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Both Sides Now	By : Firefall_Varuna Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 4996 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, races, characters, settings, or themes presented within. I do not make money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14 – Divergence

Dead Wind Pass, Eastern Kingdoms

Seven Months Ago…
Una screamed in fury, lashing her mace at the imps clawing at her leg plates. Their weight, however slight, put her aim off just enough to miss her intended targets. She blocked a fireball aimed at her face with her shield, even as another scorched her tabard.
The black skinned creatures lewdly taunted her in shrill, rapid voices. Some rained magic upon her as others clamored up her armor to attack. Starting to feel overwhelmed, Una summoned her holy shield, knocking the demons off her, and stumbled forward. She spun to face them as they came again. She whipped out, managing to catch a few but missing most. The paladin shrieked in frustration and stomped. Light flowed over the naked rock like water. The imps skipped backwards, away from the consecrated ground. A hail of fireballs singed her helmet and tabard.
The imps were in no way strong. What they lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers. If she could catch them, she could kill them. If being the operative word. Flighty, they kept dodging her attacks and outmaneuvering her at every turn.
Una cast a panicked glance at the men as they struggled with the dreadlord. The demon was massive, violet-skinned figure clad in dark armor, lashing out with razor sharp claws and spellwork alike. Hakander's noble face twisted in rage as he drew the demon's attacks, his teeth bared in a grimace. He thundered taunts in his native tongue, each blow of his hammer and vicious spiked shield resounding like peals of thunder. This bat-winged creature was no minor demon within the Legion, like the imps harrying her, but a leader among them. The dreadlord's eyes burned with both fel energy and rage, dark magic surging around him just as the Light surged around the paladins.
The already foul, dead air reeked of sulfur and brimstone from the portal they had just destroyed. Light flashed in staccato bursts, spell and sword indistinguishable from the silent lightning arcing in the clouds.
She started to cast a healing spell upon Hakander as a swarm of conjured locusts momentarily shrouded the towering paladin from view. A small burst of fire caught her in the face by chance, halting her cast.
Blinded and cursing violently, the High elf snarled and unleashed a storm of Light at the imps taunting her. From their screams, she knew she had caught several in her wrath. She chanted a quick healing spell and her vision cleared.
Despite the imp carcasses littering rocks around her, she saw no reduction in their numbers. One imp bounded over the fading pool of light surrounding her. She sprung to meet it, putting her weight into a swing that caught the leaping imp square in the back. Her mace collided with a satisfying crunch.
Black energy roared, channeling into Hakander. The Vindicator kept fighting, though it was clear he was in agony. Light jumped around him in a shield to lessen the damage even as Una hurriedly called upon her strongest magic to heal him and another to absorb the force of the demon's assault.
Hakander maneuvered the demon, slowly turning him further away from the group. Those locusts would only find him as a target, unless the dreadlord chose to turn his back to the enraged Draenei.
"Move! Move!" Anaru bellowed forcefully as a warning, his voice booming and snarling with the force of his yell, barely sounding like her cousin.
A fresh barrage of fireballs made her stumble and reel. The stench of her own burning hair overwhelmed her. A shiver of pain ran through her as a curse landed, but failed to stick. Her flesh tingled as though from a sunburn, but no further. The imps were moving to outflank her yet again. She took a quick step sideways.
Suddenly the ground vanished beneath her feet. Una shrieked in fear and surprise as she fell.
Her flailing hands caught the edge of a rock and the fall ceased. Her mace swung wildly on its wrist strap and struck her arm in a shock of pain. Her grip threatened to break as a corner of her shield grated on the rock.
Below her dangling feet water tumbled, crashed, and rushed between the jagged stones far below. Her armor had protected her from most of the assault; now its weight threatened to send her to her death.
Above, the imps cackled. They fell over each other to gaze over the edge at her. Several swiftly bounded away, only to reappear on rocks to the side and below.
"Help!" Una screeched. The imps guffawed, encouraged by her cries for help. Her gloved fingers were slipping. Fireballs and howling black magic pelted her from all sides. Una ducked her head, pressing her face into the rock and focused on holding on.
Gunshots exploded in her ears. Light washed down the rocks, crashing like ocean waves. Her grip nearly broke as an imp crashed down upon her helmet, another soon followed, careening down to splatter the rocks below in green ichor.
Large, firm hands closed around her forearms. Una looked up into Hakander's face, his expression still locked in a grimace. Sounds of battle echoed off the stones as he hauled her upwards, his rough hands grasping any firm hold on her he could find.
Moments later, she laid gasping and panting on the stones beside the bald paladin. Hakander collapsed backwards to lean against the solid rock behind them, panting as heavily as she was.
Empty black armor lay where the dreadlord had stood only moments before. The men now danced with the horrible little demons that had been tormenting her.
When they had dealt with the last of the imps, Anaru dropped to his knees beside her began checking her for injuries, his face pale and his lips mashed together tightly. Her cousin cast healing spells upon her, mending the worst of the mild burns and cooling the rest.
Satisfied she was fine; Anaru patted her back and began to check on the other men. She was grateful he didn't expect her to speak nor did he attempt to speak with her.
Una laid there, sucking in deep, greedy breaths of air as she began to shudder and quake from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She shrugged her shield off, untangled her wrist from her mace's strap, stripped her gloves off and savagely threw them away from her. She didn't even realize how furious she was at herself or ashamed until angry tears began to trickle down her face. She pressed her palms over her eyes.
"Typical woman." A gravelly voice commented quietly.
Una glared at the pair of unwelcome newcomers as they walked away, willing them both to shut up. They were humans, a father and son, both of sallow complexion and artificially blackened hair. The older male was missing an eye, a twisting scar peaking out from under a simple leather eye patch. The younger male was none other than one of the youths from the tavern she had dealt with not even a day ago. Armed to the teeth, Markus and Cole Donovan were what passed for demon hunters among humans.
That was what incensed Una the most. Cole, despite his youth, knew the supernatural dangers of Duskwood better than anyone; and, had likely had known exactly who they were and why they were in Darkshire in the first place. To have even considered hampering their mission was beyond her comprehension.
