#bey'ron everblaze

[inathia]

Returning Home

The jewel-toned leaves of citrine, topaz and ruby crunched under the heavy footfalls of a child of blood long overdue for their return home. Black boots caked in enough mud, sand and blood made them appear dull, almost gray in appearance. The entire suit of armor had much of the same wear and tear after years of travel. A once pristine black tabard with a red phoenix was layered over the armor, with years of dutiful mending evident on the endlessly frayed and repaired hems.

Stopping just outside of Fairbreeze Village, the weary traveler looked up at the tall inn building. Memories of a past lifetime of chasing little lordlings caused a derisive exhale, though the days of walking had certainly taken a toll. A brief rest for a proper meal couldn't hurt, could it?

Finally, the tattered red hood that covered the traveler's face fell back over her head, settling around her neck much like a scarf. The face of Ina'tha Dawnblade, the once-decorated Knight Lord of the Blood Knight Order, and once-proud Commander of the Phoenix Guard, finally allowed herself to be seen. It was unclear if she'd been hiding her face out of shame for her abrupt and prolonged absence, or her lack of usual dark eye makeup and lipstick. Considering both her pride and her vanity, it was likely both.

With her chin held high, Ina'thia strode right up the ramp and sat a table in the inn. Before the waiter could approach the table, she placed a gold and several silver pieces on its surface.

"A glass of Eversong Red and a fruit and cheese platter."

No please, no thank you. Just the sharp comments of someone who had been away from civilization or entirely too long. Patrons of the Fairbreeze Village inn whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves, and Ina'thia couldn't help but catch one well-dressed man out of the corner of her eye. He had watched her a moment too long, and his chair made a gods-awful sound on the floor as he got up too quickly.

The man hurried outside in a whirl of red and gold robes, speaking quietly into an enchanted gemstone. Ina'thia leveled her one-eyed gaze on him as he left, then sipped at her wine the moment it was brought to her.

"M-Magister… are you there? Magister Everblaze…" the man stammered, covering his mouth so his lips could not be read, "You're not going to believe this. She's here."

@thefugitivemango

[ronaestrider]

An Unexpected Update

Ruthar departs the interior of the Rangers' Lodge along with a series of other Farstrider leaders. They all look somewhat worn after what must have been a lengthy meeting of the minds. His bow and helmet are racked inside the lodge.

Bey'ron leans up against the doorway. "It always smells so... -rugged- in here, don't you think? I've always appreciated how Farstriders aren't afraid to get their hands dirty." he smirks, eyes meeting Ruthar's.

Ruthar halts in his departure, shifting to the side nearer Bey'ron. "Magister Everblaze," he begins, bowing his head in a small greeting. He turns a slight smirk. "Rugged is a...pleasant way to put it." He gestures behind him. "Please, come in - it has certainly been some time."

[Bey'ron]: Too long, I'd submit.

Bey'ron takes Ruthar up on the offer, and steps past him to get into the Lodge proper. He pulls back his hood as he looks around, admiring the trophies and displays.

Ruthar folds his hands behind his back, his gaze following the Magister's. He stands to his left but behind him slightly. "Too long, indeed. I hope the aftermath of the Incarnate dealings has been agreeable to you and your own."

[Bey'ron]: Mm, it resolved rather satisfactorily, I should think.

[Ruthar]: It's good to be back in Silvermoon, in any case. Even if temporarily.

Bey'ron sets his staff aside-- it hovers upright and in place. He turns to Ruthar, and smiles. "It always is, isn't it? The city itself defines the word 'home' for me. I could never imagine leaving it for too long."

[Bey'ron]: Though, I suppose you'd have to depart, if only for a short time, to truly appreciate the feeling of returning. That sense of peace, hmm? Of belonging.

Bey'ron shakes his head. "I suppose, in that way, I envy Miss Li-Mei."

Ruthar nods in agreement. "Fortunately, the return to home is usually trivial, thanks to the expert work of the Magistry." He holds a finger aloft to garner the attention of a newer recruit. "Can I get you a beverege, Magis..." Ruthar let's that hang in the air as Bey'ron offers Rosi's name.

[Bey'ron]: Oh, nothing for me, thank you.

Beyron grins at you wickedly.

Ruthar puts his finger down and the confused looking recruit scurries away. Ruthar reaches into his hauberk to produce a handwritten note. He unfolds it and passes it over to Bey'ron. "I have to say, I'm surprised to hear that name. Doubly so after receiving this. I had my doubts about who it was from, but I doubt this is mere happenstance."

Bey'ron accepts the note, and looks it over. "--Tch... seems someone spoiled the surprise." he frowns lightly.

[Bey'ron]: Just as well. My first instinct was to come to you about it, of course. If anyone would want to know about a Farstrider deserter returning to the High Kingdom, I knew it'd be you.

Bey'ron hands the missive back. "Given your mutual history, of course."

Ruthar takes that in for a moment, accepting the missive and returning it beneath his tabard. He smooths the fabric before replying.

[Ruthar]: I had assumed she had fallen in combat after reading the report of her absence, a rather unfortunate loss - such a promising Farstrider, it was a pleasure to promote her to the rank myself.

Ruthar sighs, glancing over toward nothing in particular. "Deserter? Now...that is something else."

Bey'ron raises his brow. "Oh? You didn't know... well, I suppose assuming she'd died valiantly in defense of the High Kingdom would weigh better than her turning her back on it." he sighs.

Ruthar 's demeanor darkens somewhat. "Indeed," he replies slowly. "I assume you have the pertinent details, then?"

[Bey'ron]: But of course. And I'm happy to share them with you, Captain. That's why I'm here.

Bey'ron waves a hand. "Now, you'll have to forgive me for not delivering her here in person. Frankly... I'm not entirely sure what you'd want done with her. So let me tell you what's happened, and give a recommendation, hmm?"

[Bey'ron]: To my surprise, I encountered her on the Dragon Isles. Hiding away from here. I came to learn she'd left Quel'Thalas sometime during the Fourth War. Something about serving the Dark Lady, albeit indirectly, must not have sat all too well with her.

Ruthar nods, gesturing over toward a desk, his mind moving just barely too quickly to notice the mistake in his title. "Before we continue, and if you'll allow, I'd like to take a record of the account to update our files." He slides a quill into his fingers as he looks expectantly to Bey'ron.

[Bey'ron]: --Ah, of course. By all means, Captain.

Ruthar quickly slides a blank piece of parchment over and begins to scribble on it. "Ranger Captain," he says more firmly than he intended. He writes quickly but pauses to add a question. "Where, exactly, in the Dragon Isles did you locate her initially?"

Bey'ron clasps his hands behind his back. "Well, my sources located her out and about. But I approached her in person for the first time just outside Valdrakken."

[Ruthar]: We have a Farstrider encampment outside of the city, as I'm sure you are aware. That explains the note easily enough.

[Bey'ron]: Cautious little thing. I'm surprised she didn't flee immediately. But alas, we shared a brief dialogue, and I was able to glean that she left in a disagreement with Horde leadership.

Ruthar continues to write, pausing again. "If it were a matter as trivial as that, I would think there would be record of it somewhere."

[Bey'ron]: I have no such record, I'm afraid. To be frank... I hadn't given her much thought, until I heard she'd been seen around the Dragon Isles.

Bey'ron shakes his head. "Nonetheless, I'm a firm believer in second chances. So I offered her a chance to put her expertise to good use. And if you can find nothing else to be proud of in this tale, take pride in the fact that she certainly delivered."

[Bey'ron]: That's when she approached me about coming back to Quel'Thalas. She sent me a missive, and asked to meet.

Ruthar nods, writing the offered details after dipping the quill in an inkwell. "She sent you a missive after you met face-to-face and assigned her an assignment?"

[Bey'ron]: Mm, that's correct.

Ruthar scratches out a few words and amends the document. "I have to say, Magister, that I am surprised that your first reaction was not to inform the Farstriders before sending her on an errand. I assume it was something of great importance to Quel'Thalas's actions in the Isles?"

Bey'ron shrugs. "I'm sure it's not quite what you would have done, but I saw an opportunity to set her back on the right path. And she took it. If she hadn't, I would have brought this exchange to light much sooner."

[Bey'ron]: I'm afraid I can't go into details about the assignment. But I can tell you that her choosing to accept and complete it most assuredly met with Quel'Thalas' best interests.

Ruthar nods, accepting the reasoning. "Testing the heart of a deserter is an acceptable play, though I'm sure the Farstriders would have preferred performing such a test themselves." He writes a few more words. "I appreciate your diligence, personally." He finishes a few lines. "I have it noted that she performed duties for the Magistry under the direction of yourself. I assume that will suffice."

[Bey'ron]: It very well should.

[Bey'ron]: In any case, that's when she reached out via the aforementioned missive, and asked to meet. We discussed what exactly it would take for her to return to Quel'Thalas under honorable conditions.

Ruthar jots that down and looks to Bey'ron. "Respectfully, that may be for the Farstrider leadership to decide, should more details come out once she is spoken to. However, I would like to hear the details of that conversation for the record."

Bey'ron smirks, and shakes his head. "Before all that, we've reached the point of this conversation where I'd like to hear -your- thoughts, Ranger Captain."

[Bey'ron]: For all intents and purposes, you -are- the Farstrider leadership. Were she in your custody now... what would your decision be regarding her fate?

Beyron peers at you searchingly.

Ruthar places down the quill next to the unfinished report. "Protocol demands more information first and foremost. I would need further information on her actions and whereabouts in the time since her departure. It would be of critical importance to ensure that any information that she was privy to was not improperly released. I would have suggested she be detained during that investigative period. Considering her departure was during the conflict of the Fourth War, there could be serious ramifications if she had offered information to the Alliance during that time of conflict."

Bey'ron nods firmly. "A sensible response. Protocol in full consideration of the security of Quel'Thalas. I'd expect nothing less from a Ranger Captain."

[Bey'ron]: But... now that you've recited the Farstrider Handbook for me, let's set that aside. Off the record...

Bey'ron steps forward, lowering his voice. "How would -you- like to see this resolved? You, Ruthar. Not Farstrider Captain Ronaestrider."

[Bey'ron]: I'm not certain how close you two were, but if her -crippling- fear of what you might think of all this is any indication, you two were close, hmm?

Bey'ron shakes his head. "Not suggesting anything untoward, mind you. A mentor-mentee relationship, at the very least."

Ruthar purses his lips, standing straighter. "If she finds herself mired in -crippling- fear over my reaction to this, then I fear that she has done something that would be very difficult for a Farstrider, potentially former in this case, to recover from. Regrettably, both my personal reaction as well as my official rests upon the truth of her absence."

[Bey'ron]: Mm. Insightful. Cautious. Admirable traits, indeed.

[Bey'ron]: You'd see justice done, whatever form it takes, hmm? Regardless of the ramifications it may have for you, personally. Commendable, most assuredly.

Bey'ron unclasps his hands and brings his arms in front of him, idly straightening his sleeves and adjusting his cuffs.

Ruthar nods, his expression stoic. "I would. It would not be the first time that duty had taken precendence over my personal relationships."

[Bey'ron]: I'm certain anyone with sense would see this was well beyond your control. I mean, yes-- you had a part in her training, vetting, and promotion. But all that can only reflect so poorly on you.

Bey'ron sighs. "Or the Phoenix Guard. Sun willing, her indiscretions won't soil the organization's good name. True heritage we all share, that."

