anthai-of-stormwind

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Impossibilities Interlude: Fel Vision

written by Matthew Rossi

By the time the felhunter died, she was past slicing and was just bludgeoning the thing.

It took the crackling crunch of the carapace failing and the seething, bilious vapor of its fel blood hitting the air to bring her back to where she actually was. There were dead demons along the beach, up into the rocks that led up the cliff to the rally point. Some were killed with deft strikes, eviscerated or decapitated. As the trail got closer to where she was now, she saw the carnage intensify--bodies blasted apart, or ripped in half, and finally the last few just brutalized. Crushed and mangled by sheer force.

She took several deep breaths and wallowed in the smell of them. Acrid, with traces of rot and sulfurous fumes and the blasted reek of flame that burned even the soil around them. Dead, they poisoned the ground around their remains. She lifted one of her glaives to her mouth and licked the blade, feeling it burn her. Fury in every twitch of strained muscle.

Up the hill, she saw Azri ripping the head off a Doomguard. The tall night elf woman spoke little, and Karanath knew her only from moments like these, when they each reveled in their bloodlust in their own way. The dusk sky nearly matched Azri's skin, the glowing green of her tattoos trailing from her chest up her neck to frame the veil over her eyes, twin pools of green flame hidden poorly behind cloth. Knowing her own were the same, she wondered what she looked like to Azri.

"Are you rutting?" Azri cackled as she dragged the head through the sand. "I'd love a roll with you, if you're hungry."

"I'd hurt you."

"I hope so." Azri laughed again. Karanath felt something in the air, a sensation familiar and unpleasant. Further along the beach there was still fighting going on. She shook her head, slowly.

"More of them. I'm going to go see."

"It's just some Kirin Tor. Let them clean up their own messes." Azri cocked her head to the side, her hand on her hip. She was grace and rage, her wings only emphasizing the lean beauty of her etched abdomen, each muscle lit by the glow of her markings. "It's time to play."

"Not yet." Karanath stepped closer and bit Azri on the cheek. "But I'll come find you."

"Tease." Another laugh, and the Doomguard's head flew up in the air. "Call if you need me. Either way."

Karanath stalked away, evading a swipe of the claws that was more playful than serious. They were family, Illidari, they'd lost or sacrificed everything together. Azri could be trusted...at least until she lost the fight, or Karanath did, and then one of them would put the other down.

It was what they were. It was how it had to be, what she'd chosen. She could feel the marks on her skin, once a sun-kissed bronze, now sickly with trails of green fire climbing up her torso. The world was edged in flames, the same color as the blood on her blades and the fire that seethed where her eyes had been. Everything around her was marked by what she could see now, the world the way the demons saw it.

She passed cooling bodies in the surf and came to a knot of demons ringing their would-be prey. Kirin Tor mages lacked subtlety, often going for the biggest, flashiest spells they could. Once, when she'd been someone else, she felt them a trifle awkward. The years of her training both in Silvermoon and Dalaran still lingered and she could recognize craft, could see that someone on the other side of the crush of bodies was an expert. Not subtle, but precise, weaving together callings as tongues of fire rained down from the sky and seared them to ashes. Even so, more and more demons came, rushing from a rift just out of the range of the casters. The press of bodies was overwhelming them.

They'll be dead soon. This wasn't Karanath's problem. The Illidari had offered their expertise and the Kirin Tor had told them they'd be fine without it. But her hatred of demons was so very much stronger than any bitterness she might have indulged in towards the Kirin Tor or the life she'd been forced to leave behind. The spellwork looked familiar, like a tracing of fingernails along her spine on a spring day underneath Dalaran's minarets, the sun shimmering around her.

She let the hate loose, let her body distort and her wings grow, felt impossibly huge and powerful and flung herself towards the rift. She covered the distance in one bound, crashed down in an explosion of flames and felt the fire behind her eyes. She shook with the giddy, bubbling eruption of it as it burst forth from her, twin jets of fel that blasted the demons apart all the way to the rift itself. They lanced into it, shattering the enchantments bound into the gateway and it fell apart in a howling sound while she danced and slashed and kicked, most of the fury spent but self-preservation taking over. She'd stopped their reinforcements, but there were still dozens of them around her.

Idiot. Now you'll die, and for what? A memory? A place that never wanted you, people who never cared what you did? The Kirin Tor are nothing to you now. She couldn't tell if it was her voice or the demon's, but she knew it was true regardless. More and more of them were swarming her, determined to kill her for interference in their attack. By the time Azri or any of the others noticed, she'd be a blasted corpse with her intestines feeding a felstalker. The thought brought a tight grin to her face. Dinner time.

She'd forgotten for a moment about whoever the weaver of fire was. So had the demons, so intent on taking her life, they slackened off their assault on the Kirin Tor encampment. Through her new eyes, she could see the magic move in ways she never had when she'd actually been a mage, could see it layer and build and fold and coil in the air. She was so caught up in the sight that she took a polearm to the shoulder, dropped down to her knees in the burning blood of the imps she'd just slaughtered, and looked up into the smirking face of the Wrathguard that had hit her. She raised her twinblades, crossing them in front of her face as the demon’s polearm, dripping with her blood, pushed them towards her with all his strength.

"Now..." He swung the weapon up above his head. "You die."

Then he exploded. All around her the very air was replaced with flames, a sheet of fire made up of twisting tongues erupting from below. Karanath hated to admit it, but some lingering part of her was impressed. She couldn't do magic like this anymore... If she were honest, she'd never been this good, but now the Fel in her blood, the demon at her heart made it impossible to touch the arcane. But she still knew spellcraft, and a conflagration like this took years to learn and master.

The few remaining demons tried to flee and were brought down by arcane missiles or a few frost spells. Karanath managed to salvage a little pride by slashing a Mo'arg's throat open as it tried to run by before pulling herself to her feet. She could feel a nick on one of her horns where the sheath had been slashed open, and her shoulder was a ruin, but she'd heal.

The mages were tending to their wounded, or their dead. Karanath deliberately didn't look. She didn't want to know if she recognized any of them. She'd only left Dalaran just before the Third War. Called home. "It's time to marry Darameth and take over the shop.” Her father's voice. That almost made her laugh. The shop. The shop had been in the part of Silvermoon that was gone now, the part torn in half by a legion of walking corpses. Darameth had been decent enough – she hadn't loved him, but he'd been understanding, hadn't pushed. It was her mother and father who'd pushed. "You have to think of the future.”

She sheathed her glaives. She'd go up, find Azri. They could distract each other. She turned to leave and the faint voice reached her.

"Wait!" Someone was riding towards her on a bird made of fire. Despite every reason to ignore it, the part of her that remembered nights spent looking over tomes recognized it as an elemental creature, something from the Firelands. The idea that someone could ride one... She found herself standing there as the creature drew closer, the wet sand sending jets of steam in its tread.

There was a tearing sensation as she finally saw the face of the woman on its back. A human. Of course it's you. She'd never known another mage as utterly bound to fire. The woman's eyes were open, her expression one of curiosity.

"What do you want?" Karanath hoped her voice sounded different enough, that the black cloth over her eyes obscured her features.

"I..." Even etched in the demonic flames that were her sight now, Karanath could see recognition as it dawned. The moment was dragged out between them, until she was sure she'd scream at the mage. Get it over with. "Karan?"

"Once."

"You died." Anthai was much like all humans. She had barely lived long enough to understand her own feelings, so it was ridiculous for Karanath to expect her to understand those of anyone else. They'd argued often about it, once. She remembered the day she'd told the woman in front of her she was leaving for Silvermoon. “But how can...you don't love him, why would you go back and marry him? Why would you give up everything?”

"Yes." She felt Ranath twist her features into a sneer and let the demon have rein for just a moment before reaching deep into herself and twisting the creature into a ball, bearing down on it. Try that again and I'll make you suffer for days. "I did. With them."

She stepped back when Anthai reached out a hand, the same way she had that last day. Had it only been thirteen years?

"Don't touch me."

"I..." That hateful hand dropped to her side. "I went, I looked for you, I..."

Karanath didn't say any of the things she was thinking. She didn't let herself remember that last day, the look on Anthai's face. She hated that she felt anything, that the look on her face now meant something to her. She didn't want it to. Karan is dead. Karan died in a pit with her sister and her mother and her father and her foolish fiancé and I'm what crawled out, I'm what followed the prince to Outland, I'm what Illidan gave me. Freedom from memory. Freedom from regret. Freedom from this, from you trying to make me that weak little thing crawling back to Silvermoon all over again. She tried very hard not to hate the woman standing in front of her.

