The Nameless

The Stories We Tell

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Kirai stared at the campfire before her, hugging her legs as she rested her chin on her knees. She and Elliot sat out in the snowy plains of Dragonblight… what they were looking for, they did not know. Kirai just wanted to get away from civilization for awhile. It seemed that everywhere she went, she was seeing ghosts of the past… it had started a couple days ago… when the marks appeared on her hand.

Something that she had forced into the back of her mind was forcing it’s way right back out. She would see visions of ghostly familiar faces of whom she had recognized as Blood Knights… Blood Knights who should have been long dead. It made her nervous to see them in crowded streets. What if they were really there? …What if other people knew…?

She shook her head.

“No… that was two years ago. It wasn’t my fault. And no one ever knew…”

No one but Lothsin. She glared into the flames, leaning back against Elliot’s smoky hide. As she did so, something behind the fire caught her eye. She gasped as she saw a figure move forward into the orange light. A cloaked, tall elf, clad in the colors of the Blood Knight stood on the other side of the fire. He had a chiseled, emotionless face that was eerily shadowed. Kirai’s face paled. She recognized him. He had been the difficult one to kill…

“Hello, Kirai…” He spoke. She tensed up, clutching her daggers at her belt. “Or… ‘Slaid’ was it? But then, you used a different name when we met, am I right? You took your mother’s name while you posed as a Blood Knight. The little one who could hardly lift her sword… Yes, I remember you, ‘Shiorei.’”

She pressed her back against Elliot, shaking her head. “You’re not real.” Elliot lifted his head lazily, a little confused at her sudden random utterance.

“I am not?” He drew his blade, causing her breathing to become irregularly ragged. “Well you would be the one to know for sure, Kirai.. You are the one who killed me, after all.”

She shook her head violently. “It wasn’t my fault!” She squeaked as he took a step forward.

“But you had given him your conscious will by time you got to me, hadn‘t you? You could have stopped the killings if you wished.”

“But I did! I did want them to stop! I couldn’t do anything! I’m sorry!” She was pressing herself against Elliot’s side so hard now that he was staring down at her in growing concern.

“Coward… Little good ‘sorry’ does me now, does it? You killed me… and now I’m here to pay you back.” He lunged through the fire, sword drawn.

She screamed shrilly, pulling her daggers up to cross them and block his attack. She flinched, her trembling arms struggling to keep his blade from cleaving her in two.

Elliot stood, stepping away from her quickly, causing her to scream and roll backward.

“Kirai?! What’s wrong?!”

Kirai dropped one of her daggers to clutch her shoulder, watching her blood ooze out from where his heavy blade had sunken into it. The Blood Knight smirked down at her, raising his blade.

“It wasn’t my fault… It wasn’t my fault! He made me do everything! If I’d said no, he would have taken my body to do it anyway!” She shrieked up at him in insane desperation. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“You’ve no one to blame but your own foolish self.” He spat, “Take responsibility for your own actions, you miserable little whelp!”

“No! It wasn’t my fault!” She screamed at the top of her lungs as his blade came swinging down upon her.

“KIRAI!” Elliot stared down at the little elf, rolling around in the snow in agony. He couldn’t understand what she was screaming about. He growled angrily and gave his massive wings an violent flap, blowing out the campfire, sending her flying a few feet from the ground and tumbling through more snow upon her landing again.

Kirai opened her eyes wide, staring around in the dark, feeling something large approach her cautiously. As she looked up, she saw the glowing eyes of Elliot.

“Kirai… what are you afraid of?” He lowered his head to inspect her. She took in a few shuddering breaths and looked down as well… the wound in her arm was gone- never there… She felt her head and chest, making sure that everything was still in place and unscathed. She looked back up into Elliot’s eyes, afraid.

Elliot sighed and scooped her up with his snout, slipping her up atop his head as he turned to return to the camp site, breathing renewed flames back into the blown out bundle of wood. As the fire crackled back to life, he could hear her sniffling. He glanced up in her direction, knowing the storm to come and would patiently await its passing.