Ruthar doesn't visibly react to that. "Indeed. Nor will this have been the first time a ranger's actions have potentially marred the image of myself or my associates. You and I can both attest that times of war can drive certain individuals to drastic action."

[Bey'ron]: That we can. We can only hope such context factors in to whatever external jurisidiction determines Farstrider Li-Mei's fate.

Ruthar nods, reaching for the quill once more. "Agreed. Now, to your subsequent conversation with Li-Mei. Did you offer her a pathway forward for her desire to return home?"

Bey'ron exhales sharply. "--Ah. Well, that all seems rather irrelevant now, doesn't it? It's no more up to me than it is up to you what pathway to redemption lies before Li-Mei, is it? We'd have to handle that internally-- and discreetly-- for that."

[Bey'ron]: A curious alternative, to be sure.

Bey'ron plucks some imaginary debris from his robe. "Certainly an attractive option, I'd have to admit..."

Ruthar considers that for a moment, the quill still in-hand. "I suppose. Though, I have made note of your conversation with her here already." He glances around the Lodge to anyone nearby. "It would be preferred to wrap that up in some manner to formally close this particular parchment," he offers slightly quieter.

Bey'ron grins, and nods. "Of course, as you say. I told her that, were it up to me, she'd need to show in a tangible and unmistakable way that she is loyal to the High Kingdom, and felt deep remorse for any past falterings of that loyalty."

[Bey'ron]: After that, she departed. To where, I cannot say.

Ruthar nods, appreciating the Magister's understanding. He adds the final words and some filligree to the end of the document before signing it. He offers the quill to Bey'ron and slides the parchment over. "If you would review and sign, please - I will see this is processed formally." He lowers his voice slightly. "After which time I'd be happy to discuss further off-the-record."

[Bey'ron]: Certainly.

Bey'ron accepts the parchment, and sets it flat on the table. His eyes scan over the words, carefully-- quill in hand, at the ready. "I trust this will be filed away properly? I know it can be frustrating when such affidavits go missing at the Spire..."

Bey'ron nods once, and signs the parchment.

Ruthar nods, "You have my word, Magister Everblaze. Paperwork has, for better or worse, become one of my strong suits." He allows the ink to dry a moment before folding the parchment and sealing it with a red wax seal. "I appreciate you bringing this here personally. I realize how simple it would have been to send a note or a delegate - your offer of time and information is certainly noted and deeply appreciated."

[Bey'ron]: Ah, but of course! I'll admit I have a bit of a soft spot for the Phoenix Guard and its alumni. This issue, most certainly called for a personal involvement, I think.

Bey'ron clasps his hands behind his back. "Do keep me informed as to how this all plays out, hmm? I'd love to stay and discuss it further, but I'm needed back in the Spire. No rest for the wicked, you know." he smirks.

Ruthar lifts the sealed document from the table and nods. "Indeed I shall. I will get this submitted to have Li-Mei's record updated accordingly. Perhaps we can arrange an appointment in a few days time to...continue the discussion? Perhaps somewhere

Ruthar more...comfortable." He chooses his words carefully.

[Bey'ron]: That sounds most agreeable, Ranger Captain. We'll see it done.

Ruthar bows his head respectfully. "Thank you again for your time, Magister Everblaze. It is good to see you again. Sunwell guide."

[Bey'ron]: Mm, and you. Always a pleasure.

Bey'ron turns, and takes his staff up from where he left it lingering. "By the by... have you stopped in to visit Lady and Doctor Starfrost recently? On the subject of old alumni, of course."

[Bey'ron]: If you haven't, perhaps you should pay them a visit. Always a treat, visiting old friends. Who knows? You might even bump into some you didn't expect to see...

Ruthar shakes his head. "Sadly, my attention has been focused whole-heartedly on our efforts in Valdrakken. I should make a point to rectify that now that things are subsiding on the Isles. I was always very fond of Lady Starfrost." He considers the addendum, searching for the right words. "I look forward to it greatly," he adds, his mind considering a few possibilities.

[Ruthar]: Do send my very best if the opportunity presents itself.

[Bey'ron]: Likewise, should you encounter them before my next opportunity.

Bey'ron nods once, then pulls his hood up again. "Shorel'aran, Ranger Captain."

Ruthar nods, "You have my word. Al diel shala, Magister Everblaze."

[kidcatgeminiart]

Patron Reward - Bey’ron Everblaze

Completed Chibi Icon of everyone’s favorite smug asshole Magister <3 ( @lordbeyron / @thefugitivemango )

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[lordbeyron]

Alone

I have always been alone.

From the beginning, I was never understood. Surrounded by so many-- friends, family, everyone-- all of them having resigned to the decisions and machinations of someone else. Spouses to spouses, citizens to magistrates, criminals to gang bosses... No one I knew had any measure of self-assurance. No ambitions beyond surviving to the next day, or week. Content in their mediocrity. Pathetic! What manner of elf could abide such inappetence? Not me. I stood alone; the radiant phoenix among a flock of low flying dragonhawks. The sun’s warmth called on me to rise above.

Ambition alone means nothing without direction. I saw only one aspiration worth chasing; a crown. The Sun Crown. For too long, I had been told the Sunstrider lineage bore the sole claim to the monarchy. Why? Dath’remar’s undeniable achievements were wrought in blood, pain, toil, and sacrifice! And his progeny benefit from simply sharing his bloodline? No wonder my elven kin are so sated; no ambition thrives in a world where your lot in life is simply handed to you. Born into nobility, or spawned into poverty… should that define an elf? Did it define Dath’remar? An absurd notion. The High Kingdom was built on his ambition! It should not serve as ambition’s tomb! No… my people would see that bloodline alone means nothing. They are so content to be governed? So eager to be ruled over?

Then I shall rule them.

The path before me was clear; and yet, fraught with obstacles, both miring and dangerous. But I was not deterred by such adversity. In fact, it only enkindled my drive! All the opposition between my golden objective and me served only as proof that it was worthy of my pursuit! I started with the gift I had been given; an affinity for magic. Not uncommon among my people, but it seemed to be more of a curse than a blessing for many of the ignorant fools surrounding me. They used their arcane gifts to ease their mediocre lives… and nothing more! Magic made them all the lazier. Their sails may have already been closed, but what little arcane proficiencies they bore stilled the winds. None of them saw the potential I did. I fully grasped the Arcana before me! I shaped it, and molded it, and bent it to my will! I rode it to new heights, and became among the most powerful of my people! Finally, I was among others with ambition! But even they had their own self-imposed limitations.

The Fel is dangerous, they told me. Warned me. Shielding themselves from it like a storm. I didn’t run from the storm’s terrible thunder-- I reached for it! An investment in power would be the only way to earn my throne! And if that meant stealing the power from chaos to bring about order of my own design… so be it! I bridled the thunder of the storm; the dangerous and terrible Fel became another weapon in my arsenal! Another rung on my ladder!

There was something else of which I should have been wary, however. Something far more dangerous than demonfire. Love. I found another I thought shared in my ambition. Someone with which I believed I could climb to the top of the mountain of my greatest dreams! Only to learn she, too, had resigned herself to play the role of a pawn in another’s game. By the time the love blindness was lifted, it was too late. Love narrows one’s vision, setting a haze over the path to destiny. I was burned, literally and figuratively, by trusting someone too much. But even that misstep didn’t defer me from my path. Nothing would!

Now, I am closer than ever; the prestigious Sun Council dances to the steady rhythm I so subtly play with the tap of my finger. Do any of them realize it? Some suspect, I’m sure. But if I’ve learned anything in this ascent, it’s to be mindful. Subtle. Cautious. The masses are content to be ruled. But those who imagine themselves rulers do not. Still they dance; their feet move to the beat, the illusion of agency. Their decisions are more easily made when they believe them to be of their own design. I’ll call them colleagues. Peers. It caresses their fragile egos, and keeps them docile; revealing just how beneath me they really are will only agitate and antagonize them. And I’ve enough obstacles yet to face without adding more, needlessly.

It matters little, in any case; soon they’ll learn the truth for themselves. They’ve always been beneath me. I have no one. I need no one!

I have always been alone.

[thefugitivemango]

Character Blogroll

Got the idea from @luminashdawnwing! Thought it’d be fun to post up a listing of my character blogs for those interested!

Argonas the Ironclad

Artwork by @dinnasaw

This Vindicator is a proud and seasoned champion of the Draenei people. He’s pious and resolute, with a flair of xenophobia and zealotry that can make him off-putting at times. Currently he’s wrestling with finding direction and the Light’s purpose for him, guilt at losing his love, and a betrayal by numerous people he once considered friends...

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Avehi the Adamant

Artwork by @kidcatgeminiart

Former Vindicator of the Hand of Argus and current Knight of the Ebon Blade, Avehi the Adamant is as fearless as she is blunt. Her death has opened her eyes to a great many things she feels her people miss or neglect by clinging so fervently to a single path, which has caused her to feel more like an outcast among her kin than undeath alone has already made her. As of late, she’s begun investigating strange disturbances in the afterlife, taking some actions others may consider drastic in order to uncover the mysteries of the Shadowlands...

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Lord Bey’ron Everblaze

Artwork by @vortexqueen​

Cunning and calculative, Lord Bey’ron Everblaze is a Magister and member of Quel’Thalas’ Sun Council. His arcane (and fel) prowess is outmatched only by his pride and self-aggrandizing. And while he strives to remain above reproach in all things... he’s certainly not afraid to get his hands dirty and/or bloodstained when the situation calls for it. Still, such menial tasks are best left to those beneath him... which isn’t a very exclusive list, in his eyes!

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Brent Sunborn

Artwork by @kidcatgeminiart​

The last of the Blackened Blades, Brent Sunborn (or Brentius Lor’aran, by birth) is a Farstrider-turned-Ghostblade with deadly precision and a killer’s instinct. But unlike most ren’dorei, Brent’s path to the void didn’t follow Magister Umbric’s footsteps, but was rather achieved through adherence and devout service to the Twilight’s Hammer. Now, in the wake of the final Old God’s demise, this assassin struggles to sort out his place and purpose in a post-N’Zoth world...

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Dahlyah Grimshatter

Artwork by Obe

This Dark Iron bounty hunter once served as an Anvilrage reservist in her formative years. Promoting from there to Blackrock Mountaineer, she’s developed her keen hunter’s sense taking down ornery black dragons and other beasts in the unforgiving Burning Steppes and Searing Gorge. Now she adjusts to life as a member of the Alliance, finding it hard to navigate needless rules and customs that now stand between her and her quarry.

Dahlyah’s a new addition to this roster, and a character I’m quite excited to play more! Her blog’s empty for now, but I’ll add to it as her story develops!

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Dr. Gattius Starfrost

Artwork by @kidcatgeminiart​

Former Blood Knight and Captain of the ill-fated Phoenix Guard, Doctor Gattius Starfrost now runs a clinic in Eversong Woods. Husband to Magistrix Syrielle Starfrost, this politics-hating and Magistry-despising sin’dorei struggles in keeping his practice afloat, tending to his young son Tannis, and supporting his wife’s ambitions - which now include a foray into nobility!

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Grakkar Gorefang (and Kronk)

Hailing from alternate Draenor, Grakkar Gorefang is an old Warsong raider. Experience has worn this seasoned hunter, but assuming him an easy mark due to his age has led to the demise of many contenders! Currently, he’s laying low and enjoying the post-war peace with his mate and newborn daughter!