She just waited, letting it stretch out between them.

"Well." Anthai mastered herself, that way she always had of just pushing everything aside. It was a lovely act. Karanath admired it, even now. "Thank you. I couldn't protect the others and get to that gate without losing them all."

"No." The demon hunter agreed, her horns feeling new and strange, memories of being a slim girl on a spring day making her feel alien again like she had the first time she felt the spasms start. After she'd eaten Ranath's heart. "You all would have died."

"I wouldn't have."

Karanath just stared at her. Anthai stared back, even faced with the green flames for eyes. Why would that cow her? She was a master of fire. There was nothing to say and everything to say and she hated that she couldn't make herself leave worst of all.

"If you like." She turned and stepped up, snapping her wings and gliding up into the air. She drifted away, feeling eyes on her the whole time until she managed to bound over a hill and arrive where the Illidari were camped, bodies already writhing against one another.

Azri was between two, a lithe Blood Elf named Kaecilian and another Night Elf woman, Saharel. She knew she could join them--peel the few garments from her body, let them worship her markings and find release in theirs for a while.

Instead she stared down the hill at the camp on the beach and watched a woman with a bird made of fire and hated that she couldn't stop.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Impossibilities Pt. 2

Green flames crackled around the Kirin Tor encampment, partially shielded by a violet aura that threatened to fail at any moment. The surf pounded along the beach as demons screeched in their guttural language and Anthai's fellow mages fell to teeth and claws around her.

Stupid! Stupid! Anthai chastised herself as she whipped a fireball at a nearby succubus. It collapsed with a shriek, the outline of its wings just visible in the flames.

"Hold the shield!" barked a Nightborne. She whirled her silvery staff, weaving her magics in a criss-cross pattern to reinforce a crumbling section of the shimmering barrier. "Hold!"

Fel bats dove in between the gaps of the arcane shield to rip and tear at the mages beneath. Anthai whirled and made a horizontal slashing motion in the air with one hand. Flames shaped vaguely like phoenixes arced towards the bats, incinerating them with the force of the impact.

She cursed under her breath. She'd come to the Broken Shore to perform the ritual to open the gate to Agatha's pocket dimension, but it had been a trap. She'd found Levia Laurence, all right, but it was too late for the missing mage. She'd been turned by the Legion and was waiting for Anthai on the other side. Anthai had no choice but to fight her.

Fire had clashed with ice, and in the end Anthai was victorious. Levia was barely conscious as Anthai brought her singed body back to the Kirin Tor encampment. Agatha, however, was not about to let her pet go so easily, and she'd released an army of demons to retrieve Levia.

To say that the Kirin Tor were unprepared for the assault would be an understatement. Agatha's power had increased a hundredfold with Levia's help, and it was no longer just imps she commanded. Because of Anthai, the entire encampment was going to die.

"Be...hind you..." a dying mage nearby coughed. Anthai turned to be met with a crash of fel fire. Her own crimson flames flickered around her, prepped and ready for combat, but it was an Illidari—one of the half-demons that served Illidan Stormrage, only just recently joined the Alliance and Horde forces as they laid siege to the Tomb of Sargeras.

Something about the demonic huntress tugged at Anthai, flickering at the edges of her memories. She shook it off, unable to wrest her attention away from the assault. Red and green flames sparked and flared around her, the Illidari's unexpected appearance finally turning the tide of the battle. The other Kirin Tor rallied, battering the demons with fire and ice and beams of pure arcane energy. One Blood Elf, her eyes golden with the Sunwell's light, danced around a Wrathguard. With a haughty gesture, she touched its muscled arm and, moments later, it exploded from the inside out, flaming chunks of flesh spattering the sands.

"Brannd, quit showing off!" Anthai yelled at her.

The Blood Elf sneered, moving further away from her Alliance counterpart. Anthai turned again towards the blonde demon hunter, who was surrounded by dozens of dead imps. A Wrathguard was pressing his massive blade into her crossed twinblades, and Anthai knew the blonde was in trouble. She moved both hands in a kind of scooping motion, and shot her splayed fingers forward. The ground beneath the Wrathguard exploded in a sheet of pure flame.

The demon hunter caught the mage's gaze, just for the briefest moment.

And Anthai knew.

The demon hunter deliberately turned away to slash at a Mo'arg. Anthai didn't think she could breathe. She stood frozen to the spot.

It's not. It's not her. It's a demon trick.

The demon hunter spread her fel wings, leaping up towards the cliffs above, not looking back.

An old dwarf grabbed Anthai's arm, pulling her out of her daze. "Lass, get movin'! We've got the demons on the run thanks to that Illidari! Fall back to the encampment!"

Anthai did not fall back. She gestured, and the air next to her shimmered like a heat mirage. A moment later, a bird of pure flame appeared, preening its feathers. It let out a squawk of surprise as Anthai mounted it, untouched by its fire. The dwarf called after her, but she ignored him as she began to catch up to the retreating Illidari.

"Wait!" she cried with her whole heart. "Karan, wait!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Impossibilities Pt. 1

The Chamber of the Guardian was empty. Most of the citizens of Dalaran had gone to their beds hours ago, and the majority of the armed forces were encamped below on the Broken Shore.

Anthai Taylor, archmage of Stormwind, formerly of the Templars of the Rose and now one of the aides to the Council of Six, had just ended her shift atop the Violet Spire - the weapon attached to the highest point in Dalaran, the Violet Citadel. It was powered by an artifact called the Nightborne Soulstone, which contained within it the demon Kathra'natir. That artifact was kept continuously guarded by a dozen mages, working in two-hour shifts, both to supplement its power and to ensure Kathra'natir did not escape his prison.

Anthai was exhausted, yet her mind was racing, the adrenaline from channeling her magic for so long still flooding her body. She wandered down to the area where the Pillars of Creation were kept, letting their ambient energies wash over her like sunlight. Not that Anthai could remember the last time she'd seen the sun - her shift at the Spire was in the middle of the night, and during the day the skies above the Broken Isles were dark and tinged with a sickly fel green.

The Legion takes everything from us, she thought. Even the light.

Anthai brushed her fingertips across the surface of the Eye of Aman'Thul. The artifact sang with power, resonating with her own innate magic. The power of the ruler of the Titan Pantheon himself. She marveled that such a thing could be at the same time she cursed the Legion for necessitating its existence.

I wonder what Victor is doing right now.

She shook her head as if to expel the thought from her brain. The Rose was no place for her anymore. She'd sent two letters off with that Dwarf Death Knight, the ambassador whatshisname - one to the Justicar with her resignation, and one to Victor.

The latter had been the harder to write. What was she supposed to say? "Sorry I set you on fire, but you shapeshifted into my dead girlfriend and I was really drunk" didn't exactly excuse the way she'd hurt him. Victor had been a friend when she'd really needed one. She'd known full well that he had a thing for her and had repeatedly told him he was barking up the wrong tree (ha, "barking," because he's a Worgen; good one, asshole), but what the hell was he thinking when he used that trinket? That he had a chance just because he was going to have lady bits for an hour? The second-degree burns all over his body had probably disabused him of that notion.

He probably hated her now. She hated herself. She'd nearly killed him, plain and simple. Plus the whole "Victor looking like Karan" thing messed with her brain in complicated ways she didn't even want to try to sort through.

Anthai took a second and tried to picture herself with Victor in his human form and shuddered. "Nope, still super gay," she murmured under her breath.

Titans' blood, but she missed Karan so much.

She left the Chamber and was making her way towards the Hero's Welcome when a gray-haired woman appeared before her in a flash of bluish-white light. Anthai jumped, startled, but relaxed her guard when she saw who it was. "Archmage Modera," she greeted the other with a slight nod.

"Archmage Anthai," Modera replied with a slight twist to her lips. Anthai suspected Modera had always had an understated sense of humor that went unnoticed by the rest of the Council. She thought it was sexy as hell and wow hey slow down girl, she thought to herself. Everyone knows Modera's been wanting to wield Khadgar's staff for a while now.

