11-03-2019, 01:36 AM
Vereesa Windrunner strode through the dank subterranean halls that made up one of the many pocketed ghettos deep below the city. These were the closest things to safety within the shimmering ban'dinoriel that kept them, and their quarry, trapped within the city. Once, the ancient ziggurats, crypts, and catacombs that underlain the city like a web had been considered a risk to security. Twenty years ago, these same tunnels had been used by the Amani troll assassin and war-hero, Zul'jin, to infiltrate the city, and two months ago, they were used to orchestrate the Sacking of Silvermoon, and the opening of the Dark Portal.
King Anasterian and his second wife, Queen Elysia.
Prince Nallorath and his entire family, including his heir.
Her own mother, Lireesa, who gave her life trying to defend the royal family.
Not to mention the hundreds of lives sacrifice to tear open the Sunwell, and thousands more killed and enslaved
These passages were responsible for the deaths of thousands of elves and the near-annihilation of the Sunstrider bloodline, even in her short lifetime. And now, they were the only thing sheltering her people from extinction.
She, and the other brave soldiers of the Resistance - the other quel'dorei trapped within the death trap that Silvermoon City had become - were the only things protecting people from extinction.
It was why she had chosen to wear red. The colors of the Sunstrider dynasty. Of the pendant given to her by Alleria. Of the blood of her countrymen.
It was why she concealed her face behind a harlequin's mask, a crimson-beaked bird that concealed her eyes from the world, so that they could only see her smile.
Not the fear of anticipation before a raid.
Not the fatigue that had set deep in her mended bones over a month ago.
Not the tears that fall for every life lost, every captive taken.
Not the hatred when knocks an arrow with a orc in her sights.
Not the shadow of glee when slaughtering one of the demon-loving traitors who dared to still call themselves elves.
Just her smile.
It was getting harder to smile ever day.
With the Grand Magister's death, the Gatekeeper's days were numbered. There were still archmagi within and without the barrier, but Belo'vir was the cornerstone of the incantation, the pillar that kept it from crumbling. No other loss, save perhaps Kael'thas and the Key of Three Moons itself, would have been felt so keenly.
As she glanced around to the innocents huddled in makeshift shelters and tents, each of their lives weighed ever heavier on her mind.
Demon Hunters, Vereesa thought to herself, musing on the encounter with the curious satyr the night previous. One extends an olive branch and sues for peace while the other slays one of the most powerful magi alive.
She shook her head. There was much to process. Magistrix Goldensword's proclamation months ago, of the Ancients, of the Queen, Azshara, and of the demonic history of the world, was likely true. What information she had been able to get from Velameestra corroborated that much of Nyxxa's story.
But there were too many variables. Too many people depending on Vereesa. Too many lives at stake. Too many moving parts, and too many hidden agendas.
She wanted ever so to trust the demon hunter. For a spy, a fly on the wall, a blade in the dark to fight for them, and not against them. But to do so with caution unfettered would be folly.
But so, too, would it be to disregard her information... or her warning.
Her ears perked up. Glancing over to the source of the disturbance, her eyes were drawn to two young boys. Neither was older than a dozen years old, though one was perhaps a couple of years senior to his brother. They shouted back and forth at each other, their hands tugging back and forth clasped around a small stuffed toy.
"Give it back!" the younger one shouted.
"No! We don't have time to play with stupid, dumb toys."
"I-it's not dumb! You're dumb, you big-"
Riiiiiip.
The boys tumbled away from each other, the stuffed dragonhawk that was the source of their feud now torn asunder. The younger sibling held the torn toy in his hands like one might cradle a slain child, his eyes welling up with tears. The elder boy stood up, brushing the dirt from his tunic. He spiked his half of the toy down at his brother.
"There. Now maybe you can stop worrying about your stupid toy for a change."
The younger brother buried his face into the cloth and torn stitches. "I hate you!" he screamed, muffled by the stuffing in his face and disrupted by his sobbing.
A gentle hand on the boy's head provoked a gasping hiccup that stalled his tears for the briefest moment. She recognized them. Their mother was a farstrider trapped outside the barrier, their father, one of the victims of the abductions some months back.
"Now, now," she said, brushing her hand through his sandy hair. "There's no room for such harsh words towards your brother." She glanced over to the older brother, meeting his eyes through her mask. "Nor is there room for such cruelty towards each other." Her hand scooped the scraps of toy and stuffing from the ground. "We all have to stick together and help one another right now. It is okay to fight. It is okay to feel sad, or angry. To express those emotions... but you must not say things you do not mean. Especially to your brother."
She pulled the mask from her eyes and let it dangle around her neck, mingling with her ruby pendant. With a gentle smile, she offered a hand to towards the younger brother. "May I see it?" she asked. The boy nodded and gave her her half of the toy.
"Separate, we are alone and weak. A torn whole can't do much but fall apart and scatter." She brought the sundered toy together, her hands beginning to glow with a soft silver light. Slowly, the torn seam began to knit itself back together, as if sewn together by an invisible thread. "But together... we can do so, so very much more."
As the magic faded, the plush dragonhawk was whole once more. Vereesa stood back up to her full height holding a hand to the fallen sibling. As she helped the boy up, she smiled at them, one hand on each of their shoulders.
"There may come a day - hopefully a long, long time from now - when you have only each other in this world. And so, you must be one another's best ally. Promise me you won't forget that, okay?"
The boys looked to the ground and nodded. "Okay," they said.
"Good." Though they were younger than Giramar and Galadin were now, looking at the boys, her heart couldn't help but churn in her chest. Oh, how she yearned to hold her boys close to her chest and never let them go, to shield them from this violent, dark world.
But for now, she had to keep fighting.
"Lady Shrike," a voice called from behind her. It was Zaeneas. Since saving her life during the Sacking, the young farstrider had been acting as an attache for her, helping her disseminate information across the city. His knowledge of the sewers and secret passageways had been instrumental, to say the least. "You've a visitor. An unexpected one, if Sir Brokensword's reaction is anything to go off of."
She glanced back at the young man. "Who?"
"Zendarin."
Vereesa's eyebrows raised in shock. "Oh."
"Yeah. That's about what I expected. You guys have a history, yeah?"
"Yeah," Vereesa said, absentmindedly, her mind drifting to the previous night. "Is he alone?"
"Nope. He's got his wife with him. They look pretty rough, but they said they had something urgent to talk to you about. They wouldn't tell anyone else."
Sinestra.
"I don’t know what she is, though she appears as an elf, she is not, nor is she a demon. She is something incredibly powerful."
It seems the Demon Hunter was mistaken about Sinestra supposedly fleeing through the portal. Mistaken... or a dozen other possibilities.
Quite the timing for a family reunion, she thought through gritted teeth. Her estranged cousin, Zendarin, was an elf supremacist. He had never had positive things to say about her or her half-human children. But they could have valuable intel. Zendarin was a powerful magister, and Sinestra the former leader of the Alchemist's guild in Silvermoon.
Not to mention the opportunity to ascertain the veracity of the satyr's words, if there was any to be found.
"Take me to them," she said, re-affixing her mask. She cast the boys one last smile before her eyes were hidden once more, masking the emotions that swirled in her head and heart.
"Aye aye, captain," Zaeneas said. "Right this way."