~*~

[cebinaruavin]

Truce

((Story co-written with @thefugitivemango / @lordbeyron. @pariker / @inathia​ / @phoenixguard​ for mention.))

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Cebina waited in the foyer as Bey’ron finished his bath. She took her time to stroll around the room, picking out her favorite wine and helping herself to a glass. She sat herself down comfortably in one of the large lounge chairs, sitting back and crossing her legs. 

She’d always enjoyed her time spent in the manor, as short as that time was. Bey’ron had good taste in lavish decor, always ready to entertain guests. She sometimes wondered if he expected Lor’themar himself to show up at his doorstep. Even the room he’d given her to stay in had been one of the fanciest she’d ever had. A shame that didn’t last. They’d worked well together, the two of them, before her switch to the void and exile.

Water under the bridge now, as it were. The war between Alliance and Horde was over now. While Cebina’s presence still wasn’t welcomed in Quel’Thalas, travelling there was no longer as big of a risk; as long as she suppressed her Void powers and kept out of sight, of course.

She swirled the wine in her glass and sniffed the bouquet before taking a sip. Yes. She’d certainly missed this.

Her presence wasn’t lost on Bey’ron; nothing happened in his manor that he didn’t know about. Eyes everywhere… but he figured Cebina knew that as well. He cut his bath short as he sensed her presence once more in his house. While he didn’t feel in danger of anything she might do, his trust in her certainly took a dive following her last big revelation. He dried and dressed himself casually, paced calmly as he always did, before stepping into the room.

“Pour one for me too, hmm?” he instructed, nonchalantly.

Cebina smiled from her spot on the chair moving her hair over her shoulder to show off more of her chest. A natural reaction for her, even though she knew it had no effect on Bey’ron. She pointed towards the counter, where a second full glass of wine sat waiting for him.

“Way ahead of you, Sweetie,” she hummed, “How have you been, Bey Bey?”

“Mm… considering my home’s been invaded,” he narrowed his eyes at Cebina, “not terrible.”

He scooped his glass from the counter, swirling it gently as he approached the Ren’dorei intruder, uncertain at what brought her here. To gloat more, perhaps? He didn’t think she would have come here to kill him… but then the void did alter one’s mind, didn’t it? How far had her dark studies taken her…?

“Why are you here, Cebina?” he asked, bluntly, tone indicative he wasn’t interested in going through the usual foreplay. “Haven’t you caused me enough of a headache already?”

Cebina raised a brow as he skipped over the pleasantries. That wasn’t like him at all! Had the Knight Lord’s absence affected him that much? Had he actually cared about her? 

“Oh, Bey Bey, you know me. I only specialize in making people feel -good-. You won’t find any trouble coming from me. Unless... that’s what you’re looking for.”

She tipped her head back, taking a long sip of the wine from her glass.

“But, if you insist on getting straight to business, so be it. As you know, the war between Alliance and Horde has come to an end. While I’m aware my people are still shunned for our superiority, at least my presence here is no longer considered an act of war. With the armistice signed between the Alliance and Horde, I was hoping you and I could work out something similar. Past mishaps now water under the bridge, as it were, hmm?”

She took another sip, allowing Bey’ron some time to digest the information.

Bey’ron rolled his eyes. It felt good not to have to try and hide the expression, as he normally had to do in the Council chambers when some pompous nobleman spouted similar nonsense. “Superiority,” indeed. He scoffed, accenting the eye rolling to better convey how unimpressed he was by Cebina’s notion.

“You want back in, is that it? Tired of the humans already?” he smirked, throwing a light jab of his own. “If your kind are so superior, surely you wouldn’t feel a need to reestablish any manner of connections here. Armistice or not.”

He knew well why she’d returned now, of all times. The Armistice might have been a part of it, but Bey’ron had long suspected that Cebina had ties to the Twilight’s Hammer cult. A cult without any more Gods to cling to, as of late. No, he knew Cebina was only here playing nice because she’d lost a large chunk of support. A loss she hoped to make up for here.

“You’re after the arrangement I offered when I first dismissed you and your ‘superiority’, Cebina. And instead of keeping things pleasant between us, you opted instead to lash out.” he scolded her, still swirling his glass of wine. “What changed? Why are you suddenly so interested in rekindling our friendship, hmm?”

Cebina giggled, waving a hand in a dismissal of his words.

“Sweetie, please! Did you go soft while I was away? We were never friends, and you know it. Work partners, yes. Allies, yes. But don’t go pretending it was anything more than that.”

Her void filled gaze met his as she leaned forward in her chair.

“You know as well as I do that knowledge is power. And even the more superior of us need allies, especially in times of peace. Don’t you agree?”

His ear flickered; she was right. They were never really friends… so why did he phrase it in such a manner? Had loneliness tugged him off course of his goals? Had losing Ina’thia made him soft? His frown turned to a scowl at Cebina. Seeing her again had brought out many reminders of the past… including his dedication to his ambitions.

“Hmph. You’re splitting hairs. ‘Friendship’, as a generalized term of working well one with another. As in… not sabotaging one another’s projects.” Bey’ron snapped, fel flames in his eyes burning a little more intensely. “You’re reaching out for a hand you bit, Cebina. And you bit it hard. I had plans for the Phoenix Guard, and you crippled it. Killed it! Did you think I’d be so quick to forgive your childish maneuvers? Perhaps I have been too soft, letting a treacherous Old God underling like you breathe another breath of my Eversong air!”

He tossed his undrunk glass aside, letting it shatter in the corner. Portals began to open up all around the two elves, pouring chittering laughter and aggressive growls into the chamber from whatever dark dimensions lay beyond them. Demonic eyes peered in from the room, all fixated on Cebina. But nothing emerged… yet.

“Give me one good reason, Little Bird, why I should take you back.”

Cebina remained unfazed at Bey’ron’s show of force, her eyes glimmering with pride as they continued to burn into his. Her smile widened. 

“Because,” she stated simply, “You need someone to keep you on your toes.” She got up from the chair, letting her form fitting skirt brush the floor as she paced slowly.

“You’ve gone soft, Bey Bey. What I did was nothing compared to what your dear Knight Lord put you through, I’m sure. You let your guard down with her, didn’t you? Made yourself vulnerable. Now look at you, sulking in your manner and trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind. Look at who you’ve surrounded yourself with. All soft.”

She stopped pacing a few feet in front of him, knowing well not to get too close to the Magister.

“Face it, Sweetie. You need me a lot more than I need you right now. You know it. And that is why you’re throwing this little temper tantrum, isn’t it?”

Bey’ron’s scowl turned to a smirk. He chuckled at Cebina, folding his arms behind his back as he did. The portals held position, though the snarling from within softened… yet the chittering laughter grew a bit more as if to join their master.

“Oh, I need you, is that it? That’s why you came here, then? You sensed how much I needed you? So you snuck in, seeking to restore our amicable arrangement? How kind of you, Little Bird.” he laughed on, tone clearly mocking. “You may be right; I’ve relaxed quite a bit, following your little stunt, and Ina’thia’s departure. You’ve done well in reminding me of that, tonight. But frankly… I can think of no other use I’d have for you. You think too highly of yourself if you presume you’re the only one who can, as you put it, ‘keep me on my toes’, hmm?”

A worthy attempt, he had to admit. But his wit hadn’t dulled quite that much since last they spoke. Cebina wouldn’t have come here just to rekindle a relationship unless she had something specific to gain in doing so. She’d caught him in an emotional state-- which was to say, she caught him actually feeling emotions. But that alone wasn’t her purpose in coming to him now. It seemed they ended up dancing around the heart of the matter, after all.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he straightened, brow askew. “Why are you here, Cebina?”

“Hmm, much better,” Cebina grinned, “There’s the Bey-Bey I know! Don’t worry, I have no intentions of returning to Silvermoon or messing with whatever you’ve got going on with your little friends.”

She sauntered back to her chair, taking a sip and getting comfortable once more, pulling the skirt of her robes up to expose her thighs as she crossed her legs.

“I need a contact to keep me up to date on the going ons of Horde politics, as it were. In return, I’ll be certain to forward any information I come across from the  Alliance side. I’ve gotten quite close with some of the higher up politicians in Stormwind. In short, you have your goals and I have mine. As long as those goals don’t go against each other, there’s no reason we can’t go back to being respectful associates.”

“Mm, that depends entirely on what your goals actually are, doesn’t it?”

The Magister returned to the counter, and retrieved another glass since his last one broke. He didn’t bother glancing over to where he’d thrown it; it was already cleaned up anyway, the work of some Imp while no one was looking. He filled his new glass with wine, before turning back to his guest.

“It also depends on what manner of information you can provide. I’ve already arranged a few eyes and ears among your Alliance’s political players, and they’ve done well in feeding me useful little tidbits.” he explained as he, too, finally took a seat in a chair adjacent to Cebina’s. “I suppose you think you could do better, though? Provide me with more exclusive information?”

He grinned at the Ren’dorei.

“Let’s hear a sampling, hmm?”

“Oh, darling… you have NO idea.”

Cebina moved her hand, opening it palm up as a small void tear opened up just above it, depositing a scroll into her hand. She’d worked with Bey’ron long enough to know he wouldn’t take her at her word. He was MUCH smarter than that; one of the things she rather liked about him. Of course he would demand proof that she could procure information more valuable than his own men could gather. 

She held the parchment out for him to levitate over.

“I’ll let you read for yourself. Human men are simple creatures, and SO predictable, especially when it comes down to interacting with exotic women,” she grinned, tilting her head up proudly, not a hint of shame of how she used her body, “I think you’ll enjoy these little tidbits, especially certain secret outings the King has been making.”

The Magister couldn’t hide the intrigue on his face, as he read the scroll over. It was a mixed bag, certainly, with some bits of information much more useful and actionable than others. For now, anyway; Bey’ron learned long ago that sometimes the most innocuous details can bridge gaps in some of the darkest secrets. These outings of the Alliance’s Boy-King that Cebina alluded to, for example… they meant nothing for the moment. Just a piece of a puzzle Bey’ron could use later, when he found where it fit.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“... Hmph. I suppose these have some merit.” he commented; such words meager approval from some, but high praise when coming from his lips. “If I did, perhaps, have use for information you’re willing to bring, what exactly would you wish in return? Bearing in mind, I am not as prone to betraying my kingdom as--”

He paused, gaze tracing over Cebina in silent judgment. A less-than subtle jab. He allowed the parchment to roll up once more, curling by virtue of having been rolled up before. He held it upright as a small portal opened above it-- and a tiny pair of imp hands reached down to snatch it away absconding with the paper to Sun-only-knows where.

“... Others.” he concluded his thought, smirking.

“Of course, of course,” she waved a hand, not seeming the least bit insulted by what Bey’ron insinuated.

Cebina had always joined causes out of convenience. She’d joined a number of houses and organizations during their rise, only to move on to another as she sensed they were about to fall. Her entire life had been about taking what she needed to further her own goals. Now wasn’t any different. She knew it. Bey’ron knew it. There was no point in pretending she ever cared for Quel’Thalas.

“Ever the loyalist, I remember. I would never ask you to betray your kingdom, Bey-Bey. I have no interest in playing with Sin’dorei affairs. However, a man of your elite stature certainly has spies dispatched throughout the other factions of the Horde, hmm? All I’m asking in return is that you share that intelligence with me.”