I really should have fucked that Demon Hunter, she sighed internally before shifting into business mode. "You don't need me back up on the Spire, do you?" she asked. "Because my shift ended half an hour ago and I don't think I could conjure so much as a croissant right now."

"No, no, something else has come up," Modera assured her. "I knew you'd be hanging out here around this time, and I wanted to offer you this assignment before anyone else. I know you're tired of Spire duty every night."

"I live but to serve the Council of Six in any capacity," Anthai replied with an absolutely straight face.

"Smartass. I've received word that one of our mages, Levia Laurence, was involved with a succubus named Agatha." Anthai raised an eyebrow at the implication, and Modera raised her hands. "I don't know, I don't want to know, and I certainly wasn't about to ask. In any case, this succubus turned out to be an imp mother in disguise - an extraordinarily powerful imp mother, as it turns out."

Anthai crossed her arms. "And this Agatha is extra problematic because...?"

"Because this one can command entire armies of imps, and that was before she drained Levia of her power. There's no telling what what Agatha will be capable of with that kind of magic. And who knows what secrets Levia shared while under her thrall?"

"You don't think—"

"I don't know what to think, other than I know you don't consort with demons and you're more powerful than Levia. You're our best shot at taking Agatha down before she can strike back at us for taking away her pet mage. Are you game?" Modera asked.

"You have absolutely no idea how very much I would like to set a large demon on fire, yes please and thank you."

Modera laughed. "Now that's our girl," she said, clapping Anthai on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Anthai. We'll prep you for the mission tomorrow evening."

Anthai grinned, a wicked sort of grin that held the promise of wanton violence. Her eyes flickered red. "Oh, I'll definitely be prepared."

TO BE CONTINUED...

[anthai-of-stormwind]

The Captain

Victor Blackwald stood amongst the workers at the Stormwind Docks, overseeing the loading and offloading of materials on board his ship. He was in human form, something he tried to be mindful of whenever he was in a majority-human port of call. He was clad in his usual Captain's garb of feathered hat and azure leather clothing trimmed in gold.

Khazarath Redbraid, ambassador from the Ebon Blade, hovered on his mount just above the docks for a moment, making sure he was delivering his message to the correct person. He noted that the crates were filled with gunpowder and cannonballs. Either the captain was part of the war effort, or the man really, really liked explosions.

The dwarf landed his mount among the gryphons and made his way towards the end of the docks, where the man stood talking with a worker and signing off on some paperwork. "Beggin' yer pardon," Khazarath said as politely as possible in the grave-touched voice of all death knights. "Are ye Cap'n Victor Blackwald?"

"...Eh?" Victor glanced to the left...and down at Khazarath. "Ahoy, lad. You've found him; what can I do for you?"

Khazarath reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a letter. "Name's Ambassador Redbraid. I've a message for ye. It's from that mage friend o' yers. She said she didn't want to deliver it in person." Khazarath handed the envelope, sealed with red wax, over to Victor.

Victor tilted his head. "Mage friend? You mean the dwarf, or the fire-haired?"

"Ah, the redhead," Khazarath answered. "Foulest mouth I've ever heard on that one. Drinks like a champion."

"Anthai, then."

"Aye; couldn't remember her name."

Victor collected the envelope, tugging out his knife as he broke the seal, and unfolded the letter to take a careful appraisal of the note. He scanned his gaze across the letter, his frown deepening as he shifted his gaze across each word. Yet...he paused, looking down at the letter for a long moment.

"Ye all right there, Cap'n?" Khazarath asked, breaking Victor's reverie.

Victor stood in silence for a moment. "Ambassador...do you...do you know where Anthai might be right now?"

Khazarath shook his head. "Nae, but I've been known to track people down when need be."

Victor looked down at the dwarf as he tucked the letter into his jacket. "Then...I want you to listen carefully, and tell her exactly what I say, aye?" Khazarath nodded. "I want you to tell her...tell her I'll always have my door open for her, and I'd like to see her again, aye? And that if she does some damn fool thing like get herself killed, I will personally fight my way into the Shadowlands, yank her ginger backside out of there, and nurse her back to health just so I can whoop her arse for her foolishness."

Khazarath laughed at Victor. "Ah, Cap'n, I don't think she'd take kindly to that sort o' thing."

Victor shook his head, running a hand along his face. "Take kindly or not, you tell her," he said in a soft tone. "Because I'm dead bleedin' serious. She best keep herself safe, and know that there are those out there who care for her, hm? She'll do what she has to, but...we'll be waiting for her to come back. Keeping a chair empty and a plate set out."

Khazarath committed the message to memory, already considering possible methods of tracking the mage if need be. He knew a cut-and-run when he saw one, but he also knew the Templars of the Rose, and they didn't leave a man behind if they could help it. "I'd best be off," he said in that slightly echoing voice. "But just so ye know...this seems like a personal thing t'me. My advice? Let the lass do what she needs. Dinnae seem like she was th' sort who wants to be found at th' moment."

Victor nodded. "I'll not go looking for her, short if I hear that she's gone and got herself in trouble. Thanks, Ambassador. I know I'm putting a fair bit on a messenger's shoulders."

"'Tis my job an' all," Khazarath replied, climbing up on his mount. "'Twas a pleasure, Cap'n." He shot Victor a wicked sort of grin. "Say hello to that bonnie lass at the Golden Keg for me."

"Hah! Aye, I will, hm?" Victor laughed and waved farewell as Khazarath flew off. After the dwarf was out of sight, Victor turned and paced around the docks for a while, lost in thought. He shooed off his workmen and ended up sitting on the rocks by the lighthouse, staring out at the gray sky and sea.

His eyes darkened from blue to a deeper indigo as he read over Anthai's letter once more, his wolf side only just able to contain his emotions.

To be delivered to Victor Blackwald Captain of the Raven's Revenge Dock #2 Stormwind Harbor

Victor-

I'm sorry for what I'm about to say, but I hope you'll be able to understand.

When you shapeshifted into that Blood Elf woman the other night, you were the spitting image of someone I lost a long time ago. With everything that's been happening - Xavius, helping Khadgar and the Nightborne take down Gul'dan, the constant battles in Suramar - I did something unforgivable, and for that I am so sorry.

There's something empty and missing inside of me, and there has been for a long time. I need to find out what that is, and I have to do it alone.

You've been very dear to me, but I'm leaving the Templars to forge my own path. Please don't come looking for me. I can't be part of your mission like this. I will never forget any of you, and I'm grateful for what you all have taught me. Give my love to the friends I made, and let them know that we may meet again someday. For now, I need to see if there's anything more to me than anger and vengeance. I have to.

Thank you for everything, Victor. I care for you very much. Don't do anything stupid.

-Anthai

Victor folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his shirt. He walked silently back to the ship, the paper crinkling audibly where it lay just over his heart.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Nothing Lasts Forever

[NOTE: This story takes place prior to the opening of the Tomb Of Sargeras. For maximum feels, put this on repeat in the background: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btOE7MKSKkA]

The night sky flashed with lightning and the rain whipped through the wind, leaving none in doubt as to why the region was named Stormheim. A lone mage braved the weather, her hooded cloak clutched tightly about her. She could have teleported to the warmth and shelter of the Hall of the Guardian, but chose instead to let the storm lash away at her, the cold rain washing the last traces of a hangover from her.

She barely noticed. Anthai Taylor was deep in self-recrimination, bits and pieces of the previous night replacing the fog in her mind.

It had been a simple gathering at Greywatch, a few Templars gathered there on a brief respite from working with the Nightborne to take back Suramar and the Nighthold. It was Anthai's birthday, and she'd conjured small, sweet cakes for all. They laughed and swapped stories late into the night, gathered around the central fire. Keleosha was there, that paladin from the other Draenor; and so was Aunne, and Kage, and the Worgen rogue Victor Blackwald.

Victor.

He had been the catalyst. Anthai had been supremely drunk, and lamented the lack of pretty girls around to entice into her bed for the night. Victor, always the irrepressible rake and refusing to take the word "lesbian" for an answer, joked about being a woman for the night. Anthai had laughed, saying that she preferred her women less hairy. Victor had shown off a trinket he'd nicked from Silvermoon back in the day, and he'd waved a clawed hand over it, and suddenly Anthai stopped laughing.

A sheet of rain blew into her face as she got closer to Valdisdall. She stopped against a large tree for a moment, her head throbbing, trying to piece together the shards of memory.