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

Hours passed. Kirai sat in her former position in the snow, leaning against Elliot’s side once again as he curled protectively around her. Her tears had long since dried, and she had been silent for some time, but still Elliot patiently waited.

She stared into the flames once more, thinking.

Lothsin was to blame for everything, right? He tricked her, possessed her and made her commit the Blood Knight murders. It was only after he had saved her life that she had consented to fulfill what he had started and steal the life energy of those that had touched M’uru. But she had been indebted to him.

She sighed, nuzzling her forehead into her knees. She was always in such trouble. In reality, she probably could have escaped him a lot sooner in her life if only she hadn’t been so afraid of being alone. If she had been stronger. If she hadn’t been such a coward… She killed those soldiers. Whether or not it was her bidding, she had killed them.

She furrowed her eyebrows, squeezing her eyes shut. If she had been brave enough to escape… or perhaps stand and fight, she might have solved this sooner. This man… this thing… was a dark shadow that would drift in and out of her life at will. Just when she would be thinking she were rid of him, he would resurface.

Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t let him keep hurting the people around her like he had when he attacked The Pale Heart, or use her to hurt others like he had two years ago during the Blood Knight murders. She would have to make him disappear again… and she would have to make sure that it would be for good.

She stood suddenly, earning a concerned glance from her companion.

“Elliot, we’re going after Lothsin. But we’ve got to head back to the Tower first.”

He nodded, rising to his feet.

“Yes. Are we bringing others from the Pale Heart along to help?”

She paused for a moment before shaking her head.

“No. We’re just going to pick up my things.”

No… It had to be her. Only her. All her life she had relied on others. Even when she ran away to the jungle to learn to rely on herself, she had only found someone else to rely on- Zan’gaji. And she still foolishly spent most her days trying to find him again, unable to let him go. This time she wasn’t going to run away and hide behind anyone else. She would fly head first into the dark and fight her way out again. She had to. She had to prove that she could stand on her own two feet… although this time, she wasn’t going to try and prove it for someone else. This was something that she was going to do for herself. This would be her strength.

She climbed onto Elliot’s back and they set out for The Gray Tower. As they flew, she closed her eyes and sang.

“War leaves its trail

In moonlight so pale

Its shadows they flow

In rivers, in rivers

So put on my mask

I'll go where they ask

So I might once again see the

Roses of May

Staining my soul and stinging my eyes

The red on my hands

Won't wash away, wash away

No where to run from what I have done

I'm no longer, no longer

A Rose of May

Led here by fate

No longer afraid

So here now I lay

My Roses of May”

As they landed in front of the guild tower, Kirai didn’t even look down to notice the marks had vanished. In fact, she’d forgotten them. They didn’t matter anymore… all that mattered was what lie ahead of her. She slid off of Elliot’s back and prepared to enter her beloved home… perhaps… for the final time.

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{{I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the event. I enjoyed seeing and reading about the development different characters have undertaken. Please, if there's more to your story, I'd love to see it carried out here. If not, thank you once again, and be looking forward to another RP in the future.}}

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The Guard was broken. His best friend was gone, he had no idea where. Swallowed by the war. Skaadvik shuffled slowly out of his home in Stormwind and looked up at the dawn sky. His faith had been shaken, in the Light, the Alliance, and even his King. He sighed, and then a grin spread across his face, and a deep chuckle escaped his chest.

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Change is on the wind. Change always comes. My body and mind still stand, and the Light has not yet forsaken me. Fear not, people of the Alliance...

...this Paladin still has some fight."

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((Well I haven't heard anything yet so I'm just going to end it... and write this all for the second time because I was a dumb butt and accidentally hit "youtube" on my bookmarks bar instead of the second tab I had up and wiped the whole entry that I'd decided not to start writing in wordpad first... cause what could happen? >_< *grumbles madly* ))

((Banbuu: ))

It did in fact hurt quite a bit.