Bey’ron contemplated for a moment, eyeing Cebina over scrutinously. He was torn; at what point did benefiting the Void Elf become endangering the High Kingdom? It was easy to work with her before, when their goals coincided often. But he couldn’t imagine an instance where they would, now. The value of even small details cut both ways. What could he tell her that wouldn’t potentially come back detrimentally to Quel’Thalas? The secrets she was willing to share were, indeed, valuable to him. But at such a cost…?

No, the payoff was far greater than just a few meaningless details shared between the two. A truce was at stake-- a partnership with Cebina made her an ally once more, rather than the spiteful enemy she’d proven to be otherwise. It was a dangerous gambit, indeed. But he knew it was more beneficial to bring her to heel with a few tasty morsels of information than to let her run wild and lash out. 

“Mm. So be it.” he nodded, with a smirk. “We’ve worked well together in the past. If you’re ready to do so again, it would be in poor form for me to deny you the pleasure.”

He raised his glass to Cebina; a toast to seal the deal, and rekindle their partnership. It felt like the right move; after all, you keep your friends close.

And your enemies closer.

~*~*~

[thesuncouncil]

The Kaldorei Ambush!

[Beyron]: With a grunt, Bey'ron begins another incantation. The ground beneath Commander Stilloak begins to rumble, before exploding in a cataclysmic rupture! [The Sentinels]: Having just rolled to escape Nichaad's grip, Commander Stilloak's unable to get away in time! Fel fire burns her body, causing her to shriek! [The Sentinels]: Standing up, the Sentinel (circle) raises her bow. She fires a volley of arrows to rain down on the sin'dorei! [The Sentinels]: Arrows rain down, two of them striking Luminash, Bey'ron, and Syrielle each! [Ruthar]: Ruthar's ears flutter at the sound of the volley, all too familiar with Stilloak's tactics. He shifts up the ramp to get a better vantage point of her and this dangerous associate. [Luminash]: Luminash's prismatic shield came too late, solidifying around him as one arrow stuck in the back of his arm, the other in his leg. [The Sentinels]: Commander Stilloak staggers back in a huff! She looks rough, after the barrage of Arcane and fel magic that's hit her thus far! This seems like time to fall back! She turns to flee! [Syrielle]: Syrielle's next spell fizzles as she's hit. She cries out as an arrow lodges itself in her shoulder, and another in her side. [Beyron]: Bey'ron is struck in the back - another arrow driving clean through his left forearm! He collapses to his knees! [Luminash]: Staggering forward, Luminash shouts after Stilloak, "You will answer for this, Commander!" He lashes out with a whip-like bolt of energy, aiming for her legs to knock her down. [Luminash]: Stilloak's legs are caught with the bolt, knocking them out from under her and sending her tumbling to the ground. [Ruthar]: Ruthar quickly scans and realizes the last remaining quarry is behind him. He charges in an attempt to grapple and subdue without deadly force. [The Sentinels]: The Sentinel attempts to flee like her Commander does, but stumbles backwards and falls! Ouf!

[[Thought to be scattered by the Farstriders, a small contingent of remaining rogue Kaldorei crash a meeting at Everblaze Manor! The attendees do their best to thwart this unexpected attack, managing to subdue two of them for capture and questioning. But the elusive Commander Stilloak got away again... and clearly, her thirst for vengeance has yet to be quenched! Read the full logs right here to see how it all shook out! And shoutout for the special guest appearance of Ranger Captain Ruthar @ronaestrider! ]]

[luminashdawnwing]

🌺 for Bey'ron?

“Magister Everblaze is a tireless champion for the Sin’dorei. His efforts on behalf of Quel’Thalas are myriad, and I respect above all else his dedication to our people’s continued prosperity.”

(Long overdue... @thefugitivemango )

[inathia]

A Letter to Magister Everblaze

A small envelope is left at the front gate of the Everblaze Estate. It is left by a woman wearing plain clothes and a hood, who quickly departs by Thalassian charger after ensuring the letter's delivery. The envelope itself is barely larger than a note card, and sealed with red wax.

Bey'ron,

I have much to explain, and hope that you will hear me out over a glass of Eversong red. If not, I understand.

-Ina'thia

@thefugitivemango

[ronaestrider]

The Magister's Report

"Silvermoon Ranger says: "Straight and true, that's the way," repeats the dutiful Silvermoon ranger in Farstriders' Square.

Ruthar offers some advice to the young recruits. "Just a little firmer in the hand is all, and a touch higher. Once again."

“Or, set that silly stringed stick aside and study magic,” Bey'ron adds, smirking.

Ruthar looks over his spectacles to Bey'ron. "Ah, Lord Everblaze. Arcane shot comes a little later on, I'm afraid." He gives the Farstrider a pat on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he offers softly, shifting away from the training ground.

Bey'ron follows wordlessly, stepping aside and out of earshot of the fledgling Farstriders.

Ruthar nods respectfully in greeting. "I didn't expect to see you quite this soon, Magister. I hope all is moving along well?"

“Mm, quite well. Magistrix Starfrost finished her analysis of the ruby communicator.” Bey'ron holds out his hand, palm up. It's...empty. But not for long, as a flash of emerald flame briefly engulfs his hand, then vanishes leaving a miraculously un-singed scroll.

Ruthar watches as the scroll appears in the Magister's hand. "Lady Starfrost continues to amaze with her talents and expedience. Do send her my most sincere thanks for what must have been a laborious task." He looks down to the scroll. "Is this the full account or a summary of the findings?"

Bey'ron lifts and lowers the scroll, as if weighing it. It's... quite a roll of parchment. "I'm told it encapsulates everything. From the moment of desertion, to my encounter with her in Valdrakken."

Ruthar raises his hand. "May I?"

“I insist. I grow weary of holding it.”

Ruthar smirks at that, taking hold of the report. It is indeed a hefty heap of parchment. He gently removes the seal and takes a look at the first page to find the smallest of writing squeezed onto the pages. "Well, this will take some time to digest. I don't suppose the Magistrix offered you a summary before handing it over?"

“From what she told me... it's a rather boring read. Our wayward Farstrider friend spent most of her days wandering the wilderness. Restocking supplies every now and then, but nothing even remotely hinting at Alliance sympathies or connections.” Bey'ron shrugs, idly inspecting his gloves. "Four years of camping under the stars and drinking water from streams. Can you imagine such mind-numbing monotony?"

Ruthar doesn't seem as elated as one may expect at the news, his mind moving quickly. "It is hard to imagine, to be honest. A Farstrider of such skill and dedication shifting to a semi-nomadic lifestyle for an extended period." He holds the parchment up. "This report certainly holds the truth, in any case."

“Indeed. The mundane, boring truth. With how contrite and self-depreciative she was, I expected -something- compromising, if I'm being honest. I suppose her guilt really does stem from a betrayal of her sense of duty.” Bey'ron sighs, as if disappointed. "But not any -actual- betrayal."

Ruthar looks down to the scroll. "If one admits to defecting, you would think there would be a strong reason for it."

“Stronger than turning her back on her people? Her friends? Her mentor?”

Ruthar nods. "Indeed. I would expect there to be something truly weighty to cause such an act." He sighs. "Alas, here we are. She will still have to testify, of course. If, for some reason, these contents don't match her statements, that could be an entirely different situation."

Bey'ron raises his brow. "You think she may be lying about having kept the ruby on her person at all times?"

“I merely posit that there are many possibilities and factors to take into account. If she agrees to a hearing and her testimony matches the contents of the report quite effectively, then I think this matter could be resolved quite quickly.”

Bey'ron nods slowly. "Mm. So be it. I'll bring her to you this week, and we'll put this matter to rest once and for all."

“Is she currently in residence at your manor? I will have the Farstriders draft up a notice that will need to be sent her way informing her of next steps.”

“My manor? Certainly not. She's rather free-range, going where she pleases. I have my man Kynlea Sunstriker escorting her, keeping me apprised of her movements and locations. Last word I received this morning, she was in the Twilight Highlands.”

Ruthar nods. "Of course, though should I assume you have a way to get a missive into the hands of your agent Sunstriker?"

Bey'ron smirks. "Naturally."

Ruthar nods. "Very good, I'll have the missive sent your way for proper forwarding. Do you have the gem with you as well?"

“Mm, I do. Would you like to keep possession of it as well?”

“It could be considered evidence, so best to keep it paired with the report if possible.”

Bey'ron nods once. He snaps his fingers-- and a rift of darkness tears open beside him. Thannos materializes from the darkness, holding a small decorative box. The creature holds it out for Ruthar to take.

Ruthar looks to the formerly-bartending minion with a small hint of disappointment before reaching down to take the box. He lifts the lid to ensure that there is indeed the necklace in question within.

Bey'ron snaps again. Thannos emits a hollow echoing groan... before vanishing from sight! The box does, indeed, hold the ruby necklace in question.

Ruthar gently closes the lid. He opens to thank the creature but realizes it is now gone. "Excellent, it looks like everything is in order. Your work has been and continues to be of great service, Magister."

“Mm, I'm well aware. Magistrix Starfrost helped as well, of course. I'll pass along your appreciation.”

Ruthar nods. "Please do. I would imagine that you would both be encouraged to participate in the proceedings considering your involvement, should you be willing."

“I expected nothing less. In truth... I worry Miss Li-Mei will flounder and panic on her own before a Farstrider court. Given how generous and invested I am... I'm of a mind to serve as her Counsel in this matter.” Bey'ron sighs. "She's very obviously wracked with guilt. I've seen even the most stoic of Spellbreakers crumble and break down in testimonials. It's for the best, I think you'll agree. I imagine you'd wish to yourself, but... given your history with Miss Li-Mei and position among the Farstriders, such would appear... improper, hmm?”

Ruthar raises an eyebrow at that. "She would of course be welcome to include someone to serve on her behalf, though I'm not sure the Farstriders will see the one who reported her return and assigned her protection as impartial. Not to mention that she is in your service, now.”

Bey'ron smirks. "You're only pointing out further reasons it would be -prudent- for me to serve as her Counsel. She came to me, seeking guidance. She works under my employ. Counsel isn't meant to be impartial, Ranger Captain. That's the duty of those passing judgment.” Bey'ron chuckles, and shakes his head. "I'd be poor Counsel indeed, if I didn't argue from the grounds of her presumed innocence, don't you think?"

Ruthar taps his lips at that. "Perhaps," he offers. "I will pass such an offer along with the evidence. Should Li-Mei reply to the missive with a request for you to serve as her representative, then I am sure it will be fairly considered. Certainly your status in Silvermoon speaks volumes as well.”

“Of course. The decision is, ultimately, hers. Should she wish to represent herself in this matter, I'll merely attend.”

Ruthar nods. "We shall see how she replies to the proceedings. If her return to the ranks is truly what she desires, than I would expect nothing less than her full cooperation."

“Certainly so. I'll be sure to pass the summons along to her, through Sunstriker.”

Ruthar nods. "Excellent. I will get all this submitted presently. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening, Magister?"

Bey'ron shakes his head. "Nothing at present, no. But should something arise requiring your expertise or guidance, I'll not hesitate in asking." he smirks.

Ruthar removes his glasses. "Within reason, of course," he says, returning the smirk.

“Mm, of course. For now, harmonious cooperation between us is its own reward, don't you agree? Exemplary, even. If only it were so that the Magistry and Farstriders all worked together so well.”

“I do, and I do mean that sincerely. It is indeed great what can be achieved beyond the unfortunatley common pettiness.”

“All for the good of Quel'Thalas. Perhaps in time, such cohesion will be the rule, rather than the rare exception.” Bey'ron waves his hand, chuckling. "Ah, but we can wax philosophical another time. We both have much to do, yes?"