The orb had a shapeshifting effect, didn't it? It was just a toy, Victor had said. Just for fun. He couldn't have known. Couldn't have deliberately shifted into the slender form of a Sin'dorei woman who just happened to be the spitting image of Anthai's dead lover Karan. It was absolute coincidence - the trinket produced random appearances - and absolutely the worst face Victor could have worn.

There was screaming then, about betrayal, about sweet lost Karan, about wearing her dead love's face like a Hallow's End mask, and then Victor was on fire and he was screaming now as the other Templars rushed to douse the flames, staring at Anthai in shock and horror.

She couldn't remember what happened after that. She must have fled, but to where, she couldn't recall. She didn't even have her traveling pack with her, just a rumpled white cloth emblazoned with a golden cross, held in one clenched fist like a lifeline to a life she no longer deserved.

Anthai entered Valdisdall soaked, shivering and exhausted. She followed a guard to the meager inn and dried off in front of the fireplace. Too weary to teleport, she arranged for a gryphon back to Dalaran whenever the storm let up. She asked for a pen and a few sheets of parchment, and wrote two letters. The first was to Khazarath Redbraid, the Ebon Blade ambassador who would be able to find the actual wayward recipient of the letter.

The second was bundled into a package with the tabard bearing the mark of the Templars of the Rose. Anthai wept over this one, the Templars having been the closest she'd had to family for decades. She'd betrayed them all when she accidentally turned her magic on Victor, betrayed their trust in her, betrayed her trust in herself. The only other time she'd lost control like that was the first time, death staring down at her with emerald skin and a bloody axe and the magic had erupted from her, killing the Orc but trapping her dying family inside their home.

A pain dating back to the First War seized Anthai by the heart and squeezed. She stopped and started the letter a dozen times, trying to explain her reasons to the Justicar while knowing they would only be read as excuses. There would be no going back. No more friends or comrades-in-arms. No more steadfast Koryander and Jarrick leading the charge with shields held high, no more Shadowsage or Mosur healing her wounds, no more Sumeri with whom to share jokes and be the ice to her fire, no more brave Caelryn or erratic Lei Pan or headstrong Kanta.

She finished the letter and handed the package to the porter. There was nothing here for her now. She could return to Dalaran and the Tirisgarde and be their weapon to wield against the Legion. Maybe she'd go back to Pandaria to try to regain what she'd lost. Maybe Suramar. She didn't know and didn't much care.

Wherever she went now, Anthai would fight alone.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Thanks, Oculeth

"This will get you to where you need to go...more or less."

"Wait, what the f--"

* * *

Anthai of Stormwind, orphan of the First War, last of her family line, was displeased.

Perturbed, perhaps. Out of sorts. "Nettled," as Sumeri would put it. She drifted, bodiless, in a glowing violet ocean of raw arcane magic. How long ago had that reckless, incompetent Withered screwed up what should have been a simple teleportation spell? Days? Months? How the actual fuck had that idiot become a telemancer?

Anthai tried to re-focus on the swirls of arcane power surrounding her. What was the lesson Leigh had tried to teach her years ago in Old Dalaran? Arcane magic was order. Logical patterns, mathematics. Anthai was terrible with math. Probably why she never quite got the hang of the Arcane school. Fire, that was easy. Fire was rage and destruction. Fire had an effect. It consumed and hungered and it was hers.

But even the school of Fire had to be checked. She'd learned that in Pandaria. A beautiful, golden land of balance and tranquility out of necessity. Slow down, the Pandaren had constantly tried to impress upon her. Your rage sustains me! the Sha Of Anger had roared throughout Kun-Lai. The Alliance and Horde had thrown these people into chaos and turmoil by bringing their war to Pandaria's shores, and Anthai had known right then and there that her baggage was absolutely not going to be responsible for harming innocent lives.

Think. Meditate.

Hard to do without a body to control your breathing. Her consciousness was spread throughout the arcane, woven tightly into its patterns. Damned science. Discipline. Focus your anger. Find your balance. Be fire, not fire's slave.

You control you.

And just like that, the answer hit her. She'd been going about this all wrong. She'd been so focused on solving the equations of the magic itself, but all she needed to do was follow the order and patterns inherent to her own corporeal form.

Anthai took a moment to curse - well, everything, really - and drew together the atoms which made up her physical self, herding them into place, feeling (finally feeling!) her skin tingle and warm up, her magic flowing through her alongside her blood, her breath--

* * *

A bluish-white light flared once and winked out of existence, depositing one very, very, very angry mage at the feet of the Greywatch flight master. He jumped back, startled, as the redhead slowly stood up and brushed herself off. Orbs of flame swirled, crackling, around her head, and her eyes blazed with the color of lava.

The flight master took a step back, intimidated by her glare. She reached into the pouch at her waist and handed him a few coins. "Get me to Meredil," she said. "I need to have a little chat with somebody."

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Hope Is Also A Shield

Stormwind's Chapel Of Light was usually so quiet. Not eerily quiet, but the kind of gentle hush that wraps you in its arms and says "you are safe here." Lauren Kensington hadn't spent much time here - Light's Hope was her cathedral for the majority of her life - but in the weeks since she'd volunteered to minister to Stormwind's citizens, she'd grown accustomed to the feel of the place.

Tonight was different. The citizenry was clearly on edge, more so than usual. The pews were packed, the faithful hanging on the High Priestess' every syllable. Lauren hung back near the entryway, out of her usual battle armor. She wore a simple white woolen gown and soft leather shoes, her hair caught back in a loose ponytail. She sat quietly on the bench, listening to the High Priestess' tone more than her words, a background litany of soothing vocalizations.

Lauren hadn't been sleeping well lately. She'd tried so hard to be the protector she'd wanted to be back on the Broken Isles. Tried to be determined, strong, protect her brother and sister Templars. It hadn't gone well. The demons had gotten even to the strongest of them - the Justicar had lost her husband, Caelryn had chosen death before the Legion would control her (the young Worgen had actually lived through the attempt, but her courage and strength amazed Lauren), and Acele was lost. Idella had been imprisoned and hadn't been quite right ever since her rescue.

So much evil. So much endless, endless evil.

"You're missing the sermon."

Lauren looked up. The paladin Katherine was there, her auburn tresses glowing in the candlelight. She smiled politely. "I can hear it fine from here, Katherine, but thank you for checking on me."

Katherine sat beside her on the bench and laid a comforting hand on Lauren's shoulder. "You know you can ask us for anything, Lauren. Your order sent you here because they care for you, not because--"

"Because I'm useless?" Lauren finished for her. She looked down at her hands with a blank expression. "Because I set out to fight and I found for the first time that I couldn't? Because I'm a coward?"

"Lauren Kensington, you listen to me," Katherine said sternly. Lauren looked up. "You are not a coward. Everyone is scared of the Legion. Everybody."

"Not you."

"Even me. You're braver than you think; you were there at the Broken Shore."

"And a lot of good that did," Lauren laughed bitterly. "He died right in front of me, Katherine. The Highlord died and I can't stop seeing it, the way the Light just broke, Gul'dan's laugh, and I just..." Her throat tightened. Don't cry. You will not cry. If you start you will never stop. She swallowed. "What's left to us when even the Light fails us? What then?"

Katherine paused. "I was training a young paladin once, years ago. He was going through the same things you are, I imagine. Asked the same questions. He was about to go off to war in Northrend with several of his friends." Her eyes went distant, remembering. "They were all so young. Barely men yet. He asked me how the Light could prevail when the Lich King could just rip the dead from its embrace."

"What did you tell him?"

"That no matter how much it seemed otherwise, the Light never abandoned its champions. That the darker things got, the brighter it would shine. And it did. And it will again. There is still hope, Lauren, even in the face of all this loss. It's all right to be scared. Scared is normal and real and human, and you're not a coward for taking the time away to tend to your own wounds, especially the invisible ones."

She couldn't stop it. A tear fell down her cheek, and another, and the next thing she knew Lauren was sobbing in Katherine's arms like a child clinging desperately to its mother.

Katherine stroked her hair, a steady, comforting motion. "You must protect yourself as well, Lauren. None of us is invincible. You will find your way back to the Light in your own time. And there is so much more you can do than swing a hammer or rush into battle with your shield."

Lauren sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. "What should I do?"