Ban was actually thankful he was falling from such a height, or he probably would have drowned slowly in fire instead of having everything ended in a flash.

It felt like being hit very hard by a large chunk of wood... a very large chunk of wood... or like being kicked by a giant horse.

Except wasn't he still thinking?

He thought about it a bit.

Yes, he was definitely still thinking.

He was also feeling it seemed. His shoulder containing the "bruise" hurt like hell, almost as much as when he'd hit that fiery earth moments before. He was also uncomfortably warm. Not fiery warm. Just mildly annoying warm.

But why was it so dark yet?

He reached his arms out and felt something prickly yet soft. Grass.

Oh... his eyes were closed.

Opening them slowly his gaze was met by the little yellow eyes of his passive aggressive imp.

It was staring at him... passive aggressively.

He threw the blankets off of himself. It had really heated up since last night.

Damn his shoulder hurt.

Oh well.

Ban started to just turn over and force himself back to sleep... but this weird metallic salty taste in his mouth was just aggravating the hell out of him.

Yeah... it'll probably keep on aggravating you. That crap's on your back too so you can't quite see it... just barely. Kind of funny, yeah?

Ban shot out of his makeshift hut and looked around. He'd suddenly remembered the blood filled pond and the world engulfed in fire. He remembered the thing that sounded and acted like his sister that he couldn't really see.

I think I'll keep it there as a reminder to you big brother. Your fate isn't ended yet and there's nothing you can do about it.

Perhaps it was time soon to leave his hut?

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

((Marowit: ))

He woke on the floor of his tent. All was dark and dim as before.

He lay there staring at the dark fabric above him, just jolted to his feet remembering.

Mar flung open the flaps of his tent, and threw himself outside.

They were all walking around just as they had been every since he'd arrived. Shining armor, dark armor, some slightly wounded, others new and eager to fight, some starting at the Blood Elf with a bewildered look on his face.

Giving an embarrassed cough he retreated back into the dark of his tent.

Did he... pass out from exhaustion?

It seemed a sensible nightmare... especially given the fears he had about the undead and his recent missions.

He even still had his boots and gloves on...

His gloves which were now horribly mangled and blackened.

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

((Rehdd: ))

It was long after the illusion of her grandmother had disappeared, but she still had the image engraved in her mind.

What it had actually been in the cellar she didn't know. Perhaps it was some dark manifestation, or perhaps it was all in her mind, but it didn't much matter at the moment.

She knew it had left for now, and in the grand scheme of things it was rather inconsequential. It had done it's damage and left her broken and fragile in a way no battle could have.

She stood, dusting her side off, and hobbled over to a corner of the cellar.

She found a jar filled with something that had long been forgotten. It had probably once been pickles or olives. It would do.

She emptied it of it's contents.

She reached up to her face and pulled out the glowing orb that remained of her left eye.

She reached up with her other hand and pulled out the pain.

She placed the pain in the jar, sealed it up tight, and stared at it a while.

Oh! Her eye!

Rehdd stuck it back in it's socket and stared blankly at the jar full of hurt.

Rehdd would place it somewhere safe in her box garden.

Maybe one day Rehdd would be able to wear her again.

Rehdd left the jar and shuffled over to the not so spotted leg which she'd torn from the beasts belly and picked it up with her teeth. After the cogs in her head turned a bit, she leaned down and lifted the handle of her axe.

Rehdd then scuttled up the stairs to the gray lamb box, leg in mouth, axe in hand, and hand as foot.

She needed to find the large shining pink lamb to stitch it back on... Rehdd didn't know how to juggle.

((*Edited after finally finishing again... YEAH! There it is. xD Yes, this was an awesome RP deal and I feel I got a lot done for my characters. Thanks! ^ ^ Whoever you may be! ))

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((Sorry for being late. Inspiration is a bitch sometimes. Never shows up on time. Clearly she doesn't respect me. I should break up with her.))