Ruthar nods. "We've come a long way, but there is always more work to be done. I appreciate your work setting such a strong example. I greatly look forward to continuing in kind. But yes, you are correct." He holds the report aloft with the box atop. "Much to do, indeed."

“I'll leave you to it, Farstrider Captain. Best wishes in reviewing that... verbose report.” Bey'ron stifles a chuckle. Barely. "Until we meet again, Sunwell guide."

Ruthar chuckles at that. "I've read worse. Sunwell guide, Magister. Do be on the lookout for the courier within the next few days."

Bey'ron bows his head politely, before turning to depart.

[kidcatgeminiart]

Lord Bey’ron Everblaze

Completed commission piece for @thefugitivemango of everyone’s favorite asshole Magister, Bey’ron Everblaze ( @lordbeyron ) alongside his strong and handsome son, Ember! This one was especially challenging, but I’m extremely happy and proud with how it turned out :D

Drawn and colored with Rebelle 3, Photoshop CS6 and Wacom Cintiq tablet.

~*~*~

Like what you see?

Buy me a Ko-fi to help me through art school! You can also find me on DeviantArt  and catch my art streams on Picarto!

[lordbeyron]

By Any Other Name

Tyrellius Duskfury exhaled sharply out of his nose. His mask hid well the disapproving scowl on his face, as he escorted Lady Silentspear into Everblaze Manor. While the Demon Hunter didn't see in the same way as his elven kin, he could still perceive his surroundings well. Better than most, thanks to his prime bound demon. Observers saw the world through many different lenses. And now, so did he. Everblaze Manor was… gaudy. Crimson drapery with golden filigree, the grandiose portrait frames and statue busts lining the corridors-- most of which depicted Lord Everblaze himself, of course-- the vaulted ceiling crowded with dimly lit chandeliers... all of it shiney and extravagant! The manor was a monument to the Magister's narcissism, most assuredly. Tyrellius found himself glad, for once, that he'd gouged his real eyes out to spare them the true pain of seeing all this naturally.

Tydori, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. A rather slender woman, she walked the halls of the Manor with such grace and reverence, any passer-by could have mistaken her for master of the domain. If not for the garish horns protruding from her raven hair, perhaps. She dressed the part nonetheless; an elegant black dress with red and gold trim. A blindfold to match. Simple, but all the same displayed a fealty to the High Kingdom. And that wasn’t an accident. For months, since stepping into the spotlight of the Council, she’s long represented the side of Quel’Thalas often left too forgotten by those living in the luxury of Silvermoon. Soldiers and citizens, all who have made often-overlooked sacrifices. She needed no extravagant dress or peacocky attire. Hers was a platform of simplicity and fealty. And she wore it well in both the literal and figurative sense.

That’s why they were here, Tyrellius could only surmise; Lady Silentspear’s controversial propositions had tipped the Sun Council itself on its head. Outraged at her “radical” ideas for reformation, she was dismissed… much to the ire of the people whom she represented. Protests, riots, anger in all its forms from civil to ugly all erupted throughout Silvermoon. Unintended by Tydori, of course, but Tyrellius knew she wouldn’t have been invited to a Councilor’s estate if noise hadn’t been made on her behalf. Though, he never expected Lord Bey’ron Everblaze, of all the Councilors, to be the one who would reach out first. An odd move, even for him. Despite the support she’d garnered from her fellow elves, to any politician she was a poison; was Lord Everblaze truly so powerful-- or arrogant-- to host her like this without losing face?

The pair of demon hunters stepped into a large room; dimly lit, but that was no issue for them. Bookshelves lined the walls. And where there weren’t bookshelves, there were more paintings-- scenery in this room, rather than portraits. In the center of the room were three luxurious chaise lounges, all circled about an elegant table of food and wine. No guards. No attendants. The room was as empty as a tomb. Magic permeated the air throughout, causing Tyrellius’ ears to flicker with unease. Was this a trick? He wasn’t fond of the idea before, and grew less so by the second. His hands settled onto the hilts of his weapons as he stepped out ahead of Tydori to better examine the lounge. Nothing looked too unusual, save a few remnant portal signatures slowly dissipating into the ambient arcana. He approached the sitting area, Tydori waiting as patiently and quietly as she always did for her trusted hand to inspect the scene. The food, while delivered via magical means, was real. Fresh, too. Grapes from a vineyard, sliced meats and cheeses… and red wine in a small cask-- their host’s vintage, it seemed. Tyrellius grunted, before nodding to Tydori. All seemed well enough… for the moment.

“How long are we to wait here for him, before we get on with our lives?” he asked, no shortage of bile in his tone.

Tydori approached, and placed a hand on Tyrellius’ shoulder. Wordless, yet it said all he needed to hear. He exhaled a sigh, ears wilting as he dipped his head.

“... I know. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve heard… things… about this Magister.”

“--Good things, I hope.”

A pair of bookshelves across the room opened up, revealing Magister Everblaze. He smirked at his guests as he entered the room, and bowed his head.

“Lady Tydori Silentspear. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation today.” he grinned, approaching the sitting area.

Tydori bowed her head politely, her ruby lips curling into a polite smile. Tyrellius, however, simply crossed his arms. Bey’ron raised his brow curiously, at the rather mixed reception.

“... I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I know you Illidari are used to a certain hastiness, hmm?”

“--I’m sure you mean punctuality, Milord.” Tyrellius corrected, unabashedly.

“Mm… certainly so.” Bey’ron grinned at him, before motioning to the chaise lounges. “Why don’t we sit, hmm? Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Tydori once again dipped her head, before lowering herself into one of the seats. Bey’ron did the same, settling into his preferred chair. Tyrellius remained standing, arms crossed as he stared at the Magister. He’d seen him before, once or twice in passing; always dressed in lavish robes, and wearing that cocky smirk. His entire person soaked in arcana-- and a streak of fel magic inherent to most Blood Elves. Yet now, the Magister’s attire was simple. Almost humble for him. Unusual, considering everything he’d seen so far of Lord Everblaze’s lifestyle. Was it a ploy of some kind to relate to Lady Silentspear? Or a gaff at her expense? Perhaps neither; perhaps Lord Everblaze didn’t find this meeting worth dressing up for. Insulting, no matter the case. Tyrellius was normally reserved and accepting, but… something about Bey’ron rubbed him the wrong way. He kept still, statuesque, mask hiding the glare on his face. But Bey’ron seemed to know it was there… and smirked at Tyrellius as if he didn’t care. As if he welcomed it.

“I admit, I’ve been greatly impressed by your resilience through all this, Lady Silentspear. Your Councilorship has not been the smoothest, has it?” the Magister began, folding his hands atop one another in his lap. “And yet, you endure. You persevere. I find your tenacity inspiring, I must say.”

“--With all due respect, is this a joke, Milord?” Tyrellius chimed in. “You know as well as I do that Milady Silentspear has been dismissed from the Council by you and your fellow Councilors, hasn’t she?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. That’s not entirely accurate.” Bey’ron got his turn to correct. “Councilorship isn’t just granted and revoked by declaration alone. There’s a lengthy process to both. The Council’s intention is unaltered, presently, but she’s not been stripped of the honorific just yet.”

He turned his attention to Lady Silentspear, and dipped his head.

“That, frankly, is what I’ve invited you here to discuss, Lady Silentspear. I’m curious what it is you want. What you hope to achieve. If our goals align… perhaps we can attain them together, hmm?”

“Milady Silentspear’s goals are quite clear, I believe.” Tyrellius spoke up once more. “She outlined them succinctly in the draft of her most recent proposition. One which you and the Council--”

“--Forgive me, Master Duskfury, was it?” Bey’ron’s voice raised, eyes narrowing at the Illidari as his smirk vanished. “I’d thank you to hold your commentary, hmm? I was addressing Lady Silentspear.”

Tyrellius exhaled sharply once more, shaking his head.

“I speak on her behalf, Lord Everblaze.” he explained. “A side effect of the sacrifice she made, and the pact she formed… Milady Silentspear doesn’t speak any language but one, now. Not one that elves inherently understand.”

Rather than appear surprised, as Tyrellius expected the Magister to, Bey’ron simply chuckled lightly. His emerald eyes flickered, settling once more on Lady Silentspear, as his fingers steepled in his lap.

“Worry not, Master Duskfury. This is something I anticipated.” he grinned. “I know Lady Silentspear hasn’t been one to address anyone publicly. And her propositions were all delivered by Council Orators, never by herself. It wasn’t hard to piece together her vocal limitations. I assure you… I’m quite capable of carrying out a conversation with her on my own. Reza kil xi nath (We won’t be needing you).”

Tydori’s ears flickered, as Bey’ron switched fluidly to the Demonic tongue. She turned, looking to Tyrellius, who appeared equally surprised. His brow knit behind his mask, as he exhaled a grunt of disapproval.

“Hmph… You’re a warlock then.” he derisively accused.

“Oh, please, Master Duskfury. That’s such a savage nomenclature, don’t you think? I’m not some ritualistic demon-worshipper, like an Orcish warlock.” he grinned. “No, I’m a Magister. My interests and pursuits into the Fel and Demonology have all been scholarly, I assure you.”

“Zi nar falak tu zu kanil (You’re full of surprises, Lord Everblaze).”

Both turned to Tydori, as she finally spoke aloud. Her felfire gaze glowed a bit brighter, shining through her blindfold as she peered at Bey’ron. The Magister dipped his head, and replied to her, in kind.

“Gek toro ix vesk taniz (Our paths aren’t so different).” he assured her with a nod, before speaking in his native Thalassian once more. “If it pleases you, we can converse freely like this, hmm? No need for your translator.”

“(He’ll stay. But I’ll speak for myself, now.)” Tydori replied. “(I admit… it’s nice to have a direct conversation again.)”

“One of the many ways I’m sure we’ll work well together, hmm?” Bey’ron grinned. “So please, tell me… what is your ultimate goal in these propositions you’re creating? You seem to have public interests at the forefront of your agenda.”

“(Of course. I’m an Illidari, Magister Everblaze. We’re but one group of many sin’dorei who are criminally under-represented in the Spire.)” Tydori elaborated. “(By design, the Sun Council is a nepotistic exclusive group, suited to serve the nobility best, and everyone else sparingly. That has to change.)”

“On that, I think we agree. But it won’t change overnight, Milady. You’re talking about altering the foundation of the Sun Council itself. That will take time.” Bey’ron advised, before plucking a glass of wine from the table. “What is your plan, precisely? Brute-forcing propositions won’t work, I’m afraid. You must realize that now, hmm?”

“(I… do, yes.)” the Illidari exhaled a light sigh. “(Perhaps I was too… ‘hasty’, as you put it.)”

Tyrellius scoffed lightly.

“(But that’s only because this goal is an important one. Our Kingdom has changed greatly over the last few years. Old mindsets no longer suit our needs.)” she elaborated, her tone brimming with conviction. “(Modernizing organizations like the Sun Council are the first steps towards building a better Quel’thalas. For everyone. Not just the nobility.)”

“Mm. Then we should do so mindfully.”

Bey’ron nodded in agreement, before taking a sip of wine from his glass. He eyed Tydori for a moment, silently, before leaning towards her.

“You know… I wasn’t always a noble. My beginnings were humble, if you can believe it. I had to build up my name. It wasn’t already pristine and revered, like the one you inherited.”