"Well, you could attend Mass properly, for one," Katherine chided her gently. Lauren chuckled - the first time she'd laughed in weeks. "Besides that? Just be there for others. It's when things seem hopeless that hope matters more than ever. There are so many who are as frightened and lost as you are right now. I think you'll be surprised by how much it will help you both to know that you are not alone in this."

"You sure about that?" Lauren asked.

Katherine stood up and offered her hand to help Lauren to her feet. "Why do you think I went looking for you in the first place?" she asked.

Lauren stared at Katherine the Pure for a long moment before nodding. The two paladins took each other's hand and sat down in a pew at the back of the chapel near an elderly couple. The old man smiled at Lauren and took her other hand in solidarity.

For the first time in a very, very long time, the fear lessened.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Divine Shield

If only she could get a moment to breathe.

Lauren had been on the move ever since the Broken Shore. At the moment, she was at the Stormwind Cathedral, theoretically resting in between battles, but the familiar trappings of prayers and holy symbols weren't providing the comfort they had in the past.

It was that scream. Highlord Fordring, suspended in the air by Gul'dan's fel magic, begging the Alliance and Horde forces to stay away, it was a trap, and then came that scream as the life was ripped from him.

Tirion's last words, over and over in her head - "the Light will protect me," but it hadn't, and something broke inside her as the Highlord's body fell unceremoniously into that pit.

Lauren tossed and turned fitfully on her cot, trying not to scratch at her scabbed-over cuts. Outside, she could hear the weeping and wailing of new widows and orphans. How was she supposed to sleep, knowing that the demons would come again, would kill again, and they'd never stop?

She took a breath, wincing a bit at the slight pain it caused her bruised ribs. Again, the scream, "the Light will protect me," and everywhere around her soldiers were dying, and she was screaming herself, Lightborn wings of vengeance flaring out from her back, her blessed hammer pounding again and again into the enormous demon's chest, and then everything was a blur of fel fire and rage and terror. She barely remembered King Varian sounding the retreat, or how she'd managed to hold on as the Fel Reaver yanked at the gunship, or the boat to Westguard Keep to report back to the other Templars.

All she could focus on was the terror in Tirion's scream when she watched the Light fail for the first time in her entire life.

Lauren got up and paced around the tiny recovery room. There was a pattern to how often the Legion attacked. Likely it took them a short while in the Twisting Nether to regenerate. It wouldn't be much longer before she was sent back to Westfall to beat back another wave of demons.

She picked up her hammer, the very one her father'd given her all those years ago before she'd gone off to train with the Silver Hand. She thought of everything she'd fought against with that hammer in her hands, and all of a sudden Lauren fell to her knees and cried, an angry, broken kind of crying that was weeks of fear and doubt and constant fighting finally catching up with her. It hit her, then, that she was alone, no father to comfort her, no lover to kiss away the pain, no one to just...be there for her.

She thought of Anthai, all fire and rage and probably the one she was closest to out of all of them, but Anthai couldn't know what it meant to be a paladin, to believe in the Light, to feel its warmth and blessing. The other paladins might understand, but even though she'd fought alongside them since Draenor, she still felt like a bit of an outsider, conscripted out of necessity to replace Anthai on the Black Watch. She admired them, trusted them, would fight and die for any of them, but...she didn't feel like they were her friends. Whom could she talk to about this despair inside her, who would understand what it meant to see the Light shatter like that? The Justicar? No, she was near to bursting with child. Jen'nerik, who'd taught her Draenei techniques to strengthen her battle prowess? But she wasn't a part of the Silver Hand, and for that matter, could the Draenei even relate to the fragile mortality of humans?

"Father, I am so lost," Lauren whispered to her hammer, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fight this."

She sat there, the tears subsiding after a while as a kind of bleak, numb exhaustion set in.

Then the alarm bells began to ring. "The Legion strikes at Sentinel Hill!" a guard bellowed. "Champions of the Alliance, make your way to Westfall!"

Lauren stood up, steadied herself and donned her armor. She leaned over to pick up her hammer and stopped.

"The Light will protect me!"

Would it?

She didn't know anymore. She thought of all the men and women who'd died at the Broken Shore, who'd died to these incessant demon invasions. Of the look on King Anduin's face as he stared at the effigy of his father in front of his throne, knowing Varian's body wasn't there because there had been nothing left of the body to entomb.

Lauren straightened herself. She had to do this. Even if it meant she would never stop. Even if it meant they would be worn down eventually. Even if it meant they would lose. Because she couldn't not even try, no matter what doubts and fears plagued her.

Because she was a paladin. And that still meant something.

Maybe the Light couldn't protect everyone. But she would. She would try.

Lauren laid her hammer on the table and armed herself with sword and shield.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Unprepared Pt. 4

The flames limning Anthai's skin vanished as her eyes flashed red once and faded back to green. "We need to get out of here. We need to get back to the Templars."

Lauren blinked. "Wait, but how did you--"

"Now," the mage insisted. With a wave of one hand and a brief incantation, she opened a portal. An image of Dalaran's domes and spires flickered in its depths. Before either paladin could object, Anthai shoved them both through and followed immediately after. The portal winked out of existence, and Icecrown Citadel fell silent once more.

For now.

*  *  *  

A day later, Lauren, Kem and Anthai gathered in a room at the Hero's Welcome inn. Lauren and Kem had gotten some sorely-needed healing, a bath, and several hours' sleep. The three women sat at a table out on the balcony, a spectacular view of the Violet Citadel soaring high above them.

"So..." Lauren began.

"So." Anthai repeated, that familiar teasing smirk on her lips.

Lauren shook her head. "I don't even know where to begin."

"You could properly introduce me to your friend, for starters," Anthai pointed out.

Kem gave a polite nod. "Kem Redbraid, miss. I owe ye my life. Thank ye."

Anthai waved it off. "Just makes me even with Lauren, is all."

"Anthai, Light above, I thought you were still on Draenor," Lauren said. "What happened to you?"

The mage was silent for a brief moment, her eyes distant. "I stayed behind to help with the cleanup."

"I remember that."

"Yeah, well, turns out Exarch Yrel and that bastard Hellscream are all buddy-buddy now." Her eyes narrowed. "Grommash gets bitch-slapped around a bit by that fucker Gul'dan and goes crying to the people he tried to conquer in the first damn place, and she helps him. Unbelievable. The Orcs and Draenei called a truce, if you can believe that nonsense."

"Anthai--" Lauren began.

"Forgiveness in the Light, blah blah, I heard it endlessly from the Exarch's speeches, I don't need to hear it from you, all right?"

"And that's why you left? Just out of bitterness?"

"No. A little, maybe, but no. I wasn't going to come crawling back to Azeroth while my powers were still out of whack. I took some time to study with the Draenei mages, mostly researching some texts Mar'gok kept at Highmaul." Anthai shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her. "Life-Binder's tits, I hate Northrend. Never get the chill out of the air."

Kem raised an eyebrow. "Did ye really just swear on the Dragon Queen's chest?"

"What? She's got a great rack."

The Dwarf chuckled. "I like her," she told Lauren.

"You and I'll talk later, cutie." Anthai got back to business as Lauren rolled her eyes. "In any case, a lot of it had to do with the timeline, how Kairoz and Garrosh disrupted it, lots of math involved, boring mage stuff, you wouldn't get it.

"And then Yrel had a vision."

Lauren leaned in attentively. Draenor's Velen had passed something on to Yrel before he'd sacrificed himself. Apparently he'd passed on his ability to see the future as well. "What did she see?"

"A sword. A quest. A way for me to be more powerful than ever, but that isn't important. She saw the Legion, Lauren."

"But Archimonde is dead, he died in the Nether, Gul'dan even--"

"No, Lauren, the Legion is coming here. To our Azeroth. This is the big one. They're pissed."

Lauren's blood froze as it all clicked. Highlord Fordring's absence, the weird signs from the Void, the Twisting Nether, the Emerald Dream. Khazarath's vision. The hundreds of new Scourge in Icecrown. "We...we have to tell the Justicar, the Templars are at Westguard..."

Kem's voice was panicked. "I need t'find me brother, he'll need me--"

Suddenly, before any of them could finish speaking, something huge and burning shot out of the sky and crashed into the street below. Someone screamed, and as Lauren jumped out of her seat to see what had happened, the skies above Dalaran darkened from pale violet to a sickly green. In the distance, they could make out fel meteors beginning to rain from the skies.