The elder Donovan had volunteered them both for the mission when the Night Watch had informed him of what his son and the youth's friends had done, much to Una's dismay. "The Night Watch are a bunch of complacent fools," Markus had said to Anaru and Hakander. "Your folks are the only ones worth a damn."
Una wished they hadn't come. If the humans had any degree of intelligence, they would remain silent.
"You only have to put up with them for a few more hours." Hakander remarked placidly, apparently guessing her train of thought. "You can last that long."
"If you insist…" She replied bitterly. It was true, after all. Never ones to turn down civilian or mercenary help; they weren't ones to travel at length with them either.
"If you insist." The bald paladin echoed slowly. It wasn't a question and he had understood her perfectly. Rather, it was a warning.
Una took steadying breaths. It was time, as Hiram would say, to pull herself up by the proverbial bootstraps. As her commanding officers, Hakander freely displayed his people's near-legendary patience and Anaru was notoriously tolerant. In other units, she wouldn't have garnered much sympathy. Una wasn't sure if that was to her benefit or fault, but she had a feeling she had just found Hakander's limit.
The Vindicator rose with a groan, "I'm going to feel this in the morning."
"I hear you there." Una agreed; her limbs were already feeling leaden from fatigue, she had no doubt would be feeling those imps and her near-fall from the cliff tomorrow.
Hakander leaned down and helped her to her feet. After collecting their things, they made their way over to the other men. No one was seriously hurt; all the injuries were minor and nothing any of them hadn't felt previously. A bit of magic and even those faded to memory.
The rest of their journey to the tower went without incident. As they rode down the final hill, the remains of a village spread out before them within a crumbling bailey. Behind the silent homes stood the blackened tower of Karazhan. A gang of crows took flight; the first living thing Una had seen other than vultures.
It was an awesome sight. Thirty years ago, Karazhan would have been even more breathtaking. The blackened stones had been the purest white once, built using the same pristine, white marble the architects and masons of Stormwind City had selected during reconstruction.
Una had always heard it referred to as a tower. However, now that she was gazing at the many wings and small towers, it seemed more a castle to her. Albeit possibly the tallest castle she had ever seen or heard of, rising to the unnaturally seething sky above. Though covered with a dull, greened patina, the copper domes would have gleamed as brilliantly as any Quel'dorei structure. Faintly glowing sections of stained glass, all in hues of carnelian stood out along the tower's glorious height.
Rumor had it that every ley line in Azeroth converged beneath this tower. If the young woman had ever doubted the validity of that rumor, she certainly didn't now.
She could feel energy upon the air, split somewhere between the arcane and elemental, so thick upon the air it was nearly palpable. Gooseflesh prickled her arms. The energy was unsettling and almost foul.
The energy escalated, grew, invisibly flowing out like a pressure wave and then drew inward sharply. For a moment, the young elf felt as though she stood on the cusp of a whirlpool, about to be dragged in at any moment. The sensation passed, but left her pulse elevated.
A glance at Anaru told her she wasn't the only one who had felt that. His strong face was taut and pale, beads of sweat visible upon his exposed skin as he trotted Jet forward to meet the violet robed members of the Kirin Tor who had appeared on the road before them. Her cousin was frightened and that concerned her greatly.
The men dismounted and Una did as well. They walked on foot the rest of the way through the silent village as Anaru and Hakander spoke quietly, but urgently with the archmages of the Violet Eye.
Vesper was handling the situation well, despite his behavior from the other night. The only thing different between the undead and demons they had encountered and the Riders from their first night, was the lack of that awful, macabre scream the rider's horses made. There was something about it her Charger just couldn't handle.
The undead were everywhere; of that, she was certain.
She stared at the vacant, silent homes as they passed, seeking the unliving presences she could feel so intensely. The houses were rotting where they stood; wasting away, just as structures reportedly did in the Plaguelands and other Scourge-infested areas.
What struck her the most was how quiet it was. It wasn't at all like the perfect, nigh magical stillness of a morning after a snowfall. This was an unnatural, threatening hush. It was as if sound couldn't travel through the air or perhaps was afraid to.
Disquieted, Una scanned the houses with renewed purpose. Her trained eyes noticed details and clues that brought her to one conclusion, only to have that conclusion contradicted mere feet away.
Candlelight shone through the broken panes of a window from a weathered chandelier hanging haphazardly from an equally weathered beam. Across the lane, in the bones of another house, a pot hung above the barren, cold fireplace, steam rising from it as though a meal were still cooking. Maddeningly, she caught glimpses of things out of the corner of her eye; mere impressions and suggestions of people and animals, though nothing was ever there when she looked straight on.
Then there were the crows. The birds had fallen silent yet again, but she could feel their intent, ebon-eyed gazes upon them.
"Shit!" Una hissed and startled as something stirred nearby. She stared into a man's face, drawn in a silent scream, empty, decayed holes where his eyes should be. And very much real. At her cry, the men pivoted and drew their weapons.
The lady paladin's eyes had fallen upon the partially decayed corpses of two human males, long dead, swaying lazily on aged nooses. Their faces locked in permanent grimaces with eyes picked clean by the gangs of crows observing from the trees and rocks above.
As Una calmed, professional curiosity overtook her and the elf suddenly forgot she should be disgusted. She couldn't tell how long the men had been dead and that bothered her at a level she couldn't quite explain. By the distinct lack of odor, it certainly could have been some time. Dried blood, untouched by the elements, still crusted the empty sockets and any visible wounds. All things that simply should not be.
Their hands were missing, Achilles tendons and hamstrings viciously slashed – "Thieves, perhaps." Her professional musings escaped her lips, startlingly loud in the deathly calm of the village.
Cole, bringing up the rear, made a loud noise of disgust, just noticing them himself.
"A woman shouldn't have such a fascination with death…" Markus muttered distastefully.
Counting to ten in an effort to control her temper, Una tore her gaze away from the grisly sight and cast her gaze at the roof of the towers. Seized by the notion she should cut the men down and grant them a proper burial, Una drew her dagger. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, the blade not even free from its sheath, and a thrill of fear quelled the impulse.
"Fan out! Teams of two!" Anaru barked forcefully, "Look for any evidence of recent mounted activity."
