CotAB, Part I: Fabled Fay

[Darkweald]

[Two years before the Dark Portal re-opened.]

The old elf bustled along the shelves of the library in a manner entirely unfitting to the usual comportment of the blood elves. As he bounced along excitedly, he babbled excitedly to himself like a young schoolchild.

“She has returned! I must refresh my memory. Encyclopedic History of Silvermoon City will be useful. Ah, Grumbol’s Fairy Tales. Perfect! And Legends of Eversong. Wherever is that copy of Mother Micixa’s Bedtime Stories?”

Even when he was young, Librasiel had always loved a good myth. As a child he had roamed Eversong Woods happily pretending that he was vanquishing great monsters of legend, returning often to the Library to discover more foes. His favorite stories were the particularly peculiar ones that must have some basis in fact, but the truth behind the legend yet remained a mystery.

For that reason, the most favorite of all the legends old Librasiel had read time and again was that of the “Ghost Tigress,” because the location of the story was his very own Eversong Woods. He had always hoped that he would be able to discover the truth of this legend and write a history of his own.

And rumors were flying about Silvermoon that a new threat had appeared in Eversong Woods. Farstriders had reported sightings of both a ghost-white young girl and an apparitional white lynx in the woods. Most of the Sin’Dorei used it as a conversational piece at their parties, or as a set up to a good joke on the Farstriders. But Librasiel recognized it for what it was: a repetition of a previous event in the history of Silvermoon. He had only to examine the history and identify the corresponding facts, and then he would have a chance of solving this mystery!

The old elf heaved a heavy stack of books onto the table before him, brewed a pot of manathistletea, and then sat down for a long night of reading.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[Duskvale]

Mactoviche paced back and forth on his platform overlooking Shattrath Cjty, his hooves clacking quietly on the stone. Clock clock clock. Clock clock clock. Clock clock clock.

"I thought you wanted to meet secretly," a voice suddenly said behind him. "Perhaps it would help if you stopped making such an infernal racket with your hoofsteps."

Mactoviche turned to face the speaker. If he had been surprised, he did not show it. Rather, he glared and responded angrily, "Marcilli, where have you been? I have been waiting here for over an hour!"

Marcelli stepped forth into the light of the glow of the City below, bringing his green glowing eyes within inches of the Draenei's face. "Perhaps you forget that it is not easy for a Scryer to gain access to your Aldor-controlled terrace. If you wanted to ensure a punctual entry, then perhaps you could have arranged to meet me in the Lower City."

Mactoviche turned and faced outward, biting his lip. "You know that would not be possible. It is too great of a risk for me to be seen consorting with you by agents of the Scryers. It would negate the possibility of success for our mission."

"Then you will appreciate that the extermination of myself by your guards would also negate such a possibility, and not begrudge my precaution against being caught, no matter how long it might have taken."

The Draenei grunted in response, having obviously lost the argument. The two stood silently for a moment, staring out over Shattrath.

Neither noticed the shadow that dropped down from the wall behind them.

---------------

[Darkweald]

The birds were singing in the pre-dawn light. Books lay scattered across the table, open at seemingly random pages. Librasiel was leaning back in his chair, nose up in the air and eyes closed. The casual observer might think the old elf had fallen asleep studying.

But he had never been more awake. His mind was racing with all that he had learned.

Though not always known as the Ghost Tigress of Eversong, a strange specter had appeared intermittently in Eversong for at least 2,000 years. (There was even a mystery of various High Elves found mauled in Eversong before that, which was always attributed to the Amani by historians, but the nature of the killings and the leaving of the bodies in the woods—rather than taking them back to their camps to eat and make trinkets out of the bones—did not seem to match typical troll modus operandi.) The specter would appear in a series of bizarre encounters close together for a number of years, then suddenly disappear. Centuries later a new set of encounters would crop up.

The stories were all different. Many involved a ghostly feline apparition that stalked its prey. In other times the apparition appeared as a young elven girl with skin as white as snow. In one set of encounters she was thought to be the vengeful ghost of a young girl brutally murdered and raped by the Amani, because a few other young elves were saved from marauding trolls by silent arrows. During that time she was lauded as the Protector of Eversong, but this was certainly an exception to the rule. Most encounters left the witness dead, or at least trembling with fear. For this reason, legends of the Ghost Tigress were used as a bedtime story to keep young elves indoors at night.

Yet for all the differing details, themes ran throughout. Most notable were the couple of sets of appearances in which both the girl and the cat were sighted, though on separate instances. But indeed, there was a single account of a witness who saw the girl; she disappeared and then the witness was frightened away by the Ghost Tigress. Any victims of the specter were killed either by claws or wooden implements, and were left where they fell.

Disappearance for long periods of time … both a girl and a tigress … the ability to appear and disappear seemingly out of thin air … killer of trolls and blood elves … use of primitive weapons … it all adds up to … ?