"Blessed Light preserve us," Kem breathed.

Lauren gripped Anthai's arm. "Portal us to Westguard. Now." The mage nodded, her face white, but they already knew they were too late to give the Templars time to prepare.

The Legion was here.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Unprepared Pt. 3

The wind howled around her as Lauren clung tightly to the gryphon flying her to Icecrown Citadel. She didn't care much for flying in any case and even less for her destination. It had been so long since she and Kem and Khazarath had been a part of the assault on the Citadel, but the memories of fallen comrades - those who had been under her protection - clawed at her like the chill of Northrend's heart.

The Citadel itself came into view as they began the descent from Dalaran. Its saronite spires pierced the sky, promising pain and death to any mortal foolish enough to dare its heights. Lauren glanced at Kem to avoid looking down, seeing the dwarf riding straight in her saddle with a giant grin on her face. Must be that hint of Wildhammer blood, Lauren thought wryly.

The gryphons landed a short ways out from the base of the Citadel, understandably not wanting to get too close. The paladins dismounted, Kem petting her gryphon reassuringly. "Ready?" she asked Lauren.

"Not even in the slightest," Lauren said. She strapped on her shield and drew her sword. Normally, she'd have her father's hammer with her, but it was too heavy to be wielded in one hand. Light, but she wished her father was with her - alive, not just in spirit. She forced down the memories and focused on the mission.

The pair approached carefully. The front gate was open, broken since the assault all those years ago, and they stepped inside. Within, the Citadel was tomb-silent and in disrepair. It was apparent no one had returned to this place since the fall of the Lich King. No one would want to. Any treasures within would have been acquired by the heroes who'd slain Arthas, and the possibility of stray Scourge or just simply the feel of cold death permeating the stronghold was enough to keep even the hardiest adventures away.

"Falstad's beard, can ye feel that, Lauren?" Kem said in a voice as hushed as if she'd been in a church. "The...wrongness of this place. 'Tis as if nothing alive has ever been allowed here."

"I don't think you're wrong," Lauren said, equally as quiet. "But Khazarath said there was...something. I wonder if--"

Lauren didn't have the chance to finish her sentence. The fortress rumbled, and great jets of ice erupted from the walls, barring the way forward. Lauren jumped back, calling on the Light to raise a sacred shield of light around her, protecting her from the deadly blast.

A shape formed within the wall of screaming ice, becoming a bluish-white figure of an armored man. Lauren recognized him.

"...Magroth?" Lauren said, incredulous. The spirit of Magroth, defender of Lordaeron, who'd died at Arthas' hands in the Third War, nodded once.

"I am Magroth who was," the spirit said. "You cannot be here, Lauren Kensington, nor you, Kem Redbraid. This prison of ice is no place for the living. It is his will. It cannot be denied."

"His..." Kem said, eyes widening in horror. "The Lich King? Light have mercy, is that bastard Menethil still alive?"

"Arthas Menethil is dead, and more than dead," the spirit replied. "Frostmourne consumed his soul, as it consumed mine. Mine and so many others." The spirit seemed to struggle for a moment, as if he was holding something back. The Citadel rumbled again. "I beg you both, flee. What lies within Icecrown is not meant for you. He does not want you here. Flee, lest he imprison your souls in death as well."

"Magroth, please, what is happening? Why are you here? Who is 'he'?" Lauren begged. None of this made any sense. The Lich King was dead, she knew he was dead, she hadn't seen it happen but Tirion had assured them all...

...Tirion...

...Tirion wasn't around these days, was he?

The spirit grew desperate. "Lauren, please! Leave now, I can't--" The ice flashed white and screamed, enveloping the spirit as if it had been angered. Beneath them, the ground began to break apart as dozens upon dozens of Scourge broke free and hurled themselves mindlessly at the paladins.

Lauren and Kem reacted instinctively, the former shouting a battle cry as fingers of holy light lashed out from her body and destroyed the closest few undead, the latter swinging her huge two-handed blade in a divine storm of destruction.

"I thought the Scourge were gone!" Kem shouted as she decapitated a slavering ghoul.

Lauren prayed quickly to consecrate the ground beneath her, the light pulsing out in waves to send the Scourge to true death. "I don't know what's happening!" she shouted back. Righteous fury filled her veins as she taunted an abomination away from her fellow paladin. "Something's wrong, there shouldn't be this many..."

But there were. Wave after wave of undead attacked the pair, unceasing, the stench of death making Kem gag. They started a slow retreat back out the gate, but the Scourge were everywhere, surrounding them, blocking the exit. Whoever "he" was who Magroth had spoken of, he wasn't going to allow them to live. Lauren was strong and could hold out for a very long time, but she wasn't invulnerable.

She and Kem were going to die here.

Not here, not like this, Light please don't let me become a Scourge, please give me peace when it happens, don't let me please oh please oh Light oh Father...

Lauren braced herself, determined to go out fighting, afraid for Kem, preparing one final burst of holy wrath.

Before she could unleash it, the ground erupted in flames, incinerating the undead and obliterating them completely. Lauren raised her shield, both she and Kem raising divine barriers around them against the overwhelmingly destructive fires that burned the Scourge to ash all around them.

"Hey, girlfriend. Bad time?"

The smoke cleared slightly, the ground still glowing red-hot as a familiar woman stood in front of them, rimmed in flame and wielding a magnificent Sin'dorei blade.

"Anthai?" Lauren said incredulously.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Unprepared Pt. 2

[From the travel journals of Lauren Kensington, to be delivered to the Templars Of the Rose in the event of her death.]

I met with the Redbraids in Hearthglen for probably the first time since the Cataclysm. Kem and Khazarath fought alongside me during the assault on Icecrown Citadel; a paladin and death knight, respectively. Twins not even death could separate for long. I envy their bond. I've never known what it's like to have a sibling. Kem all but considers me family; Khazarath...he's a good man, but it's hard for me to look at him and not see the Scourge in his dead white eyes. But he has never been anything less than loyal to me, and so I continue to pray to the Light to grant me greater acceptance.

I had, with the Justicar's permission, taken a leave of absence from the Rose after I'd received Kem's second letter. Khazarath, trying to give meaning to his life-after-death, had ingratiated himself to several factions after Icecrown, and maintained contacts all over Azeroth. He was an ambassador of the Ebon Blade and regarded as a neutral party, and therefore received news from both Alliance and certain members of the Horde. Whatever he had to say, it was urgent enough to say in person, and that didn't bode well.

Our reunion was short and bittersweet when I arrived at Hearthglen. All of us were glad to see one another, but we got down to business in short order.

Khazarath informed me that several nights ago, he'd had a dream. Concerning in and of itself, since the undead don't dream, as far as I know. He told us of a presence within Icecrown, a burned figure encased in ice and sitting on the Frozen Throne. Its eyes burned as it pointed at Khazarath and rumbled the single word "...shards..." before the death knight awoke with a start.

He wouldn't have shrugged something like that off in the first place, but it was doubly ominous because, he explained, he'd been in touch with several of his allies lately who had also reported strange goings-on. A shadow priest he'd known for years had suddenly begun speaking in the language of the Old Gods, and her shadowform had grown twisted. She'd had to be confined for her own safety.

Kem spoke then, revealing what she'd learned from Eyanna and Thayin Leafblade - old friends of ours, sisters, a druid and a warrior. They never went anywhere without the other, Thayin guarding her dreamy, half-there younger sibling as they lent their talents where they were needed. Eyanna had gone deep into the Emerald Dream and hadn't yet awakened; Thayin watching helplessly as her sister grew pale and drawn. This hadn't happened for years, not since just before the Cataclysm. Thayin was all sword and shield, no connection to the various magics of Azeroth, and was not used to feeling so helpless.

Most disturbing of all, however, was when Khazarath told us of a gnome warlock we knew...a warlock who suddenly found herself unable to summon her demons.

I sat back, taking in what I'd learned. I was reeling from these revelations. One odd vision was one thing, but to hear so many distressing trends from the Void, the Emerald Dream and the Twisting Nether...

The three of us looked at one another gravely. Something was happening. Something dire. But what could we do? The Highlord was off on a mission somewhere, so Kem and I couldn't consult with him.

That left us with Khazarath's vision. Kem and I had him leave to go find other champions, consult with the shamans, the mages, whoever else he could find. We needed to see exactly how widespread this was.