His lips curled, eyes flickering a bit brighter.

“Or… should I say stole?”

Tydori reached for a glass as Bey’ron spoke-- pausing to look up at him at his last accusatory word. Her brow raised; not in confusion, but light panic. Tyrellius stepped forward, hands slipping up to his sides.

“--I insist you show Milady Silentspear respect, Lord Everblaze!” he growled. “You’ll not slander her so in my presence!”

“Oh? Is this all for show, then? Or does your pet not know, Lady Silentspear?” Bey’ron grinned. “I have a theory on who you really are… maybe you’ll confirm it for me, hmm?”

Without hesitation, Tyrellius drew his blade and pointed it threateningly at Bey’ron. His eyes ignited in felflames, glowing brightly behind his cloth mask.

“That’s enough out of you, you arrogant, slimy--”

“(Tyrellius.)” Tydori interjected. “(Stand down.)”

Tyrellius turned, brow raised at Tydori. He could sense it-- her demeanor had changed from one of silent confidence to quiet shame. Her shoulders sank, chin dipping as she leaned back in her seat. Like a child caught stealing treats, she folded her hands before her. The strength in her aura, too, diminished. Something was amiss. Slowly, he sheathed his blade, looking between the two Councilors warily. Bey’ron only chuckled.

“He doesn’t, then… a pity. Do you wish to tell him, or should I?”

Tydori remained quiet.

“... So be it.” the Magister smirked. “Lady Tydori Silentspear went to Outland and fought as part of the Sunfury. But she never became an Illidari. She died in Netherstorm, defending a Manaforge from Aldor forces. Isn’t that right?”

Tydori still kept quiet and still; her silence still rather telling.

“This woman, to which you’ve pledged your fealty, Master Duskfury… I suspect is actually Tanori Flaresorrow, Lady Silentspear’s trusted seneschal and close personal friend. My theory is that upon her Mistress’ death, she joined the Illidari… and then stole Lady Silentspear’s identity once your kind were accepted back into Quel’thalas. A name like hers carried such weight - a shame to see it wasted. Am I right?”

Tyrellius shook his head in disbelief. He turned to the other Illidari fully, leaning down at her. He could feel it; her heart rate increasing, beating hard in her chest. Her cheeks grew flush with embarrassment or shame. She didn’t need to say anything to confirm what Bey’ron claimed.

“... By the Sun…” he muttered, defeatedly.

“(That’s not why I did it.)” Tydori-- rather, Tanori admitted. “(I swore I would do everything I could to uphold her family name and its values. Nothing I’ve done has been outside her intent and wishes! Turn me in if you wish, Lord Everblaze, but know that Tydori had nothing to do with this! I won’t see you drag her name through the mud!)”

“--Oh… you misunderstand, my dear.” Bey’ron shook his head, idly swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m not going to turn you in. You’ve turned Lady Silentspear’s name into a beacon, and the citizens are rallying around it. That has uses. You have uses.”

“--Bastard! This is why you brought her here? To blackmail her?” Tyrellius snarled.

“On the contrary… I meant everything I’ve said thus far. Our goals may align well here. And my keeping this little secret is… let’s call it a show of good faith, hmm?”

A dozen thoughts swarmed Tyrellius’ mind all at once. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade once more, as he stared with disdain at Bey’ron. Tydori had been a long time friend… he never knew she’d lied about any of this. But was it so bad? He knew her intentions were pure. Would it be worth continuing to serve her? Or would the lies pull him apart from the inside out? What of Bey’ron? Tyrellius knew he could kill him, here and now. But… no, that would only make things worse. His staff knew he was meeting Tydori and him today. Turning up a corpse of their master right after? It wouldn’t be hard to piece it together.

“... Leverage, then.” he grunted.

“Call it what you will.” Bey’ron shrugged, before taking another sip of his wine. “My offer stands; reintroducing Lady Silentspear into the Council, and helping her gradually bring about positive change, is still very much in line with my own agenda. Details aside, we can help one another out. With your support of the citizenry and my clout in the Council Chambers? I’m confident we can see certain improvements made. Effectively, too.”

“(I won’t manipulate our people like that!)” Tanori frowned.

“--More than you already have, you mean? With your lies? With your silent consent of their aggression?” the Magister chuffed. “You’ve made it decently far on your own merit, my dear, but you won’t get much further without someone helping you. No matter how you look at it… that’s what I’m offering.”

With that, the Magister stood up. Tyrellius stepped forward, ready to intervene or apprehend him if he tried anything… but Bey’ron simply smirked at him again. Gloating over him. Mocking him, like a dog at the end of its leash. He knew there was nothing Tyrellius could do. Not without only harming himself, or his mistress. Lightly, Bey’ron bowed his head to Tanori, and turned to depart.

“I’ll give you a few days to think it over, hmm?” he offered his parting words. “Feel free to linger, if you wish. See yourselves out at your leisure. We’ll be in touch, to be sure.”

With that, Lord Everblaze departed in the same manner by which he’d entered. The bookcase doors closed behind him, leaving the two Illidari alone once more in the elegant lounge. Tanori was silent for a moment longer; less in a quiet dignity, and more out of speechlessness. Tyrellius grunted, as he looked her over. His blood felt like it was boiling-- to be lied to for so long! If he had known, he could have protected her better, or helped conceal it. But now, this Magister had her locked in his grip, and there was no easy way out. Tanori seemed to feel the same way.

“(... I’m sorry, Tyrellius.)” she muttered, quietly. “(I should have told you.)”

“It’s too late for that now, Milady.” he replied, with a grunt. “Instead, we need to figure out what we can do about this.”

Tanori shook her head, before looking up at Tyrellius. Even behind her blindfold, he could see her eyes were dim. Extinguished.

“(What choice do we have?)”

~*~

[thefugitivemango]

A letter arrives to Bey’ron, postmarked from Pandaria of all places. There are grummle-prints all over the envelope, which at one point was probably in great condition! “I’m sorry that I left. I felt trapped — by my armor, by the politics, by the... visions... I left to the only place I know to clear my head and my soul. I really did love you... I still do. I will never forget Midsummer, years ago. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

[[ Interestingly enough, I have a response to this prompt ready, co-written in part by @kidcatgemini. We were going to post it later on separately on its own, but with some amending, it felt proper to post it up in response to this! ]]

~*~

Night finally fell over Eversong. With the day concluded, Bey’ron shed his formal attire, causing his mantle to levitate up from his shoulders. He disrobed, slipping instead into a more comfortable evening lounger robe; These little comforts had become borderline necessities to him, over the years. After going without such things most of his life, they reinforced the progress he’d made in his life. Tonight’s robes were white-- unusual for him. Yet the golden flame-patterned filigree around the seams and deep red streaks at the collar and cuffs felt on-brand enough for him. He had already slipped it on and tied it closed, before he realized where he’d gotten in. A Midsummer gift… from Ina’thia. 

He stood in silence a moment, eyeing the robe in the full-length mirror that stood tall and proud beside his eveningwear shrank. He hated this. He hated ALL of this. It was one thing to have something taken from you - everything else could be replaced. But not her. The void she left behind wasn’t just a vacancy. It was a cold-yet-burning tightness in his chest. He should’ve known better than to let anyone close like that again. He’d hoped Ina’thia would be different. A stronger, deeper bond that could withstand the test of time. The foibles of refamiliarizing himself with the notion of a relationship. The hardships of disagreements and conflicting interests. 

He was wrong.

A part of him wanted to rip the robe off. Burn it. But at the same time, he wouldn’t dare. It was one of the few things he had left of her. And for as much pain as he felt now… they’d had some good times. The robe was a gift from last year’s festival. She’d picked it out for him, after learning he collected them. It made for a fine addition to his nightwear collection, he had to agree. The year before that, their relationship was only just beginning. At least, the positive turn of their relationship was. He remembered the conversation well. Of nobility. Of doing what was right for Quel’Thalas. He’d found such common values in her he’d never stopped to consider before. It was then, and events like that, which painted the stern and impatient Knight-Lord in a new light for him. The start of something greater.

He snapped back, shaking himself free from the memories. They provided only so much comfort. The more he thought about them, the more it hurt when he finally stopped. He settled on wearing the robe all the same, stepping away from the mirror as he approached his bookshelf. He needed something to read to distract him from his own thoughts, tonight. But the opportunity to even select a distraction was robbed of him, as a knock came at his front door. So late! Who would dare disturb him at this hour!? He considered sending the felstalkers to deal with whatever intruder was present… but thought better of it. 

Instead, he waved his hand to trace a runic sigil in the air. It lingered, fel-green magic forming a window. A viewfinder. At the same time, fel green eye materialized from a portal down at his front door. It darted about, settling on a figure for a moment-- before it burst in a small controlled arcane 'pop'! He recognized the tall, slender figure. A Nightborne. Aelissah. A portal opened in place of the eyeball, leading into the upper rooms of the Manor, where Bey'ron sat waiting.

The Nightborne stepped through and pulled back her hood to expose her dark skin, ears and glowing arcane markings. Her white eyes set on the Magister, making no commentary on his attire. It was late after all. The portal closed behind her promptly.

“I regret to be bothering you at this hour, Lord Everblaze.” Aelissah said, tone even.

“Nonsense, Miss Ambroise.” the Magister replied, returning the gaze. “You bring news?”

The Nightborne’s brows knit together, her gaze meeting his as she delivered the report. Straight to the point; she figured he wouldn’t appreciate hesitation. She extended her hand, holding out a small, well-worn envelope very familiar to Bey’ron.

“I traced the letter through Pandaria, as you ordered. There’s a good chance it was written before N’Zoth’s fall. And considering how hard the Old God corruption made it to fully trace back to origin… I’d say that’s likely the case.” she frowned, almost apologetically. “However, I did manage to get my hands on the list of casualties, and can confirm that her name does not appear on them.”

“... Hm.”

Bey’ron’s initial response was a little underwhelming. Even for him. He took the envelope, and eyed it pensively. With a sigh, he tapped his chin with his bare, calloused hand, for a contemplative moment. His expression was unreadable, aside from his eyes glowing just a bit duller.

“... Damn her.” he muttered, turning from Aelissah.

He went straight for the wetbar just along the left-hand wall, and set the letter down before pouring himself a drink. His hands shook, glass decanter clinking against the cup he slowly filled. Slowly, his facade fell apart.

“She’s… a fool. A fool!” he scoffed. “Running off amidst such chaos? Away from the safety and security of this place? This manor, in which I so graciously accommodated her?”

He wore a scowl as he turned back to Aelissah, eyes flaring now in anger… or grief. Both, perhaps. He shook his head.

“That list… is it complete? You’re certain of it?” he asked. “Or is it just a list of confirmed dead? Because if she’s gotten herself killed out there, and no one’s found her, she… she wouldn’t…”

He huffed in frustration-- before throwing his glass across the room! It crashed into a bookcase, shattering into half a dozen pieces. Felflames danced along his hands, now clenched in fists, as he stared aimlessly. He was upset, certainly. Shaken by the news.

Aelissah’s ears flickered as the glass shattered, but otherwise remained unaffected by Bey’ron’s outburst. 

“The list was last updated two days ago. The count was taken from The Vale of Eternal Blossom, Uldum and Ny'alotha.” she answered… a brief hesitation befalling her before continuing. “...To be frank, it does not include those swallowed up whole by Void tears. I believe the Alliance has the Ren’dorei looking into that. However, Dawnblade’s name was not on the list of registered combatants. It is possible she made her way straight through to another part of Pandaria, but there are no leads to go on in terms of actually finding her.”