Langara watched. Empty people shuffled past her, others ran. The nice thing about seedy part of any given city was that people were expecting dangerous characters around every turn. She definitely looked the part. Glowing blue eyes had a way of doing that.

She'd ducked out of the guild's tower before daybreak, with the jeweled box stuffed in her backpack. There was a certain venomous satisfaction that came from giving in to impulse. Always thinking everything through, weighing potential options, being so damn sensible.

Why? What was it all for, anyway? Just to avoid the pain of possibly making a mistake?

Hah. Now, there's no sense in that. Not when pain can be so useful as long as it's turned to point the right direction Twisting the persuader took skill. Langara was out of practice and it was time for a refresher course.

He looked about right. Yet another irritating braggart, looming over some poor woman in Shattrath. Yup, grabbed her arm and she's panicking. Last mistake you're going to make for awhile.

Wouldn't their little corner of the world be better off if he learned his lesson? The mark on her shoulder seared a bit, Langara scratched at it dismissively and started to walk toward her target.

***

Now she remembered why being deliberate wasn't such a waste of time. Mistakes aren't easily repaired. Especially the irreparable ones. Langara nearly sliced right through one.

So close. The vagrant had turned his back and she was about to escort him somewhere dark and awful. That's when she saw he'd been trying to get the woman to accept a loaf of bread.

They were all starving there, despite the presence of the undeniably holy Naaru. These lower city people were starving right next to the holiest of holies.

And this man was just trying to share. The woman wasn't panicking at all, she was being stupid and prideful and angry. There was nobody to punish, no truth to bleed out, just people trying to live their lives in spite of having to be people while they do it.

***

Just as Lord Thorval was about to offer yet another dressing down for her disinterest in training, Langara shoved the box at his chest. He stammered while his prepared statement crumbled upon reaching his throat.

"Take that, know that I am done with it, and you, until the day comes you have something worthwhile to teach me. That will probably be after the apocalypse, since the world will have to end for me to be willing to deal with you again."

Langara strode off before he could reply, straightening her tabard, aligning the icon of sun's rays just so. She rubbed her shoulder one last time, and could have sworn she felt a sooty residue wipe off onto the inside of her sleeve.

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((I apologize for taking so long to come up with my entry. Good work, Nameless: Svet lost the game. ;p))

All her life she had at least partially listened to the Shadows. But this was incredible. The decision to completely open her mind to them was like turning a key and opening a door that let a flood of subdued intoxication into her mind. On her knees, hands folded in a mockery of prayer, the Professor swayed back and forth as if locked in a trance, but never fell into the candles that she had surrounded herself with.

Was this the power I had been denying myself this whole time? Something I had called a dangerous poison? How hypocritical... alcohol is a dangerous poison too, and I let myself be consumed by that once. What's the difference?

At least the Shadows don't give me nausea.

It took the screaming, hateful voice in her head and wrapped it up in fluid nether, muffling it, like first wrapping a child in a blanket, and then it suffocated it completely. No more was the voice of her deceased daughter in her head... the Shadows had swallowed it all up.

She had won. Right?

What little Light was now left in Svetlaena's conscience said no, but was drowned out by the joyous uproar of the Shadows. On her upper arm, the shape of the single wing was still there, no longer marked in a sooty gray, but etched in cuts and scrapes left behind by frantic scratching with fingernails.

Picking up a knife from the nearby table, the Professor began to carve her own flesh, tracing the outline of the now-gone mark. This was her battle-scar, from a long, arduous fight that she had, in fact, won.

Right?

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((Beh, I gotta wrap this up as well >.> Ray took it pretty hard, but conquered her mark about halfway through the event. This particular entry occured during Dia De Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead for you WoWheads.))

Atonement.