Kem and I would be returning to Icecrown.

To the Citadel.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Unprepared Pt. 1

[This letter was received shortly before Pilgrim's Bounty by Lauren Kensington at Westguard Keep after her return from Draenor. It was sealed with the mark of the Wildhammer Clan.]

Dearest Lauren,

Imagine my relief when I got your package with your "Draenor Journals" inside! Praise the Light you came back from the expedition with just a few broken bones. There wasn't a doubt in my mind no Iron Horde would be a match for your hammer and shield!

Your new allies, the Templars, sound interesting. I hope I meet them someday - we can sit by the fire and tell stories and raunchy jokes over a barrel or two of ale. Just like the old days, eh?

Speaking of the old days, my brother will be visiting me soon. I'll be back at Hearthglen, though - normally I'd be at the chapel, but, well...you know how Khazarath feels about Light's Hope. To be fair, some of the Order aren't too fond of him either. You remember what happened last time. But you know what I always say, us Redbraids stick together. You'd think after a few years past Icecrown, people'd remember the Ebon Blade are on our side.

Ah, but look at me ramblin'. I'm glad you're back home, Lauren. Light knows I missed you. Come back up here sometime once you get yourself sorted. Highlord Fordring comes by every few weeks or so pacing around and looking all grim and serious, and I think it's catching. I could stand to see a sunnier face.

Light bless and keep you, and may the ancestors watch over you, Kem Redbraid

*  *  *  *  *

[The next letter was received by Lauren two days after the first, urgently delivered to her by a Wildhammer gryphon rider.]

Lauren-

You need to come back to Hearthglen as soon as you can. Khazarath's got important news and it doesn't bode well. We need you.

-Kem

[anthai-of-stormwind]

The Second Letter

To Justicar Dawnfield-

I've received a letter from Ambassador Redbraid detailing the events of Marksman Wildsabre's tribunal. Thank you for welcoming him under the dire circumstances, and I hope he contributed with his line of questioning. I hope he wasn't too long-winded.

On the matter of my absence, I've been in touch with several old friends and colleagues in Hearthglen and elsewhere. A gnome warlock of my acquaintance has recently felt reticence from her summoned demons to serve her. My friend Eyanna, a druid of the Cenarion Circle, has felt a kind of unease within the Emerald Dream. I've heard rumblings from our fellow paladins that even Highlord Fordring seems on edge lately.

I don't know just yet what all of this means, but I fear something terrible may be on the horizon. I'll be keeping a journal of what I find and will share it with you and our fellow Templars when we meet again. Light willing, that day will come soon.

Warmest regards in the Light,

Lauren Kensington of the Argent Crusade

[This letter was delivered to a Rose courier at Westguard Keep.]

[anthai-of-stormwind]

The First Letter

To Justicar Dawnfield-

As you know, I have been unable to participate in official Templars business for some time due to unexpected obligations in Hearthglen, which I intend to tell you about when my duties are complete.

However, word has reached me that our friend and colleague Kanta Wildsabre has been accused of murder. While I cannot be there to defend Marksman Wildsabre, I am sending my colleague Khazarath Redbraid, a Knight of the Ebon Blade, in my stead to observe the proceedings. He is unaffiliated with the Rose and is a true neutral party, and I would like to nominate him as a juror if the jury has not yet been selected. I can speak for his character as a noble Dwarf who fought alongside me during the War in Northrend years ago, and continues to fight his own darker impulses as a Death Knight. I believe that as someone without ties to either the Templars or the Blood (his sole allegiance is to the Ebon Blade), he would serve as a more impartial party than I would.

Regardless, I hope you will welcome Ambassador Redbraid as my friend and ally, and recognize that he is there to assist you as my representative during the trial. He will be at Amberpine Lodge in Grizzly Hills if you wish to meet.

Warmest regards in the Light, Lauren Kensington of the Argent Crusade

[This letter was delivered to a Rose courier at Amberpine Lodge.]

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Dust

"If your own order or family has sustained losses in these dark times..."

Lauren Kensington didn't make it past those words on the invitation before her eyes welled up again. She understood the Justicar's reason for holding the service that evening, but Lauren couldn't bring herself to attend. There was another place she needed to be.

She knew, she knew in her very soul, that her father was with the Light. At peace. Years had passed since his second death. She'd had time to mourn. To heal. And for the most part, she had.

For the most part.

Memories of Pilgrim's Bounties past flooded her head as she folded up the invitation and brushed a stray lock of jet-black hair back from her face. She sat astride her horse, gazing out over the plague-ruined landscape. Haunted Andorhol lay to the south; north, Hearthglen and the comfort of the Argent Dawn's hospitality. She'd seek shelter there before dusk, but for now...

Not a trace remained of the old Kensington farm. Not so much as a splinter of wood or a blade of corngrass. It was dust, and might well always be that way. The druids at Mender's Stead still, to this day, toiled to coax life back from the ravages of the Scourge with minimal success.

But they could never, ever bring back what Lauren had lost. A warm hearth, the company of neighbors, a plump wild turkey roasted to perfection, soft squares of cornbread, and the ever-present love of the only family she'd ever had. All gone. Dust, like the land itself. The Scourge had taken it all.

It would never, never happen again.

Lauren shook the reins and headed north to Hearthglen.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Fire and Light: Prelude To the Assault On Hellfire

The paladin dubbed "Anthadin" by the mage she'd rescued paced around the smithy, where her armor and hammer sat cooling from recent repairs. The vibe around Fort Kickass was tense, but determined, and her comrades in the Black Watch were busying themselves preparing for the final assault on Hellfire Citadel.

It had been a long road from being deployed to Draenor by King Wrynn to this moment. She'd begun just patrolling Nagrand for ogres, found Anthai beaten nearly to death, and had taken the mage's place among the elite members of the Templars Of the Rose. With her captain's permission, Anthadin had joined the Templars full-time, lending the strength of the Light to the battles against the Highmaul ogres, Blackhand in his foundry, and finally the most dangerous orc of them all - Gul'dan. Tomorrow night would be the night Gul'dan's wicked schemes would be put to an end, and then they would see to making Grommash Hellscream pay for the death and destruction he had caused to the Draenei.

Mostly, she wanted the Iron and Fel Hordes to face justice for Vindicator Maraad. Anthadin had never known him, but he was revered among all Paladins for accepting his sins and fighting to redeem them. Anthadin was certain that his soul lay at peace within the Light. If ever there was a champion of justice, it was Maraad.

What was it Exarch Yrel always said? "In the Light, we are one." Anthadin believed it with all her heart. A'dal had once told her that the Light does not abandon its champions. She personally believed that the souls of those who served the Light would become joined with it, aiding the living when its power was called upon. Anthadin felt her father's spirit with her with every swing of his hammer. She knew Maraad would be with all paladins tomorrow night, and murmured a quick prayer of thanks.

"Talking to yourself?" came a voice from behind her, startling her. Anthai stood nearby, her face in that amused smirk she wore most of the time.

Anthadin smiled warmly. "Just praying," she told the mage, taking a seat on the ground. "Tomorrow's likely to be a long night."

"So I hear," Anthai said, joining her. "I almost wish I could be there, but my magic just hasn't felt as strong since...well. You know. Highmaul."

"Maybe it's all the fel magic," Anthadin suggested. "It tends to have a draining effect on people."

"I'd believe that, but I've seen Sumeri actually grow stronger here on Draenor. She's attuned to the ley lines of this place in a way I'm not. It's weird." Anthai paused and looked away from the paladin. "I...you're ready to fight and die for this world, aren't you?"

Anthadin nodded. "I'll be one of a contingent of soldiers guarding the entrances to the Citadel. Justicar Dawnfield means for this to be the final assault, and we're going to make absolutely sure that Gul'dan is cut off from bringing in reinforcements."

"You know you might not come back from that."

Anthadin nodded solemnly. "I know. But I have faith in the Light."

"That must be nice," the mage replied a bit wistfully. She stared up at the stars, unusually quiet. "I'm not going home with you guys after this," she said.

Anthadin looked at her, startled. "Pardon?"

Anthai waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not strong enough to face demons. I know that. I could barely deal with a few ogre wizards." Her face grew dark. "But Orcs I can handle. And I intend to handle them. Permanently."