Una jumped as a large hand cupped her elbow. She cast a gaze up at Hakander, who nodded down at her stolidly. He jerked his head in a direction to indicate she should follow.
"The Commander put you up to this?" Una asked lightly as they began to walk, though she was only partially joking and even then, it was with dark humor. Anaru was smothering her, acting ever more the overprotective, elder brother.
That earned her a raised eyebrow as a reply followed by an icy look. Una yielded, casting her gaze down at the ground.
"I am not from this planet..." Hakander said cautiously and at length, leading the way around a debris pile from a collapsed section of the tower. Above them, aged wooden beams protruded like exposed bone. "You lived nearby, yes? Tell me of this place."
Una bit her lip as she organized her thoughts, casting her gaze up the blackened stones, to the twisted boughs, and the warped stone overhead. Thirty years ago, when Duskwood had darkened, she had been a junior member of the city guard. She had had no reason to come out here, but other guards told her it had been lush and beautiful once.
Nevertheless, she did remember the stories emerging from Duskwood, nobles begging Stormwind City for assistance as strange things began to occur. Spiders grew ever larger, wolves became even more feral and emboldened, and then disappearances. However, the advance of the Orcish Horde was more urgent and dire than reports of any strangeness in the outlying provinces. If anyone had paid attention to the missing persons, they attributed it to the green-skinned invaders.
Hakander was taciturn during her briefing, his expression contemplative.
Adventurers had been here to plumb and pillage the tower; signs of their activity were everywhere, from empty vials and flasks smashed upon the rocks to refuse that littered the ground and tumbled in the breeze.
What little loose soil and mud they could find had been spoiled by the raiders comings and goings. Una was in no way a tracker, but she could count the foot and hoof prints of dozens of different species of mounts, at least.
She crouched beside the remains of a campsite and used a stick to sort through the burned litter within the remains of a campfire. Hakander stood over her, casting his gaze around in shared frustration.
"When will the master return?" The young woman thought she distinctly heard a voice and it wasn't Hakander speaking and none of the others were close. The elf froze, straining all her senses, but could discern neither demon or undead. It was very close, yet distant at the same time. She couldn't tell if the speaker had been male or female, young or old.
"I think we should move on." The bald humanoid whispered, reaching down to pull her to her feet. Whatever it had been, he had heard it too.
The two paladins moved on around the tower, at times crossing over areas already searched in a vain attempt to find something overlooked. They regrouped in the courtyard and the others reported an equally fruitless, though unnerving, search. The darkened maw of the stable entrance lay unbarred, as though beckoning them within.
"This is where the demons bring them..." Markus stated softly, "Never to be seen again."
"If the victims are never seen again," Sergeant McCall said patiently, drawing on the logic she was coming to know the quiet man for. It wasn't that the human was timid or meek, he simply didn't often have anything to contribute; but, when he did, McCall spoke with admirable wisdom. "How do you know this is where they're brought?"
"I never said some don't get away." The one-eyed hunter said gruffly in response to the challenge. "Calor had a close call a few years back…" Markus pointed to the stables and spoke each word firmly, "Right there."
Una gazed into that ungodly doorway, black as pitch, awaiting them in complete silence. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. There went her imagination again, turning this into something more than it was. Her band was strong, a mobile strike team who had faced many threats from the Legion and Scourge; and, regardless their faults, their guests were equally skilled. Whatever waited in that darkness was well within their means. She was the weakest link… Una shook her head again; she didn't have time or the luxury to nurse her insecurities.
She looked to Dutton expectantly. The other paladin would be assisting her in her healing duties. He nodded ascetically, his own eyes upon the darkened entryway. They lit the conjured lanterns the archmages provided and stepped into the gloom.
The stables were as quiet as the courtyard had been. That same ominous hush. Cobwebs hung from the aged beams and blackened stonework, devoid of even the spiders that had spun them. Elegantly carved sconces and braces in the shape of horse heads inlaid with red gemstones loomed overhead. Wrought lanterns, beautiful enough to grace the halls of a Quel'dorei noble hung from delicate chains. Yet, despite the thick coating of dust and cobwebs, the moldering straw underfoot, the sconces and lanterns blazed.
"Who goes there?"
Una froze and cast her gaze around warily. The disembodied voice, like the one outside, came distantly as though the words had to travel a great distance to reach their ears. Yet, it seemed as though it had come from just ahead.
"Show yourself!" A disembodied light, like that of the lanterns they carried, bobbed and swayed just head, moving as though carried. It floated past to pause, almost invisibly, in the entryway. "Am I hearing things?"
Una felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as she glimpsed the speaker. A bearded human male clad in what she presumed was dark leathers, peering past what could only be a lantern into the gloom. It floated near again.
"I say, good sir, has the master entertained any strange guests recently?" Anaru spoke, his voice tense to the point he was almost hoarse. No reply came. The ghostly light floated deeper into the stables and out of sight.
"It was worth a try." Her cousin said weakly with a shrug.
They pressed deeper, not even a breath stirring the flawless silence. Nothing living met their advance, not even so much as a rat or mouse.
From somewhere deeper echoed the sounds of blacksmith hammers and the glow of a forge permeated the still air. Anaru lead them towards the glow and into a blacksmithing area. The forge looked expertly maintained, the heat rippled out in visible waves. Yet there was no one there.
Hostile undead were nearby. Una could sense them and a fine tremble ran through her. The men were starting to put out their lanterns and Una did as well. It appeared they were unnecessary. As the flames went out, the magical lanterns shrunk until they were small enough to hang on their belts.
"Koren?" Anaru asked, his voice stronger than the first time he attempted to speak. Una followed his gaze and suddenly realized the vague outline of a burly human stood before the forge.
"Aye?" The ghostly blacksmith responded, "You have something to do with the Violet Eye?"
The hostile undead were moving ever closer. They had to be ready for attack. Una took an alarmed step and bumped into Hakander.
"Steady." The Vindicator's breath touched her ear. "Let them come to us."
"Aye, sir. I am Commander Whitebrook. Have there been any unusual guests about? Riders?" Anaru asked hurriedly.