Diliandra's gaze fell on the altar before her, the structure draped in the cloth sewn by the Broken in the Lower City, the same she hung about her quarters in Dalaran. Around it, several black roses piled over the altar, glittery candied skulls placed neatly in a row beneath several pictures, paintings of fallen comrades, of people she knew before, people she owed her penance, her tribute in light of her sins. Their voices hounded her, cluttering her normally pristine thinking, demanding her to repent, to answer for the mark emblazoned on her left hand, shaped like a noose.

She sighed heavily, bowing her head. Her eyes carefully examined the mark on her left hand. It had been fading since that Friday night, when she saw Raynell, broken and weak from her suffering, her stomach branded with a shield, a symbol of her eternal burden. The night when she revealed secrets she believed would be forgotten forever, unearthing a past she tried to bury. She looked to the floor, at two more pictures that remained to be placed upon the altar. She picked one of them up, the framed canvas bearing the image of a woman clad in armor, the black steel appearing almost true to life on the painting. Her face bore a proud smile, her eyes sternly set towards eternity. Her eyes fell elsewhere, around the house.

Light footsteps echoed through the quiet estate, cutting through the serene nature of the surrounding Ashenvale forests. From the stairs came Raynell, looking a bit weary, but at peace, a relieving sight given what Diliandra heard about Raynell's intense delusions. As she approached, Diliandra got a better look at where Raynell's mark used to reside. It was now a mere outline, a battlescar to accompany her others. Of course, the battle was waged on the field of her sanity, a battle she would have lost were it not for the support and love she received.

Diliandra stood, holding the painting in hand and displaying it to Raynell. "You remember what she said to you, don't you?"

Raynell nodded. "Honor my memory. It was the last thing she said before departing, along with the mark." She bowed her head, her eyes carefully following the picture, a certain softness in her expression as she recalled the woman in the painting. Her hand strayed over her bare stomach below her short white blouse, feeling at the shield imprint left by the mark.

Diliandra nodded slowly in return. She glanced back to the altar. In the center, surrounded by the roses, the pictures, the candied skulls and various delicacies, was a vacant spot, awaiting the final two paintings to be placed, completing the tribute she owed to those closest to her.

"It was a mistake, Raynell. Taking your past and altering it like I did. Stealing your memories, memories of love gained and lost, as if they had no value..." She casted her eyes downward. "And then, when you needed me most, I deserted you."

Raynell gulped. Her eyes glistened over slightly. She attempted to hide them, wiping them swiftly with her forearm and sniffling. Diliandra chuckled softly, an air of bitterness apparent in her tone.

"I was selfish then, and I continued to be selfish up until now. I returned from exile not for your sake, but for the sake of vengeance, for exacting retribution on those who betrayed me."

Her eyes closed. "I was too blind to see the traitor in myself."

Her eyes opened, looking down to the painting in her hands. She glanced over at the other painting yet to be placed on the altar, a portrait of a man and a woman, and a budding young girl, her blond hair cut in a short bob. She looked back at Raynell, now a woman, a knight, and the hero she knew she would one day become. Raynell returned her gaze with a soft smile, stepping forward and taking up the other painting. Together they turned to the altar, placing them in the center of the altar. With their tributes offered, they stepped back, bowing their heads. Diliandra offered her prayer, speaking out with pride, her voice carrying into the Ashenvale morning.

"Light commend the memories renewed in these, the fallen and the lost. May the Light illuminate them forever, to never fade into darkness again. Let them not be nameless in our hearts, especially for Fiyeran and Aliana A'laria, who remain lost to the broken terrain of Outland, and Captain Fia'delis Brightblade, who gave her life defending her homeland from the onslaught of the Scourge, but let us be reminded that they will never be truly lost or dead to our memories, our spirits dedicated to their rememberance until we ourselves are committed to the memories of others as we depart this life."