Bey’ron slumped down into his chaise, hunched over as he listened. Ears wilted in grief, yet flickering to indicate he was paying attention. He buried his face into his palm.

“So one way or another… you’re telling me she’s gone.” he scoffed, frustration well-evident in his tone. “There’s nothing else? No possible leads? No matter how small, she just… vanished? How many people have you questioned about her? Anyone? How--”

He clenched a fist… then relaxed it. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips as he slowly shook his head. He leaned back, brushing loose strands of hair from his face as he stared off at the far wall. He was never a very expressive elf, generally hiding his true emotions behind that nigh-sinister smirk of his. But now, he wore no such mask. He looked… weary. Broken. Hopeless.

“... How could she do this to me…?” he mumbled, rhetorically. “She wanted for nothing here, but left anyway. Are void-ravaged warfronts truly so preferable to my hospitality? To me?”

His eyes, now dull once more, flickered to Aelissah. He sighed.

“You met her, once. Once I know of, in any case. Do you recall?” he asked. “What do you remember of her?”

“I remember her being confident and decisive.Good at giving orders and getting others to follow her lead,” she said, “but not much beyond that. I was mostly concentrating on approaching my target unseen, then trying to unimpale myself from a tree before someone decided to use Light magic in the Void filled area.”

She shook her head.

“I did not get to know her on a personal level, so I cannot tell if her current decisions and actions match her personality or not.”

The Magister waved his hand, dismissively-- almost sorry he asked. He shook his head, as he exhaled a sigh.

"I'm not asking if you think this is in character for her. I already know it is." he said, sinking down into the chaise. "She's a dragonhawk, Miss Ambroise. Gorgeous, cunning… dangerous if you don't approach her the right way. So tenacious… so elegant…"

He let out another lamenting sigh of resignation, covering his face once more with his hand. 

"... I was the foolish one, for thinking any cage, no matter how grand, would be suitable for such a free and indomitable spirit. Of course she'd leave!”

He reached out towards the table beside his chaise lounge for his glass-- only to then remember he’d thrown it across the room. Another sigh. 

“And now… she's gone." he muttered to himself.

He stood up once more, and returned to the wetbar. He took up the decanter once more, but… then simply set it down again. His palms pressed to the bar’s edge, as he stared at the worn grummle-printed envelope in a moment of silence.

“... That will be all, Miss Ambroise.”

He didn’t look to see her leave. He wasn’t even sure if she’d left before he ordered it. It didn’t matter. Instead he plucked the envelope up once more, and withdrew the letter inside. His eyes flickered over the words, as if to commit each quillstroke to memory.

He’d find no distraction tonight.

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @aelissah belongs to her. @inathia for mention. ]]

[thesuncouncil]

Enlightenment’s Shadow

[Beyron]: "Indeed, Lord Solarshatter. You waste our time with frivolous accusations and made-up procedures!" Bey'ron frowns, disapprovingly. "Let us pass." [Nichaad]: Nichaad eyes the Sentry, before turning to this Solarshatter. "I also ask that your guard remove his hand from his blade." [Lord Solarshatter]: "Not a chance. I'll not allow you to fill the Council chamber with superstitious propaganda!" he retorts, frowning. He looks over to Nichaad. "--Hmph! Speak only when spoken to, foreigner! My sentry does as he sees fit to protect me and this Council!" [Luminash]: Luminash interjects, all too bluntly, "Your arcane guardian bears the mark of corruption. What is to stop us from assuming you and your sentry do, as well? I am sure there are experts greater than I who could prove this hypothesis and expose you as a threat to your kingdom, no? And all over paperwork? A shame, that would be." [Lord Solarshatter]: Lord Solarshatter blinks. He glances back to his Sentry, then his golem... brow knit. "S-See? Already your alleged 'expert' is... is... spewing his lies!" he stammers... "I won't stand for it! Begone now, and I won't file slander charges against you all!" [Syrielle]: "It appears the only one spewing lies here is you, Lord Solarshatter." She crosses her arms, "Considering every word you've spoken so far has been one." [Lord Solarshatter]: Lord Solarshatter's demeanor shifts. His caught-off-guard bumbling settles as his eyes narrow. He grins, chuckling darkly. "...Hmph. You're all far too perceptive for your own good. I thought you'd scare off easily enough..." [Lord Solarshatter]: The Sentry draws his blade, the Golem takes an offensive stance. "No matter! I'll not fail my masters! Whatever your Titanologist knows about the Old Gods will die with him! Ilith qi'uothk shn'ma yeh'glu Shath'Yar! H'IWN IILTH!"

[[An emergency threat briefing was halted by Lord Kar’thas Solarshatter, who wouldn’t permit Lord Everblaze, Lady Starfrost, Magister Dawnwing, or Nichaad into the Council Chambers! After an attempt to talk the unreasonable Councilor down, he revealed his true allegiances... Full log can be found here (Event took place Nov 23rd, I just forgot to post the tidbit until now x.x) ]]

[eriene]

Retaliation

Eriene finishes binding her right hand in bandages. On top of the table's surface are shard remains from the ruby key she was forced to pluck from her skin one by one, clumped together in a small pile. She frowns worriedly while staring at the mess.

Senes, from somewhere behind her, sits upon a throne-like chair with his fel eyes boring into her back. For a few moments he remains silent, then he announces his presence by snapping his tome closed. "Long day, my dear wife?" he asks in silken tones.

Eriene visibly flinches, but doesn't bother in looking toward Senes's direction when she murmurs, "We might have a problem, Senes." Be it from shame or too engrossed in her own concerns, the deep breath she takes suggests she is bracing herself. She flexes her fingers, wincing, as she tests the security of her handiwork.

Senes lofts a brow. "Other than your hand, I am guessing." He stands straight, the dusty old tome securely tucked under one arm.  

Eriene flattens back her ears. "Remember the curse I had you create?" She clenches her bottom jaw and sets her injured hand next to the shard pile. "I took care of the problem, but in so doing I created a new enemy." Her eyebrows knit. "He’d go through great lengths to get what he wants."

Senes cocks his head as he absorbs the news. His expression does not change, though his brows twitch with interest once in awhile. "I see," is all he says at first.

Eriene narrows her eyes. The response given prompts her to glance over at Senes. "My hand was forced," she goes on in explaining, holding up her chin. "I destroyed what he was after, except he claimed that I only created a hurdle. He is a magister and a powerful one at that."

[Eriene]: ... You met him once, but you might not remember his name. Magister Everblaze? Perhaps you've heard of him.

Senes languidly lifts a brow again, his tone just as drawling. "You need not defend yourself, Eriene. I did not ask for an explanation."

Eriene blinks, the positioning of her ears flicking forward. Confusion warps the disquiet weighing in her expression. "Do you not want to know who he is, what he was after?" She wildly gestures to the shards. "He may target you to get to me. Worse yet, he might aim for our children!"

Senes raises a hand and brushes his thumb over the stubbles in thought. "That was to be expected in any case."

Eriene slams her boot on the ground, stomping. "He wants to unlock a book; specifically, a curse created by the guardian Medivh himself. I've seen this tome! I even held it in my own hands." Her hands open and close as a demonstration, then she begins approaching Senes. "Imagine having an enemy like him were he to actually achieve this feat." Her glare fixates on him.

Senes shrugs his shoulders again in a gesture that can only be described as the visual epitome of 'Eh whatever.'

Eriene croaks in desperation, "Senes! Are you even listening to me?" She attempts to grab his shoulders and shake him, ignoring the pain resonating in her right hand. "This magister -murdered- a lieutenant-general who got in his way and framed someone else for the deed!"

Senes looks up at the ceiling and lets out a long-suffering sigh as he's shaken. "Yes, yes, I can hear you fine," he exhales with a hint of exasperation.

[Senes]: My question is, are -you- not listening to yourself?

Eriene stops, though her grip continues to dig into his shoulders. "What do you mean?"

[Senes]: The most dangerous snake is one that you haven't seen yet.

[Senes]: And you've just screamed in my ear mountains of incriminating facts about this magister.

Eriene reiterates again through gritted teeth, "What do you mean?" Irritation flares her eyes into a brighter glow. "It will be -my- word against his. He has already shown he can worm his way through the cracks."

[Senes]: Whoever said that we are going to go head to head?

Senes lifts a hand and curves it around. "Backdoor."

Eriene pries her hands away to set them on her hips. A skeptical look grazes over her husband's features. "How?" She asks, her question sounding more like a demand for Senes to explain himself. "... And -how- will we protect ourselves from a death that will look like a painful accident?"

Senes leans in toward her. "You've only come clean to me in the last five minutes," he replies blandly. "Do you expect me to have a solid plan already?"

Eriene sneers at his face after he leans in. "I did not think it would ever come to this," she quietly admits, albeit sounding more like a hissing cat. "He was a stalwart ally for years." Wincing upon hearing her words, her gaze falters downward. "Then he got dangerous."

Senes reaches around and gives her backside a pat. "Get some sleep. I will speak to Darcaine about it."

Eriene folds her arms over her chest. Any irritability she had focused on Senes is overwhelmed with guilt that rapidly surfaces. "... My intention was not to hide this from you. I meant to stay quiet as a favor for everything he's done for me." She sniffs in a breath, the twitch in her left eye subtle. "I am not tired."

Senes decides it's time for a shift in tactics--he grabs her butt. "Hmm," he replies.

Eriene was not expecting that gesture during a severe moment like this one. She yelps immediately, her pale cheeks and ears flushed pink. "I am trying to apologize!" Comes her frantic growl. When she smacks his chest, it is with her right hand. She yowls again with a loud, "Blast it!"

Senes's ears are already flattened back in anticipation of her screeching. "Yes, yes," he sighs again, though this time with amusement. He quirks a brow at her, smirking. "'I am sorry for keeping quiet, Master' would have been plenty."

Senes's hand is still on her butt too.

Eriene is still a flustered mess. Like always, she does nothing to remove the problem. "You can take the children somewhere," she suggests first, attempting to wave off his reply even though it only serves to strengthen the pink hue on her skin. "Lay low until the storm passes."

[Senes]: What, and miss this?

Senes squeezes.

Senes ducks his head back.

Eriene’s cheeks puff out to the point it looks as if she might burst. No screeches this time; the twins are sleeping upstairs, after all. "Can you be serious for one moment?" She bites her bottom lip and exhales, forcing the tautness in her muscles to relax.

Senes's hand finally retreats from behind her to touch her chin briefly. "It is not uncommon for magisters to foster delusions of grandeur." For once his expression is somber, almost grave. "It is nothing new under the sun."

Eriene closes her eyes. Although solemn, the change in his disposition puts a sense of ease within her. She ducks her chin to caress her lips against one of his fingers. "His downfall will be himself," she mumbles, her visage mirroring his. "Until then, the trick will be to outlast him in whatever maneuvering he might attempt."

Eriene opens her eyes and whispers, "Come upstairs with me and I will tell you everything there is to know."

Senes draws his hand back and lifts a finger. "Under one condition."

Eriene's left eye twitches. "Why must we negotiate when every blasted detail is critical?" In spite of her initial response, she ends up resigning with a sigh and rolls her gaze skyward. "Fine."

Senes sweeps his hand in a horizontal motion. "No clothes."

Eriene tenses again, her entire face colored in red and boasting an incredulous expression. As her wide eyes gradually descend, she is already tugging the buttons holding her vest together, not daring to speak a word in fear of the noise that might come out instead of her voice.