"Riders, eh? That damnable horse hasn't been around lately..." Koren looked as though he was scratching his head thoughtfully.
"I'm seeking riders that passed through Darkshire…" Anaru ventured, muscles tense.
"Grand Hamlet!" Una corrected so hastily she nearly yelled.
After the darkening and the town's subsequent razing by the Orcish Horde, the returning villagers had rechristened the once idyllic, picturesque settlement Darkshire. She had no idea how long this spirit had been deceased, but the town's original name might be more recognizable.
"Pardon, riders that passed through Grand Hamlet a few nights ago." Anaru pressed on, accepting her correction.
"Perhaps." The spirit replied, looking more indistinct. "The master entertains many visitors from there. Many indeed." The spirit was invisible now, his voice trailing off.
"Koren?" Anaru asked the empty space, "I truly would appreciate any information you might have."
"Aye?" The voice responded dutifully, seeming to come from a great distance away, "You have something to do with the Violet Eye?"
Anaru shut his eyes briefly in disappointment. In just the space between words, it seemed the ghost had forgotten them.
The hostile undead were close now. They ventured cautiously out of the smithy, attempting to circumnavigate through the stable in order to avoid unnecessary confrontation.
"There's no bodies…" Cole remarked in a whisper.
Una tensely glanced around her and realized it was the truth. There weren't even the remains of horses within the stalls. Ahead of the band of fighters loomed an ornate entryway, gilt with gold metalwork and framed by those same elegant, horse head columns.
A hostile bellow of alarm sounded, oddly echoing.
Divine magic exploded around her as the men reacted. Hakander roared and drew the incoming attack. Una gazed at the forms of semi-transparent spirits attempting to flank them. Steel clashed and gunfire resounded upon the stonework.
From behind, more shouts. A force struck Una in the back, sending her reeling forward to the floor. More apparitions poured from the stables, ghostly pitchforks and sledgehammers at the ready. She scrambled to her feet as the men moved instinctively to meet the attack.
These were not mindless undead as they had fought before, but the echoes of those who had lived during the most tumultuous of years. Commoners and nobles alike had fought the Orcish Horde; it was either fight or die. Those unable to fight, the young, old, and infirm, perished quickly if others did not rise to defend them. Even as the unliving stable hands fell, disembodied screams for reinforcements rang out.
In undeath, all they knew was those lessons gleaned from the First War. They didn't realize they had been dead for roughly thirty years. To the spirits, the beings they attacked were crimson eyed, green-skinned monsters laying siege to their home.
Steel and magic screamed on the air and a tide of guards descended upon them from the upper floors. A hail of fire and ice pelted them mercilessly. Markus and Cole redirected their gunfire to a ghost in violet garments. Grimly, Una understood the robed ghost was one of the missing Violet Eye investigators. Bullets screamed and twanged as they ricocheted off a magical barrier.
She called upon the Light to mend her wounds and then directed it to the men. Holy lightning surged around her cousin as he met their attacks. The paladins cast their power to the floor, washing across the dusty, gray stones like an ocean swell.
Then silence.
Aside from the disturbed dust, blood welling from wounds, and their ragged panting, nothing remained to indicate a battle had just occurred. Una and Dutton made the rounds, closing wounds and strengthening the men with beneficial spells.
"I… spoke too soon." Cole said in a sick, mechanical tone, pointing with a gloved hand to the floor before them.
Four skeletons were slumped against the columns, the bones darkened with age. Still clad in tarnished scale armor and skeletal hands clutching elegantly crafted weapons and shields even in death. The tower guardsmen had never left their posts, dying where they stood and guarding it even in death.
"By the Light…" Ellerton whispered, blanching.
Her cousin led them past the remains and up a grand staircase to the next floor. He paused in the doorway, as though taking it in. Then he suddenly leaned against a column, turning away from whatever spectacle waited above.
The older paladin's lips parted, his expression tense and complexion pallid. He was breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. She was but a few steps away and about to ask if he was well when she felt it too.
It was the same energy they felt outside, though more powerful and the taint far more discernible. Una's head spun and her lips tingled. She stumbled sideways and felt Dutton steady her. Her breathing quickened until she was breathing as hard as Anaru was. She placed a hand on her chest.
"Are they okay?" One of the men asked in concern.
Hakander had moved quickly to her cousin's side, steadying him as well.
"It passed," Anaru rasped, removing his helmet briefly to run a hand over his sweat dampened hair. Una was starting to feel better as well. "Whatever it was."
However, they both knew what it was. A potent combination of combat fatigue and befouled magical energy. Vile spells had been cast here and they had been caught twice now in some kind of magical aftershock. Fortunately, they seemed infrequent.
"Why didn't we feel it?" Cole asked, his youthful voice pitched aggressively.
"They're elves, boy." Markus growled. It was, after all, the exact reason why they had been sickened momentarily. More than likely, the humans had actually felt it as an inexplicable pressure or a sudden rush of anxiety.
Anaru glanced down at her in concern, his eyes asking the question he was restraining himself from asking aloud. Una nodded her reply. The young woman didn't have to tell him the sooner they left the better.
Satisfied she was well, Dutton brushed past her to climb the last stairs. No sooner than he reached the top and he exclaimed, "By the Light!"
Anaru and Hakander's faces were grim as they turned back to whatever awaited them. A sense of dread settled on the brown haired woman as she trudged up the last stairs, not entirely wishing to see what held their attention.
Spirits, countless in number, swirled across the floor in a grand ballroom in an endless waltz. Clad in bright silks and taffetas in styles that had been the height of fashion before the First War, they danced away as if they failed to realize they had been dead for over three decades.
A fantastically intricate, golden chandelier of Quel'dorei design presided over the unliving dancers, brilliantly lit with easily hundreds of candles. Even higher, tall columns with exquisitely carved basalt and gilt busts of great, black birds observed them with baleful crimson eyes. Massive, diaphanous cobwebs hung from them and clung to the forest green tapestries mounted upon the walls. Even higher, the hazy sunlight filtered through dusty, amber and carmine stained glass of a complex, geometric motif.
Over and over, they twirled and waltzed the same steps passing through and among each other, unaware of all around them. Caught in an infinite loop, the dancers reenacted what had been perhaps the last night of their mortal lives.