They descended slowly to their knees, both mentor and student, now equals in their suffering, bowing their heads in reverence to the altar and remaining silent, the quiet ambiance of Ashenvale filling the household. Diliandra clasped her hands together. From between her fingers, a soft light shone, and a calm trail of black dust dissipated into the air.

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I grew tired of Hillsbrad and it's Human infestation...I find a much happier existance here in the Thousand Needles. Here I am at peace...thanks to the Taruen...they've taught me some meditation tecniques and I am inmore control of my rage...the flashbacks rarely occur anymore. I enjoy killing the centaur and the Grimtotem Taruen.

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((Forgive my lateness. College has been keeping me busy... and... such. Still not done. @.@ ))

---

((Previous Entry ---> Part 6))

---

Moriol was unsure of what he was seeing. She was a shorter woman, and he suspected that her build would have been described as “small”, but something about the way she sat in the throne and the robes that she wore threw that off. Her hood was pulled over her face, concealing it from view.

After a few moments of her repeating the question, “Moriol Solisar...?” He could tell from her accent that she was an elven woman. That she continued to ask his name was particularly haunting to him, with each utterance of his surname stinging at his heart.

“We have waited... We have been watching...” she said as she slowly worked up the strength to lift herself from the throne.

Moriol blinked, looking around the throne room confused, “ ‘We’? There’s only you and I here... Who are you?”

Beneath her hood, Moriol could see her lips curl into a smirk, and after a moment or two, he could see that her skin was too pale for her to be among the living. The woman let out a soft sigh as she took a few short, labored steps towards Moriol. “You always were blinded to the truth, Moriol... So caught up in yourself that you never once thought of the effects your actions would have on others... On innocents who had no part in your suffering.”

Her voice was familiar - a long forgotten memory of a time before the world was plunged into the conflict it was today - and it sent chills along his spine. Who was this woman? Why did she appear before him now? What was her purpose in confronting him?

“You are close to Erohol?” he dared to ask, afraid of the answer he was expecting.**It occurred to him, briefly, that in all actuality, her movement would not be described as “walking” - but rather, as “waddling”.

She let out a small chuckle before responding - each step closer towards Moriol seeming to drain her of precious energy as she swayed slightly from side to side with every movement. “Long ago, yes... And it is because of you that We are nothing but a memory... Nothing more than Nameless shadows of what could have been.”

He felt a pain in his chest, as if his heart were breaking. This was the answer he had been afraid of. “You’re Arraya... And by ‘We’, you mean the civilians of Tranquillien...”

“Yes, and no...” she mused, continuing her struggle towards Moriol. “Most fled when they were ordered to. I was long gone by then, because of the letters you had sent in Erohol’s place. His parents stayed behind for the same reason - because of the lies you told in your attempt to make Erohol suffer, they believed that all they had left was their home. They believed that their baby was embarrassed of them.”

Confronted by the demons of his past, Moriol found himself stepping backwards in an attempt to put some distance between him and the slowly advancing woman.*His short lived retreat was stopped however, when he backed into two people standing behind him. In his shock, Moriol turned to face them, prepared to apologize and make a break for it. What he saw however, when he turned to face the two entities behind him, would have frozen his blood if it were still warm. Erohol’s parents stood before him, followed by his own, along with presumably every innocent who died during Arthas’ march on Silvermoon.

“You forgot what it meant to be an honorable man. You forgot why you wanted to be a magister. You forgot just how far reaching your actions can be...” She proclaimed, having finally made her way to Moriol’s side. She grabbed him by his wrist, forcing his hand to her stomach to reveal to him the secret of “We” hidden by her robe.*

“You forgot that innocents can suffer and die too.”

---

((Next Entry of Extended Story ---> Coming soon!))

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( Apolgoes for the lateness, I have been very indisposed recently.)