Librasiel bolted upright in his chair, sending his empty teacup shattering upon the floor. “A Kaldorei!” he exclaimed. “That explains it all: a druidic albino Kaldorei. Periods of hibernation followed by periods of slaughter. A night elf saboteur in Eversong Woods!”

He had to inform the authorities immediately!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[Duskvale]

"Have you been able to find her?"

Mactoviche stared grimly before him. "No, although we have agents looking for her throughout all of Outland, she has yet to be found."

"Well you damn well better find her, or her parents' death is of no consequence. The Duskvales were powerful members within the Scryers, and young Roxyxia inherits their title and position—which is why she must be killed before she assumes her new rank. Afterward there will be no stopping her."

"Please, Marcilli, please. My lord is prepared to do whatever it takes to see that you take up the Duskvales' rank amongst the Scryers. This is only a temporary setback."

"It has been two years, Mactoviche! The word temporary—"

"Still applies, elf! This planet is not the most forgiving of places. If she does not turn up soon, she will be presumed dead, will she not? And you will still be able to inherit the Duskvale title in her stead, will you not?"

"But what if she returns?!"

"If she ever shows her face, you and I will see to it that she is terminated. My lord will have it no other way. Calm yourself, Marcilli, as much as I personally would like to see your head upon a pike in Blade's Edge, the success of this plan depends not on her life as much as yours. You do not have anyone that doubts you among the Scryers, and you have the full backing of the Aldor. Stay within the limits of Shattrath, and no harm could possibly come to you."

The blood elf simply stared at Mactoviche, his mouth moving dumbly.

"Oh come now. Don't tell me you're offended by my honesty. I won't be killing you when my lord wants to see you alive and in the deceased Duskvales' place of power."

Marcilli continued to open and close his mouth, but this time gurgling gasps emanated from his throat. A dark liquid started to drip from his lips and down his chin. He teetered, and then fell forward, a sliver of a dagger blade briefly reflecting the glow of the city from the middle of his back until his entire body disappeared into the shadows with a thud. Behind him loomed a dark figure.

In a flash, she was upon him, gripping him by his facial tendrils and pushing him toward the edge. Her eyes burned with hate and her grasp was all that kept Mactoviche alive.

"Looks like your plan just failed," she growled in Orcish.

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[Darkweald]

(( great apologies to whatever readers we might have -- personal emergency came up and took me away from the computer for a week ))

. . . . . .

Magister Clouseau sat upon the bench, resting his chin upon his hand, watching the bobbing figure ricocheting towards his seat. The old elf was waving papers in the air with both hands and shouting Clouseau’s name.

“Looks like Librasiel has something to tell you, Sir.” It was Pennylofa, his attractive but painfully dull-witted assistant. He would manage to turn her into an acceptable Magistrix one day—but it would not be easy.

“No, Penny. Use your observational skills. He obviously has something for me to read.”

“Oh. But of course, Sir.”

“Magister Clouseau! Magister Clouseau!” In a flurry of papers, Librasiel was upon them. “It all adds up, Magister. The killings, the hibernations, the ghostly cat! Only one solution, sir, one solution so dire and unfortunate, but it’s all right here. It was in front of us all along!”

“Master Librasiel, I hope you realize that it is you in front of me at this time, and I don’t make much of it. What is it that you have for me?”

“My apologies, Magister Clouseau, I am just so flustered from having solved the mystery.”

“Solved?” Clouseau chuckled to himself. Ah, these amateurs. “Well, that remains to be seen.”

“But it’s all right here,” Librasiel continued excitedly. “The Ghost Tigress is obviously an albino druidic Kaldorei. We must stop her before she kills again.”

“And we will, my dear Citizen. Do not worry your dusty old head about these things. Magister Clouseau is already on the case.”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you for taking me seriously. I thought for certain that you would spurn my theory as bedtime-story nonsense. … wait a minute, what did you mean by you are already on the case?” Librasiel asked.

“Well, naturally,” interjected Penny, “he is referring to this morning’s mass murders.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[Duskvale]

"Please, please don't kill me!" stammered the panicked Draenei. "I am just the messenger. Even if you kill me it will do nothing to deter my lord. Whoaaaaaugh!"

Now only her cold grip prevented him from falling off the precipice. His head spun and his mind reeled at the glow of the lights below him. He swung his arms widely in an attempt to grab anything, anything that could save him from this fate, but no sanctuary was to be found.

"If you are a messenger, then I have a message for your lord. Think you can handle it?" she demanded.

"Yes! Anything! Anything!"

"Tell him: You will never find me. If you ever see my face again, it will be because I have come for your life."

She jerked him roughly away from his doom. A sharp pain played up Mactoviche's face and crescendoed with her fist. He slumped to the ground. As black slowly crept in from the corners of his vision, the last thing he saw was her form walking back into the shadows.