More importantly, they seemed unaware of the band of fighters standing nearby. As far as Una was concerned, they could remain so.
Despite the countless ghosts, there were few corpses. Skeletons dressed still in matching white and golden uniforms were slumped against the wall, servants who – like the guardsmen outside – had never left their posts. Worst of all, standing obliviously amid their own bones, were the ghosts of those servants. Transparent hands still bore tarnished gold trays upon which sat bottles of wine, crystalline wine flutes, and jarringly intact hors d'oeuvres. Fortunately, where they may have overlooked the transparent ghosts, the trays were solid and clearly marked their positions.
The dancers flickered and pulsed, pausing to applaud before they were suddenly dancing once again.
Markus stepped cautiously to a balcony, careful not to get too near any of the chairs or small tables set near it. "More below."
They moved cautiously, using their ability to sense the unliving to avoid confrontation with the dancers. They moved deliberately, at times backtracking, doing their best to avoid combat.
As they passed the balcony, Una glanced below at the revelers forever feasting and celebrating. The tables were still heavy with intact, fresh-looking food, despite the thick layer of dust coating the fine linen and silk table coverings. Her pulse quickened as she recognized some of the spirits as nobles reported missing. Worse still, were the shades of those she knew to be alive: Mayor Ebonlocke and his daughter, Watcher Ladimore, and members of the Carevin family.
Would they see themselves among the dancers? Would anyone returning see echoes of an Argent Dawn unit attempting to traverse this nightmarish party?
Their goal was almost at hand. A hallway, brightly lit and apparently devoid of undead and demonic entities. It would be a place to catch their breath. One last hurdle remained. Two slumped skeletons framed the arched passageway, both clad in armor. From their previous encounter, the specters of those guardsmen stood where they had fallen.
They crept ever closer and could sense them now. Una bit her lip, steeling herself against the inexorable tide of undead they would face when the apparitions roused.
A High Elven woman suddenly stood where no one had been previously, framed in the doorway. Incredibly, she was as solid as they were. Not undead, not a demon, a living woman. Impossible, but she was there. The elf was clad in a sheer, black gown, the fabric doing little to conceal what lay beneath. Torchlight glistened upon her skin, highlighting the areas her gown failed to hide and shrouding others just enough to intrigue. A pendant in the shape of a stylized eye was nestled between her breasts. The palest blond hair hung in a silver waterfall down her back. The elf seemed to speak to the unseen guardsmen and they vanished.
Almond eyes focused on them, the healthy crystalline blue of a High elf. She coyly drew the pendant's chain up into her mouth with a flawless, slender finger and beckoned to them.
It was a trap. Una glanced to the grim-faced men, who looked as though they shared her opinion. There were spells that could fool even the best paladin. If there was anything left of the Violet Eye investigator, she had likely just done her best to warn them.
However, hostile ghosts were coming along behind them, likely searching for the intruders. If they were to engage in combat here, they would likely alarm the throngs of ghostly revelers. If the battle in the stables was any indication, that could get bad in a hurry. However, what lay beyond that hallway was likely no better.
Anaru gazed between the elf woman and the throngs of spectral guests, his expression frustrated and torn. Disembodied voices escalated as the phantoms started to rouse. Audible words started to form, inquiring whether green-skinned brutes were on the tower's doorstep.
Anaru motioned vigorously, indicating they would take the hallway beyond. They moved quickly and with purpose, through the arched doorway. The elf woman stepped aside to allow them passage.
The voices faded away as they slipped into the brightly lit hallway.
"You come for the Riders?" The woman asked in a sultry, musical voice as they caught their breath.
"We do…" Anaru replied guardedly. "And you are?"
With his father a member of the Kirin Tor, her cousin was likely trying to identify the woman. Una knew from their discussion this morning that the violet city had lost many powerful mages to this horrible place during their investigations. Now Dalaran allowed only Archmagi and their most powerful apprentices to set foot near Karazhan.
The elf woman actually laughed at this, a light, ultra-feminine, and musical sound – completely discordant with the horrors they had seen.
"Oh, silly… you know me." The elf purred, stepping close to her cousin. "You mustn't be a stick in the mud like your father."
Convincingly, Anaru smiled lustfully and stroked the woman's cheek. "Oh, I assure you, I am nothing like my father."
The entity in the guise of an elf smiled in satisfaction. "Shall I… show you to your quarry then?" She leaned in close, "And perhaps once they have been dealt with, we will show you… our appreciation."
"And you would have our… utmost appreciation." Anaru replied smoothly. When he glanced up at them, there was steel in his eyes. Be ready, the expression warned. They were walking into a trap, but this was likely the guest quarters. The riders still could tire and it was the one valuable clue they had found. If any evidence existed within the tower, these rooms would be a good place to start.
The female led them into an elegantly decorated bedchamber, plush and with all the accoutrements a guest three decades ago could have wished for and more. Women, humans and elves, in equally suggestive clothing lounged artfully around the room, gazing at them hungrily. Piles of dark armor rested against a far wall.
A door in the back was half shut, but afforded them the briefest glimpses of pink-skinned, humanoid figures. Two of the figures entwined upon the mattress, moving in the telltale rhythms of love. Lusty, male laughter emerged from the room. It suggested humans, but it was too convenient, too predictable.
The false elf smiled secretively and placed a finger to her lips, pointing to the door.
Anaru gestured subtly, catching Una's attention. She looked up, meeting his gaze. Her cousin's eyes darted from Una to the door. The women's focus was on Hakander, praising his well-endowed physique, and their brief exchange went without notice.
Una used her size to slip through the group and to the door, maneuvering carefully to avoid detection while the females focused on the Vindicator. She was in no way stealthy, but her height allowed her to remain unseen behind the taller males. She crouched and peered into the room, pushing the door open just a bit further. Despite the glimpses and sounds as they entered, there seemed to be nothing in the other room.
However, a growing demonic and unliving presence was in the room they were in right now.
The women growled suddenly, a feral sound coming deep from their throats. While her exchange with Anaru and her movement through the tightly packed troop had gone unnoticed, her peek through the door didn't.