Cavanaugh violently awoke from a dream, breathing heavily, his lip bleeding slighty as if he had been biting it. Reaching up to touch his lip a sudden scream rang out in the streets. Cavanaugh shot up, quickly, peering out the window of the Southshore Inn, he saw nothing at first... then a shadow.. move quickly... then vanish in the wilderness. He made ready his armor, and as he slid his breastplate on he felt a burn on his chest. Stopping to look into the mirror he saw a a mark, it appeared almost as if it was branded into his skin.. A scream again and he quickly finished putting his armor on, ignoring the mark and ran outside.

This night was as dark as he could ever remember. The moon hidden, and the wind... nothing. The silence and the poor lighting sent a chill down his spine. He quickly lit a torch, and as he did, he saw a shadow move away. He drew his sword and moved quickly to where the shadow was, as he approached the brush his foot his something and he stumbled. The torch hit the ground and he saw what he had tripped over. The body was mutilated, it looked as though it was a girl, very young in age. The paladin narrowed his eyes, closing them, trying to contain his anger. He said a prayer for the girl and then arose. His eyes filled with sadness. Afterthe recent attacks, he thought to himself 'Only the Horde could do such a thing, so vile, senseless, this cannot go unpunished.'

He made his way after the figure i the direction he saw it flee to. He put his torch out, he knew that in order to catch this one, he would have to surprise it. A tough task, but nothing he couldn't handle. He followed the sounds, he could nearly hear the vile hiss of its breah.. 'Forsaken' he thought to himself, he could practically smell the stench of decay on the air.

He followed the creature further north, passing into the Ghostlands as he closed in on the creature he felt a rush, 'This one' he thought, ' Will feel the full wrath of the Light for its crimes." He had felt the storm coming, the Horde had been his primary adversary and now more than ever he wanted them gone, dealt with. This pathetic wretch was just another trying to strike fear into the hearts of the Alliance with such a brutal attack.

He follwed it into Eversong, and saw it run behind one of the ruined elf structures. He approached slowly, cautiously, not wanting to be ambushed. Suddenly an Sin'Dorei emerged from behind the corner of the structure, her dagger red and her clothes bloodied. 'It was her? An elf did this?' He thought to himself, now even more enraged he quickly moved toward her.

The elf was young, he could tell, younger than Coria when they had met, and yet to ocmmit such a crime, he knew what must be done. As the elf caught site of the Paladin she shrieked. His sword drawn, a look of hatred in his eyes, he grasped her by the throat and put his sword to it, raising her off the ground with one arm he glared and in Thalassian he spoke to her,

" For your crimes against the Alliance, and under the Authority of King Wrynn, I sentance you to death." He pushed the swordagainst her throat, ignoring her frantic cries, when suddenly an arrow hit his shoulder. He dropped the girl as he winced and turned around to face the shot. It was a hunter, another elf, and Cavanaugh knew this one was also not a foe that was beyond him. He rushed him quickly and he lept at the Hunter, who had tried ot move off, in one swoop he removed his head. Cries for help from the girl rang out and Guards began to approach, alerted to his presence. He stood ready, a smile spread across his face as fresh blood dripped off his sword.

' Defending such butchery will get you that in return' And the battle commenced. Rage seemed to consume him, and the more blood he drew, the greater his thirst for it became. He cut them down as they charged, easily, they posed no real threat and yet he felt as though punishing them was the right thing to do. Punishing them for their part in their crimes against the Alliance.

As his blade swept around in a storm of retribution he suddenly realized they were all dead... all the guards who had set upon him lay in a massacred heap around the Paladin. And out of the corner of his eye he saw the young elf, hiding in a bush, shaking. He moved toward her covered in the blood of the fallen. She seemed frozen in fear. Terrified of the Paladin he reaced out to grab her, it was time for the one who had committed the crime to be punished as well. He felt nothing as he grabbed her by the throat and pulled her from the brush. As he drew his sword however, he felt a ringing in his ear, and was suddenly blinded by a Light brighter than anything he had ever seen before. It was in front of him, he could see it, it was a Naaru. Yet, in front of the Naaru was a smaller figure.. and he quickly realized who that was. It was Coria. He knew instantly, and fell to a knee.

