she passed through it, listening to the gossip and the news, before walking up to the monument and paying the matron her daily god for the orphans.
Exmeralda didn’t even feel the shift happening, just the thought that she needed to be unseen for the crossing over towards the entrance to the plateau, and soon her wide black paws stepped through shadows, passed sentries, up to the gate. The Shattered Sun had their crossbowers and arcane patrollers checking so nothing got across, but being seen here was not conducive to her intent.
As she approached the gate and saw the Exarch on post beside it she shifted back, and stepped up to him, straightening her clothes. He smiled from behind his visor and flipped it up. They nodded to eachother, each recognizing the other from the campaign to curb the Sunstrider, and lock him onto this isle. They chatted as they heard the commotion from inside, the effort to hold the onstorming breakthrough vanguard of Kil'jaeden’s forces, still unable to breach the gate and get out.
Exmerlada leaned close, whispered with the Exarch, who inclined his head and whispered back, and while the storm of explosions and blows from inside made the walls shake, they shared a few pleasantries, and secrets, out of the world; the names of their fathers, their deeds, and the hardships of the people of the other, until they reached an accord, enough to talk of serious things. She inquired about the woman she was seeking, and the Exarch nodded gravely, and produced a small package from under the bench behind him. In it were the tattered remains of a tabard, bearing the crest of the Cenarion Guardians, and with the stripes of gold indicating that it once belonged to the High Warden, Almae. Now it was just a rag, torn and bloodied, dirty and frayed. The Exarch explained that the elf, her head born high, had strode into the gate, and then charged into the fray inside, without regard for her own life, weapon in hand. She had disappeared in the throng of bodies, fire and blood, and he had only been able to recover the tabard, or what remained of it.
A tear trickled down Exmeralda’s pale cheek. She clutched the tabard as she thanked the Exarch, and turned from him so he could not see her weeping. She closed her eyes, felt them burning with tears and let the Dream wrap around her, and didn’t open her eyes until she could feel the breeze of Nighthaven on her skin.
She walked slowly through the sleeping village and to the gryphon to the south, flying to Maestra’s post in Ashenvale, to announce her bloody find.