The High Elf hissed and darted for her with unnatural swiftness, her manicured nails suddenly talons. Una snapped her shield up just in time for the claws to grate shrilly over the surface and then ducked to the side to avoid another swipe.
With feral screams, the other women attacked. The mouths filled with suddenly pointed teeth, claws slashing and raking.
Una ducked and bobbed as the claws sought her blood. Off balance and her back against the wall, the paladin couldn't rise without leaving an opening. She blocked and parried, each movement awkward. Scarlet eyes the same color as fresh blood – redder than Tallak's had shone when they had faced the demon – stared into her own.
Una heard Anaru cry her name. Golden wings of pure energy arced from Anaru's back and a divine storm rose around him. His magic licked and bit at her attacker, his sword parting cloth and flesh. The silver haired elf abandoned Una and spun to face Anaru.
"Join us!" She cried so shrilly Una's ears throbbed with pain. "Join us!" Each time she repeated the words, it grew ever shriller. Suddenly her cousin wasn't facing a High elf, but a banshee. Una shouted in alarm, putting all her might into an exorcism spell. They needed their senses and their magic. They needed to deal with the banshee swiftly before she screamed and incapacitated them. The phantasmal elf only managed a gasp as the holy energy tore her gossamer form apart.
Una was trying to look everywhere at once; trying to determine who needed her spells more. Her world dissolved into both chaos and focus. She chose her spells near instinctively, attempting to anticipate who would need her most.
A dark skinned beauty of a human suddenly was a succubus. The she-demon spun, putting her cloven hoof into Markus's midsection. Cole leaped forward in defense of his father, brandishing twin trench knives. With a grace contradicting his clumsy teenage form, he dodged, slashed, and stabbed. The demoness countered easily, laughing with glee.
One by one, the human and elfin guises gave until they were surrounded by female demons and undead. All screaming shrilly, cajoling to them with promises of untold sexual delights.
What had been a stunning red haired human was now a swiftly shambling, dead creature barely resembling a humanoid. One putrid hand attempted to close around Ellerton's throat as rotted teeth in a huge, gaping maw came within inches of his face. McCall's shield struck with a ringing impact, nearly removing the dead thing's arm. Ellerton brought his sword up, viciously slicing through the moldering gown and rotted flesh from navel to crown.
Hakander roared like a wild beast, cleaving through the undead and demons alike. His teeth bared and silver eyes wide with rage. The Light filled him, arcing around him like electricity, tearing at any foe that dared get too close.
Cole screamed and backpedaled, clutching his face. Una caught him by the shoulders and guided him to her, channeling a healing spell into the five diagonal slices across his face. The wounds closed and the youth shouted in fury, lunging in with renewed fervor. Markus was back on his feet, joining his son in the melee.
Bellowing shouts. The guards had returned from wherever the banshee had sent them.
The band of fighters slowly maneuvered until they were in the empty room, forcing the incoming undead and demons into a funnel. They could only come at them from one direction. However, the tight confines also made fighting more difficult.
Una backed up until she was near the bed, glancing behind her to make sure she didn't back into it and fall. Her emerald eyes fell upon two skeletons entwined upon the mattress, forever lying in a lover's embrace. A rusted dagger rested within the stomach of one, a bottle of poison still clutched in the boney hand of the other.
Blanching, the High Elf redirected her attention back to her team. Slowly, the tide of unliving and demonic forces waned, faltered, and finally ceased.
Gasping and panting, the men staggered back as they fought to catch their breaths.
Cole backed up until he was beside her, bent over as he gasped, coughed, and choked. Covered in foul smelling fel blood, the younger Donovan had likely never fought this hard. He muttered that he felt unwell, squatted beside the bed, and vomited.
Silence returned, heavy and ominous. The dark forces at play were returning, undiminished. A trap. They had blundered into a trap. Just as the Death Knights had nearly lured her into a trap back at the farm. Lured so expertly and they had come running like good, little toy soldiers.
And then, a music box. The mechanical notes plucking ever so hesitantly at first, like an inexperienced lover, but gaining speed with each passing second. Faster and faster it played, taunting them with a mockery of a classic Quel'dorei folk song.
There was an explosive crash. Something was breaking through the door.
Una snapped her eyes open, staring at a familiar, darkened ceiling. Then the young paladin sighed in relief. She was in her bed at her Uncle's estate. It had all been a dream. No, more like a nightmare reliving her unit's foray into Karazhan, but still just a dream.
Then her blood turned to ice in her veins as she became aware of a sound that should not be in her room. The melody of the music box continued unabated; an eerie, half-echoing sound within the stillness. The mechanical notes came from everywhere but nowhere at once. Something skittered and she froze.
Cloth snagged and the mattress sagged as something climbed the side of the bed. The realization came too slow. Now something was on the bed. On her bed.
Una's hand snapped out to slap the crystal that controlled the light. Her eyes fell upon the startled form of a young, longhaired cat at the foot of her bed. Not quite comprehending, she stared at the pale animal who stared back with squinted eyes as green as her own. At its tufted feet lay a string of pearls.
Pearls? Understanding came abruptly. Una rose up slightly and spotted her jewelry box on the carpet next to her vanity. The cat had probably knocked it off while playing on her vanity. Falling back, Una clapped a hand to her chest and tried to will her racing heart to slow.
The young elf woman sighed again in relief and exasperation as the cat let out a feline chirp and trotted up the bed to greet her. Despite her irritation, Una scratched the animal's head when it came within reach. The cat, a white female her Uncle called Pixie, let out a loud, open-mouthed purr that soon threatened to drown out the melody.
"Pixie, you are one damned lucky cat." Una told the animal shakily. She knew veterans who you simply did not approach while they were sleeping, as they tended to become violent when startled from slumber. Hiram had conditioned her to freeze and determine where she was and what was occurring before she took action.
With a moan, Una climbed out of bed to take care of her now-damaged jewelry box. She had purchased it only a couple days ago and it was frustrating to see how easily it had broken. The lid hung from one intact hinge and the tiny mirror inside the lid was cracked. The music box within seemed damaged as well and wouldn't shut off. It didn't matter. After a dream like that, there was no way she'd be able to rest and the clockwork would run down long before then. Dawn couldn't be that far away anyway.