Eriene turns around and proceeds to walk up the stairs.

Senes casually strolls after her, his ancient tome still tucked under his arm. "I will take that as a yes," he comments in a satisfied tone.

[inathia]

Final Orders

Ina’thia had received the letter by courier. Not the usual Blood Knight or Magistry couriers she dealt regularly within Silvermoon City. This one came from a Royal Deathguard, clad in red and purple, face completely hidden from view. All she could see were those menacing glowing eyes of undeath. From under his helmet, the Deathstalker muttered a simple statement with the tone of a dire threat.

“The Warchief expects your answer soon…”

When Ina’thia had glanced down at the black envelope, the Deathguard had vanished from sight. Such was their strength, after all…

Ina’thia glanced around the back chamber of the Hall of Blood to see other knights watching her with a combination of curiosity and contempt. How dare that Forsaken walk into this sacred chamber? What business did the Knight-Lord Dawnblade with a direct emissary of the Warchief?

She didn’t intend to linger long enough to suffer their stares any longer. After closing her files, she tucked the letter under her arm and made haste for the exit. She hurried toward her home in the Court of the Sun as quickly as her plated feet could take her.

Upon arrival, she leaned against the closed door and tore the envelope open. The parchment smelled like soot and rot.

Commander Dawnblade,

The Phoenix Guard will be decommissioned from active duty, due to the skill sets of its members being required in our forward operations in Zandalar, Kul’Tiras and the Eastern Kingdoms. The great deeds and strength of the Phoenix Guard shall be praised and honored. You have one month to wrap up affairs within Quel’Thalas and make reassignments to the Honorbound.

For the Horde!

Deathguard Mathis,

by order of the Warchief

Ina’thia slowly raised a hand to cover her mouth as she read, re-read and looked over the letter. Finally, after minutes of stunned silence, she traced over the ruby set into her gauntlet. The communicator gem activated.

“Bey’ron… I need your help. Come quickly to my home in the city.”

It didn’t take long for Bey’ron to make his way there. He teleported regularly between his home and the Spire in the Court of the Sun. Ina’thia didn’t live too far from there. He carried his usual smirk with him, hood pulled low to conceal his contrasting furrowed brow; she didn’t sound pleased. This didn’t sound like any manner of social call. What could cause the Knight-Lord such worry?

He would soon find out, he supposed.

He stood outside the door of her small apartment, and rapped twice upon it in a professional, conservative manner.

“Knight-Lord?” he called out, as he tucked his hands behind him. “You wished to see me?”

The door opened quickly. Too quickly. Ina’thia stood there, clearly still stunned by the letter she held in her hand. She hadn't expected Bey’ron to show up so quickly.

“Ah -- yes, I received a letter. I'm… not sure what to do with it,” her speech faltered just as her expression did, and she stepped aside to allow Bey’ron into her home.

“Here,” she offered the letter.

Bey’ron stepped inside, tentatively - it was as he feared. Ina’thia was clearly quite shaken. He took up the letter quickly, and read it over. A myriad of expressions twisted and contorted his face as he read; curiosity, shock, disapproval… and finally, sorrow. His ears drooped, as he looked to Ina’thia again.

“... My sincere condolences.” he offered, tone low and even. “I had heard a number of Horde military organizations were being dissolved into the Honorbound. But I never imagined the Phoenix Guard would be one of them.”

He overturned the letter, letting it fold along it’s crease over his finger as he extended it back to the Knight-Lord. He watched her for the moment, contemplating something he could tell her that would console her.

And for once, he couldn’t think of anything to say...

The Knight-Lord’s gaze fell to the ground as she saw Bey’ron’s ears droop at the news the letter had brought. It stayed fixed at her feet as her lips twisted into a scowl; not of anger, but a strange sort of disappointment and disgust. After all that they had done… and all that they were doing, right now, in Quel’Thalas.

Now they were being reassigned? When Quel’Thalas needed them most?

She reached for the letter as Bey’ron held it out for her, and opened her mouth to speak. Even she couldn’t think of anything to say. As her mouth opened, her voice caught in her throat. It was a strange noise.

A stifled cry.

“I’ve given everything for the Guard, Bey’ron. Everything. I don’t know what to do without it.”

Bey’ron winced at the sound. He’d never heard something so sad, especially not from Ina’thia! His brow furrowed, lips pressed to a thin line as he stepped forward. He placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. He wasn’t very good at it… most of the time, Bey’ron was pragmatic, logical, and straight-forward. He got along well enough with Ina’thia because she usually was, too. But now, distraught and woeful? He wasn’t sure how to handle her like that…

“I’m certain there’s something we can do about this.” he offered, ears perking some - the wheels in his head began to turn. “I have some contacts in-- well… Orgrimmar now. But they were in Lordaeron. Perhaps I could call in a favor or two?”

He didn’t sound very sure of that - mostly, because he wasn’t. He’d burned a lot of bridges among the Forsaken in recent years. Only one or two of the colleagues he once had with the Royal Apothecary Society still spoke to him. The others had since moved up and on to better things… or died (again) as part of the ill-fated Desolate Council. As he thought about it, with this most recent regime change… Bey’ron didn’t have many friends among the Horde command structure, itself.

A shortcoming, to say the least.

“Or perhaps we could present a compelling case to keep the Guard intact, hmm?” he offered another suggestion, to make up for the first. “Now more than ever, a strong defense force in Quel’Thalas is necessary. I’m certain the Dark Lady and her advisors can agree with that.”

Ina’thia seemed to crumble more as Bey’ron’s hand touched her shoulder. She was normally a woman who wore her armor proudly, but with her distraught expression and crumbling posture, the armor seemed to be wearing her.

“How does one present a case like that? A war on multiple fronts, the Forsaken in charge…” she said in a hushed whisper, “I've already imagined three -- no, four -- worst case scenarios if we disobey.”

With a heavy sigh and an obvious attempt to choke back another odd, out of place cry, Ina’thia raked her fingers through her hair.

“We can't distract from our current mission. The Lieutenant and the others need to stay focused. They can't know yet.”

“--I'm certainly not suggesting we disobey, Knight-Lord.” the Magister made a point to clarify. “But there are other ways of resistance to this absurd directive other than an insurrection…”

His other hand found Ina'thia's other shoulder, as Bey'ron seemed to try and straighten the Blood Knight's usually-proud posture again. To no avail; with her heavy metal shoulder plates slumped like that, his tugging and pressing had little influence. Still, he tried.

“We start with the Regent Lord, hmm? If we can convince him-- no, remind him of just how invaluable our organization is to the protection and well-being of the kingdom, he should be able to contradict this blanket dissolve order from the Horde on the grounds of territorial defense.” he recommended. “Surely our deeds qualify us to be preserved under the same authority as the Royal Guard. I'll start drafting an outline for a presentation to that end.”

It was a longshot, but as good a first step as any. With the Regent Lord’s weight behind it, the motion to keep the Phoenix Guard intact and operating would carry much further. It meant convincing more than the elf himself, however; Ranger-General Brightwing, Grand Magister Rommath… and Archmage Sunreaver, most likely… would all need to sign off on it before Lord Theron himself would be willing to elevate it. Bey'ron’s eyes flared a moment, frustrations with this tiresome interregnum rushing back to him. He shook his head; the time to argue against that would have to come later. One petition at a time…

“I think it would be best if you presented the case personally, Knight-Lord. I'll be at your side, if course, but…” he hesitated. “... no one can convey the necessity and importance of the Guard like you can.”

Ina’thia leaned her head against the wall behind her, and her lips set into a deep frown as she listened to Bey’ron. Her ears flicked every now and again with particular names mentioned. Finally, after a long while of silence, she opened her eye to peer at Bey’ron.

“I never thought that I would have to turn to politics to argue for the Guard’s continued existence,” she exhaled a deep sigh, and finally stood up straight. Her gaze stayed focused on Bey’ron, “We have always led by action. Has our lack of presence from politics become a cause of this -- this -- this absolute bullshit order?”

Ina’s face twisted with frustration, and she balled her hands into fists. She had so much to say, but no idea how to even articulate it. The years of service. The injuries. The near death experiences. Others had called the Guard’s missions suicidal, yet they had survived every single one. In Quel’Thalas, in Kalimdor, in the Plaguelands, Broken Shore, Draenor, even Argus itself.

After recollecting the Guard’s campaigns, she finally settled on the word to describe how she most felt.

“I have never felt more insulted, Bey’ron.”

The Magister listened closely, as he pulled back his hood. His eyes wandered, peering around the small apartment. But his ears continued to flicker - stiffening and wilting in accordance with Ina’thia’s words. Her displeasure was shared, of course… but every agitated change in her tone was cutting. He knew she didn’t blame him for this. And yet he still felt like he was being scolded for something.

“That, Knight-Lord, is exactly the type of thing you shouldn’t say when presenting our case, hmm?” he put as delicately as he could.

His eyes finally settled on what he had been looking for - wine. The situation certainly called for a drink. He gathered two glasses from the shelves - navigating the apartment with hollow confidence that he knew where everything was - and poured a drink for each of them.

“Disappointing as it is, I’m certain it’s nothing personal. These dissolve orders are going out to all manner of military units.” he assured her, handing over one of the glasses. “I’d wager the Regent Lord and his cadre don’t even know we got swept up with the rest of them. We need only call their attention to it, and remind them why it’s well worth their time to overturn the order in the name of Quel’Thalas.”

Ina’s postured stiffened at Bey’ron’s response. Not particularly at what he was saying, but from the sound of it. Her thoughts on the subject had been so chaotic but focused at the same time, that Bey’rons’ voice rang loudly in her ears. They pinned back as she processed what he had said, and also that he’d offered a glass of wine.

The wine was gone the second after Bey’ron handed it to her. No sipping here, two, maybe three gulps was all it took.

“I know it isn’t personal. But it feels personal. The Guard is… everything. Everything to me. I’m sure that many other notes were written just like this, but…” she trailed off, and scowled at her empty wine glass.

“... I need your help with what to tell them. Obviously. I’m no good at this.”

Her mood had gone from exhausted, to furious, to betrayed, to sad in less than a minute. Clearly, she was having trouble processing.

Immediately, Bey’ron moved to refill Ina’thia’s emptied glass. He knew she took this personally - how could she not? For as long as he’d known her, Ina’thia and the Phoenix Guard were synonymous. You couldn’t breath mention of one without mentioning the other. He couldn’t imagine how hard this must’ve been for her… but he tried his best to do something he’d never done before. Something well beyond normalcy for the proud, self-centered, overly-ambitious Magister.

He tried to sympathize.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, of course. Anything and everything I can. The Guard is… well, it is the quintessential Sin’dorei fighting force. It represents all of us. A cross-section of everything that makes our kingdom what it is. As great as it is, even. I see that, Knight-Lord. You helped me see that. We can make others see that, too.” he assured her - a hand coming up beneath her chin to raise her gaze to his own. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help you, Ina’thia. I can’t begin to imagine what it means to you… but I know what it means to the High Kingdom.”

He nodded once, resolutely - face devoid of his usual ‘is-he-being-sincere-or-not’ smirk, replaced instead with a firm, finite look. He lowered his hand from her chin after a moment’s gaze, and nodded once more. Then he took a generous swig of wine for himself.

“We’ll start tonight, if that works for you. My other projects can most assuredly wait; this is far too important, hmm?”