Anthadin lay a hand on top of Anthai's to comfort her. "I know what the Orcs did to your family. But vengeance can burn within as well as without. Don't let it consume you."

Anthai met Anthadin's gaze. "It's not going to happen again. Not on my watch. Even with Gul'dan gone, there'll still be bits and pieces of the Iron Horde floating around. I'm going to stay and...well. Un-float them."

Anthadin laughed softly. "You and your phrases."

"I'm fond of language." Anthai shrugged and became serious once more. "You know what happened to our Draenor. To our Stormwind. I won't let the Orcs make any more orphans. I can't. Azeroth can survive with one fewer mage, but Draenor...I can make a difference here. I can save so many lives." Anthai reached out with her other hand and gently caressed Anthadin's face. "Like you saved mine," she said softly.

"Anthai..." the paladin said, gently removing her hand from the mage's. "You know I'm not...I care for you. I do. But that's all."

"I know," Anthai said, the characteristic smirk returning to her lips. "I was sort of hoping for a possible-last-night-alive freebie."

Anthadin laughed and embraced the mage. "You're incorrigible," she said.

"And pretty; you forgot to say pretty."

"Tell you what," Anthadin said. "You ever want to come back to visit Azeroth, you'll have a friend to stay with. I promise. So let's agree to live through tomorrow. All right?"

"Deal," Anthai said, rising to shake Anthadin's hand. "We'd both better get some sleep. Gonna be a long-ass day."

"Light be with you," Anthadin said reflexively.

"And with you, Antha--" the mage paused. "You know, in case we die tomorrow, I probably ought to ask your name."

Anthadin raised an eyebrow. It was about time somebody in this group asked. "It's Lauren," she said. "Lauren Kensington."

Anthai smiled. "You go ahead and walk with the Light, Lauren Kensington. I'll keep a fire on for you." She winked and tossed a flicker of flame at the forge, making the coals glow with a ruddy light.

Lauren watched her walk away into the night. "Maybe the Light will walk with you," she said quietly, hoping it would be so. Not just for Anthai. For all who would fight tomorrow. For the Draenei. For this world.

For the Rose.

[anthai-of-stormwind]

Zero Chill: A Tale of Two Mages

Ever wonder how Sumeri and Anthai got to be best friends? No? Well, let's find out anyway. This story takes place during Patch 5.3, the Darkspear Rebellion.

This was absolutely the last thing Anthai wanted to be doing.

She'd joined the Templars because she'd heard things around Stormwind, rumors that this group would be part of the Alliance's strike force into Orgrimmar. Getting the opportunity to set Garrosh Hellscream on fire (and then maybe setting that fire on fire, just to get her point across) made Anthai all but giddy. So what, pray tell, was her first official mission as a bona fide Templar of the Rose?

"How many Kor'kron are down there?" Sumeri asked, crouched beside her on a hilltop.

Working with the thrice-damned Horde to gather siege supplies.

It wasn't as though it was grunt work. Even the higher-ranked Templars were in the Northern Barrens assisting the Darkspear Rebellion. Besides, she wasn't about to throw a tantrum about the Orcs her first day on the job. She was a weapon. Point and shoot her. That's all she wanted, really.

"I count seven. You need me to, ah, point you anywhere specific, or...?" Anthai didn't know what to make of her fellow mage's disability. You had to see your target to hit it with your spells, right? Did Marshal Emberstone assign her to babysit this one, or...?

"About how far away are they?" Sumeri asked.

Ohhhh boy, this was going to be an adventure. "Look, I've got this, if you want to stay here where it's safe--"

"How far?" Sumeri repeated calmly.

She had to be joking. "About...I'd say forty yards, give or take a few feet."

Sumeri nodded. She concentrated for a moment, then coalesced the ambient moisture in the air into a water elemental, binding it to herself. "You turn me towards them and go invisible. Sneak down there, and I'll conjure a blizzard. Reappear and blink to the other side to lead them into it."

"Okay, yes, or, bear with me here, you know what works great on Orcs? Fire."

"Anthai, no, wait--" Sumeri began, but then heard the shimmering sound of an invisibility spell. She sighed to herself. "'Keep an eye on the new recruit, Sumeri.' 'She seems like she could use some guidance, Sumeri.'" The frost mage pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "This is why I worked at a bar."

Anthai had only a few moments before her invisibility spell dropped off. Several yards in front of her were three Kor'kron incinerators, their backs to her as they guarded a precious supply of oil. A wicked idea came to her. The Alliance forces were supposed to deliver the oil to Vol'jin's Darkspear, but...just this once...

She couldn't resist. Dropping her spell, she ignited the barrels with a flamestrike. Waves of viscous flame poured out onto the unsuspecting Kor'kron, and Anthai laughed as the other four roared and charged her.

"Boys, boys. There's enough of me to go around," she taunted, conjuring mirror images of herself that confused the Orcs. An overseer swung his heavy axe into what he thought was the mage's head, only to stumble forward as his weapon went through empty air. Anthai dispatched him easily with a fireball to the face, then turned and ignited another Orc who was cursing her in his native language.

Too bad Sumeri can't see this, she thought as she placed a living bomb on the last two Orcs. Flames skittered up their chests just before they exploded in a shower of burnt flesh and cinders. Anthai surveyed the smoking corpses around her and buffed her nails on her cloak. "You missed out on all the fun, Sumeri!" she called back to their hiding spot. Honestly, it was a shame about the poor girl, but she supposed with a little training, Sumeri might be able to at least conjure a few flurries here and there.

Anthai frowned. Where was Sumeri? "Hey, partner, I'm sorry about the oil and all, but you didn't have to lea--"

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" roared a voice far too close to her. Anthai whirled just in time to throw up a barrier against the knife plunging towards her heart.

"Shit!" Anthai blinked away as fast as she could, her heart pounding. This Orc was obviously a rogue, clad in black leather and sporting two evil-looking daggers.

"Little pinkskin," the Orc cackled in heavily-accented Common. "You face Greska the Scorned. Come, fight the blade of Garrosh Hellscream!"

Anthai gritted her teeth at the name. "Yeah? Well, you face Anthai the Really Pissed Off." Her hands crackled with mystic flames as she prepared to launch a fireball at this loudmouth. Greska grinned and vanished before her eyes. Damned rogues, Anthai thought. Where--

A burning pain shot through her back, and Anthai screamed as Greska's blade sliced across her flesh. "For Hellscream!" Greska cried out as Anthai pitched forward, clutching at her back. She gasped, her limbs moving far too slowly, crippling her. Poison? Must be... She stumbled as she turned back towards the rogue, trying desperately to cast a spell that would turn this damn Orc into a sheep she'd roast for dinner, but her hands were too slow, and Greska was right there, and she was furious that she was about to die here in this stupid desert--

And then a series of hailstones the size of gnomes struck Greska, pummeling her over and over again. The rogue roared in anger and pain. Hail? Anthai thought hazily. But how...?

Sumeri appeared between Anthai and Greska in a swirl of freezing wind, swinging her staff in the rogue's direction. Ice immediately shot up the Orc's legs, freezing her in place.

It had been raining earlier in the Barrens. They weren't too far from a nearby oasis, and there was still some lingering humidity in the air surrounding them. It was enough for Sumeri to take hold of, to condense and freeze into razor-sharp spears of ice, rocketing at high speed towards Greska's body.

The Blade of Hellscream's eyes widened and a trickle of blood seeped from her mouth as the ice lances pierced her body. The ice trapping her feet vanished, and Greska toppled to the earth, her skin already cold and tinged bluish-green with frost.

Sumeri held out an anti-venom and a bandage, and Anthai slowly got to her feet and took them from her, applying the salve to her wound. "There're probably more on the way," Sumeri said, resting the butt of her staff back on the ground. "We should move."

"You...but how...you can't even..." Anthai sputtered, not quite willing to believe what she'd just witnessed.

Sumeri smiled, said nothing and walked away, one hand placed gently on her elemental, letting it guide her steps.

"No, seriously, how did you do that?" Anthai insisted, following Sumeri.

The frost mage turned towards the sound of Anthai's voice and grinned. "I know how to keep a cool head."

Anthai stopped dead in her tracks and glared at Sumeri. "I hate you more than anything and also you are my new best friend."

"Cool by me."

"I swear to--"

"It's an ice gesture on your part."

"WOULD YOU STOP THAT."

"No."