Her rehabilitation didn't officially begin until after the first of the year, but she was growing impatient. Una's mind had been tested as much as her body. As crazy as it sounded, the young woman was certain active duty would be better for her mind and body than this. As terrifying as Karazhan had been, at least she was able to fight the threats there. Here, she had no enemy she could see and certainly none she could combat.
That day in the baths, at her inquiry Commander Orlinde had recommended she start with meditation, followed by stretching and balance exercises, and finally walking. If she had energy after that, he suggested she work on her footwork.
She knew herself well enough to know mediation was impossible and it was still too dark to go for a walk, so she began on her stretching, balance, and footwork exercises.
She was partway through her exercises when there was a soft rap on the door. Before she could move, it creaked open. "Lady Whitebrook?" Commander Orlinde's voice inquired from the darkened hallway.
"I'm fine, Commander." Una replied as the Blood Knight stepped into her room. It would be a lie to say she wasn't physically attracted to him. She couldn't help but admire his muscular physique only somewhat obscured by his black silken sleep pants or the robe that covered his torso. The robe gaped open as he shut the door, briefly affording her a view of his chest and stomach muscles. The dark haired Sin'dorei had also shaved, his stubble beard now neatly groomed into a goatee that accentuated his firm jaw line. He moved with a catlike grace that belied his muscular frame.
"An early riser, I see." The Blood Elf said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "We shall need to adjust."
"Not deliberately." Una shrugged and then added as an explanation, "Nightmares."
Orlinde nodded his understanding and then said, "Soon enough you shall be too tired for them."
"I would worry if I wasn't." The High Elf agreed and a thought entered her mind. The Blood Knights' farriers had returned Vesper just recently. She knew she probably couldn't hope for a ride, but she yearned to get out and move. "Would… we be able to go do something?"
"Something?" The commander echoed in a bored tone that he seemed to resort to often, "Would you… care to elaborate?" The Blood Elf tended to guard his emotions well and it was difficult for Una to gauge how he was taking her words. Orlinde tended to be stiff, but polite.
"A ride? A hike?" Una suggested, "I'm sick to death of these four walls!"
He raised an eyebrow at that admission. "It's the middle of the night. This is for later, I presume?"
"Once we have the sun." The brown haired woman replied hurriedly. Una bit her lip in embarrassment, she had no idea of the time and she hadn't thought to look at a clock either. She's assumed it had to be near dawn, it felt like it should be, anyway. She added, "I have a party to get ready for."
"Very well." Commander Orlinde gave a slight bow. "I shall come for you in the morning." He slipped out the door and quietly closed it behind him.
Still unsettled by her dream, Una only managed to doze lightly and only while petting her Uncle's cat. Karazhan and the Death Knights plagued her thoughts. They had fought their way deep into the tower, higher and higher until it seemed reality itself shattered. To no avail. If the Black Riders were based in the tower, they were careful to leave little evidence. They had found signs of the Violet Eye's futile investigations at nearly every turn, including the spirits of lost mages forever sifting through gargantuan libraries for spells and arcane lore.
It gave the young woman no comfort to realize they would face all that and more in Northrend and she would not be ready.
At last, the paladin rose, dressed, and curled up on the window seat to read. It was the best distraction she had found over the preceding weeks. The sun rose and Commander Orlinde failed to come as promised. The morning seemed to wear on indefinitely, though she knew the day was still young.
Una was starting to grow cross when Uncle Eilonel's butler, Authion, rapped his knuckles against the door jam. "Pardon the interruption, Lady Una, but a letter just arrived for you."
"Thank you, Authion." Una said as she accepted the letter from the older elf. It was probably another invitation. Walen had gleefully told her "better you than me" when the first arrived. Apparently, despite being a Quel'dorei, as Eilonel Whitebrook's niece she rated some level of interest.
"Has Commander Orlinde gotten up yet?" The brown haired woman asked, attempting to avoid taking her irritation out on the elf before her. Authion wasn't just a servant, but maybe her Uncle's closest – and most genuine – friend. He had been very kind to her during her recovery, even during her worst days.
"He just returned and is refreshing himself before your outing." The servant answered politely. "Is there something you require of him?"
"No, no, I was just curious. Thank you again." Una replied, giving him a smile of gratitude. The news confused her. Where had the other paladin gone so early?
"Of course, my lady." He bowed and shut the door behind him.
Una frowned at the letter. It didn't look – and certainly didn't smell – like it an invitation or a letter from her parents. It smelled fetid and moldy, whereas the invites she had received were fragrantly perfumed.
The parchment wasn't what she was accustomed to either. Anaru's stationary generally bore the crest of the Argent Dawn on the wax seal on simple, unscented parchment. Hiram's too, was always simple with a generic dwarven seal. Formal invites and official documents from Alliance or Argent Dawn officials came on higher grades of parchment.
The olive colored wax bore a strange mark she hadn't seen before: a skeletal stag. Aside from her name and address, there were no marks on the envelope. She broke the wax and skimmed the letter.
What met her eyes made no sense. Bizarre ranting with lucid, though paranoid statements thrown in at seemingly random intervals. Something about Winterveil, her Great Aunt Nariel, her parents, and the dead having no place among the living. The strange, looping half-calligraphic, half-scribbled style made the strange letter even harder to read.
It went on into a discourse about hubris and dead that didn't know they still walked the land of the living. Look for me, the final sentence urged. Then the letter ended abruptly. No signature, no closure. It merely stopped with that final, vexing sentence. Una shook her head in disbelief, twirling an errant lock of her brown hair around her finger. Someone had a lot of gall to pull a stunt like this. If it was a prank and not something more sinister.
The paladin muttered, unpleasantly reminded of her nightmare. Movers were starting to carry boxes into the Commander's rooms across the hall. He had spent the last few days here, but had finally made arrangements to move in fully. She eyed the hallway. She might as well make use of her bodyguard.
She raised her voice and called, "Commander Orlinde?"
From the hall, she heard a muffled sound of acknowledgement from the other paladin.