She came walking toward him, he couldn't look at her. His eyes fixed on the ground, he could feel her coming close but refused to look up, speechless, thoughtless, shocked.

She reached down and put her hand ot his chin, raising his head to meet her gaze, a single tear went down his cheek, which she caught and wiped it slowly back to his eye.

'My love, look at what you have become.' She looked down at him, dissapointed. It was enough to break his heart, she stood him up, and had him survey the land, the remnants of the recent battle. The carnage was apparent, and he suddenly seemed to snap back, and the remorse was overwhelming. 'You seek their death, you threw "justice" at this girl, blindly, but look..'

A vision came to him and he saw the figure, what appeared on the outside an agent of the Forsaken, who he chased, was actually a minion of the Lich King, the blue glow in his eyes unmistakeable. As it went around the corner, the young elf girl, a huntress in training caught it off guard and slew the creature. The blood of the human girl was rubbed off only through the struggle... the elf had done nothing wrong, she slew the agent of Arthas, and he had nearly killed her for it.

Coria looked at him, with sadness in her eyes. 'While you fight to protect the Alliance, you have become an agent of the Scorge, of the Legion by blindly seeking the destruction of those who actually seek the same as you.' She paused, smiling at him for the first time. ' It is not too late, my love. You can reverse this course, this path. It is a path of hatred, and it will consume you if you do not step back. Remember your training, remeber Alexandros, Uther, Turlyon... your father. They would not have you become this... do not become vengence.'

Cavanaugh looked up at her, his eyes heavy with regret, still unbeliving. ' How can I protect them? I seem to become the villian more with each passing battle... each life I take makes me feel further and further from you... from Lord Uther, from Alexandros. And yet...' She raises finger to his lips.

'Such doubt. Protect those that cannot protect themselves, as you always have, and do so with the skills you have developed. As you always have, but pause... that is all you must do. You are so young, such a burden is not your alone to bear... look to your friends, your allies. Some of them have the wisdom you must look to, to guide you. Highlord Noxtrael, Skaadvik, Ignas. They can teach you such ways now. Be patient, do not let venegce become you, and you will be the righteous servant you desire to become. The Horde can be an enemey, and there are certainly those among them that seek your death, and death to the Alliance. That will never change. They are not all like that, and you know this. Though war may be upon you, do not become what you have fought your entire life to stop. Then and only then, can you walk in the footsteps of greatness. Remember, my love, there is more at work than the will of evil.'

With that Coria looks at the Naaru and smiles, slowly looking back at Cavanaugh she smiles. ' I must go now, my love.' She winks at him playfully ' I do enjoy it when you visit. Although I am no longer here, know that I am always with you.' Coria walks back to the Naaru and they both seem to float away. The light slowly begins to fade and Cavanaugh looks back, seeing the guards he had just fought waking up, the Naaru must have... his thought was interrupted as his eyes feel upon the Sin'dorei again, she had seen the whole thing. He bowed his head to her and whistled for Viktor. The steed appeared and he mounted quickly as the guards seemed to snap back to reality and caught sight of the Paladin, he rode away with the clamor of the guards falling further and further behind.

Upon his arrival back in Southshore, he searched for the body, it was nowhere to be found... confused, bewildered he went back to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. As he took his armor off he suddenly remebered the mark. He looked for it... it was gone. He lay back in bed, staring out the window his mind at ease for the first time in months. "I miss you.." he said as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

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I am currently engaging in favors with the Gnomes and Goblins of the Mirage Raceway, here in these damnd salt flats. I marvel at these wonderfully enginered devices, these wonderful creations, I have yet to grasp the most advanced mechanisms of this field...ah well...in time I will. The Goblins ask much of me, but this comes with the job I was raised to be in. For now, I'll do the Goblin's deeds, but when comes that day, they'll be doing mine.

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