With a sigh of frustration, Una rose and deposited the letter onto the table near the fireplace. She never thought she'd say it, but she was sick of mail. Though, now she could gleefully throw the letters away herself instead of waiting until Authion or one of the maids came to check on her. She eyed the fireplace and realized with an uncharacteristic level of dark glee that she could walk them to the fire now and burn them.
Her uncle's estate was a flurry of activity this morning. Not only was Commander Ashal Orlinde in the process of moving his belongings into the room across the hall, but they were decorating for the forthcoming Winterveil parties. Servants buzzed about the courtyard, preparing it to serve as an outdoor party area, complete with festive Winterveil trees.
She returned to the window seat, looking out over the courtyard as she absently petted Pixie. They were in the process of hoisting evergreen garlands high into the air now, already glittering with enchantments that made them sparkle with tiny golden lights. Every column had ribbons of a brilliant, cheery red tied about them and an equally red carpet trimmed with white spread across the pavers.
"So much for being able to train outside." She told the animal as it climbed into her lap and settled down. The dead has no place among the living. Una shuddered. Were they referring to her?
Another rap on the jam. Una looked up as Commander Orlinde stepped into the room, followed by Walen. Both males were dressed in simple riding clothes, their faces flushed from exertion. She resisted the urge to ask where they had been. Most likely answer was that Walen was helping his rescuer move in.
"You called, Lady Whitebrook?" Commander Orlinde inquired in his customary cool tone, though he sounded slightly out of breath.
Una gently ushered the cat from her lap and retrieved the letter from the table. Orlinde accepted the foul smelling parchment and quickly skimmed words written upon it. Walen read it himself over the Knight's arm.
"I got one too." Walen commented when he finished and Orlinde made a deep, thoughtful sound in his throat. The dark haired elf stepped over to the window with the parchment, apparently rereading it. "I thought maybe someone was… well, you know. Father's been working with the Sunreavers after all."
Una rubbed her eyes as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. Walen especially seemed to forget she didn't grow up within Quel'thalas and thus had little knowledge of prominent families and organizations. Whatever these Sunreavers were, it probably meant Uncle Eilonel had made enemies.
"Sunreavers?" Una asked, hoping for clarification.
"The Sunreavers are a Sin'dorei organization that is lobbying the Kirin Tor to admit our magi." Orlinde explained, "But I do not think this is connected."
While helpful, it didn't totally explain why her Uncle would be involved.
As she understood it, Eilonel had never lost his membership or withdrawn from the Kirin Tor. Una shook her head at herself as possible scenarios played out in her head. Likely, the explanations for his choices were simple. Her Uncle had given her absolutely no cause to doubt his words or actions.
Una chose to focus on the issue at hand, "So what is it then?"
"I don't know. But I will find out." Orlinde casually patted the letter against his palm as if to emphasize before tucking it into his belt. He looked to Walen, "Retrieve yours and see if your brother received one as well."
As Walen complied, the Commander looked to her once again, "Our outing shall need to be short. Go prepare your horse. I will be down momentarily."
It was all Una could do not to whoop with joy; instead, she gave him an enthusiastic salute and hurried downstairs to get Vesper.
It was a brisk morning; chilly dew still clung to the verdant blades of grass, though sunlight streamed through the forever golden leaves of the maples above. The rolling, tree filled pasture was filled Quel'dorei horses placidly grazing and a few hawkstriders sunning themselves and preening their vivid plumage. Anaru had mentioned, all those months ago, that he had been breeding Ethos. Jet and Vesper had been among the first of the resulting offspring. However, there were too many horses in that pasture to be anything but a breeding operation. Some of the animals were obviously yearlings.
Her curiosity piqued, Una decided she'd ask her cousin what he was doing here when he arrived.
The tidy, but rugged stables were a welcome change from Una's gilded cage. The earthy aromas of fresh hay and straw were pleasant after so much perfume and even the less than pleasant smells were an odd, but welcome relief.
Vesper neighed as she approached, his ears pricked forward. With a grin, Una pulled a lead rope from a hook on a column as she passed.
"Hello, handsome," Una greeted, rubbing the animal's velvety muzzle. "I bet you want to get out of here." As she attached the lead rope to his halter, the flea-bitten gray shivered in what Una hoped was excitement.
"Going for a ride, Lady Una?" A stable hand asked.
"Yes, and Commander Orlinde too." She answered as she led her horse from his stall.
"Very well." He replied, leading the way to the tack room where the other stable hands awaited.
Taking the opportunity to take a good look at her horse, Una dropped the rope and walked around him. The Sin'dorei had taken good care of him; Vesper had never looked healthier or better groomed. A stable hand lightly tossed the saddle onto Vesper's back and Una went about fastening and tightening the cinches. Her pulse quickened at the very thought of some physical activity.
The servants brought a dark bay mare around, already saddled in elegantly tooled black leather for Commander Orlinde.
Orlinde reappeared as she finished, a hammer was casually resting over one shoulder and a large great sword strapped to his back. He had taken the time to strap a leather breastplate to his broad chest over his simple riding clothes.
"For the duration you are in Quel'thalas, this is your weapon." Commander Orlinde said without preamble. Hefting and spinning the handle between his hands as though he were checking its balance, he added. "It belonged to one of the first female paladins. She granted it to me when I lost my weapon during the Third War; now it is yours." He thrust it out to her.
Una took it and immediately grimaced as her arms took the hammer's full weight. While designed for a woman, the hammer was no less heavy. However, her muscles would become used to practicing with a larger, heavier weapon. In the long run it was probably better for her.
It was a simple hammer, devoid of nearly all decoration save for the mark of the Silver Hand on one side and the Holy Light on the other of the head. The handle was the perfect diameter to fit her hands, the grip wrapped in supple leather and verdant silk.
"Thank you, Sir." She issued him a salute and, to her embarrassment, nearly dropped the hammer.
Orlinde sighed expressively in the first true show of emotion she had seen in him, "This… is going to be interesting."

Author's Note: Thanks to beachedsam, KooriRoninheart, pacificuser, Rooietroll, Seleya Soulfire for your reviews! You guys are awesome! Thanks so much!
Thanks again to KooriRoninHeart for being my beta reader and sounding board for this. Love you, Sis!
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